"They didn't have any Yummifish at the co-op," she told Coyster apologetically. He flicked his ears and looked at her reproachfully from his perch on the edge of the desk.
"I know, I know. I'm a bad provider. But, look. I brought you a ball." She put it on the desk by his toes, and gave it a push. It jingled across the surface, beady red eye-lights flickering enticingly.
Coyster yawned.
Theo shook her head in mingled amusement and irritation. "You're welcome," she said, moving across the room. She shifted the cube to the front wall, one end against a corner of the closet, picked up the lid and went up the hall to the 'fresher.
The shredded paper—unused, as far as she could tell—went into the disposal. The lid went into the sanitizer, just in case. She washed her face while it was being zapped and dragged a comb through her hair, wincing when she pulled knots, and wishing, not for the first time, that she had sleek, well-behaved hair like Lesset's.
The sanitizer pinged and she retrieved the top, wrinkling her nose in protest of the sweet, lingering antiseptic odor.
A rapid series of jingles greeted her as she opened the door to her room, but by the time she stepped inside, Coyster was sitting in the middle of the floor washing his face, his back to the ball.
Theo grinned, but pretended not to notice as she fit the lid onto the cube and crossed the room to her bag.
The Best in Five Worlds Kitty Pan had cost more than she'd expected—"Twenty creds!" she told Coyster as he inserted a supervisory nose into the assembly process. "I hope you're happy."
She pushed him gently out of the way while she finished programming the cycles, but he was inside almost before she'd gotten it into the corner.
While Coyster was inspecting his new facilities, Theo took the self-cleaning bowls out of their sanitary wrappings. She filled one with kibble from the sack she'd picked up—not, as it happened, the same kind that they fed the cats at home, but the only kind the co-op carried.
She stowed the resealed sack in the bottom drawer of the desk and went up the hall again to put water in the second bowl, coming back just as Coyster pushed his head through the crack between the door and the jamb. Theo frowned.
"Thought I'd closed that," she muttered, toeing him out of the way. She made sure the door was latched behind her before putting the water next to the food bowl, and sitting down on the cold, smooth floor.
The bowls were blue. In the co-op, they'd looked bright and cheerful; here, they looked—faded, and more than a little forlorn.
"It wouldn't be so bad," Theo told Coyster, who'd wandered over to sniff at the kibble. "If we could dial up a mosaic. All this white is . . . boring."
Coyster looked at her over his shoulder—accusingly, she thought.
"I know it's not the best kind, but it's all they had."
He blinked, executed one of his in-place precision turns and put his front feet on her knee, looking questioningly up into her face.
Theo smiled and rubbed his ear, smile wobbling wider as he pushed his head into it.
"If you really want to know," she said, "I had a lousy day. Professor Appletorn had a scope primed for our Team; I made Lesset fall on the belt, the Safeties gave the whole Team three downs and we were late for math, which was two downs more. Not only that," she continued gloomily, bending over so Coyster could butt her head with his. "Marjene wants to have a chat tomorrow after teamplay, and all the rugs in the co-op are made out of plaslin!"
Coyster burbled and tugged on a lock of her unruly hair.
"Thanks," Theo said, using both hands to stroke him down his whole length. Soft fur over wire-strong muscles. Not what you'd expect from a creature whose most strenuous activity was chasing a ball around the room for a couple minutes.
She stroked him again. He purred briefly, then backed gently from between her hands, executed another precision turn and faced the food bowl. He picked a single crunchy up in his mouth and munched it consideringly. Theo waited, wondering if she was going to get the emphatic left-hind-foot-shake that meant, so Father said, "This is not acceptable."
After a pause, Coyster bent his head again and began to eat.
Relieved, Theo rolled to her feet, socks slipping on the floor, requiring a quick twist of her shoulders to stay upright.
"Nidjit anti-social floor!" she muttered. "Whoever thought making everything out of ceramic was a good idea ought to be evaluated!"
She grabbed her bag and hauled it over to the desk, making sure to place her feet firmly. Most of her solo work was done, thanks to a double research period after math. She thought she'd go over the analysis trees for Advertency one more time, though—after today, she didn't want to do anything to call Professor Appletorn's attention to her ever again.
"Though it would be useful," she told Coyster, as she unslung her school book, "to know what made him so mad." Or maybe not, she thought, jacking the 'book into the cable labeled "research." It wasn't as if the class could do anything to prevent whatever it was from happening a—
Coyster, momentarily sated, was sitting with his back half-turned to her, looking high into a corner of the room. Just trying to fool her into thinking there was something there, the way cats did—but no! If he'd been at home, and finished with his after-school snack, that would be when she'd change the airflow to the mobile that by all rights should be hanging in that corner. Too late to bring it, and besides, it didn't look like the mobile's kid-safe auto-attach would work on the slick ceiling anyway. Theo ground her teeth. Why couldn't things have just stayed the way they were? Everything had been fine—
Warmth spread from the utility pocket where she kept her mumu. She pulled it out, flicking the screen on with a practiced one-handed motion.
