“The only time they ever showed any creativity whatsoever,” Ukara said, her tone bitter with contempt.
“Maybe it’s a corruption of the word ‘scoter,’” Hideshi suggested.
Karlstad asked, “Scoter? Isn’t that some kind of duck?”
“That’s right. An appropriate name for a scientist, don’t you think?”
“Queer ducks, that’s what we are, for certain,” O’Hara agreed.
“Quack, quack,” Ukara added, a rare burst of humor for her.
“You mean quark, quark,” said Karlstad.
“Only if you’re a physicist,” O’Hara said. “And a theoretical physicist, at that.”
Karlstad’s quarters were almost identical to Grant’s, as far as their dimensions and layouts were concerned. But Karlstad had decorated his room with long hydroponic trays of plants, and as soon as they entered the room the wall screens ht up with views of beautiful Earth forests and meadows. Soft music began to play, too. Grant could not recognize it, but it sounded symphonic, melodious, relaxing.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Karlstad said grandly as they entered and looked around.
Most of the floor was covered with a colorful carpet. Where did he get that? Grant wondered.
“You said something about celebratory ingestants?” Ukara asked.
“Indeed I did,” Karlstad replied, heading for the closet.
Grant felt a pang of worry. He must have alcoholic spirits, he thought. Then, realizing that Karlstad was a bio-physicist and his room thick with green plants, Grant wondered, Is he growing something illegal in here? Stimulants? Narcotics?
Instead, Karlstad pulled several plump cushions from the closet and tossed them onto the floor. As the others settled themselves on the cushions, Karlstad led Grant to the one upholstered chair in the room.
“You get the seat of honor tonight,” he said grandly.
Grant saw that Muzorawa had hunkered down next to him, leaning his back against the wall. Karlstad went to the small refrigerator in his kitchenette area.
“Wine,” he announced, pulling out a dark-colored flask and holding it over his head. “The finest rocket juice, fresh from the rock rats in the Belt. Guaranteed never to have seen an Earthly grape.”
“One hundred percent totally artificial, is that it?” huffed Ukara.
“The finest product of the prospectors out among the asteroids,” Karlstad said.
Grant took in a breath. He had drunk wine before. It was all right.
But Muzorawa bent close to him and said in a near whisper, “If you’re not accustomed to alcoholic drinks, be careful of that stuff. It’s quite potent.”
“I don’t have enough glasses,” Karlstad told them. “You’ll just have to pass the flask around.”
“How unsanitary,” Hideshi said, grinning. She grabbed the flask out of Karlstad’s hand and took a swallow. She gagged, coughed, then croaked out, “Smooooth,” and handed the flask to Ukara.
“Hey, wait,” Karlstad snapped. “The guest of honor should go first.” He recaptured the flask and handed it to Grant.
Cautiously, Grant barely let the liquor touch his lips. It burned the tip of his tongue and went on burning all the way as he let the minuscule sip trickle down his throat. Feeling his eyes tear, he handed the flask to Muzorawa.
Who solemnly passed it on to Kayla Ukara without touching it. Moslem, Grant realized. Alcohol is forbidden to them.
Standing in the middle of the room as the five others passed the flask around, Karlstad said, “I also have some chemical concoctions for those who don’t care for asteroidal wine.”
Muzorawa said pleasantly, “Some hash would be welcome.”
Grant felt totally shocked.
Heading for his fridge again, Karlstad said, “Devlin says he’s run out of stock—”
“The Red Devil, out of stock?” O’Hara looked totally shocked at the idea.
“He’s probably just trying to run up the price,” Ukara grumbled.
“Whatever,” Karlstad said as he handed Muzorawa a pair of pinkish gelatin capsules. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got a couple of bright kids in the biochem lab who swear this stuff is an almost exact analog of one of the tetrahydrocannabinols. ”
Seeing Grant’s horrified expression, Muzorawa smiled. “It’s perfectly all right, my friend. This concoction is quite similar to one used medicinally to alleviate stress … even by members of the New Morality.”
“It is?”
Holding the capsules in the palm of his hand, Muzorawa said, “It’s a tranquilizer. Nothing more. I believe in the States it’s marketed under a trade name: De-Tense, I believe.”
“Oh.”
“Although this is a rather higher concentration of its active ingredients, I should think.” With that, Muzorawa popped the capsules into his mouth and swallowed them dry.
Grant wished he had some fruit juice, but he felt too intimidated to ask Karlstad for some. Instead, he pretended to sip at the asteroidal wine when the flask passed his way again and sat watching as the real drinkers got louder and happier.
After several rounds the flask was empty. Karlstad pointed to the refrigerator. “Help yourselves to whatever you can find,” he said, slightly slurring the words. “Mi fridge es tu fridge.” He knitted his brows in puzzlement for a moment. “Or is it esta?”
That started a boisterous discussion about the Spanish language, which quickly evolved into an argument about the charms of Barcelona versus the attractions of Paris. Then someone brought up Rome.
“Cairo,” Muzorawa murmured dreamily. “None of you have been to Cairo, have you?”
“That pesthole?” Hideshi said. “It’s overcrowded and filthy.”
Resting his head against the wall, Muzorawa smilingly replied, “That overcrowded and filthy pesthole has the grandest monuments in the world sitting just across the river.”
“The pyramids,” said O’Hara.
“And the Sphinx. And farther upriver the Valley of the Kings.”
“And Hatshepsut’s tomb. One of the most beautiful buildings of all antiquity.”
“You’ve seen it?” Muzorawa asked.
O’Hara shook her head. “Only in virtual reality tours. But it’s truly grand and impressive.”
Without Grant’s seeing her do it, O’Hara had unpinned her hair. Now it flowed like a long chestnut cascade over one shoulder and down almost to her hip.
But she was deep in conversation with Muzorawa now. The others were all talking among themselves, as well. Karlstad and the two other women were head to head off by his bed in an intense three-way discussion of something or other. Grant was completely out of it. Some guest of honor, he thought. His mouth felt dry, so he got up from the chair and went to the refrigerator. Its shelves were bare, except for a small plastic case that held three more capsules and what looked like the last few slices of a loaf of bread, green with mold.
Grant suddenly felt tired. And bored. He thought parties should be more fun than this. I’ll go back to my quarters and send a message to Marjorie, he thought.
He crossed the room and reached the door without anyone paying any attention to him.
Clearing his throat loudly, he said to them, “Uh, thanks for the party. It was great.”
“You’re leaving?” Karlstad looked shocked.
Grant forced a smile. “I’ve got to start work with the fluid dynamics group tomorrow morning, bright and early. Director’s orders.”
Muzorawa gave him a wobbly wave. “Good man. See you at eight sharp.”
Grant nodded, opened the door, and stepped out into the corridor. No one said another word to him. Karlstad barely looked up. As he shut the door, Grant recognized that he wasn’t the central focus of the party, he was merely the excuse for having it.
DESSERT
