Bert laughed, pointing at Jeff. "So what? This is our night to celebrate. With the auto-pilot I can bring along a good book or a hangover! Right, Jeff?"
Jeff agreed and joined Bert in another drink.
Then there was the music. And Miles dancing with Carol. More music. More drinks until Bert lost count. But he didn't care. This was sweet, the toasting of a wake, the perfect crime, a sadly wonderful occasion. Music. He danced with Carol. He stared at her with clouding eyes, aching inside, a terrible pain that wouldn't be stilled by anything except another drink. He had one. And another.
Miles and Jeff talking together. Pointing at him. He laughed to himself. They were concerned over his getting drunk. They were concerned over him! That was a hot one. One for the books. One for another drink....
It was hot and giddy. The room was a glorious pool of laughter, savage brutal laughter inside Bert's mind. Carol, Miles. Jeff Morrow talking to them, nodding. Bert knew what they were telling Jeff. Wisps of their conversation came to him from where he half-reclined on the couch. Jeff would be his nurse-maid. Jeff would see to it that he was put aboard the Space Queen II in one soggy, drunken heap. Jeff would strap him to his bunk. Good old Jeff. Good old efficient Jeff. And good old considerate and concerned Miles.... Miles who was as good as dead right now.
Music, time, liquor, they passed in a montage of fragrant clouds. Bert was aware that Carol kissed him lightly on the cheek as Jeff helped him to his feet and to the door. He was aware of Miles slapping him on the back and calling to Jeff.
"Take care of Bert, Jeff. We want him on Deimos for the contract and wedding!"
And Jeff assuring them he would. Good old Jeff.
Fog and pressure. Roaring sound that deafened his ears. Pressure that pushed him back, back, flattened his flesh tight against his bones. Pain in his head that wanted surcease with oblivion, but the pressure and roaring sound pushed the pain back, kept his consciousness aware, dimly, but aware.