Joshua rolls his mop cart toward the computer lab, moving quiet like a rabbit so he won't disturb the white-coated Misters leaving their offices for the day. When a Mister approaches, Joshua presses against the wall, head bowed, arms crossed at the chest. The Mister passes by without a glance.
Heart pounding, Joshua resumes his push to the lab. A pregnant cleaning woman crosses in front of him. By now, her baby has been claimed by the Company for any one of its branches in the CSA. Joshua rubs his neck. His and Eliza's eight children were brokered off the same way.
Eliza. Joshua first saw her in this hallway — caramel eyes opening wide, shoes falling soft as bare feet on spring grass, red coveralls cupping her hips like the hands of a greedy old man.
It hurts, now, just to think her name.
Outside the computer lab, Joshua runs his ID card through the reader. With sweaty palms, he pushes the door open. A Mister stands in front of a bank of monitors.
"Sorry, Sir. Weren't expecting no one here," Joshua says.
The Mister walks toward the door. "I'm grabbing a smoke. You've got five minutes."
Once the door clicks shut, Joshua rushes to the computer in the corner. His fingers tremble over the keyboard. He hopes five minutes is enough time.
For years, Eliza sat at this computer, entrusted by the Misters with simple data-entry tasks. But her sharp mind always pressed for more. She'd finish her work quickly and then tap into other systems, moving quiet like a rabbit so the Misters wouldn't suspect she was there. She hooked into the Company's secret search for parallel worlds — worlds still invisible to the Misters, but not to Eliza reaching out through their great machines.
Night after night, Eliza and Joshua spooned on their pallet, talking of the worlds she touched. She said that in one, the Confederacy had lost the Yankee War. Joshua was curious, but Eliza smiled and refused to say more.
One night Eliza came to their pallet crying. The Boston branch was selling her to L.A. She dried her tears, flipped onto her belly, and taught Joshua to type across her back. He practiced his letters and numbers amid the tiny warm bumps of her spine. Before the Misters took her, Eliza taught him how to access her computer and initiate one last, terminal routine.
In the lab, the door clicks open just as Joshua enters the last code. The monitors in the room go black. Joshua fears he's done something wrong.
"Step away," the Mister shouts from the doorway. He hits the alarm.
"Go ahead and kill me. Ain't nothing to live for."
Then a grainy image flickers to life on Eliza's monitor.
Joshua grins.
The Mister lunges toward him.
But Joshua is a good rabbit, quiet and quick. He already has his palm on the screen. He's already sinking toward a smiling, white-coated woman — her caramel eyes opening wide.