12

The Professor came back in. He looked up and down at Deeter and Timbella, and said, “I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t in a hurry.”

Deeter became alert. “Is there a problem?”

“Depends on your definition. No one is moving till the weekend, though.”

“Oh. The weekend. Which is…”

He tried very hard to hide a grin. “The day after tomorrow, is when they mean.”

“I see. Should we try to meet them first?”

The Professor shook his head. “I meant that they literally weren’t moving from their homes, not just out of the country. You stick with Timby and I’ll get in touch with her when the time comes.”

“I see then. Thank you very much. Do I owe you anything for this?”

“No, but if you wanted to buy a few things, I wouldn’t need my arm twisted.”

Timbella spoke up. “Actually yeah, now that you mention it, about three grams of dope and a little Fup would be nice.”

He nodded, and walked off. Deeter asked, “So what are we getting?”

“God, how sheltered are you? Dope is a downer,” she whispered, “and Flower Power is what you drink so irises work.”

“Why are we whispering?” he whispered.

“Because I don’t want him to think you’re a narc!”

“Doesn’t he think that anyway?” Not that he knew what “narc” meant. Someone who was ignorant of drugs?

“I hope not!”

The professor came back with a few small clear plastic bags. “OK, these are D and this small one is Fup. Remember, one part to a thousand with that one.”

“I know, I know,” she said. “Can you get this, Deeter? I’ll pay you back.”

“Five hundred my man,” he said.

Deeter counted out five bills. “Here you are.”

“A pleasure doing business with you.”

~

Deeter and Timbella left and walked down the stairs. He was quiet till they got outside. “I still don’t quite understand what flowers have to do with anything.”

She frowned. “Maybe what we call irises aren’t what you call irises in your neck of the woods. But they give off a scent which only affects human if they’ve had some of that stuff.”

“One part to a thousand?”

“Yeah, you have to mix it with water, or fruit juice, or whatever, to dilute it.” They walked back to the train lift.

“So you drink it, and if you’re near these flowers, something weird happens?”

“Yeah. You get high. Really high.” She pressed the button for the lift.

He nodded. He was fairly ignorant of drugs but had occasionally overdone it on wine. Probably similar. “And what’s a narc?”

She stared at him so long they almost missed the lift. “Narcotics officer.”

“I see,” he said, although he didn’t. “Aren’t officers supposed to be not very obvious?”

“Ha! Good point.” They boarded the train, although he was still confused.

“Are we going back to your place?”

“Yeah, is that ok?”

“Certainly. Surprised you didn't ask that earlier."

"Earlier?"

"Why did you make me pay at the Professor’s?”

“Oh, well, first, I thought since you made me go over there, and ask him for something really weird, it was your place. Second, I thought you ought to try some. I’ll pay you back for whatever I keep.”

“That sounds more reasonable.” Deeter lapsed into silence. He was very curious now. How different from wine could it be? Timbella had said earlier that the professor created almost any kind of drug. He was aware that drugs existed, but they were not very common. As far as he knew, on Klammet, most were derived from plants, so naturally they were uncommon. People would rather spend time producing food than drugs. At least, this was what he assumed. It seemed to be very difficult to make plants grow. Farmers worked from sunup to sundown. He was unclear why this was the case on his world, and many others, but not on, for example, this one. Of course he rarely remained on planets this advanced, since they were more likely to be allies with Them, but now he wondered. Electronic oxen?

Deeter knew he didn’t understand electronics at all. He was comfortable with the explanation of, say, his new taser: it shot miniature lightning bolts at people to paralyze them. He just didn’t understand how the lightning, no matter how small, could stay in “batteries” the size of his finger. He figured it was magic, but people who used electronic devices found it highly insulting when that word was used. Perhaps he could return to the Professor and have him explain it. If he could create drugs alchemically, he probably knew quite a bit.

“Our stop’s next.”

He broke out of his reverie. “Ah. All right.”