33

　　Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears.

　　Walker the electrician bent over a cluttered workbench and adjusted his magnifier. The great bulbouslens was attached to his head with a hoop that might’ve been uncomfortable had he not been wearingit for most of his sixty-two years. As he pushed the glass into position, the small black chip on thegreen electronics board came into crystal focus. He could see each of the silver metal legs bent outfrom its body like the limbs of a spider, the tiny feet seemingly trapped in silver puddles of frozensteel.

　　With the tip of his finest soldering iron, Walker prodded a spot of silver while he worked thesuction bulb with his foot. The metal around the chip’s tiny foot melted and was pulled through astraw, one little leg of sixteen free.

　　He was about to move to the other—he had stayed up all night pulling fried chips to distract hismind from other things—when he heard the recognizable patter of that new porter skittering down hishall.

　　Walker dropped the board and hot iron on the workbench and hurried to his door. He held thejamb and leaned out as the kid ran past.

　　“Porter!” he yelled, and the boy reluctantly stopped. “What news, boy?”

　　The kid smiled, revealing the whites of youth. “I’ve got big news,” he said. “Cost you a chit,though.”

　　Walker grunted with disgust but dug into his coveralls. He waved the kid over. “You’re thatSampson boy, right?”

　　The kid bobbed his head, his hair dancing around his youthful face.

　　“Shadowed under Gloria, didn’t you?”

　　The kid nodded again as his eyes followed the silver chit drawn from Walker’s rattling pockets.

　　“You know, Gloria used to take pity on an old man with no family and no life. Trusted me withnews, she did.”

　　“Gloria’s dead,” the boy said, lifting his palm.

　　“That she is,” Walker said with a sigh. He dropped the chit into the child’s outstretched palm, thenwaved his aged and spotted own for the news. He was dying to know everything and would havegladly paid ten chits. “The details, child. Don’t skip a one.”

　　“No cleaning, Mr. Walker!”

　　Walker’s heart missed a beat. The boy turned his shoulder to run on.

　　“Stay, boy! What do you mean, no cleaning? She’s been set free?”

　　The porter shook his head. His hair was long, wild, and seemingly built for flying up and down thestaircase. “Nosir. She refused!”

　　The child’s eyes were electric, his grin huge with the possession of such knowledge. No one hadever refused to clean in his lifetime. In Walker’s, either. Maybe not ever. Walker felt a surge of pridein his Juliette.

　　The boy waited a moment. He seemed eager to run off.

　　“Anything else?” Walker asked.

　　Samson nodded and glanced at Walker’s pockets.

　　Walker let out a long sigh of disgust for what had become of this generation. He dug into hispocket with one hand and waved impatiently with the other.

　　“She’s gone, Mr. Walker!”

　　He snatched the chit from Walker’s palm.

　　“Gone? As in dead? Speak up, son!”

　　Samson’s teeth flashed as the chit disappeared into his overalls. “Nosir. Gone as in over the hill.

　　No cleaning, Mr. Walker, just strode right over and out of view. Gone to the city, and Mr. Bernardwitnessed the whole thing!”

　　The young porter slapped Walker on the arm, needing, obviously, to strike something with hisenthusiasm. He swiped his hair off his face, smiled large, and turned to run along his route, his feetlighter and pockets heavier from the tale.

　　Walker was left stunned in the doorway. He gripped the jamb with an iron claw lest he tumble outinto the world. He stood there swaying, looking down at the pile of dishes he’d slipped outside thenight before. He glanced over his shoulder at the disheveled cot that had been calling his name allnight. Smoke still rose from the soldering iron. He turned away from the hall, which would soon bepattering and clinking with the sounds of first shift, and unplugged the iron before he started anotherfire.

　　He remained there a moment, thinking about Jules, thinking about this news. He wondered ifshe’d gotten his note in time, if it had lessened the awful fear he’d felt in his gut for her.

　　Walker returned to the doorway. The down deep was stirring. He felt a powerful tug to go outthere, to cross that threshold, to be a part of the unprecedented.

　　Shirly would probably be by soon with his breakfast and to take away his dishes. He could waitfor her, maybe talk a bit. Perhaps this spell of insanity would pass.

　　But the thought of waiting, of the minutes stacking up like work orders, of not knowing how farJuliette had gotten or what reaction the others might be having to her not cleaning, pressed him intomotion.

　　Walker lifted his foot and reached out past his doorway, his boot hovering over untrammeledground.

　　He took a deep breath, fell forward, and caught himself on it. And suddenly, he felt like anintrepid explorer himself. There he was, fortysomething years later, teetering down a familiarhallway, one hand brushing the steel walls, a corner coming up, around which his eyes couldremember nothing.

　　And Walker became one more old soul pushing into the great unknown, his brain dizzy with whathe might find out there.