The Draco Tavern - Larry Niven [83]
“The ones like wolves with their heads on upside down?”
“That’s them.”
Beth was repressing a shudder. I was starting to wonder if the Draco Tavern was really her thing. She said, “They’re annoying the hell out of police departments in various countries.”
“Sure, they’re hunters. They’re trying to hunt down the bomber.”
“Well, they’ve been collecting people. Arresting them. I’m sorry you got hurt, Rick, but how many bombers can they get for one bomb?”
“How many have they got?”
“I think ... eleven. Some of them are on the FBI and CIA terror lists. And the Folk won’t talk to anyone about it.”
“Yet again, that sounds like the problem,” I said. “Talk them into giving interviews, Shastrastinth.”
“Folk don’t talk well. We thought an intermediary would be best. You, Rick Schumann.”
“I’m not up to it.” It may be I’d needed a vacation, or even a few weeks in a rest home, even before the bomb went off. I’d grown tired of my role as bartender to aliens. Strange shapes and sizes and odors and diets don’t bother me after all these years, but for the moment I just couldn’t face being tossed back into that storm of controversy and misunderstandings, alien viewpoints and mind-bending surprises.
I asked, “What are your other passengers doing? Anything that hasn’t been noticed?”
“No,” said Shastrastinth.
Stachun spoke for the first time. “Wastlubl is loose.”
“Wastlubl is inconspicuous,” Shastrastinth said.
Suddenly I was feeling wiped out. I said, “Tell you what, I’ll start watching news again. My translator can reach you, right? I’ll call you if anything occurs to me.”
So I immersed myself in the news. I ran the TV while Beth had me on physical therapy, and while I ate, and while I slept. My mind was still a little mushy. It took me a couple of days to catch up.
The Folk had arrested twelve people. Two of those were French, six were Saudi, the rest were random and hard to place. The Folk made no secret of their activities, but they didn’t talk either; they just swooped, swept the locality with some kind of stun beam, and grabbed.
Aliens toured the Louvre: a smooth-skinned flightless bird guiding a floating table that carried ten golden bugs ten inches tall. I recognized the Bebebebeque, but not the bird. Cameras followed them as they explored, the bird croaking questions at a bewildered French escort.
An oversized entity was visiting landmarks: the pyramids of Egypt and Mexico, Mount Rushmore, Rome and Tokyo. I watched her looming over a camera crew at the St. Louis Arch.
I called the lander.
“Shastrastinth, I don’t know what you call conspicuous,” I said. “There’s an alien your height, built like a big-headed mantis, three jaws for a mouth, talks to anyone at all—”
“Tenjer is child of a species whose adults cannot travel,” she said. “She’s seeking Wastlubl, her ... pet, instructor, playmate, toy. They’re playing hide-and-seek. Wastlubl will set ever more difficult puzzles while Tenjer tries to find it.”
“Child. Okay. Tenjer seems bright enough—”
“The child is intelligent. Adults are even more so. Is Tenjer giving enough interviews to satisfy you?”
“Sure, the kid just doesn’t make much sense. Now, was it you who got the Folk talking?”
“I asked them to be more interactive.”
If that was a mistake, it was mine. I said, “One of their... prey has confessed to blowing up the Tavern. Amory Saloman, American, wants to sell the story to NBC. The Folk don’t want to let him go.”
“Problem will solve itself if we wait. Can he talk from his confinement?”
“I’m not his agent. Let them thrash it out on their own. Now, what’s going on in the ocean around Hawaii?”
“I did expect those to be inconspicuous. The Sea People hail from a world much like your own, but lack exposed continents. Would you wish to swim with them? Some adults wear sensor gear, you can use a virtual link.”
“... Maybe later. Adults? Are they breeding?” Complaints had been reported from fishermen: their catch was being depleted.
“Their progeny will be unsapient and sterile. One generation only.”
“What do they eat?”
“They eat