On the afternoon Imperial Blessing landed in Chemical Town, Ter Zamora watched from the door of the Sama-Sama Laundrobath as two Registered crew members climbed steep Pernam Way. Forcing her aching knees to lift her from the plastic chair, she called, “Hey, spacers! I wash your uniforms, your clothes. You take a bath. A water bath! A hot towel! Smell good!”
“Not today.” The brown-skinned crew members passed the laundrobath, heading farther up the Way.
“You smell bad,” Ter shouted before plopping back into the seat. The absentee owners of the laundrobath didn’t know about the hot towels she provided to their clients, nor the crowns she made by providing them.
Another crew member, a blurred Registration on his left earlobe, came up the street carrying a bulging duffel bag.
“Hey, spacer! You got laundry?”
“Yeah, mama, I do.” The skinny, pale man smelled of ammonia. “How much for a bath and laundry?”