The effect of the broove on Myanna while she danced was like cannabis in that it calmed her and allowed her to see everything with a lighter and brighter perspective, and it was like alcohol in that it unclenched her mind so that her more complex thoughts and perceptions faded to leave the simpler, more basic ones, and it was like ecstasy in that it saturated her being with sensuality.

     But she was getting tired.

     She needed a break.

     Not as young as I used to be, she thought. Damn.

     Skip joined her at the edge of the dancing circle, drenched in sweat after using way too much energy to dance. He emptied his mug of broove to quench his thirst, among other reasons.

     "I've decided to fill my stomach with broove just before we have to go back," he said. "Then, when we do get back, I'll puke and get this stuff analyzed. I'll sell it for a hundred bucks a bottle and make a fortune."

     "You're a genius."

     "I'm always thinking, Myanna."

CONTINUE