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saffron houserobe which was curious, since I had told her any number of times
that I didn't like that robe. "Dunno," I said over my shoulder, going into the
bathroom. When I came out again, I peered into the microcook to see whether
anything was cooking nothing was and said, "We're keeping Rogo, okay?"
"Huh?"
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futurelove
"He's great company, and look at him we can't turn him in to the
Commissioner. Who knows where he'd wind up? He trusts us look at that." She
turned and looked. Rogo was sitting respectfully by the door, as if waiting
for us to finish the discussion and cast our votes, thumbs up or thumbs down.
His fur was camel-brown at the moment and exceedingly fluffed, and he looked
at us with dark, gumdrop eyes, ready to leave at once if that was what we
wanted.
"We really don't have room, you know, Lackey dear."
"How much room can he take?"
"Well, I don't know we'd have to get a permit." Her eyebrows were crunched
together very thoughtfully.
"So we'll get one tomorrow. What do you say?" I took her by the shoulders and
smiled, disarmingly, I hoped.
"Hmm. Okay." She grinned and kissed me suddenly. The sneak she had been sold
all along; she had just wanted to make me work for it.
"Rogo, you're in!" I shouted, hugging Janice fiercely. Rogo allowed himself a
woof-sigh and settled down for a nap in his new home. Janice and I settled in
for our own kind of celebration.
The night improved as it went along. While we didn't get around to supper
until quite late, we enjoyed each other more that night than we had in ages.
It was funny, because we had been snipping at each other for months, and
suddenly that was all behind us. It was as if all those months had been a long
pause, as if we had been holding our breath, and now we were free to tumble
even more desperately into love than before. Rogo lay serenely near the foot
of our bed while we made love, and his occasional wistful sighs filled our
moments of silence nicely, making it all seem that much more right. The night
fled quickly as we slept in tired, tangled peacefulness.
Though I felt springy and spry in the morning, I wanted to call in sick at
work.
But Janice talked me out of it, saying that she had to go to school anyway. So
I
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futurelove went to the office and to my astonishment was afflicted by a sudden
rush of interest in my work. Now, a job shuffling government personnel forms
is not a likely target for enthusiasm, but I found myself actually reading
documents I had handled for years, and suddenly I was marveling at the
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intricate nonsense that government paperwork entails. Employment histories,
regional residency histories, mating histories, security ratings& I not only
worked my full five hours; I stayed a half hour overtime.
When Janice got home from her art classes, we went down and registered Rogo at
the Pet Commissioner's office:
CERTIFICATE OF REGISTRY OF RESIDENTIAL PET
Description of pet: B-mot. Name of pet: Rogo Circumstances of acquisition: He
acquired us (stray). Veterinary clearance documentation: To be obtained. Name
of owner(s): John Lackland; Janice Lieberkind. If joint ownership, length of
prior cohabitation:
IVz years. Residence of owner(s): 924A-K Third Floor Clarendon
Level; same.
Occupation (s) of owner (s): G-llb Reg. Gov. Person. Clerk; Student.
Soc. Sec. No. owner(s): 3-647-55-6915, 3-654-82-9164. Permit number, pet (to
be assigned by Office of Commissioner): Bmt-34895AK.
& and so on and on; there was lots more of the same sort of thing. Three
pages'
worth, not counting duplicates, and I examined it all with great care and
delight.
Then, once he was official, we took old Bmt-34895AK to the nearest vet, who
pronounced him fit and healthy. This was basically a formality, since B-mots
are considered immune to terrestrial diseases anyway, but we needed the
clearance note for the Pet Commissioner. By the time we were finished with all
the tape-
running, it was too late to do anything recreational that day, so we went home
and hatched a plot for the following day.
I'd had a premonition that my new-found enthusiasm for work was likely to wear
thin rather quickly, so instead of putting it to the test, I shuffled some
papers bearing my own name and secured myself a week's advance vacation,
beginning immediately. Janice, meanwhile, arranged for someone to cover for
her in class. It
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futurelove was an outrageous thing for us to do, and we knew we'd pay for it
later, but we were in the crazy high of having a good time for ourselves, and
we just said, What the hell? So we made our excuses and ran, with Rogo.
We headed up the coast by train, several hundred kilometers north and a
hundred or so inland, to Mount Adrexica the man-made mountain which neither
Janice nor I (nor, presumably, Rogo) had ever seen. It was an impressive
edifice, appearing to be a hybrid between a real mountain and some of the old
amusement park varieties; according to the guide literature it had been built
largely out of industrial glassy slag and clinkers urban refuse from an entire
region and sealed (they sounded as if they were joking) with Lake Erie dredge
spoil. The basic lumpy mountain was then cut and shaped with fusors and
carefully triggered landslides, filled, planted, landscaped, and finally
frosted with snow and even a small glacier near the summit.
After checking into the Winterside Lodge, we spent the better part of the
afternoon just gawking at the mountain from the various overlooks, finding it
utterly entrancing: sleek false-winter snow capping the upper slopes and
curling down and around the lower ones, here sweeping along a smooth-carved
ski run, there dropping from an overhang down an ice-ornamented precipice.
Skiers swam like dots and clusters down the wrinkles and ridges of the
mountain's skin, then zipped out at the bottom onto a great wide apron of
fresh powder. No ski lift was visible, just skiers disappearing into the mouth
of the underground elevator like bowling balls into a hidden return. Janice
was interested in the people rambling in and out of the chalet, brightly
plumed and muffled folk with skis under their arms, a few of them with the
longer and slower old-style skis, and everyone chattering and laughing, as if
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the crisp bright aura of the mountain had exorcised all spirits but glittering
enthusiasm.
After a while, we hurried down from the promenade ourselves and went outside
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