[Illustration]

 _Wilbur Murphy sought romance, excitement, and an impossible Horseman of Space. With polite smiles, the planet frustrated him at every turn--until he found them all the hard way!_

SJAMBAK

By Jack Vance

Illustrated by VIRGIL FINLAY

Howard Frayberg, Production Director of _Know Your Universe!_, was a manof sudden unpredictable moods; and Sam Catlin, the show's ContinuityEditor, had learned to expect the worst. 

"Sam, " said Frayberg, "regarding the show last night. . . . " He paused toseek the proper words, and Catlin relaxed. Frayberg's frame of mind wasmerely critical. "Sam, we're in a rut. What's worse, the show's dull!"

Sam Catlin shrugged, not committing himself. 

"_Seaweed Processors of Alphard IX_--who cares about seaweed?"

"It's factual stuff, " said Sam, defensive but not wanting to go too farout on a limb. "We bring 'em everything--color, fact, romance, sight, sound, smell. . . . Next week, it's the Ball Expedition to the MixtupMountains on Gropus. "

Frayberg leaned forward. "Sam, we're working the wrong slant on thisstuff. . . . We've got to loosen up, sock 'em! Shift our ground! Give 'emthe old human angle--glamor, mystery, thrills!"

Sam Catlin curled his lips. "I got just what you want. "

"Yeah? Show me. "

Catlin reached into his waste basket. "I filed this just ten minutesago. . . . " He smoothed out the pages. "'Sequence idea, by Wilbur Murphy. Investigate "Horseman of Space, " the man who rides up to meet incomingspace-ships. '"

Frayberg tilted his head to the side. "Rides up on a _horse_?"

"That's what Wilbur Murphy says. "

"How far up?"

"Does it make any difference?"

"No--I guess not. "

"Well, for your information, it's up ten thousand, twenty thousandmiles. He waves to the pilot, takes off his hat to the passengers, thenrides back down. "

"And where does all this take place?"

"On--on--" Catlin frowned. "I can write it, but I can't pronounce it. "He printed on his scratch-screen: CIRGAMESÇ. 

"Sirgamesk, " read Frayberg. 

Catlin shook his head. "That's what it looks like--but those consonantsare all aspirated gutturals. It's more like 'Hrrghameshgrrh'. "

"Where did Murphy get this tip?"

"I didn't bother to ask. "

"Well, " mused Frayberg, "we could always do a show on strangesuperstitions. Is Murphy around?"

"He's explaining his expense account to Shifkin. "

"Get him in here; let's talk to him. "

 * * * * *

Wilbur Murphy had a blond crew-cut, a broad freckled nose, and a serioussidelong squint. He looked from his crumpled sequence idea to Catlin andFrayberg. "Didn't like it, eh?"

"We thought the emphasis should be a little different, " explainedCatlin. "Instead of 'The Space Horseman, ' we'd give it the workingtitle, 'Odd Superstitions of Hrrghameshgrrh'. "

"Oh, hell!" said Frayberg. "Call it Sirgamesk. "

"Anyway, " said Catlin, "that's the angle. "

"But it's not superstition, " said Murphy. 

"Oh, come, Wilbur . . . "

"I got this for sheer sober-sided fact. A man rides a horse up to meetthe incoming ships!"

"Where did you get this wild fable?"

"My brother-in-law is purser on the _Celestial Traveller_. At Riker'sPlanet they make connection with the feeder line out of Cirgamesç. "

"Wait a minute, " said Catlin. "How did you pronounce that?"

"Cirgamesç. The steward on the shuttle-ship gave out this story, and mybrother-in-law passed it along to me. "

"Somebody's pulling somebody's leg. "

"My brother-in-law wasn't, and the steward was cold sober. "

"They've been eating _bhang_. Sirgamesk is a Javanese planet, isn't it?"

"Javanese, Arab, Malay. "

"Then they took a _bhang_ supply with them, and _hashish_, _chat_, and afew other sociable herbs. "

"Well, this horseman isn't any drug-dream. "

"No? What is it?"

"So far as I know it's a man on a horse. "

"Ten thousand miles up? In a vacuum?"

"Exactly. "

"No space-suit?"

"That's the story. "

Catlin and Frayberg looked at each other. 

"Well, Wilbur, " Catlin began. 

Frayberg interrupted. "What we can use, Wilbur, is a sequence onSirgamesk superstition. Emphasis on voodoo or witchcraft--naked girlsdancing--stuff with roots in Earth, but now typically Sirgamesk. Lots ofcolor. Secret rite stuff. . . . "

"Not much room on Cirgamesç for secret rites. "

"It's a big planet, isn't it?"

"Not quite as big as Mars. There's no atmosphere. The settlers live inmountain valleys, with air-tight lids over 'em. "

Catlin flipped the pages of _Thumbnail Sketches of the InhabitedWorlds_. "Says here there's ancient ruins millions of years old. Whenthe atmosphere went, the population went with it. "

Frayberg became animated. "There's lots of material out there! Go getit, Wilbur! Life! Sex! Excitement! Mystery!"

"Okay, " said Wilbur Murphy. 

"But lay off this horseman-in-space. There _is_ a limit to publiccredulity, and don't you let anyone tell you different. "

 * * * * *

Cirgamesç hung outside the port, twenty thousand miles ahead. Thesteward leaned over Wilbur Murphy's shoulder and pointed a long brownfinger. "It was right out there, sir. He came riding up--"

"What kind of a man was it? Strange-looking?"

"No. He was Cirgameski. "

"Oh. You saw him with your own eyes, eh?"

The steward bowed, and his loose white mantle fell forward. "Exactly, sir. "

"No helmet, no space-suit?"

"He wore a short Singhalût vest and pantaloons and a yellow Hadrasi hat. No more. "

"And the horse?"

"Ah, the horse! There's a different matter. "

"Different how?"

"I can't describe the horse. I was intent on the man. "

"Did you recognize him?"

"By the brow of Lord Allah, it's well not to look too closely when suchmatters occur. "

"Then--you _did_ recognize him!"

"I must be at my task, sir. "

Murphy frowned in vexation at the steward's retreating back, then bentover his camera to check the tape-feed. If anything appeared now, andhis eyes could see it, the two-hundred million audience of _Know YourUniverse!_ could see it with him. 

When he looked up, Murphy made a frantic grab for the stanchion, thenrelaxed. Cirgamesç had taken the Great Twitch. It was an illusion, apsychological quirk. One instant the planet lay ahead; then a man winkedor turned away, and when he looked back, "ahead" had become "below"; theplanet had swung an astonishing ninety degrees across the sky, and theywere _falling_!

Murphy leaned against the stanchion. "'The Great Twitch', " he mutteredto himself, "I'd like to get _that_ on two hundred million screens!"

