BOOK II
Make me know Thy ways, O Lord; Teach me Thy paths.
COMING-OUT PARTY
When Grant got back to the cafeteria and broke the news of his promotion to his friends, Muzorawa smiled as if he’d known it all along. Grant realized that this was so; the Sudanese must have asked Wo to allow Grant to join his team.
“Zeb, you did this for me!” he gushed. “I don’t know how to thank you!”
Muzorawa said, “I did it for me, my friend. I need as much help as I can get Wo to give me. Just do a good job, that’s all the thanks you need to give.”
“This calls for a celebration,” said Karlstad. “It’s not every day that a grad student is elevated to the ranks of we scooters.”
“I’m a scooter now!” Grant realized.
They all nodded, laughing. Ukara actually thumped him on the back.
“What kind of celebration, ’Gon?” asked O’Hara.
“We could go to the staff lounge, I suppose,” Muzorawa suggested.
“And drink fruit juice while Wo records every word we say?” Karlstad sneered.
“The lounge is dull,” Ukara agreed.
“And bugged,” added O’Hara.
Gesturing to the remains of their dinners, littered across the round table, Karlstad replied, “Back in my quarters I’ve got something a little more celebratory than this glorified pond scum.”
“Soymeat isn’t pond scum,” Hideshi said, feigning indignation. “It’s a staple for half the world’s population.”
“He’s talking about the algal salad,” Ukara said, almost growling. “And I agree with him.”
“Come on,” said Karlstad, getting up from the table. “You’re all invited to Grant’s coming-out party.”
“Coming out?”
“Out of slavery,” Karlstad said. “Out of the bondage of lab assistantship—”
“And into the indentured servitude of scooterdom,” O’Hara finished for him.
As they went down the hall, Grant asked, “Where did that term ‘scooter’ come from?”
“It means scientist,” Ukara answered. “It’s a derogatory term invented by the administrators.”
“You mean the beancounters,” Hideshi said.
“But why ‘scooters’?” Grant persisted. “How’d that word get chosen to mean ‘scientist’?”
“It’s likely a corruption of the word ‘scholar,’ I should think,” said O’Hara.
“Which was in and of itself a derogatory term created by the beancounters,” Karlstad added.
“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?”