"As soon as he's non compos mentis," he whispered, "we'll slug the lug, and—"
"Shut up," Hawthorne growled softly. "You'll queer everything."
The pilot took his place at the control board and they pushed out to the asteroid belt. Morguma settled himself in his usual chair at the rear of the control room and tantalized himself by smelling the quintol.
"Oh how wonderful!" he enthused. "Aged in the bottle, too! How I love humans!"
O'Dea glanced impatiently from the corner of his eye. The Centaur was in no hurry to consume the quintol. They were approaching the asteroid belt before he had put much inside him.
The two men stalled by chasing down worthless rocks until half the liquor was inside the Centaur. Morguma's six eyes gradually became glassier and glassier. He started to sway a little in his chair.
"Gonna get the mosh wonnerful piesh of d'lightful oshy—oshygen you ever shaw!" he announced. "There'sh shtupendous piesh. Oh I am rap—rapshurous!"
"It's only a piece of pumice!" O'Dea insisted.
"Itsh oshygen! Lovely beaut'ful delecbub—delect'ble oshygen!" Morguma staggered toward them. "Put sheizure beam on lovely oshygen!"
The seizures clamped on the stone as O'Dea shrugged and threw out the beams. Morguma took another long nip and let his eyes swim into focus on the dials. He looked hurt.