Several hours passed. Cirgamesç grew. The Sampan Range rose up like adark scab; the valley sultanates of Singhalût, Hadra, New Batavia, andBoeng-Bohôt showed like glistening chicken-tracks; the Great Rift Colonyof Sundaman stretched down through the foothills like the trail of aslug. 

A loudspeaker voice rattled the ship. "Attention passengers forSinghalût and other points on Cirgamesç! Kindly prepare your luggage fordisembarkation. Customs at Singhalût are extremely thorough. Passengersare warned to take no weapons, drugs or explosives ashore. This isimportant!"

 * * * * *

The warning turned out to be an understatement. Murphy was plied withquestions. He suffered search of an intimate nature. He wasthree-dimensionally X-rayed with a range of frequencies calculated toexcite fluorescence in whatever object he might have secreted in hisstomach, in a hollow bone, or under a layer of flesh. 

His luggage was explored with similar minute attention, and Murphyrescued his cameras with difficulty. "What're you so damn anxious about?I don't have drugs; I don't have contraband . . . "

"It's guns, your excellency. Guns, weapons, explosives . . . "

"I don't have any guns. "

"But these objects here?"

"They're cameras. They record pictures and sounds and smells. "

The inspector seized the cases with a glittering smile of triumph. "Theyresemble no cameras of my experience; I fear I shall have to impound . . . "

A young man in loose white pantaloons, a pink vest, pale green cravatand a complex black turban strolled up. The inspector made a swiftobeisance, with arms spread wide. "Excellency. "

The young man raised two fingers. "You may find it possible to spare Mr. Murphy any unnecessary formality. "

"As your Excellency recommends. . . . " The inspector nimbly repackedMurphy's belongings, while the young man looked on benignly. 

Murphy covertly inspected his face. The skin was smooth, the color ofthe rising moon; the eyes were narrow, dark, superficially placid. Theeffect was of silken punctilio with hot ruby blood close beneath. 

Satisfied with the inspector's zeal, he turned to Murphy. "Allow me tointroduce myself, Tuan Murphy. I am Ali-Tomás, of the House ofSinghalût, and my father the Sultan begs you to accept our poorhospitality. "

"Why, thank you, " said Murphy. "This is a very pleasant surprise. "

"If you will allow me to conduct you. . . . " He turned to the inspector. "Mr. Murphy's luggage to the palace. "

 * * * * *

Murphy accompanied Ali-Tomás into the outside light, fitting his ownquick step to the prince's feline saunter. This is coming it prettysoft, he said to himself. I'll have a magnificent suite, with bowls offruit and gin pahits, not to mention two or three silken girls with skinlike rich cream bringing me towels in the shower. . . . Well, well, well, it's not so bad working for _Know Your Universe!_ after all! I suppose Iought to unlimber my camera. . . . 

Prince Ali-Tomás watched him with interest. "And what is the audience of_Know Your Universe!_?"

"We call 'em 'participants'. "

"Expressive. And how many participants do you serve?"

"Oh, the Bowdler Index rises and falls. We've got about two hundredmillion screens, with five hundred million participants. "

"Fascinating! And tell me--how do you record smells?"

Murphy displayed the odor recorder on the side of the camera, with itsgelatinous track which fixed the molecular design. 

"And the odors recreated--they are like the originals?"

"Pretty close. Never exact, but none of the participants knows thedifference. Sometimes the synthetic odor is an improvement. "

"Astounding!" murmured the prince. 

"And sometimes . . . Well, Carson Tenlake went out to get themyrrh-blossoms on Venus. It was a hot day--as days usually are onVenus--and a long climb. When the show was run off, there was more smellof Carson than of flowers. "

Prince Ali-Tomás laughed politely. "We turn through here. "

They came out into a compound paved with red, green and white tiles. Beneath the valley roof was a sinuous trough, full of haze and warmthand golden light. As far in either direction as the eye could reach, thehillsides were terraced, barred in various shades of green. Spatteringthe valley floor were tall canvas pavilions, tents, booths, shelters. 

"Naturally, " said Prince Ali-Tomás, "we hope that you and yourparticipants will enjoy Singhalût. It is a truism that, in order toimport, we must export; we wish to encourage a pleasurable response tothe 'Made in Singhalût' tag on our _batiks_, carvings, lacquers. "

They rolled quietly across the square in a surface-car displaying theHouse emblem. Murphy rested against deep, cool cushions. "Yourinspectors are pretty careful about weapons. "

Ali-Tomás smiled complacently. "Our existence is ordered and peaceful. You may be familiar with the concept of _adak_?"

"I don't think so. "

"A word, an idea from old Earth. Every living act is ordered by ritual. But our heritage is passionate--and when unyielding _adak_ stands in theway of an irresistible emotion, there is turbulence, sometimes evenkilling. "

"An _amok_. "

"Exactly. It is as well that the _amok_ has no weapons other than hisknife. Otherwise he would kill twenty where now he kills one. "

The car rolled along a narrow avenue, scattering pedestrians to eitherside like the bow of a boat spreading foam. The men wore loose whitepantaloons and a short open vest; the women wore only the pantaloons. 

"Handsome set of people, " remarked Murphy. 

Ali-Tomás again smiled complacently. "I'm sure Singhalût will present aninspiring and beautiful spectacle for your program. "

Murphy remembered the keynote to Howard Frayberg's instructions:"_Excitement! Sex! Mystery!_" Frayberg cared little for inspiration orbeauty. "I imagine, " he said casually, "that you celebrate a number ofinteresting festivals? Colorful dancing? Unique customs?"

Ali-Tomás shook his head. "To the contrary. We left our superstitionsand ancestor-worship back on Earth. We are quiet Mohammedans and indulgein very little festivity. Perhaps here is the reason for _amoks_ andsjambaks. "

"Sjambaks?"

"We are not proud of them. You will hear sly rumor, and it is betterthat I arm you beforehand with truth. "

"What is a sjambak?"

"They are bandits, flouters of authority. I will show you onepresently. "

"I heard, " said Murphy, "of a man riding a horse up to meet thespace-ships. What would account for a story like that?"

"It can have no possible basis, " said Prince Ali-Tomás. "We have nohorses on Cirgamesç. None whatever. "

"But . . . "

"The veriest idle talk. Such nonsense will have no interest for yourintelligent participants. "

The car rolled into a square a hundred yards on a side, lined withluxuriant banana palms. Opposite was an enormous pavilion of gold andviolet silk, with a dozen peaked gables casting various changing sheens. In the center of the square a twenty-foot pole supported a cage abouttwo feet wide, three feet long, and four feet high. 

Inside this cage crouched a naked man. 

The car rolled past. Prince Ali-Tomás waved an idle hand. The caged manglared down from bloodshot eyes. "That, " said Ali-Tomás, "is a sjambak. As you see, " a faint note of apology entered his voice, "we attempt todiscourage them. "

"What's that metal object on his chest?"

