“He is? I didn’t know that.” There’d been a Mormon family down the street from Jerry when he was growing up. He’d played with the kids. The dad, who’d joined the faith when he married, came over once in a while for a sly beer or cigarette with Hyman Stieglitz. Jerry thought the religion was odd, but it seemed to turn out pretty good people. Of course, there were those who said the same thing about Judaism.

“He is.” Steve went into the bathroom, came back with his glass and Jerry’s, and poured a good knock of vodka into each. After Jerry’d taken his, the older man made a toast: “May we live long and prosper!”

“You Trekkie, you!” Jerry said. They clinked and drank. The Stoli went down smooth as a kiss. A kiss … I haven’t had a kiss in way too long, Jerry thought. I mean, way too long.

Steve got to the bottom of his glass before Jerry did. He didn’t drink much ordinarily, but this hadn’t been an ordinary day. He picked up the bottle by the neck. “Want a refill?”

“Do I ever!” Jerry thrust his glass forward. They drank some more, and some more after that. A little before midnight, the dead soldier went into the wastebasket.

People said vodka didn’t give you a hangover. They said it wasn’t the alcohol, it was the other stuff that flavored scotch or bourbon or gin that put the hurt on you. After half a liter of the Soviet Union’s finest, Jerry woke up the next morning much the worse for wear. He groaned before he realized he’d done it.

“How are you doing?” Steve’s voice floated up from the bottom bunk.

“I feel like dogshit,” Jerry answered. “How about you?”

“Pretty much the same. Misery loves company, I guess. Maybe if I stand under a hot shower for a while…”

“Go ahead, man. It’s a good idea, but I don’t want to move yet.”

When Steve came out of the bathroom, Jerry lurched in. He took two aspirins. Brushing his teeth got rid of some of the dead animals in his mouth. He cranked the shower up to just under parboil. When he came out, he swallowed two more aspirins for luck. By the time he’d dried and combed his hair and got some clothes on, he felt better, if nowhere near good.

He wasn’t ready to face food when he went to the messroom, but he poured down lots of sweet coffee pale with cream. Steve was being abstemious, too. Tapping his cup with a fingernail, he said, “Breakfast of champions.”

“You know it,” Jerry said. “Put it together with all the aspirins I had and it’s got to be wearing a hole in my stomach right now.”