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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30002 ***
+
+[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 man
+of sudden unpredictable moods; and Sam Catlin, the show's Continuity
+Editor, had learned to expect the worst.
+
+"Sam," said Frayberg, "regarding the show last night...." He paused to
+seek the proper words, and Catlin relaxed. Frayberg's frame of mind was
+merely 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 far
+out on a limb. "We bring 'em everything--color, fact, romance, sight,
+sound, smell.... Next week, it's the Ball Expedition to the Mixtup
+Mountains on Gropus."
+
+Frayberg leaned forward. "Sam, we're working the wrong slant on this
+stuff.... We've got to loosen up, sock 'em! Shift our ground! Give 'em
+the 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 minutes
+ago...." He smoothed out the pages. "'Sequence idea, by Wilbur Murphy.
+Investigate "Horseman of Space," the man who rides up to meet incoming
+space-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 thousand
+miles. He waves to the pilot, takes off his hat to the passengers, then
+rides 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 consonants
+are 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 strange
+superstitions. 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 serious
+sidelong squint. He looked from his crumpled sequence idea to Catlin and
+Frayberg. "Didn't like it, eh?"
+
+"We thought the emphasis should be a little different," explained
+Catlin. "Instead of 'The Space Horseman,' we'd give it the working
+title, '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 meet
+the incoming ships!"
+
+"Where did you get this wild fable?"
+
+"My brother-in-law is purser on the _Celestial Traveller_. At Riker's
+Planet 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 my
+brother-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 a
+few 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 on
+Sirgamesk superstition. Emphasis on voodoo or witchcraft--naked girls
+dancing--stuff with roots in Earth, but now typically Sirgamesk. Lots of
+color. 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 in
+mountain valleys, with air-tight lids over 'em."
+
+Catlin flipped the pages of _Thumbnail Sketches of the Inhabited
+Worlds_. "Says here there's ancient ruins millions of years old. When
+the atmosphere went, the population went with it."
+
+Frayberg became animated. "There's lots of material out there! Go get
+it, Wilbur! Life! Sex! Excitement! Mystery!"
+
+"Okay," said Wilbur Murphy.
+
+"But lay off this horseman-in-space. There _is_ a limit to public
+credulity, and don't you let anyone tell you different."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Cirgamesç hung outside the port, twenty thousand miles ahead. The
+steward leaned over Wilbur Murphy's shoulder and pointed a long brown
+finger. "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 such
+matters occur."
+
+"Then--you _did_ recognize him!"
+
+"I must be at my task, sir."
+
+Murphy frowned in vexation at the steward's retreating back, then bent
+over his camera to check the tape-feed. If anything appeared now, and
+his eyes could see it, the two-hundred million audience of _Know Your
+Universe!_ could see it with him.
+
+When he looked up, Murphy made a frantic grab for the stanchion, then
+relaxed. Cirgamesç had taken the Great Twitch. It was an illusion, a
+psychological quirk. One instant the planet lay ahead; then a man winked
+or turned away, and when he looked back, "ahead" had become "below"; the
+planet had swung an astonishing ninety degrees across the sky, and they
+were _falling_!
+
+Murphy leaned against the stanchion. "'The Great Twitch'," he muttered
+to himself, "I'd like to get _that_ on two hundred million screens!"
+
+Several hours passed. Cirgamesç grew. The Sampan Range rose up like a
+dark scab; the valley sultanates of Singhalût, Hadra, New Batavia, and
+Boeng-Bohôt showed like glistening chicken-tracks; the Great Rift Colony
+of Sundaman stretched down through the foothills like the trail of a
+slug.
+
+A loudspeaker voice rattled the ship. "Attention passengers for
+Singhalût and other points on Cirgamesç! Kindly prepare your luggage for
+disembarkation. Customs at Singhalût are extremely thorough. Passengers
+are warned to take no weapons, drugs or explosives ashore. This is
+important!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The warning turned out to be an understatement. Murphy was plied with
+questions. He suffered search of an intimate nature. He was
+three-dimensionally X-rayed with a range of frequencies calculated to
+excite fluorescence in whatever object he might have secreted in his
+stomach, in a hollow bone, or under a layer of flesh.
+
+His luggage was explored with similar minute attention, and Murphy
+rescued 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. "They
+resemble no cameras of my experience; I fear I shall have to impound ..."