"The mark of his trade. By that you may know all sjambak. In theseunsettled times only we of the House may cover our chests--all othersmust show themselves and declare themselves true Singhalûsi. "

Murphy said tentatively, "I must come back here and photograph thatcage. "

Ali-Tomás smilingly shook his head. "I will show you our farms, ourvines and orchards. Your participants will enjoy these; they have nointerest in the dolor of an ignoble sjambak. "

"Well, " said Murphy, "our aim is a well-rounded production. We want toshow the farmers at work, the members of the great House at theirresponsibilities, as well as the deserved fate of wrongdoers. "

"Exactly. For every sjambak there are ten thousand industriousSinghalûsi. It follows then that only one ten-thousandth part of yourfilm should be devoted to this infamous minority. "

"About three-tenths of a second, eh?"

"No more than they deserve. "

"You don't know my Production Director. His name is Howard Frayberg, and . . . "

 * * * * *

Howard Frayberg was deep in conference with Sam Catlin, under theinfluence of what Catlin called his philosophic kick. It was the phasewhich Catlin feared most. 

"Sam, " said Frayberg, "do you know the danger of this business?"

"Ulcers, " Catlin replied promptly. 

Frayberg shook his head. "We've got an occupational disease tofight--progressive mental myopia. "

"Speak for yourself, " said Catlin. 

"Consider. We sit in this office. We think we know what kind of show wewant. We send out our staff to get it. We're signing the checks, so backit comes the way we asked for it. We look at it, hear it, smell it--andpretty soon we believe it: our version of the universe, full-blown fromour brains like Minerva stepping out of Zeus. You see what I mean?"

"I understand the words. "

"We've got our own picture of what's going on. We ask for it, we get it. It builds up and up--and finally we're like mice in a trap built of ourown ideas. We cannibalize our own brains. "

"Nobody'll ever accuse you of being stingy with a metaphor. "

"Sam, let's have the truth. How many times have you been off Earth?"

"I went to Mars once. And I spent a couple of weeks at Aristillus Resorton the Moon. "

Frayberg leaned back in his chair as if shocked. "And we're supposed tobe a couple of learned planetologists!"

Catlin made grumbling noise in his throat. "I haven't been around thezodiac, so what? You sneezed a few minutes ago and I said _gesundheit_, but I don't have any doctor's degree. "

"There comes a time in a man's life, " said Frayberg, "when he wants totake stock, get a new perspective. "

"Relax, Howard, relax. "

"In our case it means taking out our preconceived ideas, looking atthem, checking our illusions against reality. "

"Are you serious about this?"

"Another thing, " said Frayberg, "I want to check up a little. Shifkinsays the expense accounts are frightful. But he can't fight it. WhenKeeler says he paid ten munits for a loaf of bread on Nekkar IV, who'sgonna call him on it?"

"Hell, let him eat bread! That's cheaper than making a safari around thecluster, spot-checking the super-markets. "

Frayberg paid no heed. He touched a button; a three-foot sphere full ofglistening motes appeared. Earth was at the center, with thin red lines, the scheduled space-ship routes, radiating out in all directions. 

"Let's see what kind of circle we can make, " said Frayberg. "Gower'shere at Canopus, Keeler's over here at Blue Moon, Wilbur Murphy's atSirgamesk . . . "

"Don't forget, " muttered Catlin, "we got a show to put on. "

"We've got material for a year, " scoffed Frayberg. "Get hold ofSpace-Lines. We'll start with Sirgamesk, and see what Wilbur Murphy's upto. "

 * * * * *

Wilbur Murphy was being presented to the Sultan of Singhalût by thePrince Ali-Tomás. The Sultan, a small mild man of seventy, satcrosslegged on an enormous pink and green air-cushion. "Be at your ease, Mr. Murphy. We dispense with as much protocol here as practicable. " TheSultan had a dry clipped voice and the air of a rather harassedcorporation executive. "I understand you represent Earth-Central HomeScreen Network?"

"I'm a staff photographer for the _Know Your Universe!_ show. "

"We export a great deal to Earth, " mused the Sultan, "but not as much aswe'd like. We're very pleased with your interest in us, and naturally wewant to help you in every way possible. Tomorrow the Keeper of theArchives will present a series of charts analyzing our economy. Ali-Tomás shall personally conduct you through the fish-hatcheries. Wewant you to know we're doing a great job out here on Singhalût. "

"I'm sure you are, " said Murphy uncomfortably. "However, that isn'tquite the stuff I want. "

"No? Just where do your desires lie?"

Ali-Tomás said delicately. "Mr. Murphy took a rather profound interestin the sjambak displayed in the square. "

"Oh. And you explained that these renegades could hold no interest forserious students of our planet?"

Murphy started to explain that clustered around two hundred millionscreens tuned to _Know Your Universe!_ were four or five hundred millionparticipants, the greater part of them neither serious nor students. TheSultan cut in decisively. "I will now impart something trulyinteresting. We Singhalûsi are making preparations to reclaim four morevalleys, with an added area of six hundred thousand acres! I shall putmy physiographic models at your disposal; you may use them to thefullest extent!"

"I'll be pleased for the opportunity, " declared Murphy. "But tomorrowI'd like to prowl around the valley, meet your people, observe theircustoms, religious rites, courtships, funerals . . . "

The Sultan pulled a sour face. "We are ditch-water dull. Festivals arecelebrated quietly in the home; there is small religious fervor;courtships are consummated by family contract. I fear you will findlittle sensational material here in Singhalût. "

"You have no temple dances?" asked Murphy. "No fire-walkers, snake-charmers--voodoo?"

The Sultan smiled patronizingly. "We came out here to Cirgamesç toescape the ancient superstitions. Our lives are calm, orderly. Even the_amoks_ have practically disappeared. "

"But the sjambaks--"

"Negligible. "

"Well, " said Murphy, "I'd like to visit some of these ancient cities. "

"I advise against it, " declared the Sultan. "They are shards, weatheredstone. There are no inscriptions, no art. There is no stimulation indead stone. Now. Tomorrow I will hear a report on hybrid soybeanplantings in the Upper Kam District. You will want to be present. "

 * * * * *

Murphy's suite matched or even excelled his expectation. He had fourrooms and a private garden enclosed by a thicket of bamboo. His bathroomwalls were slabs of glossy actinolite, inlaid with cinnabar, jade, galena, pyrite and blue malachite, in representations of fantasticbirds. His bedroom was a tent thirty feet high. Two walls were darkgreen fabric; a third was golden rust; the fourth opened upon theprivate garden. 

