The Xhroll, an alien humanoid race whose infertility is bringing them near extinction, come into contact with a crew of fertile human astronauts. Their encounter on a remote space station will have significant consequences for both species when a human male winds up impregnated.
Author Elia Barceló's setup is funny and feminist, and it raises questions of what it means to be "male" or "female"—prescient, considering this novel was first published twenty-five years ago. The anniversary is being celebrated now with the first English-language edition, translated by veteran sci-fi translators Yolanda Molina-Gavilán and Andrea Bell, who also provide a critical introduction.
Introduction
Yolanda Molina-Gavilán and Andrea Bell
Author's Note
Natural Consequences
New Friendships
Xhroll
“They’re going to land? They’re going to land here?” Diego’s voice wavered between stunned and disbelieving, salted with excitement and peppered with doubt.
Igor, a junior communications engineer, nodded, his tense facial muscles expressing the same range of emotions Diego had with his words.
“Looks like they’ve got a minor insulation problem in their hold, or whatever the Xhroll equivalent of a cargo bay is. Nothing serious, but we’re the closest station to them and since officially we’re on good terms . . .”
“But no one’s really ever had direct contact with them.”
“We’ll have the honor of being first, then. The commander has already given the okay.”
“Are they all males?”
The five officers gathered in the comm room burst out laughing. Nico was simply beyond help. He was a great mechanic and, as he often said, his heart—if he had one—belonged to his machines, especially the mini bots in charge of exterior fixes to the ships and stations. But what he’d also amply demonstrated during shore leaves was that women held second place, maybe not in his heart but rather a foot or so below.
“Jeez, come on, guys. It’s a serious question. Are there any women? We haven’t seen fresh meat in ages.”
“There are seventy-three female crewmembers on this station, Nico,” Hal replied softly.
“Yeah, right. And two hundred and fourteen guys. Besides, I’m not talking about female crewmembers, I’m talking about women.”
“Fresh meat,” mocked Diego.
“If Colonel Ortega hears you, you’re up shit creek, Mister Macho.” Igor’d had a few run-ins with Diana Ortega after he’d left the required feminine endings off adjectives in written communiques to the crew.
“Well, are there or aren’t there?”
Igor showed him a printout. “Here’s the complete list of the officers on board the Harrkh. The last five are the ones who’ll visit our facilities and interact with us. If you can figure anything out from this list . . .”