It was a text from Kamele, short and, Theo thought, terse.
Agenda lengthy. Home before ninebell. Do your solos. Don't forget to eat.
Eat. Theo sighed wistfully as she slid the mumu away. She didn't suppose the kaf would be able to deliver one of Father's melted cheese sandwiches and a mug of evening tea. Her eyes filled, blurring the desk. She bit her lip, turned, her foot slid and she went down, hard, on her rump on the cold floor.
"Chaos!" she yelled—and began, to her utter embarrassment, to cry.
* * *
She'd been lucky in her timing. Not only did she catch the direct bus to Efraim, which was Nonactown's official name, but she got a seat by the screen, where she could pretend to be absorbed in the map and condition reports and ignore the superior looks of the half-dozen Chapelia acolytes in their baggy gray uni-suits and half-face gauze.
She did bite her lip when the 'change for Greensward highlighted, but she didn't tap for a stop; she stayed in her seat, hands folded decorously on her lap, and only had to blink once or twice to clear her eyes as the bus continued on its way.
Strictly speaking, she should have had her mother's permission, if not an actual bluekey, for a solitary expedition outside the Wall. She had tried to text Kamele. All she'd gotten was the "away" message, though, which meant the meeting with the lengthy agenda was level two confidential or higher, a fact that might have been more interesting if Theo hadn't been focused on other things.
In the end, and after a consultation with Coyster, she'd left a short message in Kamele's in-queue, grabbed a sweater, and ran for the bus. There should be no problem accomplishing her errand and getting back to the Wall before Kamele's meeting broke up.
She did think that her mother might not be delighted to hear that Theo had been out alone to Nonactown. But it wasn't, Theo thought, like she was wandering. She had a goal and a destination—Gently Used, on Merchant Street. Father had taken her there—if not often, then at least several times. He'd introduced to the proprietor, too. While that didn't exactly put her or the shop on the Safe List, Theo felt sure that Father wouldn't have taken her anyplace dangerous.
Despite the bus being a Direct, transit time to Merchant Street this evening was slightly longer than she had estimated. The Chapelia de-bussed ahead of her, enmasse and in step, going right while she would be going left, and she breathed a sigh of relief to see them go.
Her feet had barely touched the street when her mumu sang sevenbells. Still, she thought as she walked down the pathway—no belts in Nonactown—or in the suburbs where her—where Father's—house was, either—it shouldn't take that long to buy a rug.
The evening breeze made her glad she had her sweater and reminded her that walking within the Wall, or in its shadow, made both time-keeping and weather-minding by sight difficult. Father did that—used the position of the sun in the sky to tell the time, and the type of clouds and wind-direction to predict coming weather—he said it "kept him close to the world"—and he'd taught Theo the way of it, to Kamele's amusement.
"We have devices called clocks, Jen Sar," she'd said, from her seat on the garden bench. "Which tell us the time when we're inside, too."
"Indeed," Father had answered gravely. "And yet sometimes—we are outside. And in some circumstances—rare, I allow!—devices fail."
Kamele had shaken her head with a small smile and returned to her book; and Father had continued Theo's lesson.
Speaking of time, Theo thought, shaking herself out of her memory, it was passing, and the clouds were moving from the west, on the back of the brisk evening breeze.
The street was busy this evening, light spilling out into the dusk from unshuttered shop windows and doors. Theo walked carefully, her stomach grumbling as the breeze brought the scent of frying spice bread to her. Almost, she crossed the street to buy a slice, but the recollection that there were only twenty-four creds left on her card moved her on past.
First, she told herself, she'd buy the rug. Then, she'd have a piece of fried bread.
The door to Gently Used stood open; on the walk outside, Gorna Dail was talking vivaciously to an old man with an electronic zither strapped to his back.
Theo slipped past the animated conversationalists and into the store. She passed the low counter with its light-guarded displays of rings, fobs, bracelets, and dangles with only a cursory glance. Father wore jewelry—a twisted silver ring on the smallest finger of his right hand—but Kamele said that honors were decoration enough.
The rugs were in the back of the store, piled together by size. Theo located the pile she wanted and knelt beside it, her fingers busy over the fabric.
"Is there something in particular you're looking for, young student?"
Theo gasped, and blinked up into the worn face and smiling eyes of Gorna Dail.
"Such concentration," the shopkeeper said, and the smile moved from her eyes to her lips. "Theo Waitley, that's your name, isn't it? Has the housefather commissioned you for solo flight?"
Theo looked down, and rubbed her hand over the nap of the rug she'd dragged across her knees. It felt good, springy and soft at the same time. Like Coyster.
