Lurulu

by Jack Vance

  Maloof chuckled sadly. “Unlikely. In any case, we will take as few risks as possible.”

  “I cannot concern myself with such affairs,” said Lady Maloof. “I am anxious only for a bath, fresh garments and a proper meal.”

  Maloof served her bread, cheese and a cold meat pie, at which she nibbled with condescension and an occasional sniff. Lady Maloof thereupon arranged herself on a bench and fell asleep.

  The flitter arrived at the Coro-Coro spaceport during the middle evening. Maloof made sure that no Civil Agents were in evidence, then took Lady Maloof trotting and hopping at best speed to the gangway and up into the saloon. Lady Maloof at once began to complain. “Really, Adair, have you lost all respect for propriety? You jerk me about as if I were a wayward animal! This sort of thing must not be repeated, and I shall be firm on this.”

  “You were not moving fast enough,” said Maloof. “I wanted to evade attention.”

  Lady Maloof said querulously: “I felt as if I were being hurtled through the air like a sack of chaff, all to no sensible purpose. But now I am tired and hungry.”

  Maloof served her a bowl of soup, an omelet, hot buttered scones and a cream tart, then bedded her down in his own quarters, where she quickly fell asleep.

  Chapter IV

  1

  Once secure aboard the Glicca, Lady Maloof dismissed the Maijaro from her mind as if it had been a bad dream; once again she became the grande dame of Traven society, with prestige so exalted as to insulate her from petty official annoyances.

  Maloof patiently tried to explain the functioning of the Civil Authority. “The Agents interpret the Protocols rigidly; in their view you are a law-breaker and subject to penalties probably of the second order.”

  Lady Maloof only shook her head and smiled. “Come now, Adair, they would not concern themselves over a trifling peccadillo, especially after they understand who I am.”

  “Who you are means nothing! They prosecute the act, not the person.”

  “Hmmf,” sniffed Lady Maloof. “In my experience all officials are flexible — especially if you show them a ten-sol certificate.”

  Maloof managed a painful grin. “The subject is moot, since you will not be leaving the Glicca.”

  Lady Maloof gave a gurgle of amusement. “Truly, Adair, you must cultivate a more sophisticated outlook! I do not intend to be immured as if I were a pariah. Be reasonable, Adair!”

  “I plan to ship you back to Morlock at the first opportunity,” said Maloof. “That is realism. Until that time you must keep a low profile aboard the Glicca.”

  “This is quite impractical,” said Lady Maloof haughtily. “I am planning to order a carriage and visit the O-Shar-Shan terrace, where I can enjoy the civilized intercourse to which I am entitled.”

  “I think not,” said Maloof. “The Agents would pick you up before you left the spaceport.”

  Lady Maloof daubed at her brow with a handkerchief. “I can not understand why you have to be so brutally dogmatic! As a boy, you were most gallant at all times; the change is most unsettling!” She rose to her feet and threw the handkerchief down to the deck. “You may take me to my stateroom.”

  2

  An hour later, leaving Myron on guard, Maloof visited the passengers lounge in the spaceport administration building, where he checked the posting of schedules for ships arriving at Coro-Coro. He was delighted to find that the tourist packet Farway Rambler would depart Coro-Coro at midnight, and in due course would touch into Port Pallas on Tran, which served as a transfer depot for a dozen shipping lines and where a connection to Morlock could be arranged without difficulty.

  Maloof departed the lounge and crossed the field to the great blue and silver packet. He went aboard and was conducted to the office of Captain Brevet Fane, with whom Maloof had some previous acquaintance.

  Maloof was cordially received and installed in a comfortable chair. After a few minutes of casual conversation, Maloof mentioned his mother, her difficulties and his efforts to extricate her from her own foolishness. Fane listened sympathetically and assured Maloof that he need only bring his mother aboard the Farway Rambler; he and his staff would take care of any remaining problems. Maloof provided such information as was needed, then Fane pressed a button to summon his steward, who arrived carrying a tray on which rested a heavy bottle and two goblets. Fane reverently lifted the bottle and poured three inches of a tawny liquor into each of the glasses, one of which he slid across to Maloof.

