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

round compact room, with a moving painting on the ceiling and a non-wet water carpet. A quasi-robot official sat in a floating crystallize chair, anchored more or less to one spot by a golden chain. I sat on the other crystallize chair, also anchored but rather lower than his, and, to my surprise and astonished discomfort, the pet gave a splashing leap and landed firmly on my lap. It sat bolt upright and looked at the Q-R. We both looked.

“Now,” said the quasi-robot, gently flicking his mustache at me, “what was your request again?”

“Age and status change,” I said, undaunted. Well, I pretended I was.

“Hmm,” said the quasi-robot. He stared serenely at the spot just above my eyes. My bee fell on my head, the pet jumped and aimed at it, the chair dipped, and we all fell into the water carpet, creating a most ghastly tidal wave.

“Oh farath—onk!” I started swearing and hastily toned it down, just in case. You never know with Q-Rs.

The chair followed me and I got back on. The pet landed on me again, unfortunately.

“Yes,” said the Q-R, “I see.”

We floated gracefully around for about five million vreks, and then he added: “You’re Jang, of course.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

“And that’s the whole trouble,” I told him.

“Oh come,” chortled the Q-R, just like a maker really, “the prime of life. Total awareness of the eighty senses, the peak of imaginative resource—”

I really detest people quoting that nonsense at me, but I sat very still and listened politely, beaming as though I thought he was the most absolutely groshing thing I’d ever floated around a room with. Eventually he shut up. I said:

“You’re quite right, of course, but I honestly think I’ve speeded up in my development somewhere, and I need to go on to the next stage, an Older Person.”

“And how long, my dear,” and he smiled, “have you been one of the Jang?”

“Ages,” I said.

“Hmm.”

We floated around again. I looked up at the ceiling picture, and there were these beautiful bodies, with leaves and flowers growing out of them, doing a sort of dimensional dance, so that bits kept disappearing and reappearing somewhere else.

“I’ve just looked you up in the files,” the Q-R told me abruptly. They do it with the telepathy units in their elbows, so Hatta says, but it gives you a fright all the same, to be perfectly frank. The usual mind-blower is: “I’ve just looked you up in the files, and your new body has not been registered as yet. Thus, you are temporarily dead.” I recollect that happened to Hergal once, when I was with him in the Adventure Palace. We both felt pretty funny about it. I think that’s why he always stays in Limbo for two or three units now, just in case. Anyway the Q-R went on:

“According to your history records, you have only been Jang for a quarter rorl. The usual period is at least half a rorl, my dear young lady. Except, of course, in very exceptional cases.”

“I’m an exceptional case,” I cried.

“Oh, I don’t really think so, my dear,” smarmed the Q-R.

He started to explain, but I didn’t understand, and I don’t honestly think he did either. So I cut in:

“Can’t you test me? Isn’t there some sort of guide to find out special cases?”

“Well, er,” said the Q-R. He went off into another trance, flicking through memory banks and whatnot. “It is rather an involved business. Mental and physical examinations and so on.”

“Right,” I said.

I’d actually startled him. Derisann.

“What?”

“I’m ready,” I said. “When do we start?”

He blinked at me a while.

“Er. Would you wait one moment?” he said, and lowered his chair to the floor. He went across the water carpet and left me there. I mean, they never do that. It’s all part of the superiority thing that they stay in their chairs, and you’re the one who has to bob in and out. I’d really confused him. My ears felt hot with excitement and a kind of panic. Was I really ready to go on to the next stage? Was it the answer? Suddenly I felt like bolting out of the door, but I stopped myself. Being Jang was what was getting me down. It must be. Therefore, logically, being non-Jang would help to make me feel better. The door went up and another messenger signaled me to follow.

I went after it, trembling as if I were in the Dimension Palace.

3

We went through a subway under Gold Waterway, a private subway belonging to the Committee Hall, riding in a little sledge bobbing about a foot off the ground on drifts of pretty pink steam. The gold water-light shone through the transparent roof making everything look rather cheerful, except me, I’ll bet. I took a serenity pill, and felt gently euphoric and entirely capable of dealing with anything.

The sledge went under archways and ended up in a big hall, full of flying floors. The messenger got me on one, the bee fell on, and the pet ripped and clawed its way after us. Up we all went and arrived in this big, crystallize and steel room, where the bee suddenly found itself magnetized on a rack full of other bees, and the pet was whisked away by robots, grumbling about unhygienic fur and so on.

It reminded me of parts of Limbo, and so did the quasi-robot medicine man in pale attire who waved me ever so graciously to a big soft seat, and sat down opposite—rather higher than me, naturally—hands together, and recording units no doubt whirring away inside.

Then we went through it again. Obvious, I suppose. I really should hang on another quarter rorl, and come back then. Did I know (Interesting Incidental Fact) that quite often people were still predominantly Jang after half a rorl, and sometimes went on for a whole one? Wasn’t it conversely possible then, I said, for somebody to be out of the Jang stage after a quarter rorl? Well, it had happened, very occasionally, he admitted