‘You’re doing a very good job of selling it,’ said Peter, ‘for someone who refuses to eat it.’
‘Sure he eats it,’ said Roussos. ‘He loves the banana fritters!’
‘They’re OK,’ sniffed Mooney. ‘I don’t make a habit of it. Mainly I insist on the real deal.’
‘But isn’t it expensive,’ asked Peter, ‘if you only eat and drink . . . uh . . . imported stuff?’
‘You bet, preacher. At the rate I’m drinking real Coke, I estimate I owe USIC maybe in the region of . . . fifty thousand bucks.’
‘Easy,’ confirmed Roussos. ‘That, and the Twinkies.’
‘Hell yeah! The prices these sharks charge for a Twinkie! Or a Hershey bar. I tell ya, if I wasn’t the easy-going type . . . ’
Mooney slid his empty plate towards Peter.
‘If I hadn’t eaten it all, I could show ya something else,’ he said. ‘Vanilla ice-cream and chocolate sauce. The vanilla essence and the chocolate is imported, the sauce has maybe some whiteflower in it, but the ice cream . . . the ice cream is pure entomophagy, know what I’m saying?’
Peter reflected a moment. ‘No, Mooney, I don’t know what you’re saying.’
‘Bugs, man. Grubs. You scream, I scream, we all scream for . . . whipped bugs!’
‘Very funny,’ mumbled Roussos, and continued chewing his mouthful with less enthusiasm than before.
‘And they do a delicious rice dessert that uses – can you believe this? – it uses maggots.’
Roussos put down his sandwich. ‘Mooney, you’re my pal, I love you a lot, but . . . ’
‘Not dirty maggots, you understand,’ Mooney explained. ‘Clean, fresh, specially bred ones.’
Roussos had had enough. ‘Mooney, put a goddamn sock in it. There are some things it’s better for a person not to know.’
As if alerted by the sounds of dispute, BG abruptly hove into view.
‘Hey, Peter! How’s tricks, bro?’ The white woman was no longer at his side.
‘Excellent, BG. And you?’
‘On top of it, man, on top of it. We got the solar panels putting out two hundred and fifty per cent of our electric power now. We’re ready to pump the surplus into some seriously smart systems.’ He nodded towards an invisible location somewhere beyond the mess hall, on the opposite side from where Peter had explored. ‘You seen that new building out there?’
‘They all look new to me, BG.’
‘Yeah, well, this one is real new.’ BG’s face was serene with pride. ‘You go out there and look at it sometime, when you get the opportoonity. It’s a beautiful piece of engineering. Our new rain-collecting centrifuge.’
‘Otherwise known as the Big Brassiere,’ interjected Roussos, mopping up the sauce with a fragment of bread-crust.
‘Hey, we ain’t looking to win no architecture prizes,’ grinned BG. ‘Just figuring out how to catch that water.’
‘Actually,’ said Peter, ‘now that you mention it, it’s just occurred to me: Despite all the rain . . . I haven’t seen any rivers or lakes. Not even a pond.’
‘The ground is like a sponge. Anything that goes in, you don’t get back. But most of the rain evaporates in, like, five minutes. You can’t see it happening, it’s constant. Invisible steam. That’s a oxymoron, right?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Peter.
‘Anyway, we got to grab that rain before it disappears. That’s what me and the team been designing. Vacuum nets. Flow concentrators. Big, big toys. And what about you, bro? You got yourself a church yet?’
The question was asked lightly, as if churches were tools or other necessary supplies that could be requisitioned – which, on reflection, they were.
‘Not the physical building, BG,’ said Peter. ‘But that’s never been what a church is about. A church is made of hearts and minds.’
‘Low-budget construction,’ quipped Roussos.
‘Show some respect, asshole,’ said Mooney.
‘Actually, BG,’ said Peter, ‘I’m kind of in a state of shock – or happy astonishment would be a better word. Last night . . . uh . . . this morning . . . earlier today, Grainger took me to the Oasan settlement . . . ’
‘The what, bro?’
‘The Oasan settlement.’
The three men laughed. ‘You mean Freaktown,’ said Roussos.
‘C-2,’ corrected BG, abruptly serious. ‘We call it C-2.’
‘Anyway,’ Peter continued, ‘I got the most amazing welcome. These people are desperate to learn about God!’
‘Well, ain’t that a lick on the dick,’ said BG.
‘They already know about the Bible!’
‘This calls for celebration, bro. Lemme buy you a drink.’
‘I don’t drink, BG.’