+
+A young man in loose white pantaloons, a pink vest, pale green cravat
+and a complex black turban strolled up. The inspector made a swift
+obeisance, 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 repacked
+Murphy's belongings, while the young man looked on benignly.
+
+Murphy covertly inspected his face. The skin was smooth, the color of
+the rising moon; the eyes were narrow, dark, superficially placid. The
+effect was of silken punctilio with hot ruby blood close beneath.
+
+Satisfied with the inspector's zeal, he turned to Murphy. "Allow me to
+introduce myself, Tuan Murphy. I am Ali-Tomás, of the House of
+Singhalût, and my father the Sultan begs you to accept our poor
+hospitality."
+
+"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 own
+quick step to the prince's feline saunter. This is coming it pretty
+soft, he said to himself. I'll have a magnificent suite, with bowls of
+fruit and gin pahits, not to mention two or three silken girls with skin
+like 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 I
+ought 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 hundred
+million 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 its
+gelatinous 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 the
+difference. Sometimes the synthetic odor is an improvement."
+
+"Astounding!" murmured the prince.
+
+"And sometimes ... Well, Carson Tenlake went out to get the
+myrrh-blossoms on Venus. It was a hot day--as days usually are on
+Venus--and a long climb. When the show was run off, there was more smell
+of 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 warmth
+and golden light. As far in either direction as the eye could reach, the
+hillsides were terraced, barred in various shades of green. Spattering
+the valley floor were tall canvas pavilions, tents, booths, shelters.
+
+"Naturally," said Prince Ali-Tomás, "we hope that you and your
+participants will enjoy Singhalût. It is a truism that, in order to
+import, we must export; we wish to encourage a pleasurable response to
+the 'Made in Singhalût' tag on our _batiks_, carvings, lacquers."
+
+They rolled quietly across the square in a surface-car displaying the
+House emblem. Murphy rested against deep, cool cushions. "Your
+inspectors 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 the
+way of an irresistible emotion, there is turbulence, sometimes even
+killing."
+
+"An _amok_."
+
+"Exactly. It is as well that the _amok_ has no weapons other than his
+knife. Otherwise he would kill twenty where now he kills one."
+
+The car rolled along a narrow avenue, scattering pedestrians to either
+side like the bow of a boat spreading foam. The men wore loose white
+pantaloons 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 an
+inspiring and beautiful spectacle for your program."
+
+Murphy remembered the keynote to Howard Frayberg's instructions:
+"_Excitement! Sex! Mystery!_" Frayberg cared little for inspiration or
+beauty. "I imagine," he said casually, "that you celebrate a number of
+interesting festivals? Colorful dancing? Unique customs?"
+
+Ali-Tomás shook his head. "To the contrary. We left our superstitions
+and ancestor-worship back on Earth. We are quiet Mohammedans and indulge
+in very little festivity. Perhaps here is the reason for _amoks_ and
+sjambaks."
+
+"Sjambaks?"
+
+"We are not proud of them. You will hear sly rumor, and it is better
+that I arm you beforehand with truth."
+
+"What is a sjambak?"
+
+"They are bandits, flouters of authority. I will show you one
+presently."
+
+"I heard," said Murphy, "of a man riding a horse up to meet the
+space-ships. What would account for a story like that?"
+
+"It can have no possible basis," said Prince Ali-Tomás. "We have no
+horses on Cirgamesç. None whatever."
+
+"But ..."
+
+"The veriest idle talk. Such nonsense will have no interest for your
+intelligent participants."
+
+The car rolled into a square a hundred yards on a side, lined with
+luxuriant banana palms. Opposite was an enormous pavilion of gold and
+violet silk, with a dozen peaked gables casting various changing sheens.
+In the center of the square a twenty-foot pole supported a cage about
+two 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 man
+glared down from bloodshot eyes. "That," said Ali-Tomás, "is a sjambak.
+As you see," a faint note of apology entered his voice, "we attempt to
+discourage them."
+
+"What's that metal object on his chest?"
+
+"The mark of his trade. By that you may know all sjambak. In these
+unsettled times only we of the House may cover our chests--all others
+must show themselves and declare themselves true Singhalûsi."
+
+Murphy said tentatively, "I must come back here and photograph that
+cage."
