Free Regarding Ducks and Universes by Neve Maslakovic Page A

feeling particularly choosy. I picked up a tray and selected a turkey sandwich, rice chips, and a pudding, then looked around for a seat. Murphina’s owner was sitting alone near the cafeteria windows, his willowy form bent forward as he ate his dinner. Like everyone in the room who wasn’t serving food, he was wearing the salmon-tinted patient gown; the revealing and rather coarse garment made me wish I’d thought to pack a robe in my luggage, which had yet to arrive from the Queen Bee Inn.
    He looked up as I approached. “Sorry about the quarantine,” he said, making room for my tray across from his lasagna plate.
    I sat down. At the very least I wanted to find out why a grown man takes his pet along when visiting the other universe. “Felix Sayers,” I said, keeping my hands firmly on the tray as a precaution against potential pet-bug-bearing handshakes. “I’m just a tourist.”
    “I’m Granola James. I’m here on business—”
    “No coffee ?”
    I turned my head to see Gabriella Love, the movie star I had shared a crossing chamber with and seen on multiple billboards, expressing dissatisfaction to a cafeteria staff member. “You cannot be serious. No, I do not want tea.” She grudgingly accepted something and strode over to a free table, clicking her high-heeled slippers, her satiny pink robe streaming behind her. (Apparently she had thought to pack a robe in her luggage.) For a moment I wondered how the famous actress had ended up here with the rest of us mortals, since she didn’t seem the type that would have paused to pet a pet, but then I remembered that I had seen her in Granola James’s car. She was certainly ignoring Citizen James now. She wasn’t the only one. As I opened a mayonnaise packet and spread it on the thin white bread in an effort to make the dry-looking turkey sandwich more palatable, I couldn’t help but feel the stares. At the neighboring table, a couple of kids were having a grand time while their parents looked grim and every so often sent a displeased look in our direction. Feeling sorry for the man, who was (like the almost-dog Murphina and her viruses) a fellow A-dweller, I asked Citizen James, “So where’s Murphina?”
    “At the vet, quarantined like we are, poor thing. I hope she likes the food.”
    I eyed my sandwich and removed a wilted lettuce leaf. “So what brings you two to Universe B?”
    “Business in Carmel. As to Murphina, I take her everywhere. She’s a useful and well-behaved animal. We’d planned to take a flier down to Carmel today, but when Murph woke me up this morning, I could tell she wasn’t feeling well. I took her to the vet. Next thing I knew, I was being rushed here.”
    “How did she catch the pet bug anyway?”
    Clearly having been asked that question many times, he answered in short, ready sentences, lightly tapping his fork against his lasagna plate. “We live in Napa Valley. There’s a wooded area behind the house. Giant squirrels like the trees. Murph and I take a walk every day. Frankly, she needs the exercise.” The hand with the fork hovered for a moment. “But when she comes across squirrel droppings in the woods, she has a tendency to, well, eat them. No one is perfect.”
    “This is silly,” said the math woman, having apparently finished her conversation with Arni, whoever he was, and lowering herself into the free chair between us. She planted her tray on the round table, causing dishes to clatter. “Why don’t we detect diseases before they spread from one universe to the other? Instead we get the same old questions when we cross, the purpose of the visit, what’s our identicard balance, does the traveler have an alter in the area—as if it’s humanly possible not to at least sneak a peek at your alter, if you have one—”
    She stopped, as if she’d said something she hadn’t meant to. I wondered if she thought one of us—James or I—looked old enough to have an alter. I glanced over at Citizen James, but his