Cole had seen shoveling accidents before. Hell, he had caused shoveling accidents before. Once he lost his shovel and had to use his hands. He had seen machine parts blow up before and unfortunately left shovelers unable to continue their work. He once even saw someone's hand get stuck in the part and a group of enforcers had to amputate on the spot.
In all cases, a new shoveler was lined up a few minutes later.
All things considered, a failed window port was a minor accident, but an issue nonetheless. Instinctively, Cole wedged his shovel between the ground and the window, creating a temporary, and somewhat leaky, seal. Protocol in this case required him to inform the enforcer behind him. Cole jiggled his shovel and looked over his shoulder.
"You seeing this?"
The enforcer was already on his walkie-talking and held up one finger.
Cole's attention turned back to the window. He shook his head. Enforcers were all the same. Quiet and intimidating, like they didn't even have to try. Cole figured he could be one, but he didn't have the build for it. He was scrawny, enforcers were nothing but bulk. The one who was here today could probably snap Cole's neck just by looking at him.
It wasn't a life path for Cole either. He was born a shoveler and would die a shoveler. His only goal was to not die on the job. Shovelers either died on the job from old age or accidents. Cole dug his shovel further into the ground. Today would not be that day.
"Repair will be here in 10 minutes. Don't go anywhere."
Cole jumped at the enforcer's deep voice and nearly dropped his shovel.
"Shit, you scared me. Yeah, I'm staying here." Shovelers didn't leave their post in the middle of an accident. Those that did were replaced swiftly. Cole was almost annoyed the enforcer had said that, but he considered them dumb brutes and shrugged it off.
It was 12 minutes until the repairman arrived. Each machine part had an aggressively large digital display mounted above it, counting down to the next feed. When it got under 10 minutes, the display flashed an obnoxious red color. It was impossible to miss.
"Sorry I'm a little late."
Cole looked up. "It's about time." His fingers were tired from holding the shovel in place.
The repairman dropped his toolbox on the ground. "What happened here?"
Cole shrugged. "Just got done feeding her and the next thing I know the window's blown out."
"Hmm..." The repairman's face was buried in his toolbox. "Thing's are just aging, you know? Happens sometimes."
"I haven't seen it before."
The repairman huffed and dug around in his box.
"Hey, can I let go or what?"
"Not yet." He held up a hand. "Gotta find my torch, hold on."
"You just going to weld it shut?"
"Gotta put a new window in. Can't leave that one here, it blows again, could be a lot worse, you know?"
Cole didn't know. He had been around the machine his whole life, but he wasn't a repairman or a mechanic. He didn't know how it worked, or how it was built. He knew how to shovel, and he was damn good at it.
The repairman stood up, with a torch clutched in one gloved hand, and a new window pane in the other. "Shouldn't take me too long. When did you say you fed it?"
"Just before it burst."
"Ah," the repairman said, lowering his welding shield. "Got plenty of time then, right?"
Cole nodded. About 5 hours and 45 minutes from his count, and the digital display agreed with him.
"Step back a second," the repairman said approaching the machine. "I'll just pull this guy off-"
The explosion sent Cole flying backward.