The miner and the medic
The miner and the medic He had told her his name was Devo. Most miners died before their 20th birthday. Devo was in bad shape; red oil flowed freely from his arm implant. Lena reached into her bag and extracted a fat little jar with a screw top. She pulled her patient under the leaf of giant bamboo. It would have to do. Hopefully, the drones wouldn’t spot them.
Lena was raised on violin lessons and no parental supervision. The basement where she dwelled had been improved with special acoustic tiles. A dehumidifier ran almost 24/7 to preserve the wood of her expensive violin, but she loved her bow most of all. Made with snow-white Mongolian horsetail hair, her mother, on one of her annual visits, had stressed the importance of maintaining the bow.