"You mean a kind of drink? But I didn't think any of the planetoids
were inhabited. How did you--"
"It isn't a drink exactly, Mr. Dineen. And Planetoid Y-145 isn't
inhabited--in fact, there isn't any Planetoid Y-145 any more. A meteor
hit it last week, I read in the astrogation reports. Busted it to
smithereens."
He reached in his pocket and held up a little transpariplast vial,
which held about half an ounce of a murky blue fluid.
"So this is all there is anywhere, as far as I know," he revealed.
"It's the juice of a kind of lichen that grew on the planetoid. I
stopped there last month looking for minerals, and I took some of the
lichen along just to see what it was. I didn't know then. I distilled
this on the way back and threw out the lichen, so this is all--"
"--there is," I finished for him, a bit impatiently. "But what is it?
And if there isn't any more, what good can it do us?"
"Your laboratories can synthesize things, can't they? Yes, I know it's
an expensive process, but this stuff is very concentrated and a little
goes a long way. So, even if it did cost quite a bit to make, just
think of the--"
"But get to the point, Mr. O'Graeme. What _is_ it?"
"Uh--I've named it 'Breath of Beelzebub'. You put a drop of it in
water, and--oh, boy! You don't even drink the water. The gas works
through your skin. Osmosis, or something. I found it out accidentally."
* * * * *
I frowned at him. "What do you mean 'Oh, boy!'? If you've read anything
about our policies, you know that we discourage the use of strong
intoxicants. Ever since the Martian uprising ten years ago, we've been
promoting beers, ales and Venusian klorah, and weaning drinks away from
anything stronger. What effect does this have?"
O'Graeme took the stopper out of the vial and set it carefully upright
on my desk.
"It works without water, too," he said. "But it's less efficient this
way. One drop in water is more potent than a whole vial plain. Feel it?"
I did, before he even finished speaking. My hands were resting on
the desk and it began there, and worked its way up my arms--a warm
throbbing glow of sensation that was unlike anything I'd ever felt
before. Must have gone right through clothing, for it reached my
shoulders and started up my neck and down my body from there.
It was a mildly pleasant tingling--until it reached my head. Then
suddenly I realized that it was more than pleasant. It was--well, it
just wasn't like anything I'd ever felt before. A feeling of utter
happiness is the nearest I can come to describing it, although it was
only partly that.
I knew that I hadn't a care in the system worth worrying about. I
knew that it didn't matter the least bit whether or not I got those
figures co-ordinated for Mr. Ames. If he fired me for not doing them,
so what? Wasn't I going to marry his daughter--Margie Amelita Ames? You
can bet your last rocket charge I was, and if he or that fat, snooty,
dictatorial wife of his objected, I'd just tell them to--
O'Graeme with the bulging green eyes, picked up the vial and carefully
replaced the stopper. He was smiling. He started to say, "Well, what do
you--"
I stood up, and leaned forward across the desk. "Slane, ol' bosom pal
of mine," I said, "You've _got_ something there. Listen, why let a
stuffed shirt like Fleming Ames in on it? I'll handle it for you. I'll
make us _millions_."
Slane O'Graeme looked at me and frowned a little. "Ummm," he said
skeptically. "I'm sure you mean well, Mr. Dineen, but hadn't you better
wait until you get over feeling--"
"Feeling what?" I demanded. "I assure you, palsy, that I'm not in the
slightest upset--"
"Have you a laboratory, like Mr. Ames'? Can you synthesize--"
I waved a hand airily. "Laboratory? Don't need one for something simple
as that. I studied chemistry in high school, and I assure you, pal,
that I can quite easily--"
O'Graeme shook his head slowly. "I've tried this stuff often, Mr.
Dineen, and I'm used to it, but I see that you--Perhaps I'd better come
back tomorrow evening instead of--"
"And lose a whole day?" I scoffed. "Why, we'll be rich by then. Come
on, palsy. Let's go back and join Fleming Ames' dinner party. I want
you to meet Margie Ames. The old folks don't know it yet, but Margie
and I are engaged. Besides," I added with a sly grin, winking at him,
"there is a tank full of mermaids back there that'll knock your eyes
out. It cost a fortune to have them brought in from Mercury."
I took O'Graeme by the arm and propelled him out into the long
corridor. The Polaroid glass walls of the huge building looked down
upon the great City of Mars with its network of shuttle-car tubes, the
'copter landings and--We passed a section of wall that opened onto the
sky parkway and a draft of cold fresh air hit me. I stopped suddenly.
"Whew!" I said, closing my eyes and then opening them again slowly.
"Say, I've been talking like a--Will you please forget everything I've
said?"
The little guy grinned. "I discounted it. I've been there myself. The
first time I tried it--on my way back to Mars--I put three drops in
_water_, and I radioed on ahead to tell them that I was buying the
whole fleet of Interplanetary, and to get me an option on--"
"Listen," I cut in soberly. "I _will_ take you back to Mr. Ames,
though, dinner party or not. Unless he objects because it's too
potent, I'm sure he'll be interested if we demonstrate. What's a safe
dose--nothing like the one I just had?"
"One drop, if it's a large room. Mild exhilaration and release from
care. You had about the equivalent of two drops in water; delusions of
grandeur, if you'll pardon my--"
"Sure," I grinned. We'd been walking and were almost back to the big
drawing-room where Fleming Ames would be entertaining his dinner
guests. "What happens if you use--not that I'm suggesting it--four or
five drops?"
"Partial dissociation of personality, and with six or seven drops,
you might find yourself in the body of whoever happens to be in the
room with--" His voice trailed off absently and his green-tinted eyes
actually popped as we stepped through the doorway.