Lately, he had been thinking seriously about life and felt like carrying it was a burden that kept getting heavier and heavier. He was counting down the days, foreseeing the tests for the Imperial Military Academy, which he would be obligated to take at the end of the year. The Colonel would take care of things to make sure he'd pass, of course, but he liked the illusion of needing to do well, to stand out. He wasn't very sure about a military career, but things weren't exactly under his control, right?

That was the last class day before summer vacation and already having taken all tests didn't contribute at all to cheer him into getting out of bed. He stretched slowly and thought of staying wrapped in the blanket for a few more minutes enjoying the Colonel's absence (“… do I need to call you again?…”). Lately, the nights he slept at home were rare, which wasn't totally bad: it spared Túlio from the nocturnal screams, remnants of nightmares common to those who had lived so long in battlefields.

He heard the agitation from Direita Street of people already walking to work, street sweepers hitting their dustpans against the stones of the sidewalk, the trotting of the policemen's boots, people talking mildly as if they could postpone the beginning of the day. He loved the townhouse precisely because he could see and hear the movement from above, without anyone noticing his presence.

He decided to get out of bed at once, before he was overcome by sleep (that would certainly displease the Colonel). He took a quick shower and put on a cotton shirt and his tergal pants. His shoes were worn but impeccably lustrous. He took his backpack and quickly went down the two flights of stairs to the first floor. His stomach was already crying out for the bread with melted butter from Seu Joaquim's bakery.

He opened the door and felt the cold morning air of Ouro Preto. The capital of the Empire, a metropolis with over five million souls, had always been his home. Maybe that was why he had trouble accepting the construction of a “new capital, more modern, broad, and without the ballast of the Portuguese past.” He didn't understand that “changer” craving that went all the way back to the times of the Inconfidência. He had always found those stone streets, those tight alleys in the center to be the city's greatest charm. And the city hall had done a good job in preserving the big houses and churches, relegating the new buildings to farther neighborhoods.

Going up the slope, already almost at Emperor Tiradentes I Square, he caught the unmistakable aroma of recently grinded coffee and freshly made cheese bread. He didn't need to order, he had been Seu Joaquim's client for… what? Fifteen years? All his life?

“Ora pois, my dear Túlio, very good days!” said Seu Joaquim from behind the wooden counter, bringing half a glass of coffee and a plate with cheese breads.

“Good morning, Seu Joaquim.”

“Aren't you already on vacation?”

“Not yet.” And without hiding a certain air of disappointment: “Last day.”

As he didn't have any relatives (besides, obviously, Colonel Lobato), he'd have to spend his vacation at home. No news so far. But he had ordered some of the new valves developed by the newly established “Imperial Industry of Vacuum Electronic Devices” in the south of the state and was very excited about the possibility of assembling his own “transcommunicator.”

In the beginning of the previous century, priest Roberto de Moura, a gaúcho, had invented this new form of distance communication, but only now could engineers produce devices that were small and cheap enough for enthusiasts to be able to build their gadgets. That, of course, after years of discussion between the military and the politicians of the General Meeting: some trying to keep the technology under the seal of “Imperial Security,” while others preferred to give the population wider access (and charge a fee for it).

Obviously, wireless voice communication wasn't great news: the military was already using it since the Great War, in the 1940's. But to be able to have one's own transcommunicator was something very thrilling!

Anyway, he had obtained a great “Introduction to radionic waves” book with a simple transcommunicator scheme. After saving up his allowance for almost a year, he had gathered enough to order a kit that came disassembled, already with all the necessary components and tools. He had waited almost an hour at the phone, but Mesbla's telesales department was really efficient, and the package would be dispatched in a week.

He still hadn't told Seu Joaquim about his vacation project, hoping to make a surprise. The baker, who always complained about the telephonic fares and the long wait for the operator to complete the call to his relatives on the coast of Rio de Janeiro, would be very dumbfounded with the whole thing. He could already imagine him yelling in joy: “You're a genius, Túlio! You'll save me a fortune! A fortune!” That, of course, if he could get his relatives into one of those new “radioclubs” that were popping up throughout the Empire, where enthusiasts of the new “microradios,” as the magazines nicknamed them, got together.

At that moment, he remembered the selection tests for the Imperial Military Academy. He couldn't spend all his free time on the project for the microradio… but if he studied only part–time, he'd be running the risk of not being among the few who got a vacancy. And he didn't want to have to hear for the rest of his life that it had been obtained by the Colonel at the expense of collecting favors.