Murphy's bed was a pink and yellow creation ten feet square, soft ascobweb, smelling of rose sandalwood. Carved black lacquer tubs heldfruit; two dozen wines, liquors, syrups, essences flowed at a touch fromas many ebony spigots. 

The garden centered on a pool of cool water, very pleasant in thehothouse climate of Singhalût. The only shortcoming was the lack of thelovely young servitors Murphy had envisioned. He took it upon himself torepair this lack, and in a shady wine-house behind the palace, calledthe Barangipan, he made the acquaintance of a girl-musician named SoekPanjoebang. He found her enticing tones of quavering sweetness from the_gamelan_, an instrument well-loved in Old Bali. Soek Panjoebang had thedelicate features and transparent skin of Sumatra, the supple long limbsof Arabia and in a pair of wide and golden eyes a heritage fromsomewhere in Celtic Europe. Murphy bought her a goblet of frozenshavings, each a different perfume, while he himself drank whiterice-beer. Soek Panjoebang displayed an intense interest in the ways ofEarth, and Murphy found it hard to guide the conversation. "Weelbrrr, "she said. "Such a funny name, Weelbrrr. Do you think I could play the_gamelan_ in the great cities, the great palaces of Earth?"

"Sure. There's no law against _gamelans_. "

"You talk so funny, Weelbrrr. I like to hear you talk. "

"I suppose you get kinda bored here in Singhalût?"

She shrugged. "Life is pleasant, but it concerns with little things. Wehave no great adventures. We grow flowers, we play the _gamelan_. " Sheeyed him archly sidelong. "We love. . . . We sleep. . . . "

Murphy grinned. "You run _amok_. "

"No, no, no. That is no more. "

"Not since the sjambaks, eh?"

"The sjambaks are bad. But better than _amok_. When a man feels the knotforming around his chest, he no longer takes his kris and runs down thestreet--he becomes sjambak. "

This was getting interesting. "Where does he go? What does he do?"

"He robs. "

"Who does he rob? What does he do with his loot?"

She leaned toward him. "It is not well to talk of them. "

"Why not?"

"The Sultan does not wish it. Everywhere are listeners. When one talkssjambak, the Sultan's ears rise, like the points on a cat. "

"Suppose they do--what's the difference? I've got a legitimate interest. I saw one of them in that cage out there. That's torture. I want to knowabout it. "

"He is very bad. He opened the monorail car and the air rushed out. Forty-two Singhalûsi and Hadrasi bloated and blew up. "

"And what happened to the sjambak?"

"He took all the gold and money and jewels and ran away. "

"Ran where?"

"Out across Great Pharasang Plain. But he was a fool. He came back toSinghalût for his wife; he was caught and set up for all people to lookat, so they might tell each other, 'thus it is for sjambaks. '"

"Where do the sjambaks hide out?"

"Oh, " she looked vaguely around the room, "out on the plains. In themountains. "

"They must have some shelter--an air-dome. "

"No. The Sultan would send out his patrol-boat and destroy them. Theyroam quietly. They hide among the rocks and tend their oxygen stills. Sometimes they visit the old cities. "

"I wonder, " said Murphy, staring into his beer, "could it be sjambakswho ride horses up to meet the space-ship?"

Soek Panjoebang knit her black eyebrows, as if preoccupied. 

"That's what brought me out here, " Murphy went on. "This story of a manriding a horse out in space. "

"Ridiculous; we have no horses in Cirgamesç. "

"All right, the steward won't swear to the horse. Suppose the man was upthere on foot or riding a bicycle. But the steward recognized the man. "

"Who was this man, pray?"

"The steward clammed up. . . . The name would have been just noise to me, anyway. "

"_I_ might recognize the name. . . . "

"Ask him yourself. The ship's still out at the field. "

She shook her head slowly, holding her golden eyes on his face. "I donot care to attract the attention of either steward, sjambak--orSultan. "

Murphy said impatiently. "In any event, it's not who--but _how_. Howdoes the man breathe? Vacuum sucks a man's lungs up out of his mouth, bursts his stomach, his ears. . . . "

"We have excellent doctors, " said Soek Panjoebang shuddering, "but alas!I am not one of them. "

 * * * * *

Murphy looked at her sharply. Her voice held the plangent sweetness ofher instrument, with additional overtones of mockery. "There must besome kind of invisible dome around him, holding in air, " said Murphy. 

"And what if there is?"

"It's something new, and if it is, I want to find out about it. "

Soek smiled languidly. "You are so typical an old-lander--worried, frowning, dynamic. You should relax, cultivate _napaû_, enjoy life as wedo here in Singhalût. "

"What's _napaû_?"

"It's our philosophy, where we find meaning and life and beauty in everyaspect of the world. "

"That sjambak in the cage could do with a little less _napaû_ rightnow. "

"No doubt he is unhappy, " she agreed. 

"Unhappy! He's being tortured!"

"He broke the Sultan's law. His life is no longer his own. It belongs toSinghalût. If the Sultan wishes to use it to warn other wrongdoers, thefact that the man suffers is of small interest. "

"If they all wear that metal ornament, how can they hope to hide out?"He glanced at her own bare bosom. 

"They appear by night--slip through the streets like ghosts. . . . " Shelooked in turn at Murphy's loose shirt. "You will notice personsbrushing up against you, feeling you, " she laid her hand along hisbreast, "and when this happens you will know they are agents of theSultan, because only strangers and the House may wear shirts. But now, let me sing to you--a song from the Old Land, old Java. You will notunderstand the tongue, but no other words so join the voice of the_gamelan_. "

 * * * * *

"This is the gravy-train, " said Murphy. "Instead of a garden suite witha private pool, I usually sleep in a bubble-tent, with nothing to eatbut condensed food. "

Soek Panjoebang flung the water out of her sleek black hair. "Perhaps, Weelbrrr, you will regret leaving Cirgamesç?"

"Well, " he looked up to the transparent roof, barely visible where thesunlight collected and refracted, "I don't particularly like being shutup like a bird in an aviary. . . . Mildly claustrophobic, I guess. "

After breakfast, drinking thick coffee from tiny silver cups, Murphylooked long and reflectively at Soek Panjoebang. 

"What are you thinking, Weelbrrr?"

Murphy drained his coffee. "I'm thinking that I'd better be getting towork. "

"And what do you do?"

"First I'm going to shoot the palace, and you sitting here in the gardenplaying your _gamelan_. "

"But Weelbrrr--not _me_!"

"You're a part of the universe, rather an interesting part. Then I'lltake the square. . . . "

"And the sjambak?"

A quiet voice spoke from behind. "A visitor, Tuan Murphy. "

Murphy turned his head. "Bring him in. " He looked back to SoekPanjoebang. She was on her feet. 

"It is necessary that I go. "

"When will I see you?"

