Startide Rising (The Uplift Saga #2)

by David Brin

She quickly stripped and stepped into a one-piece swimsuit, stopping in front of a mirror to tug it comfortable. Dennie knew she was attractively built.

Never talk about men's attractiveness! What does this have to do with anything??

She tested the mirror with a smile. The image was instantly transformed. Strong white teeth brilliantly balanced dark brown eyes. She let it lapse. Dimples made her look young, an effect to be avoided at all cost. She sighed and carefully pushed her jet black hair into a rubber diving cap.

Ugh!

Dennie had to agree, though she thought it a bit cruel. She suddenly felt a smooth, flat touch on her left thigh. She yelped and whirled around with her hand at her throat, then sighed when she saw that it was the neo-dolphin anthropologist, Sah’ot, who had slipped in his left pectoral fin, attempting … the Stenos gave her an uneven grin. His rough teeth shone brightly. “Shark-breath! Doggerel-rhymer!” Dennie’s heart pounded. “Go make love to an unwashed specimen bottle!” Sah’ot reared back, his eyes momentarily white-rimmed in surprise. Apparently he hadn’t expected such intensity. “Aw, Dennie,” Sah’ot sighed. “I was jussst trying to thank you for interceding with Creideiki. Obviously your charms are more persuasive than any arguments I might raise. Sorry if I sstartled you.”

So that THING IS hitting on her! I hope this shit gets resolved in her favor!

Except for a few races, such as the Kanten and Tymbrimi, the Galactic community as a whole seemed stuck in that kind of a mentality. The Library was their first and last recourse for every problem. The fact that the ancient records almost always did contain something useful didn’t make that approach any less repugnant to many of the wolflings of Earth, including Tom, Gillian, and their mentor, old Jacob Demwa.

Coming out of a tradition of bootstrap technology, Earth’s leaders decided there were things to be gained from innovation, even this late in Galactic history. At least it felt better to believe that. To a wolfling race, pride was an important thing. Orphans often have little else.

Gillian headed for the outer clinic, where Makanee would be dealing with a line of complaining crewfen at sick call. Gillian would show the physician Charlie’s isotope profiles and then go back to her own lab to work for a while longer. Sleep called to her, but she knew it would be a long time coming. In this mood that had come upon her she felt reluctant.

Logic was the blessing and curse of her upbringing. She knew that Tom was where he was supposed to be—out pursuing ways to save them all. He knew it as well. His departure had been hasty and necessary, and there simply hadn’t been time to seek her out to say good-bye. Gillian was aware of all of these considerations. She repeated them to herself as she swam. But they only seemed to disconnect the larger from the smaller of her problems, and rob of poignant consolation the unattractiveness of her empty bed.

One woman is being hit on by a dolphin. Another is mooning over her absent boyfriend. Meanwhile, men and nonhumans go about their business without all this emotional shit. There are only two women out of eight humans. There are a few more female dolphins, but there are a lot more dolphins overall. Only one Black man. A racist and sexist set-up.

Also, there was this sexual game between Sah’ot and Dennie. Not that he was a prude. Such hobbies weren’t exactly forbidden, but they had been known to cause problems. Apparently Dennie wasn’t even aware of the subtle ways she was encouraging Sah’ot. Toshio wondered if he had the nerve to tell her—or if it was any of his business.

Yeah, always the woman's fault.

The Tymbrimi particularly liked human fantasy novels, with lots of dragons, ogres and magic—the more the better. They thought them terrifyingly grotesque and vivid.

She hoped to finish here and get back to Streaker within three days, about when Creideiki planned to move the ship. By then she and Dennie should have worked out the environmental needs of the Kiqui—how to take a small sample group with them back to the Center for Uplift on Earth. If Streaker got away, and if humanity first filed a client claim, it could save the Kiqui from a far worse fate.

Colonialism!

Lately he had started having fantasies about Gillian.

Now a few paragraphs of sexist male shit.

An uneven electronic tone behind him interrupted his fantasy—the comm coming back to life.

Thank God it's over!