("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."
"I didn't see a speaker."
"They don't believe in making everything big and bulky."
As we passed Peewee's room I glanced in. It was not decorated Vegan style; I had seen Vegan interiors through stereo. Nor was it a copy of her own room-not if her parents were sensible. I don't know what to call it -"Moorish harem" style, perhaps, as conceived by Mad King Ludwig, with a dash of Disneyland.
I did not comment. I had a hunch that Peewee had been given a room "just like her own" because I had one; that fitted the Mother Thing's behavior-but Peewee had seen a golden chance to let her overfertile imagination run wild. I doubt if she fooled the Mother Thing one split second. She had probably let that indulgent overtone come into her song and had given Peewee what she wanted.
The Mother Thing's home was smaller than our state capitol but not much; her family seemed to run to dozens, or hundreds-"family" has a wide meaning under their complex interlinkage. We didn't see any young ones on our floor and I knew that they were being kept away from the "monsters." The adults all greeted me, inquired as to my health, and congratulated me on my recovery; I was kept busy saying "Fine, thank you! Couldn't be better."
They all knew Peewee and she could sing their names.
I thought I recognized one of my therapists, but the Mother Thing, Prof Joe and the boss veterinarian were the only Vegans I was sure of and we did not meet them.
We hurried on. The Mother Thing's home was typical-many soft round cushions about a foot thick and four in diameter, used as beds or chairs, floor bare, slick and springy, most furniture on the walls where it could be reached by climbing, convenient rods and poles and brackets a person could drape himself on while using the furniture, plants growing unexpectedly here and there as if the jungle were moving in-delightful, and as useful to me as a corset.
Through a series of parabolic arches we reached a balcony. It was not railed and the drop to a terrace below was about seventy-five feet; I stayed back and regretted again that Oscar had no chin window. Peewee went to the edge, put an arm around a slim pillar and leaned out. In the bright outdoor light her "helmet" became an opalescent sphere. "Come see!"
"And break my neck? Maybe you'd like to belay me?"
"Oh, pooh! Who's afraid of heights?"
"I am when I can't see what I'm doing."
"Well, for goodness' sakes, take my hand and grab a post."
I let her lead me to a pillar, then looked out.
It was a city in a jungle. Thick dark green, so tangled that I could not tell trees from vine and bush, spread out all around but was broken repeatedly by buildings as large and larger than the one we were in. There were no roads; their roads are underground in cities and sometimes outside the cities. But there was air traffic-individual fliers supported by contrivances even less substantial than our own one-man ‘copter harnesses or flying carpets. Like birds they launched themselves from and landed in balconies such as the one we stood in.
There were real birds, too, long and slender and brilliantly colored, with two sets of wings in tandem-which looked aerodynamically unsound but seemed to suit them.
The sky was blue and fair but broken by three towering cumulous anvils, blinding white in the distance.
"Let's go on the roof," said Peewee.
"How?"
"Over here."
It was a scuttle hole reached by staggered slender brackets the Vegans use as stairs. "Isn't there a ramp?"
"Around on the far side, yes."
"I don't think those things will hold me. And that hole looks small for Oscar."
"Oh, don't be a sissy," Peewee went up like a monkey.
I followed like a tired bear. The brackets were sturdy despite their grace; the hole was a snug fit.
Vega was high in the sky. It appeared to be the angular size of our Sun, which fitted since we were much farther out than Terra is from the Sun, but it was too bright even with full polarization. I looked away and presently eyes and polarizers adjusted until I could see again. Peewee's head was concealed by what appeared to be a polished chrome basketball. I said, "Hey, are you still there?"
"Sure," she answered. "I can see out all right. It's a grand view. Doesn't it remind you of Paris from the top of the Arc de Triomphe?"
"I don't know, I've never done any traveling."
"Except no boulevards, of course. Somebody is about to land here."
I turned the way she was pointing-she could see in all directions while I was hampered by the built-in tunnel vision of my helmet. By the time I was turned around the Vegan was coming in beside us.
("Hello, children!")
"Hi, Mother Thing!" Peewee threw her arms around her, picking her up.
("Not so hasty, dear. Let me shed this.") The Mother Thing stepped out of her harness, shook herself in ripples, folded the flying gear like an umbrella and hung it over an arm. ("You're looking fit, Kip.")
"I feel fine, Mother Thing! Gee, it's nice to have you back."
("I wished to be back when you got out of bed. However, your therapists have kept me advised every minute.") She put a little hand against my chest, growing a bit to do so, and placed her eyes almost against my face plate. ("You are well?")
"I couldn't be better."
"He really is, Mother Thing!"
("Good. You agree that you are well, I sense that you are, Peewee is sure that you are and, most important, your leader therapist assures me that you are. We'll leave at once.")
"What?" I asked. "Where, Mother Thing?"
She turned to Peewee. ("Haven't you told him, dear?")
"Gee, Mother Thing, I haven't had a chance."
("Very well.") She turned to me. ("Dear Kip, we must now attend a gathering. Questions will be asked and answered, decisions will be made.") She spoke to us both. ("Are you ready to leave?")
"Now?" said Peewee. "Why, I guess so-except that I've got to get Madame Pompadour."
("Fetch her, then. And you, Kip?")
"Uh-" I couldn't remember whether I had put my watch back on after I washed and I couldn't tell because I can't feel it through Oscar's thick hide. I told her so.
("Very well. You children run to your rooms while I have a ship fetched. Meet me here and don't stop to admire flowers.")