"—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.