“Windows cost money, noob. The engineering, design, and materials costs of putting a potential weak point into the hull jack up the price of the real estate. This is the low-rent area.” Davies motioned to an empty table. “And the choices for alcohol are limited, since everything is synthesized spaceside. Not a whole lot of blue agave being grown up here.”

They sat, Ivan and Seth on one side, Cirila and Kady opposite, with Tenn and Aspasia each getting a side to themselves. The waiter approached and Seth ordered the first round. “Synthol shots, and a juice for the sprout.” Everyone grinned at Ivan. The waiter left without comment.

“Why do I feel like I’m being set up for something?” Ivan looked around the table.

“No real secret, Ivan,” Kady said. “Your first drink of liquid in low gee can be, erm, entertaining.”

The drinks arrived, with a yellowish juice for Ivan. “What is it? Just generic juice?”

The waiter returned a tight smile. “It’s whatever’s currently being made, and quite often it’s a blend. Today, it’s orange juice.”

Ivan raised his eyebrows in an expression of resignation, and raised his glass. “To me squirting this out my nose!” He knocked back the glass of juice to the surprised chuckles of his crewmates.

There were several moments of expectant silence before Ivan explained, “We did all kinds of low-gee simulations at the training academy. I’ve already done all my squirting.”

Groans of disappointment sounded around the table, and Seth motioned to the waiter for a proper drink for Ivan.

The drink, when it arrived, smelled more like something you’d use to disinfect a wound. Ivan could feel the look of disbelief written on his face, as his nostrils attempted to pucker. The poorly suppressed snickers from his crewmates confirmed his impression.

“That, noob, is synthol.” Davies grinned his usual smug grin. “They tend to make it a little over proof. Bottoms up.”

“If I drink this, can I get something nonlethal next?”

Seth laughed. “The whiskey-like substance actually isn’t half bad. Let’s get this over with, okay?”

Ivan raised his glass and knocked it back. It took everything he had to avoid spitting it all over his table mates. He found himself remembering the tequila shot with fondness.

Some infinite time later, he had forced the liquid down his throat and the various abused internal organs had stopped protesting. He scrubbed his face with his hands and said, “Hmm, not melted off. I don’t suppose I could get some juice?”

Seth turned to Davies. “I don’t think you’re going to take him down without getting out-and-out abusive. What say we move on to the serious business of drinking?”

Davies shrugged at Seth, gave Ivan something that he supposed he could interpret as a smile, and signaled for the waiter.

“So,” Aspasia said. “You’re a computer guy. That’s good.”