+
+Ali-Tomás smilingly shook his head. "I will show you our farms, our
+vines and orchards. Your participants will enjoy these; they have no
+interest in the dolor of an ignoble sjambak."
+
+"Well," said Murphy, "our aim is a well-rounded production. We want to
+show the farmers at work, the members of the great House at their
+responsibilities, as well as the deserved fate of wrongdoers."
+
+"Exactly. For every sjambak there are ten thousand industrious
+Singhalûsi. It follows then that only one ten-thousandth part of your
+film 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 the
+influence of what Catlin called his philosophic kick. It was the phase
+which 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 to
+fight--progressive mental myopia."
+
+"Speak for yourself," said Catlin.
+
+"Consider. We sit in this office. We think we know what kind of show we
+want. We send out our staff to get it. We're signing the checks, so back
+it comes the way we asked for it. We look at it, hear it, smell it--and
+pretty soon we believe it: our version of the universe, full-blown from
+our 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 our
+own 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 Resort
+on the Moon."
+
+Frayberg leaned back in his chair as if shocked. "And we're supposed to
+be a couple of learned planetologists!"
+
+Catlin made grumbling noise in his throat. "I haven't been around the
+zodiac, 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 to
+take stock, get a new perspective."
+
+"Relax, Howard, relax."
+
+"In our case it means taking out our preconceived ideas, looking at
+them, checking our illusions against reality."
+
+"Are you serious about this?"
+
+"Another thing," said Frayberg, "I want to check up a little. Shifkin
+says the expense accounts are frightful. But he can't fight it. When
+Keeler says he paid ten munits for a loaf of bread on Nekkar IV, who's
+gonna call him on it?"
+
+"Hell, let him eat bread! That's cheaper than making a safari around the
+cluster, spot-checking the super-markets."
+
+Frayberg paid no heed. He touched a button; a three-foot sphere full of
+glistening 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's
+here at Canopus, Keeler's over here at Blue Moon, Wilbur Murphy's at
+Sirgamesk ..."
+
+"Don't forget," muttered Catlin, "we got a show to put on."
+
+"We've got material for a year," scoffed Frayberg. "Get hold of
+Space-Lines. We'll start with Sirgamesk, and see what Wilbur Murphy's up
+to."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wilbur Murphy was being presented to the Sultan of Singhalût by the
+Prince Ali-Tomás. The Sultan, a small mild man of seventy, sat
+crosslegged on an enormous pink and green air-cushion. "Be at your ease,
+Mr. Murphy. We dispense with as much protocol here as practicable." The
+Sultan had a dry clipped voice and the air of a rather harassed
+corporation executive. "I understand you represent Earth-Central Home
+Screen 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 as
+we'd like. We're very pleased with your interest in us, and naturally we
+want to help you in every way possible. Tomorrow the Keeper of the
+Archives will present a series of charts analyzing our economy.
+Ali-Tomás shall personally conduct you through the fish-hatcheries. We
+want you to know we're doing a great job out here on Singhalût."
+
+"I'm sure you are," said Murphy uncomfortably. "However, that isn't
+quite the stuff I want."
+
+"No? Just where do your desires lie?"
+
+Ali-Tomás said delicately. "Mr. Murphy took a rather profound interest
+in the sjambak displayed in the square."
+
+"Oh. And you explained that these renegades could hold no interest for
+serious students of our planet?"
+
+Murphy started to explain that clustered around two hundred million
+screens tuned to _Know Your Universe!_ were four or five hundred million
+participants, the greater part of them neither serious nor students. The
+Sultan cut in decisively. "I will now impart something truly
+interesting. We Singhalûsi are making preparations to reclaim four more
+valleys, with an added area of six hundred thousand acres! I shall put
+my physiographic models at your disposal; you may use them to the
+fullest extent!"
+
+"I'll be pleased for the opportunity," declared Murphy. "But tomorrow
+I'd like to prowl around the valley, meet your people, observe their
+customs, religious rites, courtships, funerals ..."
