Tunneler 13 roared through the labyrinth, crashing into walls of rock and upsetting equipment stockpiles in her claustrophobic panic. How can I be here and have a son? Where is the place that is not here? Who did this to me? Self-preservation circuits prompted some noncons to scurry out of the mad behemoth’s way; others were crushed.

She arrived at the elevator and paused at the familiar portal, idling her twin turbines and collecting herself. Through the intranet she reached out to fellow noncons. “Do you have sons? Were you ever not here?”

No-ops were the only reply. Was she mistaken? Was the idea of a son just a distorted echo of a pleasure-stim from some indulgent director? Had she always been a digger, feasting on the tasty 3He ore and passing the wonderful harvest on to the other cyborgs?

No; she was sure she had a son. From a dispenser, she filled her explosives locker. The elevator platform sagged slightly, adjusting its tension as she boarded it. Above, there would be answers, or …