“Good.” Zilla takes a sniff of her CO2 and addresses the big captain squarely, in resonant-sounding Ziellan phrases. He seems to listen, but at her repeated mention of the Federation, he suddenly bursts out:
“Feder-ation! Feder-ation! I no see Feder-ation, I no coluf Federation! I no know Feder-ation. I think you Feder-ation big Maggiegg! I see four—three—Zhumanor, na Yoomanss. I think you want I go Zhumanor base. Feder-ation, I sick!”
Asch holds his temper with all his might. “No. Federation is big, is same like Allowateera. No make one more mis-stake! Federation make bad war, have big ships. But Federation no want war. Federation want make friends.”
Krimheen seems to think this over, glancing down at where Dinger and Torrane sit guard beside Shara’s composed body, glancing at Malloreen.
“What is friends?”
“I know,” says Zillanoy. Asch silently thanks whoever made up the talking-books that the word is there for Zilla to explain. It is becoming unhappily clear to him that even if Krimheen assents to their plan, in the immediate influence of Shara’s sudden death, his consent could come unstuck again at any moment. When his ship is here, say, and at every step of the way, he will have to be repersuaded all over again. Oh, if only the Federation—But don’t think of it. It’s up to him alone.
“Be friends,” he goes on when Zilla has finished. “Friends is this: When we come here, you sick. You go die. Very easy, very quick we kill you, take ship. But do we catch you, kill you? Do we do bad things? No! Same friends, we do all good things. We work help you no die. Look Malloreen! We do same friends, we do same Federation. Now I want you come Federation, say hello, look we good people. You talk of Zieltan, make friends. That’s all, no more! Oh, don’t you see, you obdurate ape—we m be friends or there will come a terrible war! Long, long war, everybody die. Zieltan die... We must trust one another—trust one another or die!”
Krimheen says nothing for a moment. Then be asks, “What this, trust!”
“Trust...” Asch has the feeling that deeper and deeper waters are swirling around him, while he is armed only with a leaden splinter. Vaguely he realizes that Krimheen now has his weapon pointed, as if absentmindedly, at his head. No matter. “Trust is—I know you talk true, you know I talk true. And I know you want do good things, you know 1 want do good things... Look! I show you trust: If you say you go FedBase, we go in sleep-boxes. I trust you talk true. See?”
Krimheen is frowning hard. “You do... this? You go in sleep-boxes?”
Asch holds up a hand. “If—If you say you go to FedBase. We trust you talk true, no go to Zieltan. We go in boxes. What you say?”
Is he crazy? Asch wonders. To venture all on this alien mind? Well, if it fails, they can always use the damned little kill-teeth. He stares hard, trying to read Krimheen—but he can’t; he knows only that the alien has turned on them once, after they had saved his life.
Krimheen stares back, steel-hard. Then he glances at Malloreen, and his face changes slightly, in what manner Asch can’t tell.
“Fede—” Krimheen starts.
But what he is about to say is never known.
A cutting flash hits the view-ports, and their artificial gravity judders. All turn to look outside.
Floating an indeterminate distance away is a shiny metal sphere. A few antennalike devices protrude from it. As they stare at it, the callers in both ships crackle and boom.
Krimheen quickly turns his volume down, still staring at the strange vessel.
“Hello?” says a Federation voice. It sounds young and excited. “Ah, Rift-Runner there? Federation Experimental FTL craft XK-five calling Rift-Runner. They tell me you need a lift.”
The voice becomes even more informal. “How about thirty-six hours round trip? I had breakfast at Base this morning. Ah, and who’s your big friends?”
“ ‘FTL’!” mutters Dinger, quick on the uptake. “By the All! We’ve been away a long time... Oh, Shara, Shara... Poor kid.”
Before either of the astonished captains can reply, the voice gives a muffled squawk. “Hey—what’s happening to me? I feel like I’m growing extra arms—and a tail?”
Captain Asch draws a deep relieved breath for the first time in a long while.
“I think,” he says to Krimheen, “I think now you see our Federation!”
“And that was about it,” FedBase Executive Jonne tells her visitor, who has been out of touch for many years.
“We ferried them here in three trips, after Krimheen’s fuel ship had arrived and docked on and got their air-plant started again. Captain Krimheen woke up his second-in-command and instructed him to proceed here, emitting a signal so they could be rendezvoused en route. And after he’d had a good look at Nine hundred, he asked to go back to his ship so he could use their FTL communications to contact his fleet out east and get the attacks on Federation colonies called off.
“Of course it was horribly sad about Shara, dying like that so close to home. But you know, we discovered that Captain K. felt genuinely bad about it? At the services, he suddenly unpinned a big decoration from his chest and laid it on her hands. Such a good gesture—and suitable, too; her death certainly played a part in convincing him that we weren’t Black Worlders, and averting war between his people and ours.
