Mining on the crop-fields

Proof of Effort has set us free

The rig embedded in my spine made a tell-tale beep: another coin earned. Three more and I could knock off for eight hours or so; another and I’d be saving towards some time off. I turned back to look at the field. Six hours down, since early this morning, and a lot of crop still to pick today.

It was a hot one. The weather readout had indicated a hundred and twelve degrees by noon, which was more than we’d had at this end of the winter for a while. A few more months and it would be impossible to harvest for six months, and we’d all have to go underground to mine or build. Those were my least favorite parts of the year: away from the sun and the blue of the sky. Most of us took vitamin supplements once a week, but it still drove some men mad. Our numbers dwindled every summer, replaced by the newcomers who had turned fourteen, had their Proof of Effort packs embedded, and declared themselves ready to work.

“Oi,” Orange Alpha said, under his breath but loud enough for me to hear from six feet away. “Mate.”

I ignored him. There were no rules as such except for what the Proof of Effort packs dictated. Too much of a pause and our work wouldn’t pass the threshold to mint a new coin. Too much talking and they’d label us as cheating the system. There were no overseers; no central…