"Tonight--at the Barangipan. "

 * * * * *

The quiet voice said, "Mr. Rube Trimmer, Tuan. "

Trimmer was small and middle-aged, with thin shoulders and a paunch. Hecarried himself with a hell-raising swagger, left over from a timetwenty years gone. His skin had the waxy look of lost floridity, histuft of white hair was coarse and thin, his eyelids hung in the off-sidedroop that amateur physiognomists like to associate with guile. 

"I'm Resident Director of the Import-Export Bank, " said Trimmer. "Heardyou were here and thought I'd pay my respects. "

"I suppose you don't see many strangers. "

"Not too many--there's nothing much to bring 'em. Cirgamesç isn't acomfortable tourist planet. Too confined, shut in. A man with asensitive psyche goes nuts pretty easy here. "

"Yeah, " said Murphy. "I was thinking the same thing this morning. Thatdome begins to give a man the willies. How do the natives stand it? Ordo they?"

Trimmer pulled out a cigar case. Murphy refused the offer. 

"Local tobacco, " said Trimmer. "Very good. " He lit up thoughtfully. "Well, you might say that the Cirgameski are schizophrenic. They've gotthe docile Javanese blood, plus the Arabian élan. The Javanese part ison top, but every once in a while you see a flash of arrogance. . . . Younever know. I've been out here nine years and I'm still a stranger. " Hepuffed on his cigar, studied Murphy with his careful eyes. "You work for_Know Your Universe!_, I hear. "

"Yeah. I'm one of the leg men. "

"Must be a great job. "

"A man sees a lot of the galaxy, and he runs into queer tales, like thissjambak stuff. "

Trimmer nodded without surprise. "My advice to you, Murphy, is lay offthe sjambaks. They're not healthy around here. "

Murphy was startled by the bluntness. "What's the big mystery aboutthese sjambaks?"

Trimmer looked around the room. "This place is bugged. "

"I found two pick-ups and plugged 'em, " said Murphy. 

Trimmer laughed. "Those were just plants. They hide 'em where a manmight just barely spot 'em. You can't catch the real ones. They're woveninto the cloth--pressure-sensitive wires. "

Murphy looked critically at the cloth walls. 

"Don't let it worry you, " said Trimmer. "They listen more out of habitthan anything else. If you're fussy we'll go for a walk. "

The road led past the palace into the country. Murphy and Trimmersauntered along a placid river, overgrown with lily pads, swarming withlarge white ducks. 

"This sjambak business, " said Murphy. "Everybody talks around it. Youcan't pin anybody down. "

"Including me, " said Trimmer. "I'm more or less privileged around here. The Sultan finances his reclamation through the bank, on the basis of myreports. But there's more to Singhalût than the Sultan. "

"Namely?"

Trimmer waved his cigar waggishly. "Now we're getting in where I don'tlike to talk. I'll give you a hint. Prince Ali thinks roofing-in morevalleys is a waste of money, when there's Hadra and New Batavia andSundaman so close. "

"You mean--armed conquest?"

Trimmer laughed. "You said it, not me. "

"They can't carry on much of a war--unless the soldiers commute bymonorail. "

"Maybe Prince Ali thinks he's got the answer. "

"Sjambaks?"

"I didn't say it, " said Trimmer blandly. 

Murphy grinned. After a moment he said. "I picked up with a girl namedSoek Panjoebang who plays the _gamelan_. I suppose she's working foreither the Sultan or Prince Ali. Do you know which?"

Trimmer's eyes sparkled. He shook his head. "Might be either one. There's a way to find out. "

"Yeah?"

"Get her off where you're sure there's no spy-cells. Tell her twothings--one for Ali, the other for the Sultan. Whichever one reacts youknow you've got her tagged. "

"For instance?"

"Well, for instance she learns that you can rig up a hypnotic ray from aflashlight battery, a piece of bamboo, and a few lengths of wire. That'll get Ali in an awful sweat. He can't get weapons. None at all. And for the Sultan, " Trimmer was warming up to his intrigue, chewing onhis cigar with gusto, "tell her you're on to a catalyst that turns clayinto aluminum and oxygen in the presence of sunlight. The Sultan wouldsell his right leg for something like that. He tries hard for Singhalûtand Cirgamesç. "

"And Ali?"

Trimmer hesitated. "I never said what I'm gonna say. Don't forget--Inever said it. "

"Okay, you never said it. "

"Ever hear of a _jehad_?"

"Mohammedan holy wars. "

"Believe it or not, Ali wants a _jehad_. "

"Sounds kinda fantastic. "

"Sure it's fantastic. Don't forget, I never said anything about it. Butsuppose someone--strictly unofficial, of course--let the idea percolatearound the Peace Office back home. "

"Ah, " said Murphy. "That's why you came to see me. "

 * * * * *

Trimmer turned a look of injured innocence. "Now, Murphy, you're alittle unfair. I'm a friendly guy. Of course I don't like to see thebank lose what we've got tied up in the Sultan. "

"Why don't you send in a report yourself?"

"I have! But when they hear the same thing from you, a _Know YourUniverse!_ man, they might make a move. "

Murphy nodded. 

"Well, we understand each other, " said Trimmer heartily, "andeverything's clear. "

"Not entirely. How's Ali going to launch a _jehad_ when he doesn't haveany weapons, no warships, no supplies?"

"Now, " said Trimmer, "we're getting into the realm of supposition. " Hepaused, looked behind him. A farmer pushing a rotary tiller, bowedpolitely, trundled ahead. Behind was a young man in a black turban, goldearrings, a black and red vest, white pantaloons, black curl-toedslippers. He bowed, started past. Trimmer held up his hand. "Don't wasteyour time up there; we're going back in a few minutes. "

"Thank you, Tuan. "

"Who are you reporting to? The Sultan or Prince Ali?"

"The Tuan is sure to pierce the veil of my evasions. I shall notdissemble. I am the Sultan's man. "

Trimmer nodded. "Now, if you'll kindly remove to about a hundred yards, where your whisper pick-up won't work. "

"By your leave, I go. " He retreated without haste. 

"He's almost certainly working for Ali, " said Trimmer. 

"Not a very subtle lie. "

"Oh, yes--third level. He figured I'd take it second level. "

"How's that again?"

"Naturally I wouldn't believe him. He knew I knew that he knew it. Sowhen he said 'Sultan', I'd think he wouldn't lie simply, but that he'dlie double--that he actually was working for the Sultan. "

Murphy laughed. "Suppose he told you a fourth-level lie?"

"It starts to be a toss-up pretty soon, " Trimmer admitted. "I don'tthink he gives me credit for that much subtlety. . . . What are you doingthe rest of the day?"

