Free The Companions by Sheri S. Tepper Page B

scramble for it, like the beggar you are. I’ll be back, every few days, so get used to getting down on your knees. Looking around here, you’re probably already used to it, living like this…”
    â€œThis is Witt’s apartment,” I cried, furious. “He took it so he could get away from you!”
    â€œâ€¦and you’d better be here to get your handout, for I won’t make it up if you aren’t!”
    And with that she was out the door and off down the corridor, heavy shoes clomping like hammers, the servant two steps behind. I shut the door and leaned against it. Dame Cecelia. Bizarre! Insane! Even Paul never acted like that! No one acted like that! No wonder Witt hadn’t wanted to introduce her. And that ridiculous strewing of podfare coins, the only money that existed outside the identichip system, so I’d have to stoop to pick them up. Her way of punishing the beggar girl who had inveigled the young lord into a liaison? The woman was living in a fairy tale!
    I wasn’t weeping or grieving, I was just furiously, ragingly angry. Well, I would not be around for a repeat visit. Since the woman could get into the residential floors of the university without a pass, I would become a moving target, just as I had when I was a child, evading Paul’s attentions. I’d ride the podways and be constantly elsewhere!
    I ate something. Five minutes later I couldn’t remember what, not that it mattered. I went to work. Shiela Alred wasn’t there, but she had left me a list of things that had to be done. Jon was there, supervising the planning of apartments for trainers, runs for dogs. Shiela had said there was to be a laboratory, a veterinary hospital. When Jon was free, I told him about Dame Cecelia’s visit, between laughter and furious tears.
    Jon asked, “Whyn’t you just let the old bitch come drop money on you?”
    â€œDon’t use that word for her, Jon! It insults the dogs! I won’t do it because that would convince her she’s right! I didn’t liaise with Witt because he’s wealthy. He’s the one who asked me, not me him. I never even thought of it until he asked me.” The thought of my recent humiliation bent me double with fury. My head pounded so that I had to sit downfor a moment. As a child, whenever I’d been this angry, Matty had washed my face, washed the anger away, along with the sorrows. I got to my feet and into the washroom, where I made firm resolutions behind a steaming towel. It would keep me busy just being evasive.
    Six slippery weeks went by after that. I disabled the door alarm, using a method Joram had described. I pod-hopped my way to and from. I went to work. I came home late. She caught me twice, once going in, once out, and both times I just stood there, enduring the shower of coins and the repetitive rage. During the third visit, Dame Cecelia noticed the coins were still on the floor, and that seemed to push her fury up a notch.
    Then, suddenly, the visits stopped. I held my breath for several days, gradually relaxing though I wasn’t certain enough to let the floorbot suck up the coins.
    â€œShe finally got tired of it,” I told Shiela Alred, who had had to be told about it, just in case I didn’t show up for work on time. Or at all.
    â€œCecelia Hessing? I’d be surprised if that were true.” Shiela furrowed her forehead, looking worried. “I’ve known Cecelia for years, and she has jaws like one of those ancient turtles. The kind that didn’t let go until sundown.”
    â€œWell, if she has stopped…” I said, “…if she has, even with Witt gone, I think I can make it. I’ll just have to make plans for when he comes back, and since I’ll be living in the University Tower for the better part of a year, it’s time I took some courses, some that would be of more value to our effort here. Would you suggest what that might be?