At the peak of the front wall of each stable was a number in bold white.
“Yours is Stable 4,” Lucy said. “Remember that.”
“I think I can keep track of that,” Sherry said.
They walked down the row to the fourth stable. Lucy gestured to the palmlock. “Go ahead, Sweetmeat.”
Sherry put her hand inside the stylized outline of a hand and tapped in her UESSN on the codepad to its right. It beeped and the pseudowooden door clicked and swung inward a handwidth or two.
Sherry followed Lucy through the door. The rank, musky odor shocked her. Even the filthiest seniorhome quarters didn’t smell that bad. Seeing the face Sherry was making, Lucy Stelladaughter said, “Oh, don’t be such a little girlchild, Sweetmeat. You’ll get used to it.”
On either side of the center aisle were three compartments
