The Draco Tavern - Larry Niven [35]
I grinned and said, “Whatever you see may be a customer.” I turned to the woman.
She said, “I’m Jehaneh Miller.”
“I’m Rick Schumann. I run this place. Miller?”
“My mother was American.” So was her accent. Briskly she continued, “We were talking about sex. I was saying that men make billions of sperm, women make scores of eggs. Men mate with anything, women are choosy.” She spoke as if in challenge, but she was definitely blushing.
“I follow. There’s more to be said on that topic. What are you drinking?”
“Screwdriver, light.”
“Like hers,” the Wahartht said. Aliens rarely order alcoholic drinks twice, but some just have to try it.
The female Gray Mourner asked, “Did our supplies arrive?”
They had. I went back to the bar.
Beef bouillon and glacier water for the Folk. Screwdrivers, light, for the woman and the Wahartht, but first I checked my database to be sure a Wahartht could digest orange juice. I made one for myself, for the raspy throat.
The Gray Mourners were eating stuff that I’d never seen until that afternoon, an orange mash that arrived frozen. Tang sherbet?
I assembled it all quickly. I wanted to hear what they were saying. A great many aliens had left Earth very suddenly, and I hoped for a hint as to why.
And ... given the conversational bent, I might learn something of Jehaneh Miller.
As I set down the drinks the Wahartht was saying, “Our child bearers cannot leave their forests, cannot bear change of smells and shading and diet, nor free fall nor biorhythm upset. We can never possess much of our own planet, let alone others. The females send us forth and wait for us to bring back stories.”
A Folk said, “You are all male. Do you live without sex?”
The Wahartht jumped; he tapped his translator. “ ‘Survive without impregnation activity.’ Was that accurately your question?”
“Yes.”
“Without scent and sonic cues, we never miss it.”
Jehaneh nodded and said to me, “Most life-forms, the mating action is wired in.” To the Wahartht, “Does that hold for sapient species too?”
The Wahartht said, “Impregnation is reflex to us. Our minds almost do not participate. Away from our females, we take a tranquilizing biochemical to inhibit a sometime suicidal rage.”
I said, “I’m not surprised.”
“But what should I miss?”
A Gray Mourner male cried out, “To return from orgasmic joy and be still alive!”
The other male chimed in. “Yes, Wajee! It always feels like we’re getting away with something.” I grinned because I agreed, but he was saying, “We think this began our civilization. Species like ours, female eats male just after take his generative pellet.”
I think I flinched. The woman Jehaneh didn’t. She cogitated, then asked, “What if you shove a beefsteak in her mouth?”
They’re not insects, I wanted to say. Aliens! But nobody took offense. All three Gray Mourners chittered in, I assumed, laughter.
Wajee said, “Easy to say! No male can think of such a thing when giving generative pellet. Like design and build a parachute while riding hurricane! But what if two males? One male have sex. The other male, he put turkey in Sfillirrath’s mouth.”
Jehaneh jumped. “A whole turkey?”
The female smiled widely. Yike! Her jaw hinges disjointed like a snake’s. Sfillirrath was twice the mass of either male, and her smile could have engulfed my head and shoulders too.
She said, “On Earth, a turkey or dog will serve. Taste wrong, even if feed spices to the animal, but size is right. Size of Wajee’s head, or Shkatht’s head. See you the advantage? Can have sex twice with the same male! Get better with practice, yes, Shkatht?”
“Almost got it right,” Shkatht said complacently. “Next time for sure.”
Wajee said, “Got to get one part right every time.”
They chittered laughter. Wajee said, “Accident can happen. Turkey can escape. Resting male can be distracted, or remember old offense and not move quick.”
Sfillirrath said, “But see anti-advantage? Males don’t die. Too many males. Soon every female must have many mates, or else rogue males tear down cities.