"Taking footage. Do you know where I can find some picturesque rites?Mystical dances, human sacrifice? I've got to work up some glamor andexotic lore. "

"There's this sjambak in the cage. That's about as close to the medievalas you'll find anywhere in Earth Commonwealth. "

"Speaking of sjambaks . . . "

"No time, " said Trimmer. "Got to get back. Drop in at my office--rightdown the square from the palace. "

 * * * * *

Murphy returned to his suite. The shadowy figure of his room servantsaid, "His Highness the Sultan desires the Tuan's attendance in theCascade Garden. "

"Thank you, " said Murphy. "As soon as I load my camera. "

The Cascade Room was an open patio in front of an artificial waterfall. The Sultan was pacing back and forth, wearing dusty khaki puttees, brownplastic boots, a yellow polo shirt. He carried a twig which he used as ariding crop, slapping his boots as he walked. He turned his head asMurphy appeared, pointed his twig at a wicker bench. 

"I pray you sit down, Mr. Murphy. " He paced once up and back. "How isyour suite? You find it to your liking?"

"Very much so. "

"Excellent, " said the Sultan. "You do me honor with your presence. "

Murphy waited patiently. 

"I understand that you had a visitor this morning, " said the Sultan. 

"Yes. Mr. Trimmer. "

"May I inquire the nature of the conversation?"

"It was of a personal nature, " said Murphy, rather more shortly than hemeant. 

The Sultan nodded wistfully. "A Singhalûsi would have wasted an hourtelling me half-truths--distorted enough to confuse, but notsufficiently inaccurate to anger me if I had a spy-cell on him all thetime. "

Murphy grinned. "A Singhalûsi has to live here the rest of his life. "

A servant wheeled a frosted cabinet before them, placed goblets undertwo spigots, withdrew. The Sultan cleared his throat. "Trimmer is anexcellent fellow, but unbelievably loquacious. "

Murphy drew himself two inches of chilled rosy-pale liquor. The Sultanslapped his boots with the twig. "Undoubtedly he confided all my privatebusiness to you, or at least as much as I have allowed him to learn. "

"Well--he spoke of your hope to increase the compass of Singhalût. "

"That, my friend, is no hope; it's absolute necessity. Our populationdensity is fifteen hundred to the square mile. We must expand orsmother. There'll be too little food to eat, too little oxygen tobreathe. "

Murphy suddenly came to life. "I could make that idea the theme of myfeature! Singhalût Dilemma: Expand or Perish!"

"No, that would be inadvisable, inapplicable. "

Murphy was not convinced. "It sounds like a natural. "

The Sultan smiled. "I'll impart an item of confidentialinformation--although Trimmer no doubt has preceded me with it. " He gavehis boots an irritated whack. "To expand I need funds. Funds are bestsecured in an atmosphere of calm and confidence. The implication ofemergency would be disastrous to my aims. "

"Well, " said Murphy, "I see your position. "

The Sultan glanced at Murphy sidelong. "Anticipating your cooperation, my Minister of Propaganda has arranged an hour's program, stressing ourprogressive social attitude, our prosperity and financial prospects . . . "

"But, Sultan . . . "

"Well?"

"I can't allow your Minister of Propaganda to use me and _Know YourUniverse!_ as a kind of investment brochure. "

The Sultan nodded wearily. "I expected you to take that attitude. . . . Well--what do you yourself have in mind?"

"I've been looking for something to tie to, " said Murphy. "I think it'sgoing to be the dramatic contrast between the ruined cities and the newdomed valleys. How the Earth settlers succeeded where the ancient peoplefailed to meet the challenge of the dissipating atmosphere. "

"Well, " the Sultan said grudgingly, "that's not too bad. "

"Today I want to take some shots of the palace, the dome, the city, thepaddies, groves, orchards, farms. Tomorrow I'm taking a trip out to oneof the ruins. "

"I see, " said the Sultan. "Then you won't need my charts andstatistics?"

"Well, Sultan, I could film the stuff your Propaganda Minister cookedup, and I could take it back to Earth. Howard Frayberg or Sam Catlinwould tear into it, rip it apart, lard in some head-hunting, a littlecannibalism and temple prostitution, and you'd never know you werewatching Singhalût. You'd scream with horror, and I'd be fired. "

"In that case, " said the Sultan, "I will leave you to the dictates ofyour conscience. "

 * * * * *

Howard Frayberg looked around the gray landscape of Riker's Planet, gazed out over the roaring black Mogador Ocean. "Sam, I think there's astory out there. "

Sam Catlin shivered inside his electrically heated glass overcoat. "Outon that ocean? It's full of man-eating plesiosaurs--horrible thingsforty feet long. "

"Suppose we worked something out on the line of Moby Dick? _The WhiteMonster of the Mogador Ocean. _ We'd set sail in a catamaran--"

"Us?"

"No, " said Frayberg impatiently. "Of course not us. Two or three of thestaff. They'd sail out there, look over these gray and red monsters, maybe fake a fight or two, but all the time they're after the legendarywhite one. How's it sound?"

"I don't think we pay our men enough money. "

"Wilbur Murphy might do it. He's willing to look for a man riding ahorse up to meet his space-ships. "

"He might draw the line at a white plesiosaur riding up to meet hiscatamaran. "

Frayberg turned away. "Somebody's got to have ideas around here. . . . "

"We'd better head back to the space-port, " said Catlin. "We got twohours to make the Sirgamesk shuttle. "

 * * * * *

Wilbur Murphy sat in the Barangipan, watching marionettes performing toxylophone, castanet, gong and _gamelan_. The drama had its roots inproto-historic Mohenjō-Darō. It had filtered down through ancient India, medieval Burma, Malaya, across the Straits of Malacca to Sumatra andJava; from modern Java across space to Cirgamesç, five thousand years oftime, two hundred light-years of space. Somewhere along the route it hadmet and assimilated modern technology. Magnetic beams controlled arms, legs and bodies, guided the poses and posturings. The manipulator'sface, by agency of clip, wire, radio control and minuscule selsyn, projected his scowl, smile, sneer or grimace to the peaked little facehe controlled. The language was that of Old Java, which perhaps a thirdof the spectators understood. This portion did not include Murphy, andwhen the performance ended he was no wiser than at the start. 

Soek Panjoebang slipped into the seat beside Murphy. She wore musician'sgarb: a sarong of brown, blue, and black _batik_, and a fantasticheaddress of tiny silver bells. She greeted him with enthusiasm. 

"Weelbrrr! I saw you watching. . . . "

"It was very interesting. "

"Ah, yes. " She sighed. "Weelbrrr, you take me with you back to Earth?You make me a great picturama star, please, Weelbrrr?"

"Well, I don't know about that. "

"I behave very well, Weelbrrr. " She nuzzled his shoulder, lookedsoulfully up with her shiny yellow-hazel eyes. Murphy nearly forgot theexperiment he intended to perform. 

"What did you do today, Weelbrrr? You look at all the pretty girls?"