  “In the ancient language, the word ‘uisquebaugh’ means ‘water of life’,” said Fane. “According to legend, the liquor is created from sunshine, rain and soft turf smoke.” He raised his glass. “Slanche.”

  “Slanche,” said Maloof.

  3

  Maloof returned to the Glicca, where he found Myron sitting alone at the galley table, reading a document issued by the port director, listing parcels of various cargo awaiting transfer. Maloof looked into the saloon, which was empty. He asked: “Where is she?”

  “Still in her cabin,” said Myron. “She has not so much as stirred. I assumed that she was asleep.”

  Maloof went to the cabin which had been assigned to Lady Maloof. He knocked at the door and listened, but heard nothing. He knocked again. This time Lady Maloof responded, in a fluting voice: “Who is it?”

  Maloof pushed open the door and stepped into the cabin. He stopped short, eyebrows lofting in wonder.

  Lady Maloof sat before the mirror of the dressing table, applying a mask of white cosmetic to her sagging features. She had accented her eye sockets with splotches of brown-purple pigment, so that she resembled an old white raccoon. Her hair, now dyed jet black, was drawn up into a tuft constrained by a binding of white beads. She wore a spectacular gown of lambent green, split down the legs to reveal a pale blue lining and glimpses of match-stick legs. She noticed Maloof’s presence and turned upon him a glance of disapproval.

  “Have you forgotten even the rudiments of decorum? You are intruding upon my privacy.”

  “Sorry,” said Maloof. “I came to tell you that I have obtained passage for you back to Morlock. The ship leaves tonight, so pack your bags.”

  Lady Maloof turned her attention back to the mirror. “This arrangement must be postponed; it does not accord with my plans. I am ordering a carriage for the O-Shar-Shan. If I find the circumstances amusing, I may well book a suite for a week or two.”

  Maloof wasted neither time nor breath in recriminations. He called in Myron; ignoring Lady Maloof’s shrill protests, they crammed her belongings into her travel bags.

  Maloof stepped down from the Glicca and surveyed the field, now obscured by the coming of dusk. Tourists in groups were crossing the field, returning to their ships. Maloof returned into the Glicca.

  “Now is as good a time as any,” he told his mother. “Are you ready?”

  “Naturally not! This is a farrago of utter nonsense! Is it not tragic?”

  “Very sad,” said Maloof, bringing out a long black cloak which had been discarded by one of the pilgrims. “Your costume is a bit conspicuous; cover yourself in this cloak.”

  “What? It seethes with dirt!”

  “Nevertheless, it must serve.” Maloof wrapped the cloak about the Lady Maloof’s shrinking form and jammed a broad-brimmed hat down over her head.

  “We are as ready as we ever will be. You may pray if you like.”

  “It can do no harm,” said Myron, “especially since the Civil Agents may also be praying.”

  “In any case, let’s be away.”

  “This is a great fiasco,” declared Lady Maloof. “I do not intend to walk a single step.”

  “Either you walk or we take you in a wheelbarrow,” said Maloof. “Are you ready?”

  “It seems that I have no choice!” cried Lady Maloof piteously. “If I must, I must. I shall never forget this indignity.” With Maloof at her side, she set forth and at her best speed made for the Farway Rambler, with Myron coming behind, carrying the bags.

&
nbsp; Without incident they came to the comforting bulk of the packet. They climbed the embarcation ramp and entered the main saloon.

  The purser was not at hand and Myron went off to find him, while the other two surveyed the saloon which was panelled in golden-brown wood and carpeted with soft green plush, creating an ambience of understated elegance. Maloof glanced sidewise at his mother to gauge her reaction, to find her looking about with a supercilious droop to her mouth.

  “It seems comfortable enough,” said Maloof. “You should have a pleasant voyage.”

  Lady Maloof said nothing. Nearby, a group of passengers sat at a table, drinking from frosted glasses and holding an animated conversation. They took note of Lady Maloof; the conversation trailed off. A discreet chuckle or two could be heard, then the conversation resumed. Lady Maloof made a hissing sound between her teeth. Facing the passengers, she threw her shoulders back and let the black cloak fall to the deck; for good measure she snatched the hat from her head and threw it to the side. She appeared ready to speak; Maloof observed gravely, but made no attempt to interfere.

