She led him into the back room, where a series of shelves were carved into the walls. Each shelf was covered with disc-shaped, fungoid-looking growths.
"When they turn pink like this they're ready to eat," she explained.
Nick found them tasteless and unsatisfying. She saw his grimace.
"Dad and I lived on them ever since the Exploiters came," she declared.
"No wonder you're thin," he retorted ungraciously, chewing on the pulpy mass.
It was only at his remark that she realized her face and hands were grimy and her clothing totally inadequate. She blushed.
"Don't stare at me like that!" she snapped.
Nick found the queer faucet-like arrangement in one corner.
"Water!" he said, gulping thirstily.
They both drank and washed, cleaning their skins of the powder-fine sand that could work its way into the pores and cause a tormenting rash.