It is the afternoon shift, and the men are assembled.  A klaxon sounds, and the great doors move slowly upward with a great grinding sound.  The files of men move forward, the skilled veering off at the elevators, the artisans to their workbenches, and the unskilled to their crew chiefs.

Steve wipes the sleep groggily from his eyes, a contented smile upon his swarthy features.  Around his forehead a black band adorned with triple yellow lightning, flashes.

“You are with the cable pulling crew?” a burly supervisor asks.

“Yo.”

“Fall in over there, then.”

Steve moves to a double rank of men dressed in green coveralls.

“You, and you.” barks the crew chief, picking two men at random, “Take that cable over there and follow him.”  He points at the man to the left of Steve and Allan, who gives them a cursory appraisal, seeming to like what he sees.

Cable slung on dolly, the trio amble over to the outer wall casing.  The crew chief stops at a portion of the shiny white wall.  He takes the heavy wrench hanging from his belt and proceeds to unfasten first one, and then the next bolt, until all are in a pile on the floor, the great clanging sound reverberating about the cavernous interior.  Inside, they ascend a ten-foot vertical ladder.

“Be careful where you hammer,” informs the crew chief. ”One hole in that wall and there is nothing between us and…” in a melodramatic tone of voice “…The Void.”  The cable end is placed into a junction box , bolted tight;  a rope is then attached to its other end.

“OK fellas, do what you’re trained to do.”

Steve and Allan, sour expressions upon their faces, tug at the cable, causing it to unravel from the drum as they trudge wearily through the strange half light between the interior walls.

“What happens if we do make a hole in that ‘thar’ wall, boss?” asks Steve, the aggressive ex-Special Space Force Marine, discharged from the service for reasons not quite clear.

“Why, you will release all of our air into space, maybe even collapse a section or two of the outer wall.  Not to worry though, the air locks automatically close off the bulkhead doors in any such eventuality.  The secondary inner wall will protect the complex’s interior .”

“What happens to us?” asks Steve.

“Oh, we will surely be sucked into outer space.”

The shift is nearing its end.  Both pullers are tired.  As the minutes click by on the passing wall-mounted digital displays, the pair becomes more and more animated.  The labors of the day are now forgotten.  There is a spring in their step, Allan even performing a jaunty jig over an open manhole issuing yellow light.

“What is it to be tonight ?” asks Steve, “Micro-Blue Light, or how about Flashing Starlight?”

Allan becomes excited.  ”Man, I think I am going to get me some of that Special Clear Light!” he sings, as he again dances a jig around Steve.

The meter posts are clicking 30, 27, 25, 23… each red numeral seeming to take longer than the previous one.  Finally, the square exit door appears, its bolts gleaming.  The crew chief takes a wrench from his work belt.  The bolts fall with a clanging sound.

With a whoop, Steve and Allan leap the sill of the door onto the slowly moving sidewalk  filled with other laborers just now coming off shift, all grinning, some laughing, others talking animatedly, their hands flying through the air as they speak.  The word ‘Soma’ flashes overhead.

“How about here?” asks Steve.

“Nah,” says Allan.  “I know a better place farther on .”

A five-minute ride. “Here we go,” says Steve, as the plate glass windows loom into view.

Inside, a swirl of color as light flashes, walls dissolving, the sounds of the Jovian Shock Waves soaring through the atmosphere to crackle loudly from the speakers above.  A black headed female, dressed only in a fur coat which opens and closes to the rhythm of her twirling, lithe body, flashes light from diamonds and opals studded about her neck and upon her wrists, her lower body jerking convulsively to the beat, while her flashing green eyes dart with malevolent glances aimed at the crowd.

They slide into a booth.  An ATM  reader slides downwards. Allan, with an airy “This one’s on me,” places his debit card into the slot.  Helmets are lowered down from the overhead rack which they place gingerly upon their heads.  Slight prickly sensations arise as as the small pins enter their skin.  The electromagnetic current begins its stimulation  of the secret regions of the brain.  A slow relaxation, and then the old familiar feeling of peace.  It is as if one is returning home after a long journey.  Allan is sure that the bench behind Steve is beginning to slide sideways.  “Hey man!” he yells, “Be careful you little squirt, you are beginning to float up towards the ceiling!”

“Ceiling, what ceiling?“ screams the other in mock terror.  “We’re now floating in space… we went through a friggin’ hole in the wall!”  Both become convulsed with helpless laughter.

The first dose is wearing off, causing both to become slightly lethargic.  Allan speaks first.  “Man, this beats anything in the universe.  All my life I have been playing with this stuff.  You know, trying every voltage, amperage,  timed and un-timed cycle.  I think I’ve hit Nirvana, and then some genius comes up with something new that knocks your socks off.”

Steve  responds knowingly.  “We are the future, all classes will eventually be allowed to use this stuff.  Electronic Soma is here to stay.”  He then becomes maudlin.  “Why,” he asks in a plaintive tone,” are they not all allowed to use it?  Why we could all be happy, you know, peace and love throughout the universe.  We could all be like, uh, uh… yeah, we could all be like -- Stardust.”

The technician behind the glass scans the pair with a practiced eye and then pushes up the voltage. Their guffaws and shouts resume at their former raucous decibel level.  If there was one thing he was proud of, it was his ability to administer the Electronic Soma.

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