"Nope. I ran footage. Got the palace, climbed the ridge up to thecondensation vanes. I never knew there was so much water in the air tillI saw the stream pouring off those vanes! And _hot_!"

"We have much sunlight; it makes the rice grow. "

"The Sultan ought to put some of that excess light to work. There's asecret process. . . . Well, I'd better not say. "

"Oh come, Weelbrrr! Tell me your secrets!"

"It's not much of a secret. Just a catalyst that separates clay intoaluminum and oxygen when sunlight shines on it. "

Soek's eyebrows rose, poised in place like a seagull riding the wind. "Weelbrrr! I did not know you for a man of learning!"

"Oh, you thought I was just a bum, eh? Good enough to make picturamastars out of _gamelan_ players, but no special genius. . . . "

"No, no, Weelbrrr. "

"I know lots of tricks. I can take a flashlight battery, a piece ofcopper foil, a few transistors and bamboo tube and turn out a paralyzergun that'll stop a man cold in his tracks. And you know how much itcosts?"

"No, Weelbrrr. How much?"

"Ten cents. It wears out after two or three months, but what's thedifference? I make 'em as a hobby--turn out two or three an hour. "

"Weelbrrr! You're a man of marvels! Hello! We will drink!"

And Murphy settled back in the wicker chair, sipping his rice beer. 

 * * * * *

"Today, " said Murphy, "I get into a space-suit, and ride out to theruins in the plain. Ghatamipol, I think they're called. Like to come?"

"No, Weelbrrr. " Soek Panjoebang looked off into the garden, her handsbusy tucking a flower into her hair. A few minutes later she said, "Whymust you waste your time among the rocks? There are better things to doand see. And it might well be--dangerous. " She murmured the last wordoff-handedly. 

"Danger? From the sjambaks?"

"Yes, perhaps. "

"The Sultan's giving me a guard. Twenty men with crossbows. "

"The sjambaks carry shields. "

"Why should they risk their lives attacking me?"

Soek Panjoebang shrugged. After a moment she rose to her feet. "Goodbye, Weelbrrr. "

"Goodbye? Isn't this rather abrupt? Won't I see you tonight?"

"If so be Allah's will. "

Murphy looked after the lithe swaying figure. She paused, plucked ayellow flower, looked over her shoulder. Her eyes, yellow as the flower, lucent as water-jewels, held his. Her face was utterly expressionless. She turned, tossed away the flower with a jaunty gesture, and continued, her shoulders swinging. 

Murphy breathed deeply. She might have made picturama at that. . . . 

One hour later he met his escort at the valley gate. They were dressedin space-suits for the plains, twenty men with sullen faces. The trip toGhatamipol clearly was not to their liking. Murphy climbed into his ownsuit, checked the oxygen pressure gauge, the seal at his collar. "Allready, boys?"

No one spoke. The silence drew out. The gatekeeper, on hand to let theparty out, snickered. "They're all ready, Tuan. "

"Well, " said Murphy, "let's go then. "

Outside the gate Murphy made a second check of his equipment. No leaksin his suit. Inside pressure: 14. 6. Outside pressure: zero. His twentyguards morosely inspected their crossbows and slim swords. 

The white ruins of Ghatamipol lay five miles across Pharasang Plain. Thehorizon was clear, the sun was high, the sky was black. 

Murphy's radio hummed. Someone said sharply, "Look! There it goes!" Hewheeled around; his guards had halted, and were pointing. He saw a fleetsomething vanishing into the distance. 

"Let's go, " said Murphy. "There's nothing out there. "

"Sjambak. "

"Well, there's only one of them. "

"Where one walks, others follow. "

"That's why the twenty of you are here. "

"It is madness! Challenging the sjambaks!"

"What is gained?" another argued. 

"I'll be the judge of that, " said Murphy, and set off along the plain. The warriors reluctantly followed, muttering to each other over theirradio intercoms. 

 * * * * *

The eroded city walls rose above them, occupied more and more of thesky. The platoon leader said in an angry voice, "We have gone farenough. "

"You're under my orders, " said Murphy. "We're going through the gate. "He punched the button on his camera and passed under the monstrousportal. 

The city was frailer stuff than the wall, and had succumbed to the thinstorms which had raged a million years after the passing of life. Murphymarvelled at the scope of the ruins. Virgin archaeological territory! Notelling what a few weeks digging might turn up. Murphy considered hisexpense account. Shifkin was the obstacle. 

There'd be tremendous prestige and publicity for _Know Your Universe!_if Murphy uncovered a tomb, a library, works of art. The Sultan wouldgladly provide diggers. They were a sturdy enough people; they couldmake quite a showing in a week, if they were able to put aside theirsuperstitions, fears and dreads. 

Murphy sized one of them up from the corner of his eye. He sat on asunny slab of rock, and if he felt uneasy he concealed it quitesuccessfully. In fact, thought Murphy, he appeared completely relaxed. Maybe the problem of securing diggers was a minor one after all. . . . 

And here was an odd sidelight on the Singhalûsi character. Once clear ofthe valley the man openly wore his shirt, a fine loose garment ofelectric blue, in defiance of the Sultan's edict. Of course out here hemight be cold. . . . 

Murphy felt his own skin crawling. How could he be cold? How could he bealive? Where was his space-suit? He lounged on the rock, grinningsardonically at Murphy. He wore heavy sandals, a black turban, loosebreeches, the blue shirt. Nothing more. 

Where were the others?

Murphy turned a feverish glance over his shoulder. A good three milesdistant, bounding and leaping toward Singhalût, were twenty desperatefigures. They all wore space-suits. This man here . . . A sjambak? Awizard? A hallucination?

 * * * * *

The creature rose to his feet, strode springily toward Murphy. Hecarried a crossbow and a sword, like those of Murphy's fleet-footedguards. But he wore no space-suit. Could there be breathable traces ofan atmosphere? Murphy glanced at his gauge. Outside pressure: zero. 

Two other men appeared, moving with long elastic steps. Their eyes werebright, their faces flushed. They came up to Murphy, took his arm. Theywere solid, corporeal. They had no invisible force fields around theirheads. 

Murphy jerked his arm free. "Let go of me, damn it!" But they certainlycouldn't hear him through the vacuum. 

He glanced over his shoulder. The first man held his naked blade a footor two behind Murphy's bulging space-suit. Murphy made no furtherresistance. He punched the button on his camera to automatic. It wouldnow run for several hours, recording one hundred pictures per second, athousand to the inch. 

The sjambaks led Murphy two hundred yards to a metal door. They openedit, pushed Murphy inside, banged it shut. Murphy felt the vibrationthrough his shoes, heard a gradually waxing hum. His gauge showed anoutside pressure of 5, 10, 12, 14, 14. 5. An inner door opened. Handspulled Murphy in, unclamped his dome. 

