“We are in intraspace,” he told Nine. “I suggest we remain here until we have studied this specimen further and can give a report on whether he is suitable for our purposes.”
“Hey, boys, how about that drink?” Hanley was getting worried. His hands were beginning to shake and spiders were crawling up and down the length of his spine on the inside.
“He seems to be suffering,” Nine said. “Perhaps from hunger or thirst. What do these creatures drink? Hydrogen peroxide as we do?”
“Most of the surface of their planet seems to be covered with water in which sodium chloride is present. Shall we synthesize some?”
Hanley yelled, “No! Not even water without salt. I want a drink! Whiskey!”
“Shall I analyze his metabolism?” Three asked. “With the intrafluoroscope I can do it in a second.” He unwound himself from the controls and went to a strange machine. Lights flashed. Three said, “How strange. His metabolism depends on C2H5OH.”
“C2H5OH?”
“Yes, alcohol—at least, basically. With a certain dilution of H20 and without the sodium chloride present in their seas, as well as exceedingly minor quantities of other ingredients, it seems to be all that he has consumed for at least an extended period. There is .234% present in his blood stream and in his brain. His entire metabolism seems to be based on it.”
“Boys,” Hanley begged. “I’m dying for a drink. How’s about laying off the double-talk and giving me one.”
“Wait, please,” Nine said. “I shall make you what you require. Let me use the verniers on that intrafluoroscope and add the psychometer.” More lights flashed and Nine went into the corner of the cube which was a laboratory. Things happened there and he came back in less than a minute. He carried a beaker containing slightly less than two quarts of clear amber fluid.
Hanley sniffed it, then sipped it. He sighed.
“I’m dead,” he said. “This is usquebaugh, the nectar of the gods. There isn’t any such drink as this.” He drank deeply and it didn’t even burn his throat. “What is it, Nine?” Three asked.
“A quite complex formula, fitted to his exact needs. It is fifty percent alcohol, forty-five percent water. The remaining ingredients, however, are considerable in number; they include every vitamin and mineral his system requires, in proper proportion and all tasteless. Then other ingredients in minute quantities to improve the taste—by his standards. It would taste horrible to us, even if we could drink either alcohol or water.”
Hanley sighed and drank deeply. He swayed a little. He looked at Three and grinned. “Now I know you aren’t there,” he said.
“What does he mean?” Nine asked Three.
“His thought processes seem completely illogical. I doubt if his species would make suitable slaves. But we’ll make sure, of course. What is your name, creature?”
“What’s in a name, pal?” Hanley asked. “Call me anything. You guys are my bes’ frien’s. You can take me anywhere and jus’ lemme know when we get Dar.” He drank deeply and lay down on the floor. Strange sounds came from him but neither Three nor Nine could identify them as words. They sounded like “Zzzzzz, glup—Zzzzzz, glup—Zzzzzz, glup.” They tried to prod him awake and failed.
They observed him and made what tests they could. It wasn’t until hours later that he awoke. He sat up and stared at them. He said, “I don’t believe it. You aren’t here. For Gossake, give me a drink quick.”
They gave him the beaker again—Nine had replenished it and it was full. Hanley drank. He closed his eyes in bliss. He said, “Don’t wake me.”
“But you are awake.”
“Then don’t put me to sleep. Jus’ figured what this is. Ambrosia—stuff the gods drink.”
“Who are the gods?”
“There aren’t any. But this is what they drink. On Olympus.”
Three said, “Thought processes completely illogical.”
Hanley lifted the beaker. He said, “Here is here and Dar is Dar and never the twain shall meet. Here’s to the twain.” He drank.
Three asked, “What is a twain?”
Hanley gave it thought. He said, “A twain is something that wuns on twacks, and you wide on it from here to Dar.”
“What do you know about Dar?”
“Dar ain’t no such things as you are. But here’s to you, boys.” He drank again.
“Too stupid to be trained for anything except simple physical labor,” Three said. “But if he has sufficient stamina for that we can still recommend a raid in force upon this planet. There are probably three or four billion inhabitants. And we can use unskilled labor—three or four billion would help us considerably.”
“Hooray!” said Hanley.
“He does not seem to coordinate well,” Three said thoughtfully. “But perhaps his physical strength is considerable. Creature, what shall we call you?”
“Call me Al, boys.” Hanley was getting to his feet.
“Is that your name or your species? In either case is it the full designation?” Hanley leaned against the wall. He considered. “Species,” he said. “Stands for—let’s make it Latin.” He made it Latin.
“We wish to test your stamina. Run back and forth from one side of this cube to the other until you become fatigued. Here, I will hold that beaker of your food.”
He took the beaker out of Hanley’s hands. Hanley grabbed for it. “One more drink. One more li’l drink. Then I’ll run for you. I’ll run for President.”
“Perhaps he needs it,” Three said. “Give it to him, Nine.”
It might be his last for a while so Hanley took a long one. Then he waved cheerily at the four Darians who seemed to be looking at him. He said, “See you at the races, boys. All of you. An’ bet on me. Win, place an’ show. ’Nother li’l drink first?”
He had another little drink—really a short one this time—less than two ounces.
“Enough,” Three said. “Now run.”
Hanley took two steps and fell flat on his face. He rolled over on his back and lay there, a blissful smile on his face.
“Incredible!” Three said. “Perhaps he is attempting to fool us. Check him, Nine.”
Nine checked. “Incredible!” he said. “Indeed incredible after so little exertion but he is completely unconscious—unconscious to the degree of being insensible to pain. And he is not faking. His type is completely useless to Dar. Set the controls and we shall report back. And take him, according to our subsidiary orders, as a specimen for the zoological gardens. He’ll be worth having there. Physically he is the strangest specimen we have discovered on any of several million planets.”
Three wrapped himself around the controls and used both ends to manipulate mechanisms. A hundred and sixty-three thousand light years and 1,630 centuries passed, cancelling each other out so completely and perfectly that neither time nor distance seemed to have been traversed.
In the capital city of Dar, which rules thousands of useful planets, and has visited millions of useless ones—like Earth—Al Hanley occupies a large glass cage in a place of honor as a truly amazing specimen.
There is a pool in the middle of it, from which he drinks often and in which he has been known to bathe. It is filled with a constantly flowing supply of a beverage that is delicious beyond all deliciousness, that is to the best whiskey of Earth as the best whiskey of Earth is to bathtub gin made in a dirty bathtub. Moreover it is fortified—tastelessly—with every vitamin and mineral his metabolism requires.
It causes no hangovers or other unpleasant consequences. It is a drink as delightful to Hanley as the amazing conformation of Hanley is delightful to the frequenters of the zoo, who stare at him in bewilderment and then read the sign on his cage, which leads off in what looks to be Latin with the designation of his species as Al told it to Three and Nine: