Free Stainless Steel Rat 11: The Stainless Steel Rat Returns by Harry Harrison Page A

delight reaches said galaxy?”
    “They summon spacers who bring things they require in exchange.”
    Bull’s-eye! Contact could be made!

CHAPTER 9
     
    I strolled over with the jug and refilled Angelina’s mug with the potent Floradora fruit punch. She smiled her thanks. I bent close.
    “Good news from the local capo. They trade flowers with the city people in exchange for medicine.”
    She raised a quizzical eyebrow. “How very nice for them. And you have a reason for telling me this?”
    “Indeed. The war-happy city citizens turn the flowers into perfume—which is picked up by off-planet traders . . .”
    “Contact!” she said, clapping her hands with pleasure. She glanced over my shoulder at the lowering sun. “Time to go back to the ship and report the good news.”
    “I’ll bid our good-byes and start the pigs and people moving.”
    “And I’ll fix a picnic basket for Kirpal and Stramm. I hope they don’t mind vegetarian food.”
    “Is it? I never noticed.”
    “It was so good it didn’t matter. You’ll have plenty steaks on the ship.”
    I saw Bilboa carrying out a fresh jug and joined him for a stirrup cup. We thudded mugs.
    “Fine as this day was—new friends and fine food—all good things must end,” I said. His face dropped.
    “We have much to talk of, new friend Jim.”
    “We do indeed, fine friend Bilboa, but it will have to wait until another day.”
    “Can we say tomorrow? You must see our dairy!”
    “First thing in the morning. Your milk and butter—and cheese—are more than excellent.”
    “Warm thanks! Until the morning then.”
    The party was slowly breaking up. Tables were being cleared, good-byes rang out and reboarding began. Stomachs full, the swine trotted happily back to their pens. So did the farmers—though not to their stys. A number of hearty handclasps later we waved our good-byes and rejoined the others. I rolled in the ramp and sealed the port. By reflex—since I didn’t think the Floradorans meant us any harm. In the dining room I found the ship’s crew tucking into the lavish spread.
    “Farm fresh and delicious!” Kirpal sounded like a TV commercial. Stramm wasted no time on talk only nodded and crunched. I joined them in some fruit punch until they were sated.
    “The good news is that the city dwellers, who are followers of a cult religion called the Church of the Vengeful God, have interstellar communication.”
    I nodded agreement with their happy cries.
    “That’s the good news. The bad news is that they may take some persuading, for they are a surly and bigoted lot—as their surface-to-air missile proved.”
    Kirpal rubbed his jaw and frowned. “Church of the Vengeful God? Never heard of them.”
    “No reason you should have. There were a great number of nutcase religions during the breakdown years.” I pointed to the communicator unit on the wall. “Does that connect to the ship’s central computer?”
    “Of course—by law. A mini mainframe with almost unlimited memory banks.”
    I put the communicator on the table and the captain ran a Gurgle search. “There it is.” I leaned close and read—
    CHURCH OF THE VENGEFUL GOD
     
During the Breakdown Years on Earth (or Dirt), thought to be the original planet that was home to mankind, there were a number of remarkable, and distasteful, religions that sprang up. All of them died out—though it is possible that some of them spread to other of the colonized planets.
    The Vengefulers, as this odd religion was called, had a rather obnoxious philosophy. They believed that God was really the Devil—having displaced the true God and chained him in Hell. Only by practicing a rigid discipline could they satisfy the Devil-God and convince him to finally release God from Hell so they could join him in heaven. To this end they mortified the flesh, since they believed it to be intrinsically evil, and forewent all pleasures and luxuries. They also believed that the rest of mankind was jealous of them