She was wearing silvery tights, plus a little hump like a knapsack. She looked cute but not glamorous, for she was built like two sticks and this get-up emphasized it.
"Very fancy," I said. "Are you learning to be an acrobat?"
"Don't be silly, Kip; it's my new space suit-a real one."
I glanced at Oscar, big and bulky and filling the closet and said privately, "Hear that, chum?"
("It takes all kinds to make a world.")
"Your helmet won't fit it, will it?"
She giggled. "I'm wearing it."
"You are? ‘The Emperor's New Clothes'?"
"Pretty close. Kip, disconnect your prejudices and listen. This is like the Mother Thing's suit except that it's tailored for me. My old suit wasn't much good-and that cold cold about finished it. But you'll be amazed at this one. Take the helmet. It's there, only you can't see it. It's a field. Gas can't go in or out." She came close. "Slap me."
"With what?"
"Oh. I forgot. Kip, you've got to get well and up off that bed. I want to take you for a walk."
"I'm in favor. They tell me it won't be long now."
"It had better not be. Here, I'll show you." She hauled off and slapped herself. Her hand smacked into something inches from her face.
"Now watch," she went on. She moved her hand very slowly; it sank through the barrier, she thumbed her nose at me and giggled.
This impressed me-a space suit you could reach into! Why, I would have been able to give Peewee water and dexedrine and sugar pills when she needed them. "I'll be darned! What does it?"
"A power pack on my back, under the air tank. The tank is good for a week, too, and hoses can't give trouble because there aren't any."
"Uh, suppose you blow a fuse. There you are, with a lungful of vacuum."
"The Mother Thing says that can't happen."
Hmm-I had never known the Mother Thing to be wrong when she made a flat statement.
"That's not all," Peewee went on. "It feels like skin, the joints aren't clumsy, and you're never hot or cold. It's like street clothes."
"Uh, you risk a bad sunburn, don't you? Unhealthy, you tell me. Unhealthy even on the Moon."
"Oh, no! The field polarizes. That's what the field is, sort of. Kip, get them to make you one-we'll go places!"
I glanced at Oscar. ("Please yourself, pal," he said distantly. "I'm not the jealous type.")
"Uh, Peewee, I'll stick to one I understand. But I'd like to examine that monkey suit of yours."
"Monkey suit indeed!"
I woke up one morning, turned over, and realized that I was hungry.
Then I sat up with a jerk. I had turned over in bed.
I had been warned to expect it. The "bed" was a bed and my body was back under my control. Furthermore, I was hungry and I hadn't been hungry the whole time I had been on Vega Five. Whatever that machinery was, it included a way to nourish me without eating.
But I didn't stop to enjoy the luxury of hunger; it was too wonderful to be a body again, not just a head. I got out of bed, was suddenly dizzy, recovered and grinned. Hands! Feet!
I examined those wonderful things. They were unchanged and unhurt.
Then I looked more closely. No, not quite unchanged.
I had had a scar on my left shin where I had been spiked in a close play at second; it was gone. I once had "Mother" tattooed on my left forearm at a carnival. Mother had been distressed and Dad disgusted, but he had said to leave it as a reminder not to be a witling. It was gone. There was not a callus on hand or foot.
I used to bite my nails. My nails were a bit long but perfect. I had lost the nail from my right little toe years ago through a slip with a hatchet. It was back.
I looked hastily for my appendectomy scar-found it and felt relieved. If it had been missing, I would have wondered if I was me.
There was a mirror over the chest of drawers. It showed me with enough hair to warrant a guitar (I wear a crew cut) but somebody had shaved me.
On the chest was a dollar and sixty-seven cents, a mechanical pencil, a sheet of paper, my watch, and a handkerchief. The watch was running. The dollar bill, the paper, and the handkerchief had been laundered.
My clothes, spandy clean and invisibly repaired, were on the desk. The socks weren't mine; the material was more like felt, if you will imagine felted material no thicker than Kleenex which stretches instead of tearing. On the floor were tennis shoes, like Peewee's even to a "U.S. Rubber" trademark, but in my size. The uppers were heavier felted material. I got dressed.
I was wearing the result when Peewee kicked the door. "Anybody home?" She came in, bearing a tray. "Want breakfast?"
"Peewee! Look at me!"
She did. "Not bad," she admitted, "for an ape. You need a haircut."
"Yes, but isn't it wonderful! I'm all together again!"
"You never were apart," she answered, "except in spots-I've had daily reports. Where do you want this?" She put the tray on the desk.
"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."