+
+The Sultan pulled a sour face. "We are ditch-water dull. Festivals are
+celebrated quietly in the home; there is small religious fervor;
+courtships are consummated by family contract. I fear you will find
+little 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 to
+escape 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, weathered
+stone. There are no inscriptions, no art. There is no stimulation in
+dead stone. Now. Tomorrow I will hear a report on hybrid soybean
+plantings in the Upper Kam District. You will want to be present."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Murphy's suite matched or even excelled his expectation. He had four
+rooms and a private garden enclosed by a thicket of bamboo. His bathroom
+walls were slabs of glossy actinolite, inlaid with cinnabar, jade,
+galena, pyrite and blue malachite, in representations of fantastic
+birds. His bedroom was a tent thirty feet high. Two walls were dark
+green fabric; a third was golden rust; the fourth opened upon the
+private garden.
+
+Murphy's bed was a pink and yellow creation ten feet square, soft as
+cobweb, smelling of rose sandalwood. Carved black lacquer tubs held
+fruit; two dozen wines, liquors, syrups, essences flowed at a touch from
+as many ebony spigots.
+
+The garden centered on a pool of cool water, very pleasant in the
+hothouse climate of Singhalût. The only shortcoming was the lack of the
+lovely young servitors Murphy had envisioned. He took it upon himself to
+repair this lack, and in a shady wine-house behind the palace, called
+the Barangipan, he made the acquaintance of a girl-musician named Soek
+Panjoebang. He found her enticing tones of quavering sweetness from the
+_gamelan_, an instrument well-loved in Old Bali. Soek Panjoebang had the
+delicate features and transparent skin of Sumatra, the supple long limbs
+of Arabia and in a pair of wide and golden eyes a heritage from
+somewhere in Celtic Europe. Murphy bought her a goblet of frozen
+shavings, each a different perfume, while he himself drank white
+rice-beer. Soek Panjoebang displayed an intense interest in the ways of
+Earth, 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. We
+have no great adventures. We grow flowers, we play the _gamelan_." She
+eyed 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 knot
+forming around his chest, he no longer takes his kris and runs down the
+street--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 talks
+sjambak, 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 know
+about 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 to
+Singhalût for his wife; he was caught and set up for all people to look
+at, 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 the
+mountains."
+
+"They must have some shelter--an air-dome."
+
+"No. The Sultan would send out his patrol-boat and destroy them. They
+roam 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 sjambaks
+who 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 man
+riding 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 up
+there 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 do
+not care to attract the attention of either steward, sjambak--or
+Sultan."
+
+Murphy said impatiently. "In any event, it's not who--but _how_. How
+does 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 of
+her instrument, with additional overtones of mockery. "There must be
+some 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 we
+do here in Singhalût."
+
+"What's _napaû_?"
+
+"It's our philosophy, where we find meaning and life and beauty in every
+aspect of the world."
+
+"That sjambak in the cage could do with a little less _napaû_ right
+now."
+
+"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 to
+Singhalût. If the Sultan wishes to use it to warn other wrongdoers, the
+fact 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...." She
+looked in turn at Murphy's loose shirt. "You will notice persons
+brushing up against you, feeling you," she laid her hand along his
+breast, "and when this happens you will know they are agents of the
+Sultan, 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 not
+understand 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 with
+a private pool, I usually sleep in a bubble-tent, with nothing to eat
+but 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 the
+sunlight collected and refracted, "I don't particularly like being shut
+up like a bird in an aviary.... Mildly claustrophobic, I guess."
+
+After breakfast, drinking thick coffee from tiny silver cups, Murphy
+looked long and reflectively at Soek Panjoebang.
+
+"What are you thinking, Weelbrrr?"
+
+Murphy drained his coffee. "I'm thinking that I'd better be getting to
+work."
+
+"And what do you do?"
+
+"First I'm going to shoot the palace, and you sitting here in the garden
+playing your _gamelan_."
+
+"But Weelbrrr--not _me_!"
+
+"You're a part of the universe, rather an interesting part. Then I'll
+take 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 Soek
+Panjoebang. 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. He
+carried himself with a hell-raising swagger, left over from a time
+twenty years gone. His skin had the waxy look of lost floridity, his
+tuft of white hair was coarse and thin, his eyelids hung in the off-side
+droop that amateur physiognomists like to associate with guile.
+
+"I'm Resident Director of the Import-Export Bank," said Trimmer. "Heard
+you 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 a
+comfortable tourist planet. Too confined, shut in. A man with a
+sensitive psyche goes nuts pretty easy here."
