Franks swelled visibly and pompously. "Why, of course," he said with
emphasis. "Some of my best friends are women!"
Arden stuck her tongue out at him. "I like you, too," she said. "But
you wait--I'll fix you!"
"How?" asked Walt idly.
"Oh, go freeze," she told him.
"Freeze?" chuckled Walt. "Now, that's an idea."
"Idea?" asked Don, seeing the look on Walt's face. "What kind of idea?"
Walt thought seriously for a moment. "The drinks are on me," he said.
"And I'll explain when we get there. Game? This is good." Insistent,
Walt led them from Wes Farrell's laboratory near the South End skin of
Venus Equilateral to Joe's, which was up nine levels and in the central
portion of the station. "Y'know," he said, "women aren't so bad after
all. But I've got this feminine intuition business all figured out.
Since women are illogical in the first place, they are inclined to
think illogical things and to say what they think. Then if it should
happen to make sense, they apply it. I used to know an experimenter
that tried everything he could think of on the theory that some day
he'd hit upon something valuable. Well--this is it, good people."
Walt shoved the door open and Wes Farrell grinned as he always did at
the sign that read:
JOE'S
The Best Bar
in
Twenty-seven Million Miles
(minimum)
Arden entered and found a place at the long bar. The three men lined up
on either side of her and Joe automatically reached for the Scotch and
glasses.
"Now," said Channing, "what is it?"
Walt lifted his glass. "I drink to the Gods of Coincidence," he
chanted, "and the Laws of Improbability. 'Twas here that I learned that
which makes me master of the situation now."
Arden clinked her glass against his. "Walt, I'll drink to the Gods of
Propinquity. Just how many problems have you solved in your life by
looking through the bottom of a glass--darkly?"
"Ah--many," he said, taking a sip of the drink.
He swallowed.
A strange look came over his face. He spluttered. He grew a bit ruddy
of face, made a strangling noise, and then choked.
"Migawd, Joe--what have you mixed this with, shoe polish?"
"Just made it this afternoon," replied Joe.
"Then throw it back in the matter bank and do it again," said Walt.
Don took a very cautious sip and made a painfully wry face. "The
SPCS--Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Scotch--should dip their
tongue in this," he said.
Joe shrugged. "It's from your own pet brand," he told Channing.
Arden smelled gingerly. "Don," she asked him seriously, "have you been
petting dragons?"
Wes, chemist like, dipped his forefinger in the drink, diluted it in a
glass of water, and touched it to his tongue. "It'll never be popular,"
he said.
Joe turned back to his duplicator and shoved a recording into the slot.
The machine whirred for a few seconds, and Joe opened the door and took
out the new bottle, which he handed to Walt. Walt cut the seal and
pulled the cork, and poured. He tasted gingerly and made the same wry
face.
"What in the name of could have happened?" he asked.
"It's the same recording," asserted Joe.
"But what happened to it?"
"Well," admitted Joe, "it was dropped this morning."
"In what?" demanded Walt.
"Just on the floor."
Wes Farrell nodded. "Probably re-arranged some of the molecular
patterns in the recording," he said.
Joe put both bottles in the duplicator and turned the switch. They
disappeared in seconds, and then Joe took another recording and made a
bottle of a different brand. Again Walt tasted gingerly, smiled hugely,
and took a full swallow.
"Whew," he said. "That was almost enough to make a man give up liquor
entirely."
"And now," said Don Channing, "let us in on your big secret--or was
this just a ruse to get us in this gilded bistro?"
Walt nodded. He led them to the back of the bar and into the back room.
"Refrigerator," he said.
Arden took his arm with affected sympathy. "I know it's big enough
but--"
Walt swung the huge door open and stepped in.
"I didn't really mean--" continued Arden, but her voice died off,
trailing away into silence as Walt, motioning them to come in, also put
his finger on his lips.
"Are you going to beef?" demanded Channing.
"No, you big ham," snorted Walt. "Just listen!"
Wes blinked and slammed the door shut behind them.
And then in the deep silence caused when the heavy door shut off the
incident sounds from Joe's restaurant and bar, there came a faint,
high-pitched hum.
Don turned to Arden. "That it?" he asked. "You've got better
pitch-sense than I have."
"Sounds like it," admitted Arden.
"Cold in here," said Wes. He swung open the door and they returned
to the bar for their drink. "We can establish its identity easily
enough," he told them. He finished the drink, and turned from the bar.
"Walt, you bring the pick-up and amplifier; Don, you carry the audio
generator, and I'll bring up the rear with the rest of the gadget."
They left, and Joe threw his hands out in a gesture of complete
helplessness.
"Trouble?" asked Arden cheerfully.
"I didn't mind when they used the tablecloths to draw on," he said. "I
didn't really object when they took the tablecloths and made Warren use
'em as engineering sketches to make things from. But now, dammit, it
looks like they're going to move into my refrigerator and for God knows
what! I give up!"
"Joe," said Arden sympathetically, "have one on me."
"Don't mind if I do," chuckled Joe laconically. "If I'm to be shoved
out of mine own bailiwick, I might as well enjoy these last few days."
He was finishing the drink as the technical section of Venus
Equilateral returned, laden with equipment.
Arden shrugged. "Here we go again," she said. "Once more I am a gadget
widow. What do you recommend, Joe? Knitting--or shall I become a
dipsomaniac?"