XII: SEVENDAY MORNING
At eleven o'clock, mid-morning by Maggiese time, I leaned stiffly against the log wall of the apartmented building in which Betty Toal lived. I watched the Minimums, and Dominants, and a few Maximums pass. Some pointedly ignored me, while others gazed with hostility. Although all were potential meals for the Hog, they showed no gratitude for my attempts to help them. Sighing, I felt my more prominent bruises and wondered if I should wear a white oversuit for hunting. It was the only light clothing I had left, and I refused to consider Maggiese costume.
Astride a pedal-operated vehicle, Betty Toal rode into the street. The machine resembled the tricycles, but had five wheels with the two rear ones supporting a seat. "Low, Kinlock!" she called. "Come aboard the pentacycle."
"High, Toal. Wouldn't they give you two? I can't let you haul me all over the planet."
"Not hard with the gears."
I piled a firearm, a pouch of shells, and what remained of my pack on the rear seat and climbed in between the wheels. "That red-headed Farmer, Yuko, brought me a firearm," I said, indicating the heavy weapon with two barrels. "He said he borrowed it while Rasmussen was out."
Toal looked at the weapon and said, "If it doesn't knock you down, you'll be all right."
"Wonder why Yuko did it," I said. "Except for you, he's the first person here who's been friendly."
"You look alike, slightly. Be careful of that box of dynamite."
Toal stood on the pedals, gripped the steering bar, and propelled the pentacycle down the street. She wore a fresh green and brown sack, but no leggings.