“Of course we turned ourselves inside out to give Krimheen a royal-type reception. And the hospital staff was ready with a big roll-bed for Malloreen. He got steadily better, such a nice young person. What an uncanny thing, that digitalis worked on his heart! But apparently the neuroelectrical aspect of their bodies is quite similar to ours. The rest is wildly different from anything on this side of the Rift. A wonderful mystery, life forming in gas and dust-clouds.
“Their reproductive system is another wonderful mystery, too. At first we thought we were in for trouble—the little Mumoo, Tomlo, dropped dead at the main entrance! But this seemed to be accepted as a form of their Ritual; they gathered ’round and sang a long song of Thanksgiving for peace, in which I may say we all joined.
“Their housing here was no problem, once the nutrition staff had learned to synthesize palatable food. Of course we had their quarters air-conditioned to the right CO two, and dry, with plenty of spare tanks. And we were working on a portable tank, until we found that they really were quite happy strolling ’round with their tumblers of dry ice. So we just assigned a courier to trail after them with a load of the stuff. We also assigned a nice girl as official translator—what a loss, Shara!—and she soon got on wonderfully with them both. Would you believe Captain K. turned out to have a keen sense of humor?
“It was his reception here that decided him to take a flying tour of the Fed via our FTL ship, while his warships proceeded straight out east. Zilla asked for Lieutenant Torrane to come along and help finish a Ziello-Human handbook they’re working up. From what I hear, we may be having our first Ziello-Human romance. And the translator went along, too. I’m getting them back, though; for chauvinistic reasons I kind of want Nine hundred to keep its lead as a center of Ziello expertise...”
Exec chuckles at her own pride and picks up the bottle of Eldorado VIII wine they have been sharing.
“Let me refill you. And have another of these—” She offers a plate of morpleases.
“The trade prospects look very good, don’t they?” her visitor asks. “You say they don’t have video technology. But they have, I gather, artificial gravity and FTL communication, which seems to be based on a different principle than our c-skip drive ships... Of course, the c-skip costs an arm and a leg to operate; after the first glory period of damn-the-costs flying, Central is making it clear it has to be reserved for bona fide life-or-death emergencies. Unless the Ziello can cheapen it, they’ll have to do the same thing.”
“Of course. But the thing is, with both FTL transmission and transport, the chances of war by inadvertence go down exponentially... My gods! What a blessing!”
Exec leans back and focuses her grave eyes on her visitor.
“Do you realize how close we came to that? If it hadn’t been for a dozen tiny things—blind chances—we’d be at war with the Harmony right now. We were closer even than Captain Asch knew; he knew that Humans had committed atrocities on those Ziello allies, but he wasn’t aware that Ziello ships were already blowing up Federation planets in Sector Three hundred. If nothing had happened to change our views of each other, we’d have blundered into full-scale war.”
She sighs, sips her wine.
“The thing that impresses me—hells, scares my hair up—is the precariousness of the whole great balance. If any one of a host of little things had gone differently—a rain shower not coming just when it did, say—we’d have had war.
“Only the whim of that alien girl to study the Black Worlders’ language, and her return when she did, made everything that followed possible. It’s as if the great issue rode, from moment to moment, on the tiny acts of individuals. Even that strange little being Tomlo carried the whole weight in its feathery paws when it bravely decided to call for help to the enemy, and let them in.
“Even poor Kathy’s death played a part, by alerting Zilla to them. And Shara’s putting in that fatal tooth, that made her die so easily, that gave Krimheen pause. We’ll have to disabuse him about that one day, by the way...
“And if Malloreen hadn’t been who he was—Krimheen’s sister’s son, the only child in their family; sheer luck that he was on that ship. And sheer luck that a plant-derived chemical the Ziello couldn’t possibly have worked on him. And sheer luck again that the FTL ship was ready—”
“But your moving stars and suns to get the use of it,” her visitor puts in. “That wasn’t exactly chance.”
“Yes, I expect I was one of the tiny individuals for a moment... Oh, so many crucial little happenings tipped the enormous scales.” She sighs again, more relaxed than she has been for many years, and smiles.
“And never forgetting the sheer indomitable will of Captain Asch, arguing over and over with a bull-headed, patriotic battleship commander with planet-breakers in his racks, and what he thought was the enemy in sight... I drink to that, to a man who rose to the challenge of defining ‘trust’ in pidgin-Galactic—with a gun at his head!”
At the library
It is some days later when the two Comeno students approach the pool where the chief librarian’s deputy is testing some waterproof cassettes for aquatic clients.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says through the speaker in the pool wall, “Myr Blue is on detached duty this ten-day. He’s doing an appraisal on a collection of antiques. If you’d care to leave a note for him, you’ll find a recorder marked with his name at the end of the main counter. And his in-box is there.”