  At that moment Myron returned with the purser, who welcomed Lady Maloof aboard with punctilious formality. Using a rich baritone voice he exclaimed: “I admit to surprise! I had expected someone considerably older than yourself, and definitely lacking your evident panache!”

  Lady Maloof turned away from the passengers and muttered: “I feel that in many ways I am distinctly remarkable. I have never renounced my yearning to live by the precepts of romance!”

  “A remarkable trait,” declared the purser. “Now I must conduct you to your cabin where you will undoubtedly wish to rest before the gala following departure.”

  Maloof patted his mother’s shoulder. “I am sure that you will enjoy your voyage and soon you will be home.”

  “I shall do well enough, or so I suppose,” said Lady Maloof distantly.

  Myron also made his farewells, to which Lady Maloof vouchsafed only a curt nod, then the purser led her away, a porter coming behind with her bags.

  Maloof and Myron waited until the purser returned. Maloof asked: “I assume that you still depart at midnight?”

  “There have been no changes; the ship will depart according to schedule.”

  “I must warn you that my mother is often headstrong, if not unreasonable — even to her own detriment.”

  The purser smiled politely. “We accommodate passengers of many temperaments. I doubt if Lady Maloof can show us anything novel.”

  “It is of utmost importance that she is not allowed to leave the ship before departure. She has no legal papers and the Civil Agents will be sure to pick her up and subject her to the second order. If necessary, lock her in her stateroom, or even sedate her; do not relax your vigilance! She uses an animal cunning to get her own way.”

  “We will take special precautions,” said the purser. “In fact, I will go at once to lock her door. You need not concern yourselves; she will not be allowed to leave the ship.”

  “Thank you, I am reassured,” said Maloof.

  Maloof and Myron returned across the field to the Glicca. Hours passed; dusk deepened through evening into night, and the Farway Rambler prepared for departure. Maloof and Myron went out upon the small staging deck at the head of the gangway.

  Midnight approached. At three minutes to the hour the packet’s embarcation ramp was drawn up into the ship and the entry port sealed. At midnight the farewell horn sounded, rising from a mournful moan up the scale to an eerie soprano wail, then dropping again to fade below the threshold of perception. The ship eased up from the field to an altitude of five hundred feet, then slid off into the night, rising, then gathering speed to become a glimmer which disappeared among the stars.

  4

  At the Glicca, Maloof and Myron lingered in the dark, each with his own thoughts. After a time Maloof went to the galley and returned with a bottle of soft yellow wine. He poured, and they sat as before, although by some subtle process the wine had altered their mood.

  Maloof spoke, half to himself. “The great venture is over; there is nothing more to do, and I feel empty. It is a most curious sensation. What next? Perhaps nothing; perhaps I shall try to rest. It is as if I have entered another phase of existence.”

  After a pause, Myron replied. “It seems natural enough, with so much less tension in your life. You might even ease into something like ‘lurulu’.”

  Maloof laughed softly. “I cannot define it precisely, but lurulu is something different, far more elusive than this. It seems to come while yearnings are being gratified. After the fact is too close to an inert tranquillity.” He mused. “It seems that there is an active component of lurulu, which is fragile.”

  Myron stared off into the night. “I doubt if I will ever chance upon such a state.”

  “How so?”

  “My ‘yearnings’, if that is what they are, can never be reconciled; they pull in different directions. One involves a certain Tibbet Garwig. She lives at Duvray, on Alcydon. Second, my Aunt Hester has done me harm; she represents an itch I desperately want to scratch. Call it a component of lurulu, if you like. Then there is the Glicca; I can not stay aboard the Glicca forever, and the prospect of any other life is dismal.”

  Maloof drained his glass. “For each of us, lurulu is in the nature of a far-off dream. For now, it occurs to me that the night is still young, and that a short walk along Pomare Boulevard will bring us to the Pingis Tavern, where we might risk a Pooncho Number Two or even a Number Three, depending upon the portents.”

