Doom. "Let's see the Lunarians top that one. With that plus the ova from the agricultural school . . . if the Angels can't culture a bit of laboratory beef, then we aren't the Fanoclasts."
* * *
The clerk at the checkout counter raised his eyebrows. "Starting a garden, miss?"
Winnie Null piled more seed packets on the counter. "Sure am."
The clerk studied the packets. "You must have a mighty big plot."
"Big enough."
"You've got too much there, miss. They'll choke each other out."
Winnie sighed. Why did men assume that, because she looked like a covergirl, she did not have a brain in her head? "I know what I'm doing."
"If you'd like a little advice on gardening, I get off at five."
"That's very generous. My husband and I will be glad to have your help." Husbands were useful, she reflected, as the clerk suddenly busied himself with his job. One of these days she would have to get one.
* * *
Thor waited by the checkout lane at the supermarket, holding a place in line while Fang scurried back