His Share of Glory The Complete Short Science Fiction

Richard concluded his first week of reading by slamming his books shut, hurling them into the corner of his dormitory room and stalking with agitation out into the campus night. "Thunderation!" he growled.

"I'm going to have to start from scratch and invent this whole science in the lab with my own two hands!" From this the reader may gauge the depths of his determination.

After that it was no unusual thing to see the lights burning late in the biochemistry building, or to behold a single shadow moving busily against the drawn blind, ever pouring, mixing, distilling, titrating, centrifuging. "A good lad, Hanbury," his professors took to telling one another. "Pity he's such a gargoyle."

It will be a little difficult for the lay reader to follow the ensuing passage without the utmost concentration, so the author requests that the television set be turned off, the mind be cleared, the lamp adjusted to shine over the left shoulder without glare and the feet slightly elevated on a stool or hassock to promote a stimulating flow of blood to the brain.

Richard began his attempts at synthesis of an aphrodisiac by hooking two benzene rings symmetrically to one end of a long-chain hydrocarbon, mainly because the molecular diagram of this compound looked reasonably suggestive. He found, however, that it was instantly toxic to the laboratory hamsters even though it made a fair fuel for his motor scooter, and so was forced to abandon this line. Next he isolated the congenerics of muscatel wine, that is, the trace substances responsible for muscatel's peculiar flavor, using in the process several gallons of the stuff. His attempt to win the radium of truth from the pitchblende of folklore was a failure. The isolated congenerics proved to be a malodorous sludge which caused the hamsters to turn blue and die as if relieved to have done with the awful taste in their little mouths; also, his heavy purchases at the liquor shop gained him an undeserved reputation as a wino which almost resulted in his expulsion from the college.

But as we learn from the illustrious histories of Robert the Bruce, Thomas the Dewey and Adlai the Stevenson, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again." Richard did, and by catalyzing hexylmethyldiethylstilbestrol in the presence of, oddly enough, tri-tri-tri-ethylmermanotic acid he precipitated two five-grain tablets, each one stamped INSTANT LUST.

Obviously success was his at last, and obviously there was no question of testing the pills on a hamster; they were too precious. For days he went about the campus absently juggling his pills in his hand, his eye roving from blonde to brunette to redhead. All unaware, they paraded for him in their youth and beauty.

As if by inspiration the answer came to him after a pleasant week spent in the first eliminations, the finals, and the semi-finals. In a blow the two campus queens (they knew it not) who were vying for his dear smile were swept aside and undone. Studs Flanagan would be his choice.

At first blush this would appear an odd choice, for Studs was moon-faced, stringy-haired, bony of figure and awkward of movement. Studs proceeding along the gravel walks of the campus reminded students from the great Dakota wheat fields of a steam thresher in full career across the golden harvest bounty. Studs appropriately was in economics. Economics is known as "the dismal science," and it seemed to suit her. Her social life consisted of arguing bitterly with other economics majors about the rediscount rate and the validity of bat-guano tonnage importations as an index of agricultural prosperity.

Start small, a little voice had told Richard; that was why he chose Studs to be the first to taste his pills. Were he suddenly to become the adored one of a reigning campus queen, there would be no end of talk. He could not immediately afford the luxury of a great beauty; he would have to start small—and who smaller than Studs?—and work his way up while people slowly got used to the idea of him as a successful lover.

He hailed Studs one afternoon at the co-op; she was alone and reading gloomily; untasted cocoa stood before her. "Hi," said Richard, his throat sealed almost shut by globus hystericus. "Wanted to talk to you about the bat-guano situation."

She eyed him coldly. "What about it?"

"Well, the effects of synthetic fertilizer, ah, man-made guano so to speak—I'm in biochem, you know—isn't that Professor Guano—I mean Granotto—over there?"

She looked over there; splash-splash went the two little pills into her cocoa. She looked back. "No," she said.

"Have your cocoa," he invited her largely.

"Thanks," she said satirically, and sipped. "Tastes odd," she said, and took a larger gulp, rolled it unattractively around her mouth, and swallowed. Richard sat back complacently waiting for it to begin.

It began. His pulses started to pound; his eyes popped a little; his heart convulsed in his breast. He was in love with Studs Flanagan.