The Starry Rift by James Tiptree Jr

Author:James Tiptree Jr
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Science Fiction, Anthologies
ISBN: 0-812-55627-5
Publisher: TOR
Published: 1989-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

The library Desk

“Well, well, well!” says Moa Blue as the young Comeno couple approach. “And how did you like our second tale? Different, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, my yes. Why, Humans have so many various facets, just like us. There was even some humor!”

“Yes, Humans are known for that. If a situation permits a laugh, they’ll have it. And now”—he drags up a heavy sheaf—”the treat! I only hope it new to you. Were you aware that the Human-Ziello First Contact was written up as a living tale? And you Comenor are in it—not as copiously as I could wish, but there, and at a tragic moment of your history, too. Some of your very words!”

“Oh, my—how wonderful. But why didn’t we find it? I’m sure we looked,” the boy says.

“It turns me blue to say so,” Moa replied, “but I found this whole text filed under ‘History of Exploration.’ You’ll see why. But there were no fact/fiction refs leading in. Somebody has got to give those files a good shake-out.”

“Oh, how kind of you to do all that looking,” the little Comeno girls says admiringly. Moa notices that her gaze keeps straying to one of her upper hands, which she has pushed forward. He looks at it and sees why—a handsome Comeno mateship coronet is set on her wrist. The boy has one, too, Moa sees now, though he’s holding it less conspicuously.

“Well, my goodness, I see congratulations are in order!” And Human history is temporarily forgotten as they go through the pleasant ceremonial phrases. Moa is genuinely pleased—in addition to his weakness for romance in general, he has developed a strong liking for this young couple who study so harmoniously together.

“I wish you could meet our third,” the girl says shyly. “He’s my godfather. You’d like him, he’s a real scholar. In Xeno-arts. Myr-and-Ser Carricklee.”

“Why, of course, I know him by reputation,” says Moa, thinking to himself that his instincts were right; these young ones come of very good family.

“It’s a pity you aren’t Comeno,” the girl says mischievously, “or we’d have asked you! Because you’re partly responsible.”

At that, Moa really does turn blue, his racial equivalent of a violent blush. Not only is he in neuter mode, but the Comenor, for all their gentle decorum at most times, are renowned for letting go with great fervor at their rare biological rituals.

“Oh, ah, why, thank you,” he stutters.

“I was just teasing.”

“But you, or rather the last tale you gave us, are partly to blame.” The boy smiles, his snowy muzzle looking very handsome and hearty. “I—I found some echo of my feelings in the Human Raven’s love for his Ilyera, and it woke me up to the awful possibility that I might lose her when we graduate.” His upper arms clasp those of his bride-to-be.

The girl laughs musically. “So I must be very careful never to have myself cloned, or he’ll run off and leave the two of us!”

“Never say that,” the boy says sternly, and hugs her again. Then he turns to the new sheaf.

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