"How do you figure on getting a better edge yourself, sir?" "I have the idea, but not the word for it. Tonal compensation, I suppose. If you can't shut out the noise, we'll have to drown it out." Farley nodded. "Beat like a telephone time signal?" "That would do it." "It would do something else. It would drive you nuts." * * * * * I shrugged. "It might be distracting." "Captain, take my word for it," argued Farley. "Constant sonic feedback inside a spacesuit will set you rocking against the grain." "Devise some regular system of interruptions," I suggested. "Then the pattern will drive you crazy. Maybe in a few months, with luck, I could plan some harmonic scale you could tolerate--" "We don't have a few months," I said. "How about music? There's a harmonic scale for you, and we can endure it, some of it. _Figaro_ and _Asleep in the Cradle of the Deep_ can compensate for high-pitched outside temperatures, and _Flight of the Bumble Bee_ to block bass notes." Farley nodded. "Might work. I can program the tapes from the library." "Good. There's one more thing--how are our stores of medicinal liquor?" Farley paled. "Captain, are you implying that _I_ should be running short on alcohol? Where do you get off suggesting a thing like that?" "I'm getting off at the right stop, apparently," I sighed. "Okay, Farley, no evasions. In plain figures, how much drinking alcohol do we have left?" The quartermaster slumped a bit. "Twenty-one liters unbroken. One more about half full." "Half full? How did that ever happen? I mean you had some _left_? We'll take this up later. I want you to run it through the synthesizer to get some light wine...." "Light wine?" Farley looked in pain. "Not whiskey, brandy, beer?" "Light wine. Then ration it out to some of the men." "Ration it to the men!" "That's an accurate interpretation of my orders." "But, sir," Farley protested, "you don't give alcohol to the crew in the middle of a mission. It's not done. What reason can you have?" "To sharpen their taste and olfactory senses. We can turn up or block out sound. We can use radar to extend our sight, but the Space Service hasn't yet developed anything to make spacemen taste or smell better." "They are going to smell like a herd of winos," Farley said. "I don't like to think how they would taste." "It's an entirely practical idea. Tea-tasters used to drink almond-and-barley water to sharpen their senses. I've observed that wine helps you appreciate culinary art more. Considering the mixed-up sensory data under transphasia, wine may help us to see where we are going." "Yes, sir," Farley said obediently. "I'll give spacemen a few quarts of wine, telling them to use it carefully for scientific purposes only, and then they will be able to see where they are going. Yes, sir." I turned to leave, then paused briefly. "You can come along, Farley. I'm sure you want to see that we don't waste any of the stuff."