  Myron was instantly on his feet. “The idea is constructive! As dauntless spacemen we may safely ignore portents, unless they take the form of Civil Agents, in which case we reconsider our plans.” The two descended the gangway, crossed the field, and set off for the Pingis.

  5

  The sojourn of the Glicca at Coro-Coro had reached its final days. Without enthusiasm the crew began to prepare for departure.

  One morning, during a visit to the trans-shipment dock, Myron was offered and provisionally accepted a parcel of cargo for a world somewhat to the side of the direct route to Cax on Blenkinsop, which was to be the next port of call. Back aboard the Glicca, Myron reported the tentative transaction to Captain Maloof. “The parcel consists of thirty-two carboys of chemical — kasic, to be specific. It was shipped from Cax and off-loaded here for trans-shipment to Star Home.”

  “‘Star Home’?”

  “Yes; it’s on a dogleg from the direct run to Cax, but not impractically far off. With the pilgrims off the ship there is stowage. The director will pay charges of three hundred and twenty-five sols, which is all he could collect from the off-loading vessel, but which seems reasonable. I accepted the parcel, subject to your approval.”

  Maloof looked into Handbook to the Planets. He found ‘Star Home’ and read aloud:

  STAR HOME, SECOND PLANET OF THE WHITE DWARF MIREILLE.

  Star Home is a small dense world with a breathable atmosphere, a congenial climate, and gravity close to Earth-normal. The sidereal day is twenty hours and twenty-three minutes. There are two continents: the smaller, to the north, is a dreary waste of stone and ice; the second continent is characterized by flat steppes overgrown with chest-high grass, a few ranges of ancient hills and a minor upthrust of mountains in the far south.

  At first viewing Star Home offers no great attraction either for the scholar or the casual traveller, though the sparse native population enlivens the scene. They are a patrician caste of uncompromising nomads: the ‘Ritters’, guided only by the unwritten doctrines of ‘Ritter Way’. There are no settled communities of any description, and no formal social structure. The Ritters wander the seaside littoral pausing as the mood strikes them. They are versatile, skilled at many small crafts, but most notably expert in the fabrication of exquisite rugs, which they export off-world in return for needful articles beyond their ability to produce, such as tools, food synthesizers, and household utensils. They are generally placid folk, l
iving without hostility, and indifferent to the presence of off-worlders. Crime is unknown, as is reprehensible behaviour, except for the antics of feckless young gallants, whose misdeeds are charitably ignored as a sowing of wild oats.

  The single spaceport is Port Palactus, inconveniently located in the center of the Great Mahave Steppe and lacking in almost all ordinary facilities. There are a pair of dilapidated warehouses, and a Port Director’s office and bank, but neither machine shops nor tourist accommodations.

  Star Home flora is not abundant. It includes a dozen species of grass, among which is a lordly bamboo, with black stalks and pale green leaves. Some of these may well have been imported. The fauna, like the flora, is not various, but includes the savagely ferocious predator known as the ‘mereng’, which lives hidden in narrow tunnels under the grass. Merengs are long, supple, six-legged creatures which may attain a length of twelve feet, dreaded by the Ritters but occasionally hunted for meat and hides. Impressive and of mild disposition are the gigantic herbivores known as ‘wumps’, ponderous creatures often forty or even fifty feet long and twenty feet high. Wumps walk on six heavy legs and ingest grass by means of sinuous snouts which bring grass to the maw. The Ritters domesticate wumps and build small residences upon their broad backs, which are quite picturesque, with peaked roofs; always at the rear is a workroom where rugs are produced.

  Maloof frowned and looked up. “The article ends.” He reread the section silently, fingers thrumming the table, then thrust the Handbook aside in a mild show of vexation. “The Handbook tells me less than I would like to know! Why is their spaceport located in the middle of a steppe? And there is little to suggest an explanation why the ‘Ritters’, as unconventional or peculiar as they are, might need thirty-two carboys of kasic.”

  Myron shook his head. “I cannot so much as guess.”