Don’t Bite the Sun, Tanith Lee [warren buffett book recommendations .txt] 📗

DON’T BITE THE SUN

Tanith Lee

www.sfgateway.com

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Contents

Title Page

Gateway Introduction

Contents

Transcriber’s Note

Glossary of Jang Slang

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Part Two

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Part Three

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Part Four

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Part Five

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Website

Also by Tanith Lee

Author Bio

Copyright

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

Although I have put the Four BEE into equivalent modern English, the Jang slang vocabulary which the writer uses pales in translation. I have therefore left the sixteen or so odd words she employs untouched, and included on the following page a glossary, which provides an adequate, if imperfect, guide to what they mean.

Glossary of Jang Slang

attlevey

Hello.

dalika

Violent argument.

derisann

Lovely, beautiful.

droad

Bored out of one’s mind.

drumdik

Utterly horrible, the most ghastly thing.

farathoom

Bloody, fucking hell.

floop

Cunt. See also thralldrap.

groshing

Fabulous, marvelous.

insumatt

Unsurpassable.

onk

Mild ejaculation, e.g., bother.

ooma

darling, honey.

selt

Slow on the uptake. ‘Con’-able.

soolka

Well-groomed. Applied by Jang only to non-Jang.

thalldrap

See floop.

tosky

Neurotic.

V ….n

A word never written in full by the autobiographer. Obviously pretty bad.

zaradann

Insane, nuts.

General Terms

Glar

Early Four BEE title, similar to professor. The term hung on as a polite name for Q-R teachers at the hypno-schools, but otherwise was extinct by this time.

mid-vrek

Middle period of any vrek, lasting forty units.

rorl

Four BEE equivalent of a century.

split

Four BEE minute.

unit

Four BEE day.

vrek

Period of one hundred units.

My friend Hergal had killed himself again. This was the fortieth time he had crashed his bird-plane on to the Zeefahr Monument and had to have a new body made. And when I went to visit him at Limbo, I was wandering around for ages before the robot found him for me. He was dark this time, about a foot taller, with very long hair and a mustache, all glittery gold fibers, and these silly wings growing out of his shoulders and ankles.

“Attlevey, Hergal,” I said.

“Attlevey,” said Hergal, and flapped his wings about. “Groshing, aren’t they? No strength, of course, just for show. Have to get another new bird-plane if I fancy a flight.”

“I thought,” I remarked, popping a button for a floating chair, even though mannerless old Hergal hadn’t bothered, “that the Committee might have canceled your license to fly.”

“Ha ha!” gaily chortled Hergal. “Wouldn’t dare.”

“I do wish, though, you’d pick somewhere else to crash down on top of. It gets rather monotonous, always the boring old Zeefahr. I mean, how about trying the Robotics Museum? You might even manage to crack the roof, and that must be an achievement.”

Hergal tugged his mustache.

“Hmm,” Hergal said.

“Anyway,” I said, giving my messenger bee a good kick—it’s always dozing off and falling on me in the street, usually when hordes of people are about—“I’ve brought you some ecstasy pills and a sixth-dimensional cube to contemplate.”

“Oh, Good,” said Hergal. I could see his mind (?) was on higher things than ecstasy and contemplation. I remembered the nasty time Hergal and I got married for mid-vrek, down at the Prism Playgrounds, and then lost each other, and I ended up stealing lots of glass dresses out of confusion, and having my dreams analyzed, and buying a desert animal from Four BOO that was fierce and furry, and snored all the way home in the bubble and then bit me at the last moment, when I’d actually decided I could stand it being fierce and furry, and snoring.

Hergal, of course, just rented a bird-plane and crashed on top of the Zeefahr Monument. That was number nine. What I was trying to say was that Hergal’s mind had been on higher things then, or so he said.

“Listen, Hergal,” I stated, “I’m afraid I’ve put in an order to have you officially cut out of my circle of friends. It’s not that I don’t like you. I mean, you’re really lovely, particularly with your—er—wings, but I’m just tired of everyone coming up and saying to me: ‘Is it true you know that floop Hergal? Do tell!’”

“I see,” said Hergal. He didn’t even have the politeness to cry. Everyone in the Jang always cries when they’re officially cut out of circles.

“Oh well, there’s nothing more to be said then, Hergal.” I got down from the chair and bounced on the crystallize-rubber floor. My bee fell