"You're kidding me, Daniel." Carter did not sound happy.
She sounded, in fact, like a much put upon young woman trapped in a sauna with seventy men, all of which suscribed to the medeival bathing theories, garbed only in a very sheer (the local cotton equivalent became translucent with humidity) towel.
It was a fairly accurate description.
"That's what all this is for." Daniel waved a hand at the carefully prepared wall before which the local bigwigs were gathered.
"For a song! A stupid BALLAD?" Sam demanded. "For a BALLAD I'm stuck here with all these . . . MEN singing some crackpot song and---"
"Shhhh . . . It's practically a religion for them. This song is woven into every aspect of their lives. Hell, they've got an entire field of mathematics, sounds kind of like a mix of chaos-theory and calculus, with a bit of complex numbering, based on this."
"What I do for the interests of my country." The major heaved a sigh. "And this stuff is 60-proof? Sounds more like vodka than beer to me!"
"It's technically beer. They've got this method of forcing the probability, something to do with multiple structures of the molecule, but it's brewed, all right. They're starting. Just follow along, okay?"
All for Uncle Sam.
She SOOO deserved that tax cut.
Sam sighed, and began singing along. She took the bottle from Jack and sipped, barely wetting her lips---there would be plenty more where that had come---then passed it on to Daniel. Reluctantly, she joined in the singing.
"---take one down, pass it around, ninety-seven bottles of beer on the wall . . ."
She sounded, in fact, like a much put upon young woman trapped in a sauna with seventy men, all of which suscribed to the medeival bathing theories, garbed only in a very sheer (the local cotton equivalent became translucent with humidity) towel.
It was a fairly accurate description.
"That's what all this is for." Daniel waved a hand at the carefully prepared wall before which the local bigwigs were gathered.
"For a song! A stupid BALLAD?" Sam demanded. "For a BALLAD I'm stuck here with all these . . . MEN singing some crackpot song and---"
"Shhhh . . . It's practically a religion for them. This song is woven into every aspect of their lives. Hell, they've got an entire field of mathematics, sounds kind of like a mix of chaos-theory and calculus, with a bit of complex numbering, based on this."
"What I do for the interests of my country." The major heaved a sigh. "And this stuff is 60-proof? Sounds more like vodka than beer to me!"
"It's technically beer. They've got this method of forcing the probability, something to do with multiple structures of the molecule, but it's brewed, all right. They're starting. Just follow along, okay?"
All for Uncle Sam.
She SOOO deserved that tax cut.
Sam sighed, and began singing along. She took the bottle from Jack and sipped, barely wetting her lips---there would be plenty more where that had come---then passed it on to Daniel. Reluctantly, she joined in the singing.
"---take one down, pass it around, ninety-seven bottles of beer on the wall . . ."