Chapter 4
Hitchhiker's's Manual Page # 748653724165874.6 Entry: Preference, Sexual
"A much debated version of sexual preference (or 'type' as it is more casually referred to) is the far more restrictive concept of sexual orientation. Essentially, it is the idea that one cannot be truly satisfied with a partner who does not fit a previously specified set of criteria (e.g. dissimilar external genitalia or quadrupedal body type). When adhered to by an individual, this pattern of behavior is often considered a perversion; when shared by an entire species, it is widely accepted to be one of the 26 indicators of barbarism; the most recent species to suffer extermination as a result were the bipedal inhabitants of the planet they termed Earth.
Certain radical fringe groups have taken to extolling the virtues of sexual orientation, claiming its restrictive aspects make the attainment of one's sexual goals that much more gratifying. Also, the automatic outcast status indulging in it bestows on the practitioners makes them more likely to be artists, philosophers, musicians and janitors, occupations generally disdained by the more conformist members of society, but essential in creating and maintaining a vibrant, healthy culture. Currently, having a restrictive sexual orientation is not a punishable offense, but it does preclude one from a career in architecture, beadwork, or antimatter waste disposal.
*****
When we last left our heroes (and their reptilian hosts) they were waiting to see if they would be kindly deposited at the nearest spaceport or be expelled into an arid vacuum. Ford, the only non-human in the group, had been willing to allow himself a measure of cautious optimism, based on the fact that all three of them had been able to resist the (completely natural) urge to strangle their incessantly annoying hosts, with Arthur even achieving a mutually affectionate interaction with one of them.
That was until the Vagines bestowed high praise (for them, anyway) on the stowaways sexual performance. Ford knew that a Vagine's favorite activity following sex was to kvetch about the supposed inadequacies of their partner. It irritates them no end that these negative ratings are never taken seriously, and indeed are often claimed as a badge of pride. Ten galactic cycles ago, a common pick-up line in any spaceport bar was, "Ever satisfied a Vagine?" This approach went out of favor as it wreaked havoc with various inter-galactic consent laws, being an obvious example of "No!" emphatically meaning "YES!!!"
If they were complimenting you, they didn't intend for anyone else to hear about it, ever. Ford decided it was time to get a word in edgewise, figuring he couldn't make things worse.
"All right, put the honey talk back in the jar. Why'd you decide to give us the axe?"
The head Vagine looked irked. "We are merely trying to express our appreciation for the sincere efforts –"
"Oh my God!" cried Agnes. "Ford's right! This is exactly like every forced retirement dinner I've ever attended! You could at least drop us off somewhere we'll have a chance, you cold-blooded –"
"Alas," said the Vagine who'd mated with Agnes, "there are circumstances that make it impossible for us to assist your survival in any way, being as you are the last two known survivors of a species condemned to extermination. "
Ford was taken aback. "Surely you've done enough," he argued. "They have no home world, no source of diverse genetic material – it's not like they'll be able to last more than one or two generations, tops!"
"Our instructions state we are to leave no trace of the species. We have even been instructed to forgo retention of the genetic material we extracted from you during our passionate trysts –"
"WHAT?!!" cried Agnes, outraged.
"Oh, yeah," said Ford. That's standard Vagine practice. They keep trying to breed a species that can tolerate them. It always terminates in the embryonic phase, so nobody frets about it."
Agnes, looking horrified, was unable to say anything further.
Finally, Arthur found the presence of mind to enter the discussion. "How can you just go along with this?" he implored, addressing his own private Vagine, as he had come to know her. "Isn't this the kind of behavior that makes you hate being a Vagine?"
She shook her head. "I think as much as I hate being a part of this, I can see where being on your own gets you."
"And me," Ford said, dispirited and desperately hoping to avoid sharing in his friend's apparently inevitable demise, "any reason why you have to throw me onto the scrap heap as well?"
"We naturally assumed your loyalty to your friends would override your survival concerns," said the head Vagine. "But since you ask, we have been instructed that anyone with significant exposure to human culture must be dealt with as a probable contaminant."
"Just doing your jobs, eh?" said Arthur bitterly.
"Oh no," said the female who had until recently been his favorite. "We expect a sizable bonus for our actions here."
The head Vagine sighed. "Unfortunately, this is a black-ops mission, so no official commendation. Which is another reason we're putting you out. Sor–"
Sadly, his intended audience never got to hear him complete the apology, since by then transmat beams had transferred them approximately 186,000 miles from the relative safety of the Vagine transport, presumably into the void of deep space.
*****
One of the reasons the transmat beam is such a useful device for disposing of waste or unwanted life-forms is that it abrogates the necessity of doors, airlocks or any other possible weaknesses in the structural integrity of one's space craft. As many safeguards as can conceivably be built into the average airlock, for example, there is no more certain way to guarantee that it won't spontaneously open, disgorging 50% of one's carefully maintained artificial environment, than to not have one in the first place.
Of course there is always the possibility that the transmat system itself will malfunction, but this has proven to be an unpopular speculation, and all apparent instances of this have been assumed to be particularly creative and utterly successful suicide attempts.
An even more unlikely occurrence than a transmat malfunction would be that of one beam, containing, say, three bipedal life forms, encountering the interference pattern of another beam from an entirely different ship, attempting to dispose of six months worth of garbage and biological waste, and therefore resulting in the three unbelievably lucky transmittees being deposited via a feedback loop to the very corridor which had been used as an impromptu trash bin.
The chances of this are so unlikely, in fact, that nobody in this galaxy makes a high enough salary for it to be worth their while to calculate them. So just keep that in mind. It might be relevant later.
Ford was the first of them to get back on his feet. Looking around, all he could think to say was, "Well, I hope these guys are nicer."
Arthur was quick to stand up himself, once it was clear 'up' had a workable definition in this frame of reference. "And who are 'these guys,' exactly?"
"Dunno," said Ford. "But it's definitely a different ship."
