“Peewee,” I asked, rather hurt, “don’t you care that I’m well?”
“Of course I do. Why do you think I made ‘em let me carry in your breakfast? But I knew last night that they were going to uncork you. Who do you think cut your nails and shaved you? That’ll be a dollar, please. Shaves have gone up.” I got that tired dollar and handed it to her. She didn’t take it. “Aw, can’t you take a joke?” “’Neither a borrower nor a lender be.’”
“Polonius. He was a stupid old bore. Honest, Kip, I wouldn’t take your last dollar.”
“Now who can’t take a joke?”
“Oh, eat your breakfast. That purple juice,” she said, “tastes like orange juice-it’s very nice. The stuff that looks like scrambled eggs is a fair substitute and I had ‘em color it yellow-the eggs here are dreadful, which wouldn’t surprise you if you knew where they get them. The buttery stuff is vegetable fat and I had them color it, too. The bread is bread, I toasted it myself. The salt is salt and it surprises them that we eat it-they think it’s poison. Go ahead; I’ve guinea-pigged everything. No coffee.”
“I won’t miss it.”
“I never touch the stuff-I’m trying to grow. Eat. Your sugar count has been allowed to drop so that you will enjoy it.”
The aroma was wonderful. “Where’s your breakfast, Peewee?”
“I ate hours ago. I’ll watch and swallow when you do.”
The tastes were odd but it was just what the doctor ordered-literally, I suppose. I’ve never enjoyed a meal so much.
Presently I slowed down to say, “Knife and fork? Spoons?”
“The only ones on-“ She vocalized the planet’s name. “I got tired of fingers and I play hob using what they use. So I drew pictures. This set is mine but we’ll order more.”
There was even a napkin, more felted stuff. The water tasted distilled and not aerated. I didn’t mind. “Peewee, how did you shave me? Not even a nick.”
“Little gismo that beats a razor all hollow. I don’t know what they use it for, but if you could patent it, you’d make a fortune. Aren’t you going to finish that toast?”
“Uh-“ I had thought that I could eat the tray. “No, I’m full.”
“Then I will.” She used it to mop up the “butter,” then announced, “I’m off!”
“Where?”
“To suit up. I’m going to take you for a walk!” She was gone.
The hall outside did not imitate ours where it could not be seen from the bed, but a door to the left was a bathroom, just where it should have been. No attempt had been made to make it look like the one at home, and valving and lighting and such were typically Vegan. But everything worked.
Peewee returned while I was checking Oscar. If they had cut him off me, they had done a marvelous job of repairing; even the places I had patched no longer showed. He had been cleaned so thoroughly that there was no odor inside. He had three hours of air and seemed okay in every way. “You’re in good shape, partner.”
(“In the pink! The service is excellent here.”)
“So I’ve noticed.” I looked up and saw Peewee; she was already in her “spring outfit.”
“Peewee, do we need space suits just for a walk?”
“No. You could get by with a respirator, sun glasses, and a sun shade.”
“You’ve convinced me. Say, where’s Madame Pompadour? How do you get her inside that suit?”
“No trouble at all, she just bulges a little. But I left her in my room and told her to behave herself.”
“Will she?”
“Probably not. She takes after me.”
“Where is your room?”
“Next door. This is the only part of the house which is Earth-conditioned.”
I started to suit up. “Say, has that fancy suit got a radio?”
“All that yours has and then some. Did you notice the change in Oscar?”
“Huh? What? I saw that he was repaired and cleaned up. What else have they done?”
“Just a little thing. One more click on the switch that changes antennas and you can talk to people around you who aren’t wearing radios without shouting.”