The Draco Tavern - Larry Niven [84]
“It would help if you could get the Sea People to keep their numbers down.”
“We will ask.”
“Next. Do you know anything about a Dianna Gustal? She’s claiming contact with an alien.”
“One of our passengers?”
Who else? There weren’t any other aliens. Then again, the woman sounded crazy. “Her alien seems to be the fount of all wisdom. It’s been everywhere, done everything, seen every interesting moment in human history. Trouble is, I’ve heard Chirpsithra talk like that. Is there one of your people who just can’t stand not talking to the natives?”
“Shrug. Rick, our concern is to keep the peace. What threatens the peace here?”
“Don’t know. I’m glad the Folk are doing their job. They’ll find the worst threats.” I wasn’t sure of what I was saying. Watching the Folk in action could scare a lot of people over the edge.
They put me on physical therapy. It would have been hellish, but I remembered worse. I remembered being unable to move at all, back a few weeks ago.
The Sea People took action to improve their image. With the help of a Venezuelan company, they did underwater work to set up an OTEC power plant. It would use the temperature difference between surface water and bottom water in the ocean to make electric power. The side effect: currents would stir up sea bottom soil. More trace elements in the water. More fish.
I hoped some of Earth’s six billion would understand its purpose and take it as a kindness. Still, the Sea People, when they finally appeared on television, were shocking. They were eels, their streamlining ruined by a collar of limbs and a tremendous toothy head. Beth didn’t like them at all. Earth’s fish and crustaceans can be surpassingly ugly, but they couldn’t match the Sea People.
Yet the virtual link to the Sea People became hugely popular, especially in hospitals and rest homes. I tried it myself. I loved the dreamy feel of effortless swimming.
Dianna Gustal announced that her alien contact was—or had once been—Elvis Presley.
People around the world started seeing bugs the size of a ten-year-old child. I called the lander. Yes, they were hologram projections of the Mnemoposh.
Shastrastinth had a word with them. Now witnesses began seeing transparent people who talked like stand-up comics. That didn’t go over well either. The Tonight Show host, Jay Leno’s successor, started talking about Biblical plagues.
I was yanked away from the dark blue deeps off Maui. “What?” I demanded.
“Human on the phone,” Beth said, with composure. “From Washington, D.C. Says he’s with the Secretary General’s office.”
One Harold Macy wanted me to meet him at the Draco Tavern. He couldn’t say exactly what for. I agreed because I was becoming a little stir-crazy.
We put my motor chair in the SUV, and Beth drove us over the tundra.
Macy looked like an actor, tall, square jaw, intense green eyes, wonderful blond-going-gray hair. He looked around at the row of airlocks in front of the Tavern. Damage wasn’t visible from here. “That doesn’t look bad,” he said.
“Sonic shields took some of the force. Most of the damage is inside,” I said, “toward the back.”
So I took the chair through the big airlock and we toured the inside. Macy’s nose wrinkled at the interesting chemicals released first by the explosion, then by what was happening to the various foodstuffs stored here. We should have moved those outside.
I hadn’t wanted to see what the bomb had done. It was bad: not just the shattered booths, but darkness and mildew, the magic lost because of lost power, the dead feel to the place. Yet I felt a fierce pride. I’d built this over half my life span. This was mine.
The spa took Macy’s attention. “Do you need this?”
I’d put it in when I had some spare money. I said, “Sometimes a customer uses it. The Zash held a mating ceremony in there.” They’d invited me and Corinne to join them. “It needs a lot of cleaning. We can’t use chlorinated anything.”
“What would it cost to—”
“Nothing. It didn’t get damaged.”
He nodded. “How much to repair all the damage?”
“We’re guessing thirty billion