"Jack Vance - To Live Forever" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vance Jack)

whisked home, everywhere from Balliasse to Brayertown, from manse to one-room
apartment. All five phyle came to Carnevalle: Brood, Wedge, Third, Verge and
Amaranth, as well as the glarks. They mingled without calculation or envy;
they came to Carnevalle to forget the rigors and strains of existence. They
came, they spent their money, andтАФmuch more precious than moneyтАФthey spent the
moments of their lives.

A man in a brass mask stood in a booth before the House of Life, calling
out to the crowd. Lumes the shape of infinity symbols drifted around his head;
above him towered an ideal version of the life-chart, the bright life line
rising through the phyle levels in a perfect half-parabola.

The man in the brass mask spoke in a voice of great urgency. "Friends,
whatever your phyle, attend me! Do you value life a florin's worth? Will
endless years be yours? Enter the House of Life! You will bless Didactor
Moncure and his remarkable methods!"

He touched a relay; a low sound issued from a hidden source, hoarse and
throbbing, rising in pitch and intensity.
 "Slope! Slope! Come into the House of Life, up with your slope! Let
Didactor Moncure analyze your future! Learn the methods, the techniques! Only
a florin for the House of Life!"

The sound rose through the octaves, building a sense of uneasiness and
instability, and shrilled at last into inaudibility. The man in the booth
spoke in a soothing tone; if the sound represented the tensions of existence,
the man and his voice meant security and control.

"Everyone possesses a brain, all nearly identical. Why then are some
Brood, some Wedge, others Third, Verge and Amaranth?"

He leaned forward as if to make a dramatic revelation. "The secret of
life is technique! Didactor Moncure teaches technique! Is infinity worth a
florin? Come, thenтАФenter the House of Life!"

A number of passers-by paid their florin and crowded through the
entrance. At last the House was full.

The man in the brass mask stepped down from the booth. A hand grasped his
arm; he whirled with savage speed. The person who had accosted him fell back.

"Waylock, you startle me! It's only meтАФBasil."

"So I see," said Gavin Waylock shortly. Basil Thinkoup, short and plump,
was costumed as a mythical bird in a flouncing jacket of metallic green
fronds. Red and gray scales covered his legs; black plumes ringed his face
like the petals of a flower. If he perceived Waylock's lack of affability, he
chose to ignore it.

"I had expected to hear from you," said Basil Thinkoup. "I thought you