[h2]Liberty [/h2]



Bottles and empty glasses lay scattered around the training room like the aftermath of some unusually expensive frat party. By this point, every Libertian in the room, with the exception of Heather, were in various states of sloppy-drunk. A disgraceful breadth of liqueurs, whiskey, bourbon, tequilas, and tingly champagnes will do that to people. Nobody had thrown up or passed out yet. It wasn't too late. The shots of 176 proof Balkan vodka had only just gone down.

Canvas was somewhat more composed, but only because he had stopped a few rounds ago. His participation (so he said) had been an object lesson in knowing one's limits. His current state was as much as he could consume while still operating at around 90% efficiency.

90% efficiency apparently looked a little dazed and less than perfectly coordinated.

He conspicuously hadn't participated in the testing himself.

At intervals throughout the rather unorthodox lesson, Canvas had instructed the Agents to assemble a handgun to test fine motor skills, take five shots at a target, and then memorize and recite a brief segment of text.

He now projected each of their scores onto the wall in a graph form. One axis marked how much alcohol they had ingested so that they could see the inevitable descent of their accuracy, mental capacity, and aim.

[Color=lightcoral]"So look. Here's you guys before. Here's you after."[/color]

Some of the lines on the chart gradually declined. Others seemed to stay somewhat steady before dropping off steeply. By the end, each achieved only a fraction of their usual, sober scores.

[Color=lightcoral]"You can push this tolerance over time. But probably not's much as you think you can push it. You can get better 't faking sobriety, for sure. But when it comes to the actual...like...base capability? Your body weight prob'ly matters more than your experience. Bottom line is...we don't have time to really get your tolerance up. So look at this number."[/color]

He pointed to the spot on each graph where the scores dropped below a respectable time or accuracy.

[Color=lightcoral]"That's each of your numbers. So you calculate how many ounces of any kinda drink you can have before you get too stupid......don't calculate it right now. You're stupid now. Do it later. I'll send you a big...whole list. Anyway. That's how much you can drink at the party thing."[/color]

He swept a mess of glasses with his forearm, clearing a space on the desk and hopping up to sit on it. He smiled. [Color=lightcoral]"How's everyone feeling?"[/color]