"Just what's going on here?" demanded Murphy angrily. 

Prince Ali-Tomás pointed to a table. Murphy saw a flashlight battery, aluminum foil, wire, a transistor kit, metal tubing, tools, a few otherodds and ends. 

"There it is, " said Prince Ali-Tomás. "Get to work. Let's see one ofthese paralysis weapons you boast of. "

"Just like that, eh?"

"Just like that. "

"What do you want 'em for?"

"Does it matter?"

"I'd like to know. " Murphy was conscious of his camera, recording sight, sound, odor. 

"I lead an army, " said Ali-Tomás, "but they march without weapons. Giveme weapons! I will carry the word to Hadra, to New Batavia, to Sundaman, to Boeng-Bohôt!"

"How? Why?"

"It is enough that I will it. Again, I beg of you . . . " He indicated thetable. 

Murphy laughed. "I've got myself in a fine mess. Suppose I don't makethis weapon for you?"

"You'll remain until you do, under increasingly difficult conditions. "

"I'll be here a long time. "

"If such is the case, " said Ali-Tomás, "we must make our arrangementsfor your care on a long-term basis. "

Ali made a gesture. Hands seized Murphy's shoulders. A respirator washeld to his nostrils. He thought of his camera, and he could havelaughed. Mystery! Excitement! Thrills! Dramatic sequence for _Know YourUniverse!_ Staff-man murdered by fanatics! The crime recorded on his owncamera! See the blood, hear his death-rattle, smell the poison!

The vapor choked him. _What a break! What a sequence!_

 * * * * *

"Sirgamesk, " said Howard Frayberg, "bigger and brighter every minute. "

"It must've been just about in here, " said Catlin, "that Wilbur'shorseback rider appeared. "

"That's right! Steward!"

"Yes, sir?"

"We're about twenty thousand miles out, aren't we?"

"About fifteen thousand, sir. "

"Sidereal Cavalry! What an idea! I wonder how Wilbur's making out on hissuperstition angle?"

Sam Catlin, watching out the window, said in a tight voice, "Why not askhim yourself?"

"Eh?"

"Ask him for yourself! There he is--outside, riding some kind ofcritter. . . . "

"It's a ghost, " whispered Frayberg. "A man without a space-suit. . . . There's no such thing!"

"He sees us. . . . Look. . . . "

Murphy was staring at them, and his surprise seemed equal to their own. He waved his hand. Catlin gingerly waved back. 

Said Frayberg, "That's not a horse he's riding. It's a combinationram-jet and kiddie car with stirrups!"

"He's coming aboard the ship, " said Catlin. "That's the entrance portdown there. . . . "

 * * * * *

Wilbur Murphy sat in the captain's stateroom, taking careful breaths ofair. 

"How are you now?" asked Frayberg. 

"Fine. A little sore in the lungs. "

"I shouldn't wonder, " the ship's doctor growled. "I never saw anythinglike it. "

"How does it feel out there, Wilbur?" Catlin asked. 

"It feels awful lonesome and empty. And the breath seeping up out ofyour lungs, never going in--that's a funny feeling. And you miss the airblowing on your skin. I never realized it before. Air feels like--likesilk, like whipped cream--it's got texture. . . . "

"But aren't you cold? Space is supposed to be absolute zero!"

"Space is nothing. It's not hot and it's not cold. When you're in thesunlight you get warm. It's better in the shade. You don't lose any heatby air convection, but radiation and sweat evaporation keep youcomfortably cool. "

"I still can't understand it, " said Frayberg. "This Prince Ali, he's akind of a rebel, eh?"

"I don't blame him in a way. A normal man living under those domes hasto let off steam somehow. Prince Ali decided to go out crusading. Ithink he would have made it too--at least on Cirgamesç. "

"Certainly there are many more men inside the domes. . . . "

"When it comes to fighting, " said Murphy, "a sjambak can lick twenty menin space-suits. A little nick doesn't hurt him, but a little nick burstsopen a space-suit, and the man inside comes apart. "

"Well, " said the Captain. "I imagine the Peace Office will send out ateam to put things in order now. "

Catlin asked, "What happened when you woke up from the chloroform?"

"Well, nothing very much. I felt this attachment on my chest, but didn'tthink much about it. Still kinda woozy. I was halfway throughdecompression. They keep a man there eight hours, drop pressure on himtwo pounds an hour, nice and slow so he don't get the bends. "

"Was this the same place they took you, when you met Ali?"

"Yeah, that was their decompression chamber. They had to make a sjambakout of me; there wasn't anywhere else they could keep me. Well, prettysoon my head cleared, and I saw this apparatus stuck to my chest. " Hepoked at the mechanism on the table. "I saw the oxygen tank, I saw theblood running through the plastic pipes--blue from me to that carburetorarrangement, red on the way back in--and I figured out the wholearrangement. Carbon dioxide still exhales up through your lungs, but thevein back to the left auricle is routed through the carburetor andsupercharged with oxygen. A man doesn't need to breathe. The carburetorflushes his blood with oxygen, the decompression tank adjusts him to thelack of air-pressure. There's only one thing to look out for; that's notto touch anything with your naked flesh. If it's in the sunshine it'sblazing hot; if it's in the shade it's cold enough to cut. Otherwiseyou're free as a bird. "

"But--how did you get away?"

"I saw those little rocket-bikes, and began figuring. I couldn't go backto Singhalût; I'd be lynched on sight as a sjambak. I couldn't fly toanother planet--the bikes don't carry enough fuel. 

"I knew when the ship would be coming in, so I figured I'd fly up tomeet it. I told the guard I was going outside a minute, and I got on oneof the rocket-bikes. There was nothing much to it. "

"Well, " said Frayberg, "it's a great feature, Wilbur--a great film!Maybe we can stretch it into two hours. "

"There's one thing bothering me, " said Catlin. "Who did the steward seeup here the first time?"

Murphy shrugged. "It might have been somebody up here skylarking. Alittle too much oxygen and you start cutting all kinds of capers. Or itmight have been someone who decided he had enough crusading. 

"There's a sjambak in a cage, right in the middle of Singhalût. PrinceAli walks past; they look at each other eye to eye. Ali smiles a littleand walks on. Suppose this sjambak tried to escape to the ship. He'staken aboard, turned over to the Sultan and the Sultan makes an exampleof him. . . . "

"What'll the Sultan do to Ali?"

Murphy shook his head. "If I were Ali I'd disappear. "

A loudspeaker turned on. "Attention all passengers. We have just passedthrough quarantine. Passengers may now disembark. Important: no weaponsor explosives allowed on Singhalût!"

"This is where I came in, " said Murphy. 

THE END

Transcriber's Note:

 This etext was produced from _If Worlds of Science Fiction_ July 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.