Read Across the Spectrum for Free Online Page B

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one woman was blinking and the other was bent over her leg, Shadia snarled,
“Med-debt. It’s paid, I’m gone. Got it?” She turned her back on them and went
back to her drink. They would have muttered apologies except that her turned
back was a sign to be respected. Not a rudeness as the perms would have
thought, but simply a gesture requesting privacy in a society where complete
strangers made up a constantly shifting population. So they went away.
    But I didn’t go back there. Because they were right. I
might hate it, I might have been forced into it, but in the strictest sense,
they were right. I was a perm in a duster bar. . . and elsewhere, a duster in
perm ID. I just didn’t intend to stay that way.
    ∞
    The smell was incredible.
    “You’re going to break down the ’fresher system again,”
Shadia told Feef the akliat, resigned to it. Each day, Feef arrived clinging to
Claire Rowpin like a baby, deep blue eyes squinting fiercely against the
morning sun. He might have been a cross between a three-toed sloth and a
Chinese Crested earth dog for all his appearance indicated—his hairless,
suede-like skin, a poof of white powderpuff hair on the top of his head, and a
deep affinity for dark corners and high places. In spite of his slow and
essentially sweet nature, he emitted the most astonishing odors under stress.
    Feef. His owners, a couple named the Rowpins, had
confessed to her upon first visit their intention to name the akliat Fifi .
They hadn’t—quite—gone through with it.
    But despite their moment of weakness with the akliat’s name,
they clearly adored him. They gave her his favorite towel, hoping it would ease
his stress, and they often called during the day to check on him. The other
owners were much the same—loving their pets, checking on them, offering advice
and expending worry.
    As well they might. Of all the things that weren’t
permanent, pets topped the list. Shadia had known that even before she turned
duster. But she didn’t say anything, not to perms who would never understand
anyway, people she would leave behind as soon as possible. She made the pets
comfortable, read up on their various habits and habitats, and smiled at the
owners who dropped them off each day. It brought her business; in some strange way
the perms began to think of her as their duster.
    Ugh.
    Some of the animals gloried in their visits, with supervised
play time and more interaction than they’d get at home. Some were sullen and
spent their time in hiding. They all had challenging habits that served them
well enough in their own environments. Feef’s odors were part of his
communication system, although in the pet care facility they earned him a quiet
and solitary room with high perches. The Jarlsens’ skitzcat shed luxurious hair
with mildly barbed tips intended to line its nest—Shadia made sure it had a
private bedding area and invested in high-grade cleaning equipment. The roly
poly hamster-like rrhy dripped scent-mucus wherever it went as a warning of its
poisonous nature. And Gite the tasglana, who looked like nothing more than a
flop-eared goat in extreme miniature, liked to sharpen its claws on everything
and anything—or anyone—it could find. Shadia wore leather work chaps when Gite
came to stay.
    The work chaps belonged to the station-run business. But the
plumy, feather-fronded houseplant in the entry way was hers. And along with her
battered collapsible cup-bowl and pronged spoon, she also had a new plate and
matte-finish steel mug.
    As if I need those things. As if I need anything. How can
I fit a plant into my duffel? Why did I even get it?
    She’d liked it, that’s why. She’d seen its pale soft fronds
and she’d felt a tingle of pleasure and she’d smiled. She’d had the funds, and
she’d seen it and liked it and bought it.
    They can’t make a perm of me. One set of coveralls on my
back, one in the duffle, a toothcleaner and soappack and monthly supps.
Whatever I can carry in