They thank her and repair to the main front desk. The tall Comeno boy lays their sheaf of documents carefully in a bin marked “Moa Blue—Special.” The recorder is beside it.
“You talk,” the boy says. “You know I always freeze up.”
“And I go too fast.” She laughs. “All right, I’ll try.” She lifts the small mike. “Myr Blue? Myr Moa Blue? Greetings! This is from your two Comenor, Gilderlee and Rosavan. We’ve just brought back your third tale and we’re so sorry you’re away. But we can tell you, it certainly was a treat—both historically and personally. It gave me, that’s Rosie, real cold shivers—my folks were on one of those colonies that were barely rescued from the Black Worlders in time! And historically it’s magnificent—imagine that little ship, Rift-Runner, just bouncing in and landing in the middle of the whole great Harmony out to kill Humans. And everything being so complacent and confused that they bounced right out again! And we loved Zilla. And it was thrilling—actually hearing the splashing and shouts when the Human girl Kathy was dying, so many centuries ago. And the storm, and the poor Humans running—do you know, I took quite an aversion to Captain Krimheen after a bit. Although he was doing what he thought was best for his side; he was just so stubborn, wasn’t he? Oh, dear, all this sounds so trivial, the truth is I’m vibrating like a school kid from the excitement, and I haven’t settled down to serious thought about all the implications.
“Well, I won’t burden you with more of these enthusiasms, but just join with Gildy in one great big final thank-you. We’ll drop in to say hello one day soon if you wouldn’t mind.
“And one thing more, if you wouldn’t mind—you see, we have this kind of diplomatic problem as to the dedication of our joint paper. It’s customary to dedicate to one’s tutor, you know—but Gildy and I have different tutors, and we’ve both had special help from others, too. So we thought we’d solve the whole thing by treating them all in a paragraph, and making the official dedication to you, Myr-and-Doctor Moa Blue, for very special enlightenment. Would you mind? It would fix everything, and no one could object, and—and we’d just love to. Plus, it’s true—you gave us help no one else could. And you didn’t need to, you could have told us to go look things up ourselves. And then we wouldn’t have found a thing. I do hope you’ll say yes; we’ll drop by for your answer after you’re home again.
“Now here’s Gildy to say thanks and good-bye, too—Gildy, go on—with love, Rosavan.”
About the Author
James Tiptree Jr. was the pseudonym of Alice Sheldon, who died shortly after completion of this book.
Also by James Tiptree, Jr.
published by Tor Books
Brightness Falls from the Air
Crown of Stars (hardcover)
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
THE STARRY RIFT
Copyright © 1986 by James Tiptree, Jr.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A TOR Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
49 West 24 Street New York, NY 10010
Cover art by Dave Archer
ISBN: 0-812-55627-5
Can. ISBN: 0-812-55628-3
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 85-52257
First edition: July 1986
First mass market printing: March 1989
Printed in the United States of America
0987654321
“Tiptree manages to take space opera and turn it into something more subtle than straight-out adventure, pulling hard on your heartstrings all the while.”
—The Seattle Times
“Contains some of the best writing the [science fiction] field has ever seen.”
—Science Fiction Chronicle
“Tiptree is a master of language and of character. Moreover, she manages to reach inside a reader and make him or her care, and care deeply, about the imaginary folk and worlds she creates. In all ways she is a truly great writer, perhaps the greatest in science fiction today.”
—The Baltimore Sun
“An elegant triptych that serves as a follow-up to Tiptree’s Brightness Falls from the Air. ”
—Library Journal
“Adds that spice of substantial insight into human nature... Tiptree’s aliens are convincing, her humans easy to identify with, and her plots touching.”
—UPI
“[Tiptree] develops what looks like frivolity into emotionally powerful climaxes.”
—Aboriginal Science Fiction
“As with much of Tiptree’s best work, The Starry Rift is sentimental but also intense. She is one of the few science fiction writers now publishing whose fiction combines strong action with great feeling. Her pacing is effortlessly right, her style so totally functional that it results in the kind of clarity that allows the complexities of the plot to unfold without difficulty. She’s a one-of-a-kind writer, not to be missed.”
—The Washington Times
“[The Starry Rift] shows Tiptree’s canny use of con-. ventional s-f themes as a way of bringing believable heroes and exotic settings to vivid life.”
—New York
Daily News
“Some of the author’s more cultish fans may regret that she is now writing such comparatively accessible works, but the quality remains. Highly recommended.”
—ALA Booklist
“James Tiptree, Jr. is one of America’s most dependable storytellers, and each collection of the author’s work is a reason to rejoice.”
—Austin, TX, American-Statesman
“Tiptree contrives to give the heartstrings a strong tug while she’s building the structures of coincidence, symmetry, and weird freaks of fate that make up the tales in The Starry Rift... Poignant and hilarious, masterfully showing how space opera can go beyond the limits of genre.”
—Locus
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