The Draco Tavern - Larry Niven [42]
He didn’t look like the usual run of xenobiologist or diplomat. Short, pale of skin, oriental eyes, straight black hair going gray, a comfortable old suit and weird tie, a laptop computer hanging from one hand. He wore the vague look of a scholar with a wandering mind. It took him a moment to recover his aplomb.
Then he made his circuitous way toward the bar, shying wide of aliens, way wide of the Folk, who laughed at him with lolling tongues, like a pack of wolves with their heads on upside down.
I was human. He was really, really glad to see me. He set the computer on the bar and asked, “Can you make me an Irish coffee?” English accent overlaid on something oriental. Having second thoughts, “Leave out the whiskey.”
I told him, “I can do coffee any way you want it, or espresso, cappuccino—”
“Cappuccino would be perfect.”
He didn’t try to talk over the shriek of live steam. He opened his laptop and booted it up. In the sudden quiet that followed he said, “I’m Roger Teng-Hui. I’m looking for someone.”
I asked, “Human or alien?”
“E-mail correspondent,” he said. “I’m looking for Helmuthdip.” He turned the Toshiba around. He had World Online up and running.
I read an e-mail message from If the Chirpsithra have such a power source, they may be willing to share it. A Human diplomat might ask. I asked him, “Power source?” “He thinks the Chirpsithra are using the energy of the vacuum.” I let that crypticism go past me. “When did you first contact this ‘Helmuthdip’?” “Wednesday evening.” “What’s he want?” “He seems to want me to put political pressure on the crew from that starship! At first he didn’t mention politics, interstellar or otherwise. I took him for human.” The Chirp liner Scrilbree Zesh had been in place near the Moon last Tuesday morning. The landers were down before Wednesday noon. Give “Helmuthdip” a couple of hours to buy a computer in Forelgrad and play with it a little.... I said, “The timing’s tight. You don’t know the species?” “I thought he was human! He had a Web site up, a discussion group on the problem of the missing mass. My filter program caught it. The site didn’t look active. It was just him.” I waited. “I didn’t think I was dealing with a political pressure group. He knew things. He was interested. You know, a dedicated astrophysics site would have been easy before the Chirpsithra came. I’ve been teaching on PBS and the Net for twenty years. Most of my students have disappeared, and I’m the only teacher left.” Herman asked for Arabian coffee for the Iraqis. He took the tiny cups and went off, and I said, “I suppose the problem is that the Chirpsithra know it all.” Teng grimaced. “Do they really?” “They say so. Their passengers say so. Sometimes they play jokes. I might buy that they know everything they want to,” I said, “and what they don’t know, their passengers know, and when they don’t, they bluff. I’m used to it. I never thought about it from a teacher’s viewpoint, but ... it must be like everybody’s sitting around waiting for the answers!” “Flipping to the back of the book. Give me another cappuccino. Grand Marnier on the side. Do they ever make mistakes, or are all of these entities too advanced?” “Oh, they make mistakes.” A qarashteel had come to Earth to make cheap war movies ... but I shouldn’t blurt that out to just anyone. “Your alien would still have had to learn how to use the Internet. Maybe a human being showed him. Let me try something,” I said. I linked into the Britannica’s universal encyclopedia site, found what I wanted, and turned the screen around. “ ‘Helmuth speaks for Boskone.’ Early science fiction. Helmuth was a space pirate, and a ‘dip’ is a pickpocket. You’re looking for a spacegoing petty thief. Excuse me.” Things had gotten busy around the big table, and I went off to deal with it. The Draco Tavern has always been as much a fast-food joint as a bar, but our supplies and capabilities have expanded over the years. We charge too much because we have to keep too much stuff around,