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Fern had been minding her business in one of the common rooms, but now she squatted on the ground next to a reclining alien. They had come to pick out a human pet for their kin group to raise and paused to undergo trivision.
She had not started the day with fruit for breakfast—which was bad—but she was put in the Blue room afterward—which was good. The other humans were quiet, so Fern had started to read a delivered xenobiology paper.
She hadn’t glanced up when an administrator, a maroon hexapedal alien, came into the room, fumbling through a speech in Interplanetary about the high quality humans their company bred and the one-of-a-kind no-kill human rescue program they ran. She’d heard it all many times before.
The visiting alien nodded along. They had hummed and said, “Oh really?” at all the right spots. Then they abruptly opened their communicator and tapped through a few settings. On nearby screens, their status switched from “feel free to approach” to “reproducing.” They said a few words to their guide and moved to a corner to lay down.
The administrator took it in stride. They warned the humans not to bother the guest and bustled away to do whatever administrators did when not giving tours. It was none of Fern’s concern.
The alien was trilateral, one closed eye and one stiff limb on each side, and where every edge met a divot had formed. Fern watched as they spasmed and the three divots deepened, all moving towards the being’s center. Fern wondered if the process was similar to eukaryote mitosis.
A gust of air blew from the ceiling vents and Fern shivered. She glared up at the fluttering paper that was proof of airflow. Why didn’t anyone turn that off? She looked down again and jumped up and back. Three identical, one eyed, trilateral aliens blinked back at her, shorter clones of their parental unit. One used a limb to pick up the communicator. Another gazed around the room, and the third stepped towards Fern. Fern stepped back.
“Well met, human,” the middle alien said. “Where did Ziwan go?”
“Asexual reproduction is used by a variety of beings in situations where sexual reproduction is not needed or not possible.” Fern wrung her hands as all three aliens turned to look at her. Fern looked at her feet instead of their bulbous eyes.
“And Ziwan?” said the first.
“Do tell,” said the second.
“What is sexual reproduction?” said the third.
Fern liked the third question the best. She looked at the air above alien three’s head. “Sexual reproduction, the combination of genetic material from different organisms to produce new genomes. A majority of cataloged beings are gonochoric.”
The first turned to the second. “It really is not being helpful. Should I write Ziwan myself?”
The second hummed and turned to the third.
“Combination? Gonochoric?” the third asked.
“Gonochoric organisms have two sexes, separated which by donates genetic material and which grows a new organism. I could grow a new organism, but need a donation. What is your species name? Can you grow a new organism?” Fern’s eyes stayed firmly above the third alien’s head.
“What? Wait, how? You don’t make another of yourself to stay healthy?” The third leaned forward and while the other two stepped away to puzzle their way around the communicator.
“No, humans are gonochoric, mostly, and sex is not necessary for individual survival,” Fern said as she flapped her hands. “To make a being, I would need male sperm inserted surgically or through sex.” The third alien looked worried. “Sex is when a male penis is inserted into a female vagina. Sperm travels through the penis and—”
“That is quite enough!” The administrator strode quickly across the room and inserted themselves between Fern and the three aliens. Back to her, they supplicated, “So sorry about the wait. I do thank you for your patience and apologize for any bother you may have experienced.
As they were ushered out of the room, the first alien murmured, “Thank stars, Ziwan. How extremely odd humans are.”
“How do they stay healthy without resetting their telomeres?” the second agreed.
“We should adopt that one!” the third cried, leaning around the administrator to point to Fern. But they were swept away and the door slammed shut before they could make their case.
Fern pursed her lips and headed over to a wall touch screen. She never got the name of the alien’s species, which meant it was time to do some research.