Pamela was wearing a jacket. That was rather unlike her. Even when she was conducting experiments in the lab, she preferred hoodies, or soft cotton long sleeves paired with knit cardigans. She disliked clothes made of any overly stiff material.
Schiller looked her over and found that she was visibly exhausted. Her hair had not been properly tended to, her eyes were bloodshot, and her lips were slightly chapped.
"Brainiac, get this lady a drink." Schiller tapped the table with his fingers. "She really needs a good night's sleep."
Brainiac did not object and had a waiter bring over a glass of ice wine. That was rather unusual—ever since Brainiac had taken over Earth, cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, and other addictive substances harmful to human health had been strictly controlled. Cigarettes, which were less harmful to others, were to be quit whenever possible. Alcohol, which could damage one's brain and cause people to get drunk and go mad, was almost completely unavailable. Drugs needed no further mention.
During the war, most tobacco and alcohol factories had shut down. Yet the restaurant had stock today, proving that Brainiac might have long been preparing to resume supplies.
Pamela's eyes lit up at the sight of the wine. It was not that she had a drinking problem, but it had simply been far too long since she had had any, and the texture of the ice wine in the glass made it clear that it was good stuff. She licked her lips, sat down, and slowly savored it.
"How have you been lately, ma'am?"
"Don't even mention it! Brainiac said my botanical research lab violated more than six hundred laboratory safety regulations and gave me one month to fix everything. Lately, all I've done is clean and sort things out. I'm exhausted."
Schiller considered