‘No. I mean, intercourse with Mirinnians isn’t physically possible because they’re built so differently, but Balinians, Kamiroyans and Terrans are all sexually compatible with Meelians. Although it’s only Meelians and Terrans who can produce offspring, so maybe we’re actually the most compatible of the interplanetary pairings. I’d need to look into it… Anyway, I mean, I’m not particularly eclectic in my tastes, and I’m not interested in anything that feels too much like hard work. The Kamiroi aesthetic doesn’t really do it for me, although I hear that you Terrans really go for it. And Balians are way too irrational.’
‘So how are Terrans different from Meelian girls?’
This time, Sol didn’t raise his head to answer. ‘They’re built differently. The girls where I’m from have pretty great figures. There was this one girl I was with who was just beautiful, crazy sexy, with this amazing body—’
‘What are you doing with me, then? If I’m that unattractive in comparison.’ Emma’s breathing was ragged and heavy. Sol looked up at her.
‘Look, we’re together, aren’t we? So what does it matter? In all these fifteen years, I’ve only ever lived with one other girl. For three years, I lived with my parents. After they went back, I had to live in an apartment so small you’d have barely believed it, cooking for myself on an old-style gas burner.’ There were flames blazing at the back of Sol’s eyes.
‘Couldn’t you have stayed in the student dorms?’
‘To borrow your bigoted Terran terminology, Meele is a backward planet. I had no choice but to stand there and look on dumbly as the folks from all the other planets skilfully outmanoeuvred me to get the good rooms. That was how it was back then. And now, look! Suddenly your government decides to put me up in an amazing place like this, and for free. Earth is getting smaller, but here I am living in an apartment with two bedrooms, a living room, and a home bar in the kitchen.
I’m not even the official Meele correspondent – that’s some other guy. I’m writing mostly for the magazines, rather than the newspapers. And, yet, all of a sudden, they land me with this room – doesn’t that seem a bit fishy to you?’ Sol’s face was tense.
‘I guess,’ said Emma, non-committally.
‘What’s more, so that people wouldn’t get suspicious, your government requested similar kinds of apartments for all the correspondents they sent to Meele, of whom there are many. There’s an obvious intention behind that move. By sending in people in such large numbers, they’re trying to advertise the fact that Terrans have an interest in Meele. Well, frankly speaking, that “interest” is more trouble than it’s worth. Interest signifies future invasive action, if Terran history is any guide. I forget when it was now, but there was this guy who came to Earth on the run from Meele. As far as the Meelians were concerned, he was a criminal. His spiritual powers had sunk to the level of a crooked Terran businessman. Anyway, after carrying out a thorough assessment of his psychological state, the Terran government used him in formulating a sort of profile of what Meelians are like. I’m sure that was the basis on which they concluded they could travel over to Meele in safety, and that if it ever came to military conflict, they’d have the upper hand.’ Sol shut his mouth and retreated back inside his own head, as he always did.
‘You want a drink?’ Emma broke into his silence, as she always did.
‘Hmm? Ah, yeah, okay.’
‘Go get one, then.’
‘I can’t be bothered to put my clothes back on.’ He reached his hands behind his head.
‘Pfft, same goes for me! I always knew your planet was old-fashioned and conservative. Getting the women to do everything for you!’
The planet of Meele had plentiful natural resources. One working person could easily provide enough for an entire household. In their youth, Meelian women would spend three or four years out in society (how old-fashioned it sounded to even say that!), before deciding on an appropriate partner and settling down as housewives.
‘That’s not true, I’m just exhausted today. Go on, please. I’ll listen to whatever you say afterwards.’ He made the sweet face he pulled whenever he was trying to win her round.
‘Pfft.’ Emma got out of bed and began to get dressed. With great care, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.
‘Ah, what a beauty! I chose the right woman to give my pure heart to.’
‘What rubbish you come out with! We all know how pure that heart of yours is. I might as well keep it by the door and use it as a shoe rag.’
Emma opened the door and went downstairs. She left the bedroom door open for when she came up carrying the glasses.
‘The reincarnation of Brigitte Bardot. The third coming of Claudia Cardinale. Monica Vitti’s younger cousin. Or else, Juliet of the Spirits. Gloria Wandrous from BUtterfield 8.’ Even at the bottom of the stairs, she could hear the old-movie buff droning on and on.
‘No, that’s not it! She’s Bud Powell’s Cleopatra’s Dream. She’s Bokko-chan.’
What was he talking about, honestly? Emma went to the bar, first mixing a drink for herself: a screwdriver. That disappeared soon enough, so she made another. She felt like getting obliterated. Tonight was not the night for playing innocent with a gin fizz or some other sickly-sweet cocktail.
What on Earth was Sol thinking? Were all Meelian men like him? ‘Territorial egotism’? When he put it like that, of course it sounded objectionable, but the truth was intelligent creatures tended to have a healthy dose of egotism – quite aside from whatever needs they might have. Yet, immediately, Sol’s retort to this floated up in Emma’s mind: ‘But Terrans are extremely mentally unstable. Their stubborn egotism isn’t complete. My home planet is no match for Earth in terms of scientific and technological development, but at least most people there consider how they want to live their lives. Our history is unfathomably long, and yet there have been only five wars recorded – including a couple of really small-scale ones. And the last of those wrapped up over two millennia ago.’
Emma’s second drink had disappeared as swiftly as the first. They were out of orange juice. She diluted some vodka with water and clambered up onto the barstool.
War – would there really be an interplanetary war? No, surely not. Earth had been getting along well (superficially, at least) with all the other planets. Over thirty years had elapsed since Earth had discovered Meele.
Emma’s head was spinning, like the time she’d contracted acute pneumonia. It must have been alcohol mingling with the last hit she’d taken. She attempted to grab hold of the bar, but it was too late. She slid right off the stool and struck the side of her head, hard, against the counter on her way down
Her body had turned to jelly. She felt powerful arms peel her from the floor.
‘I thought you were taking a while, so I came downstairs to see what was going on, only to find you like this. Oof, you’re heavy! What’s going on, Emma? You’ve been acting strange of late.’ Sol picked her up.
‘Ah, my shawl.’
‘Leave that for now. You can get it later.’ He began to carry her upstairs.
‘But it’s my favourite!’
Sol didn’t answer. Stepping carefully under her weight, he ascended the stairs.
Oh Sol, when you hold me like this I’m done for. By now I’ve come to admit (albeit reluctantly) that I do love you. I can’t stand that that’s true. I’ve fallen for several men in the past, but you’re the first person I’ve ever felt serious about. The very idea that I would fall in love with a man, that class of people I secretly feel such contempt for… I hate you for making it happen.