The Draco Tavern - Larry Niven [63]
“No.”
“Three days in agony, then death, a direct result of the actions of Jackson and the three Shrenks. They sought to hide in the swarming humanity of New York City. Ktashisnif was allergic to human beings, and the kidnappers had no allergy serum for her. These things are true.”
“True enough. But our courts wouldn’t have charged them with murder by slow torture.” In fact, a good lawyer might have gotten them off by arguing that a Chirpsithra wasn’t human before the law. I didn’t say so. I said, “Jackson and the Shrenk brothers probably didn’t know about Chirpsithra allergies.”
“There are no accidents during the commission of a crime. Be reasonable. Next you will say that one who kills the wrong victim during an attempt at murder may claim that the death was an accident, that she should be set free to try again.”
“I am reasonable. All I want is for all this to blow over so that I can open the Draco Tavern again.” I sipped at the whiskey. “But there’s no point in that until I can get some customers again. I wish you had let the bastards plead guilty to a lesser sentence. For that matter, I wish you hadn’t invited reporters in to witness the executions.”
She was disturbed now. “But such was your right, by ancient custom! Rick Schumann, are you not reassured to know that we did not inflict more pain on the criminals than they inflicted on Ktashisnif?”
For three days the world had watched while Chirpsithra executioners smothered four men slowly to death. In some nations it had even been televised.
“It was terrible publicity. Don’t you see, we don’t do things like that. We’ve got laws against cruel and unusual punishment.”
“How do you deal with cruel and unusual crimes?”
I shrugged.
“Cruel and unusual crimes require cruel and unusual punishment. You humans lack a sense of proportion, Rick Schumann. Drink more whiskey?”
She brushed her thumbs across the contacts and made a hissing sound. I drank more whiskey. Maybe it would improve my sense of proportion. It was going to be a long time before I opened the Draco Tavern again.
THE ONES WHO STAY HOME
Passengers from Wandering Signal had come to the Draco Tavern in my hour of need. I thanked them for that, and I set about serving them.
Somewhere in the wreckage of the bar was a bag that looked like bird kibble. Blue Bubble would eat that, but there wasn’t any point in looking. In this disorder I couldn’t identify it. Too much of what I keep for my alien clientele looks like bags of kibble.
The Boojum would take salt water, a careful balance that didn’t match Earth’s oceans. I keep a jar of salts, and for a wonder, I found it. I mixed it with water—the tap was still running—and got the Boojum to test it for proportions.
The Chirpsithra need sparkers. Those I found. My wall sockets weren’t delivering power. I was relieved to see the Chirps had brought a power pack.
Sissy didn’t need anything.
I needed painkillers and an alcohol-free beer. We took it all to one of the intact booths. I had to let the Boojum do the carrying. None of my staff was present—Tony was still in the hospital—and I was still healing.
The bar, the Tavern’s central pit, had taken most of the damage. Various force fields damped some of the blast. Most of the booths were intact, and a few still had float chairs and privacy fields. I picked a float chair to put me at conversation level with the Chirps.
“Yes, we fight,” I said, continuing a discussion. “In most mammal species the males duel for mating privileges or property rights. We humans still do a little of that. Hey, even caterpillars fight for territory. It’s universal.”
“That gives no mapping for what happened here,” Blue Bubble grumbled, “this lethal vandalism.” Blue Bubble was as big as our large airlock, and I couldn’t tell what was inside it.
Sissy was an energy pattern who lived in a bell jar of thin ionized