"My mother and I have . . . relocated to the Wall," she said to the rug.
There was a small silence, then a neutral, "I see." Gorna Dail hunkered down next to Theo and ran her hand over the rug, like she was considering its merits, too.
"It's good to have something to break up all the white," she said, "inside the Wall."
Theo looked at her in surprise. "You've been inside?"
Gorna Dail laughed. "Long ago—and only for a semester. I was a Visiting Expert, so they gave me an apartment on—Three?—no, I'm wrong. Topthree. It was well enough. By the standards of fourth-class ship quarters, it was spacious. But I remember those walls, and the floors—all white and slick. Easy to clean and to sanitize, I suppose, but not very restful." She glanced at Theo. "In my opinion, of course."
"Not only that," Theo said feelingly, "you can hardly stand up without your feet sliding out from under you!"
"Yes," said Gorna Dail placidly. "I remember that, too." She stroked the rug on Theo's lap again, frowning slightly, and reached out, running an expert thumb down the side of the stack.
"You were a Visiting Expert?" Theo asked, diverted.
"Oh, yes. Years and years ago. Before you were born, I daresay. It's what I did, in those days, to make a name for myself. You won't believe me, maybe, but I have two master certifications, from University itself."
Theo looked at her, but the older woman's attention was on the rugs. "But," she blurted, "what are you doing in Nonac—in Efraim?"
That got her a sideways smile.
"Hah. I had forgotten that . . . Non-academic! Everyone who is not studying or teaching is non-academic! Do you think I should be living inside the Wall?" She shook her head. "I'm retired, now."
"Then," Theo said. "Why are you on Delgado?"
Gorna Dail laughed. "Because, after all my traveling, I wanted to settle on a nice, quiet, boring little world, where nothing of note ever happens. And Delgado—aside the college and its great work, of course!—is certainly that. Ah." She slid her hand into the pile of rugs, and pushed them up. "Pull that one out, if you will, and tell me what you think of it."
Theo grabbed the rug indicated, and pulled. It was heavier than she had expected, with a sheen to the mixed blues and greens that reminded her of water.
"Betinwool and silk," Gorna Dail murmured. "It's used, but whoever owned it before me took care of it. It could pass for new."
"New—" Theo snorted as she flipped the edge of the rug up and looked at the knots on the underside. "The new rugs at the co-op are all made out of plaslin."
"And you won't have that, eh?" Gorna Dail smiled again. "I don't blame you in the least, Theo Waitley. Now, tell me honestly—what do you think of this rug?"
Theo ran her hand over it, pleased with the way the nap silked along her skin, and smiled at the cool, swirling colors. It would almost, she thought, be like having her water mosaic again.
"I like it," she said to Gorna Dail.
"Good. Now, let's talk price."
"All right," Theo said steadily. "How much is it?"
Gorna Dail laughed, and sat back on her heels. "No dickering here, I see!"
Theo looked down, cheeks hot. "I don't know what you mean," she said, her voice sounding sullen in her own ears.
"A joke, Theo Waitley," the shopkeeper said placatingly. "Only a joke. On many worlds, in many cities, a price is . . . mutable. It changes with the weather, the time of the day, the demeanor of the buyer, the mood of the shopkeeper. It is not an entertainment of which Delgado partakes, more's the pity. So, for you, the price on the rug is forty cred."
Theo licked her lips, and ran her hand over the rug again, which was a mistake, because it only made her want it more.
"I can't spend that much today," she said, and looked up into the woman's face. "Could you—I can pay twenty-four cred today, if you can put it aside for me? And tomorrow—well, no, not tomorrow," she corrected herself. "I've got teamplay after class. But, I'll bring the rest the day after tomorrow for sure."
Gorna Dail tipped her head. "And carry the rug home on the bus?"
Theo paused, then found her solution. "I'll take a cab."
"Excellent," the old woman said, with a slight smile; "but I think I may have a better answer, if you'll allow me."
"I'd be glad to learn," Theo said politely, and wondered why Gorna Dail chuckled.
"I propose this: I will charge your card for the full amount—" Theo opened her mouth—and subsided when the shopkeeper held up a hand. "Wait until you've heard it all. What I propose is charging your card for the full amount, tomorrow."
Theo blinked. "Can you do that?"
"Easily," the woman assured her. "Also, because you're such an accommodating customer, I'll throw in a pack of grippers, so your rug won't slide all over that slick floor, and—" She paused and smiled at Theo. "And I'll have them and this rug delivered to you tomorrow evening, after teamplay."
"Really?"
"Really. All you need do is swipe your card and give me your direction. Will that suit you, Theo Waitley?"
"It will!" Theo smiled, relieved. "Thank you!"
"My pleasure, child," Gorna Dail huffed as she pushed to her feet. "My pleasure."