Lurulu by Jack Vance

Author:Jack Vance [Vance, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781619470637
Publisher: Spatterlight Press, Oakland, California
Published: 2013-02-03T16:00:00+00:00

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Trimbles: small huts built upon the backs of wumps.

Moncrief put a delicate question: “What, then, is a ‘Lallanker’?”

Gontwitz spat on the ground. “The topic is tiresome. Still, it cannot be ignored. Sometimes a youth with doting parents becomes adolescent convinced of his own sublime importance. He daydreams, shirks his work and joins the girls at play, wearing a blue sash, and makes no effort to learn the creed of the Ritters. No one interferes; they are Ritters and each must pursue his own destiny. He has no friends, but consorts with others of his own sort. They think of themselves as gallant bravos, entitled to the sweetest fruits on the tree of life. Their favorite ploy is to preempt a shipment of kasic and make off with it across the steppe, where it is now their own property through the exigencies of the Ritter creed. They make for an important camp, such as Blackwater Marsh, and deal with the kasic. If there are six Lallankers, each takes for himself a carboy of kasic; he has no need for any more. The balance is then given over to a haphazard distribution, which is better than no distribution at all.

“The Lallanker now looks to his own affairs. He decorates his trimble with red satin cushions and sluices down his wump with floral water. He stocks his pantry with delicacies, including flasks of brambleberry wine and rare confections from the synthesizer. He ties a blue sash around his waist and sets off to find his favorite among the pretty girls, and invites her up to his trimble. He seats her upon a cushion, then pours soft green wine into dainty cups of carved bamboo; presently he serves a banquet of unusual viands. The afternoon passes. At sunset he displays a jug of kasic and asks if he might offer such a gift to signalize his fervent regard. She responds with joy and gratitude. Meanwhile the wump ambles across the steppe through the gathering dusk, and so it goes.

“Elsewhere the rugmakers scrape the bottoms of their schmeer-pots. Across the steppe, at every sweetwater pond, along every strand, on every hillock where the wumps encircle a camp, the rug-makers sing the same song, and it is a sad song indeed.”

Moncrief asked, “Could not the system be altered so as to provide schmeer for these unfortunates whose pots have gone dry?”

Gontwitz was unmoved. “Thirty-two carboys of kasic yield a precise volume of schmeer. This is the basis for an orderly distribution of kasic.”

“Aha!” cried Moncrief, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “You have cited a problem to which I have the answer!”

Gontwitz had lost interest in the topic and turned to address Maloof, but Moncrief was not to be denied. “My concept is simple but elegant! I commend it to your attention.”

Gontwitz heaved a patient sigh. “Very well! Explain this noble concept, if you will.”

“With pleasure! You merely ship twice as many rugs to Cax; they will send back twice as much kasic. This cargo must be discharged at a site secure from the Lallankers.

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