Diggers Read Free Page A

reason.”
    â€œA quarry’s a place you get stone from,” said Grimma. “Humans do it. They dig a hole and they use the stone for making, well, roads and things.”
    â€œI expect you read that, did you?” said Gurder sourly. He suspected Grimma of lack of respect for authority. It was also incredibly annoying that, against all the obvious deficiencies of her sex, she was better at reading than he was.
    â€œI did, actually,” said Grimma, tossing her head.
    â€œBut, you see,” said Masklin patiently, “there aren’t any more stones here, Grimma. That’s why there’s a hole.”
    â€œGood point,” said Gurder sternly.
    â€œThen he’ll make the hole bigger!” snapped Grimma. “Look at those cliffs up there”—they obediently looked—“they’re made of stone! Look here”—every head swiveled down to where her foot was tapping impatiently at the paper—“it says it’s for a highway extension! That’s a road! He’s going to make the quarry bigger! Our quarry! That’s what it says he’s going to do!”
    There was a long silence.
    Then Dorcas said: “Who is?”
    â€œOrder! He’s put his name on it,” said Grimma.
    â€œShe’s right, you know,” said Masklin. “Look. It says: ‘To be reopened, by Order.’”
    The nomes shuffled their feet. Order. It didn’t sound like a promising name. Anyone called Order would probably be capable of anything.
    Gurder stood up and brushed the dust off his robe.
    â€œIt’s only a piece of paper, when all’s said and done,” he said sullenly.
    â€œBut the human came up here,” said Masklin. “They’ve never come up here before.”
    â€œDunno about that,” said Dorcas. “I mean, all the quarry buildings. The old workshops. The doorways and so on. I mean, they’re for humans. Always worried me, that has. Where humans have been before, they tend to go again. They’re rascals for that.”
    There was another crowded silence, the kind that gets made by lots of people thinking unhappy thoughts.
    â€œDo you mean,” said a nome slowly, “that we’ve come all this way, we’ve worked so hard to make a place to live in, and now it’s going to be taken away?”
    â€œI don’t think we should get too disturbed right at this time—” Gurder began.
    â€œWe’ve got families here,” said another nome. Masklin realized that it was Angalo. He’d been married in the spring to a young lady from the del Icatessen family, and they’d already got a fine pair of youngsters, two months old and talking already.
    â€œAnd we were going to have another go at planting seeds,” said another nome. “We’ve spent ages clearing that ground behind the big sheds. You know that.”
    Gurder raised his hand imploringly.
    â€œWe don’t know anything,” he said. “We mustn’t start getting upset until we’ve found out what’s going on.”
    â€œAnd then can we get upset?” said another nome sourly. Masklin recognized Nisodemus, one of the Stationeri and Gurder’s own assistant. He’d never liked the young nome, and the young nome had never liked anyone, as far as Masklin could see.
    â€œI’ve never, um, been happy with the feel of this place, um, I knew there was going to be trouble—” Nisodemus complained.
    â€œNow, now, Nisodemus,” said Gurder. “There’s no cause to go talking like that. We’ll have another meeting of the Council,” he added. “That’s what we’ll do.”
    The crumpled newspaper lay beside the road. Occasionally a breeze would blow it randomly along the shoulder while, a few inches away, the traffic thundered past.
    A stronger gust hit it at the same time as a particularly large truck roared by, dragging a tail of whirling air. The