Down they went, through the layers of Parmesan and Romano, down into the depths. At any moment, the crust could open beneath their feet and dump them into a simmering pool of hot brie, or a pocket of soft Limburger might shift and bring down an entire branch, trapping the miners in the fetid, redolent darkness until their inevitable suffocation. Most feared of all was the toxic byproduct of the ore-refining process. It leached into the moon's surface before catalyzing the cheese into a high-pressure pocket, ready to be unleashed by a stray pickaxe strike.
They called it "the Whiz."