Descending Road - BACK TO WORK by Dana W. Paxson

BACK TO WORK

Watching for prying eyes, I wait, counting. The mechanism waits too, and then I put my left hand in its depression and hold it steady there, pressing hard for sixty heartbeats. A rumble, and the wall shakes, moves to the right, and stops, leaving a gap of darkness just wide enough for me to squeeze through.

I fumble inside, find the closure mechanism and use it, and trigger the long-stored emergency lights. A chemical glow from a foot-wide circular patch in the ceiling fills the room I am in, my study and resting-space, with dim green radiance.

Millennial dust coats my hideaway everywhere, beetle trails stitching it with hungry errands. Steel shelves stuffed with permtexts of all sizes and shapes line the bedrock walls. A couch the size of a bed for two sits facing a long low table near the middle of the square room. Two doorways mark opposite corners of the room; next to the one which leads into my lab, I pry open a box on the wall and hesitantly punch three engraved steel buttons.

A brief whir, and air moves again, and soft white light replaces the green. The aged and hidden links to buried magma powershafts work even now: another miracle for the condemned. My adopted skin smarting and itching, I go to work.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	BACK TO WORK 6303 Arcus Watching for prying eyes, I wait, counting. The mechanism waits too, and then I put my left hand in its depression and hold it steady there, pressing hard for sixty heartbeats. A rumble, and the wall shakes, moves to the right, and stops, leaving a gap of darkness just wide enough for me to squeeze through. I fumble inside, find the closure mechanism and use it, and trigger the long-stored emergency lights. A chemical glow from a foot-wide circular patch in the ceiling fills the room I am in, my study and resting-space, with dim green radiance. Millennial dust coats my hideaway everywhere, beetle trails stitching it with hungry errands. Steel shelves stuffed with permtexts of all sizes and shapes line the bedrock walls. A couch the size of a bed for two sits facing a long low table near the middle of the square room. Two doorways mark opposite corners of the room; next to the one which leads into my lab, I pry open a box on the wall and hesitantly punch three engraved steel buttons. A brief whir, and air moves again, and soft white light replaces the green. The aged and hidden links to buried magma powershafts work even now: another miracle for the condemned. My adopted skin smarting and itching, I go to work.