The Draco Tavern - Larry Niven [2]
The ships come and go. They move at just less than lightspeed. Probably no individual alien will be seen more than once in this century. A few species do regularly show up in the background:
Chirpsithra or Chirps are the crew and the builders of interstellar spacecraft. Not everything is known about the Chirpsithra; they keep many secrets. They evolved on a world orbiting close to a red dwarf star. Half the stars in the galaxy are red dwarves, and most of their worlds are claimed by the Chirpsithra. When a Chirp says that the Chirpsithra own the galaxy, she means those; she doesn’t mean Earth.
Chirpsithra claim to be billions of years civilized (that is, capable of space travel).
The only sin they’ve exposed in public is the sparker: a device that sends current between a Chirpsithra’s digits. It makes them appear drunk. Rick keeps lots of sparkers around for them.
Their language: Lottl.
They all look pretty much alike, except for some very old (not so evolved) individuals. They’re salmon red, exoskeletal like lobsters; they stand eleven feet tall and weigh one hundred and twenty pounds. The elderly are shorter, with a graying shell; see “The Green Marauder.” They’re all female. Nothing is known about the males, though it seems clear they exist.
Gligstith(click)optok are gray and compact beings skilled at biological sciences. Dealing with them is chancy: see “Assimilating Our Culture” and “The Wisdom of Demons.”
Folk look something like wolves with their heads on upside down. (Their world never evolved predator birds.) Socially they’re hunters, and great travelers. Rick hunted with them in “Folk Tale.”
There are others. New aliens appear in almost every story.
Many aliens need environment gear. Some of the tables offer minimal protection, an altered atmosphere, different lighting. For some customers that’s sufficient. Some need full body armor, or rolling fishbowls, etc. Chirps don’t need anything but ruby sunglasses. Any life-form’s ideal environment (including food and drink; see “The Real Thing”) can be described by five symbols. For humans it’s “Tee tee hatch nex ool,” written as Tr#, and I don’t know what the other symbols look like.
Beyond this, I hope the stories will speak for themselves.
THE SUBJECT IS CLOSED
We get astronauts in the Draco Tavern. We get workers from Mount Forel Spaceport, and some administrators, and some newsmen. We get Chirpsithra; I keep sparkers to get them drunk and chairs to fit their tall, spindly frames. Once in a while, we get other aliens.
But we don’t get many priests.
So I noticed him when he came in. He was young and round and harmless looking. His expression was a model of its kind: open, willing to be friendly, not nervous, but very alert. He stared a bit at two bulbous aliens in space suits who had come in with a Chirpsithra guide.
I watched him invite himself to join a trio of Chirpsithra. They seemed willing to have him. They like human company. He even had the foresight to snag one of the high chairs I spread around, high enough to bring a human face to Chirpsithra level.
Someone must have briefed him, I decided. He’d know better than to do anything gauche. So I forgot him for a while.
An hour later he was at the bar, alone. He ordered a beer and waited until I’d brought it. He said, “You’re Rick Schumann, aren’t you? The owner?”
“That’s right. And you?”
“Father David Hopkins.” He hesitated, then blurted, “Do you trust the Chirpsithra?” He had trouble with the word.
I said, “Depends on what you mean. They don’t steal the salt shakers. And they’ve got half a dozen reasons for not wanting to conquer the Earth.”
He waved that aside. Larger things occupied his mind. “Do you believe the stories they tell? That they rule the galaxy? That they’re aeons old?”
“I’ve never decided. At least they tell entertaining stories. At most ... You didn’t call a Chirpsithra a liar, did you?”
“No, of course not.” He drank deeply of his beer. I was turning away when he said, “They said they know all about life after death.”
“Ye Gods. I’ve been