The end-of-shift siren blared, and the miners shuffled out, armor weighed down by dust and fatigue. D-16 trudged along like his struts were made of lead, vents wheezing from the strain of the day. He barely noticed Orion loping beside him with far too much leftover energy for someone who had swung a pick for hours.

Without warning, Orion smacked him square on the aft plating. “Backshots time!!!” he announced in the brightest, most victorious tone imaginable, sticking his glossa out with a grin.