Stainless Steel Rat 11: The Stainless Steel Rat Returns by Harry Harrison

nearby table. He was tucking into a mug of drink and I was more than happy to join him in a jar.
    “I have been talking with your kinsman named Elmo and he has revealed many important things to me.”
    I could only smile and nod since I could think of nothing Elmo might possibly say that would be even remotely interesting.
    “It seems they raise a number of crops to supply feed for their porcuswine. He had a wondrous book with pictures that moved as if blown by the wind. Many of the plants shown are grown here, but others were unknown, like the yellow corn. They have golden seeds that he said are quite nutritious and with great kindness gave me some.”
    I did not share his agricultural enthusiasm.
    “That’s nice.” I groped for a way to change the topic but he was well into full flow. “In turn for some of these we will give him seeds of the manna plant. Which supplies the groundflour that makes the fried cakes which, as I remember, you greatly enjoyed.”
    “Enjoyed is not the word—paradisiacal might be closer! And from a plant too—I thought they were meat patties—”
    I stopped as he reeled back, eyes wide; his tanned skin paled. He gasped aloud.
    “Are you all right?” I asked. Wondering where the nearest medikit was. He gurgled something incomprehensible, started to stand—then slumped back. And spoke in a halting, pained breath.
    “Don’t speak again—ever—what you just said. We eat the fruits of the earth. We could not, impossible to . . .”
    He grew silent, his pallid skin turning bright red.
    I realized that these people were vegetarians—with a vengeance.
    “Corn—cornmeal . . .” I said. Changing the subject quickly. “Makes lovely porridge and corn bread. Even better boiled on the cob and served with butter.”
    He shuddered once and relaxed. Pulling a large bandanna out of his sleeve and mopping his brow.
    “But enough talk of food, ha-ha,” I ha-ha’d. “I want to ask you how you bring your flowers to the city?”
    “Yes, of course. We take them by oxcart. They are strong and willing creatures.”
    “Does it take very long?”
    “There is an easy road through Burnham Wood. A half-day’s travel at the most. But, I beg you, do not go there! Nothing but evil comes from the city.” He drank deep, our early perilous conversation seemingly forgotten.
    “I must see them—and deal with them. For our mutualbenefit I assure you. Nothing but good will come of my visit there.”
    “In that case we will assist you, Jim of DiGriz, for you are a man of great wisdom.”
    “I sincerely hope that I am, Bilboa of Burgansee. We will talk again in the morning.”
    I returned to the ship in a somber mood—to see my darling wife in the nut grove, waving a greeting. I waved back and when I drew close I saw that she glowed with good spirits. Holding the leash that was tethered to a panting and very glassy-eyed Pinky. Even her bristles were drooping.
    “We had a lovely stroll by the flower fields. Then a nice run back. She’ll sleep well tonight. And so will you.”
    “Me? Why?”
    “Because the ladies told me that your uniform is finished and ready for a fitting.”
    “Now?”
    “Indeed!”
    Pinky squealed a feeble protest when she was awakened and forced to walk between us. The ladies of the sewing circle must have been watching out for us because they emerged from the building en masse. When we drew close they parted ranks and proudly held aloft their sable garment.
    “Tre tre bonega!” I gasped for it was indeed a beautiful creation.
    “It’s not quite dry yet,” Angelina said.
    “It may dye my skin but not my soul!”
    There was a small dressing room just inside the front door. I stripped down, then happily slipped into the uniform’s clammy embrace. My dark image in the mirror was truly stupendous.I threw the door wide and emerged to resounding applause. I bowed in response.
    “A work of art that exceeds my wildest expectation. Thank you, kind ladies of Floradora, thank