"James Tiptree Jr. - Up the Walls of the World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tiptree James Jr)

up and the fresh wild food is a treat after the boring rations in Deep. But
first she must offer Iznagel her memory of conditions in the wind-layers
below. Tivonel sees the two females' mind-fields form in transmission
mode, and feels the faint life-signal snap as they merge.
"Farewell, farewell!" The Station crew is starting to flicker their
goodbyes. It's time for the males to embark. But they are not to be
hurried.
Tivonel planes down to the pod-driver.
"A message for Food-Supply Chief Ellakil, if you will," she signs politely.
"Tell her Tivonel will be down later. I'm going first to Far Pole to see the
Hearers."
The driver, munching embarrassedly, signals assent. But Iznagel asks in
surprise, "Whatever for, Tivonel?"
"The Father-of-my-child, Giadoc, is there." Just in time she remembers
to restrain her thoughts. "I want to hear news," she adds—which is true, as
far as it goes.
Iznagel's mantle emits a skeptical gleam.
"What's a Father doing at Far Pole?" the driver demands, curiosity
overcoming her shyness at public eating.
"He became a Hearer some time ago, when Tiavan was grown. He's
interested in learning about the life beyond the sky."
"How unFatherly." The driver's tone is tersely grey.
"You wouldn't say so if you knew him," Tivonel retorts. "Someone
should gain knowledge, and our fields aren't big enough. It takes a
Father's sensitivity to probe the sky." But as she speaks, something in her
agrees a little with the driver. Never mind; my Giadoc is a true male.
"Here they come at last. Move back."
The big males are jetting somewhat awkwardly out to the floater. As
they near it, a clamor of shrill green shrieks breaks out from under their
mantles: The youngsters are appalled anew at the prospect of entering the
pod. They scream and struggle shockingly against their new Fathers,
contorting their little mind-fields against the huge strange energies that
envelop and soothe them. They're strong young ones, deformed by
premature activity in the Wild. Even big Ober seems to be striving for
composure.
 As they go by, Ober's mantle flaps upward, revealing his bulging
Father's pouch and a glimpse of the child's jets. The pod-driver squeaks
bright turquoise with embarrassment. Iznagel only averts herself, glowing
amusedly under the conventional rosy flush of appreciation for the sacred
Skills. Tivonel is used to the sight of such intimate gathering after the last
months. That silly driver—Deepers forget the facts of life, she thinks. It's
better up here where people are more open to the Wind.
Behind her she notices the two young Station males, their life-fields
flaring straight out with intense emotion. Probably seeing grown Fathers
in action for the first time. Belatedly, she checks her own field, and tunes
her mantle to the correct flush. The last of the Fathers are going in.
"Goodbye, goodbye! Wind's blessing," she signals formally, unable to
check an eddy of her field toward them, hoping for a last warm contact.
But of course there's no response. Don't be foolish, she chides herself.
Their important, high-status life has begun. Do I want to be an abnormal