+
+"Yeah," said Murphy. "I was thinking the same thing this morning. That
+dome begins to give a man the willies. How do the natives stand it? Or
+do 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 got
+the docile Javanese blood, plus the Arabian élan. The Javanese part is
+on top, but every once in a while you see a flash of arrogance.... You
+never know. I've been out here nine years and I'm still a stranger." He
+puffed 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 this
+sjambak stuff."
+
+Trimmer nodded without surprise. "My advice to you, Murphy, is lay off
+the sjambaks. They're not healthy around here."
+
+Murphy was startled by the bluntness. "What's the big mystery about
+these 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 man
+might just barely spot 'em. You can't catch the real ones. They're woven
+into 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 habit
+than anything else. If you're fussy we'll go for a walk."
+
+The road led past the palace into the country. Murphy and Trimmer
+sauntered along a placid river, overgrown with lily pads, swarming with
+large white ducks.
+
+"This sjambak business," said Murphy. "Everybody talks around it. You
+can'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 my
+reports. But there's more to Singhalût than the Sultan."
+
+"Namely?"
+
+Trimmer waved his cigar waggishly. "Now we're getting in where I don't
+like to talk. I'll give you a hint. Prince Ali thinks roofing-in more
+valleys is a waste of money, when there's Hadra and New Batavia and
+Sundaman 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 by
+monorail."
+
+"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 named
+Soek Panjoebang who plays the _gamelan_. I suppose she's working for
+either 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 two
+things--one for Ali, the other for the Sultan. Whichever one reacts you
+know you've got her tagged."
+
+"For instance?"
+
+"Well, for instance she learns that you can rig up a hypnotic ray from a
+flashlight 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 on
+his cigar with gusto, "tell her you're on to a catalyst that turns clay
+into aluminum and oxygen in the presence of sunlight. The Sultan would
+sell his right leg for something like that. He tries hard for Singhalût
+and Cirgamesç."
+
+"And Ali?"
+
+Trimmer hesitated. "I never said what I'm gonna say. Don't forget--I
+never 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. But
+suppose someone--strictly unofficial, of course--let the idea percolate
+around 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 a
+little unfair. I'm a friendly guy. Of course I don't like to see the
+bank 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 Your
+Universe!_ man, they might make a move."
+
+Murphy nodded.
+
+"Well, we understand each other," said Trimmer heartily, "and
+everything's clear."
+
+"Not entirely. How's Ali going to launch a _jehad_ when he doesn't have
+any weapons, no warships, no supplies?"
+
+"Now," said Trimmer, "we're getting into the realm of supposition." He
+paused, looked behind him. A farmer pushing a rotary tiller, bowed
+politely, trundled ahead. Behind was a young man in a black turban, gold
+earrings, a black and red vest, white pantaloons, black curl-toed
+slippers. He bowed, started past. Trimmer held up his hand. "Don't waste
+your 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 not
+dissemble. 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. So
+when he said 'Sultan', I'd think he wouldn't lie simply, but that he'd
+lie 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't
+think he gives me credit for that much subtlety.... What are you doing
+the 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 and
+exotic lore."
+
+"There's this sjambak in the cage. That's about as close to the medieval
+as you'll find anywhere in Earth Commonwealth."
+
+"Speaking of sjambaks ..."
+
+"No time," said Trimmer. "Got to get back. Drop in at my office--right
+down the square from the palace."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Murphy returned to his suite. The shadowy figure of his room servant
+said, "His Highness the Sultan desires the Tuan's attendance in the
+Cascade 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, brown
+plastic boots, a yellow polo shirt. He carried a twig which he used as a
+riding crop, slapping his boots as he walked. He turned his head as
+Murphy appeared, pointed his twig at a wicker bench.
+
+"I pray you sit down, Mr. Murphy." He paced once up and back. "How is
+your 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 he
+meant.
+
+The Sultan nodded wistfully. "A Singhalûsi would have wasted an hour
+telling me half-truths--distorted enough to confuse, but not
+sufficiently inaccurate to anger me if I had a spy-cell on him all the
+time."
+
+Murphy grinned. "A Singhalûsi has to live here the rest of his life."
+
+A servant wheeled a frosted cabinet before them, placed goblets under
+two spigots, withdrew. The Sultan cleared his throat. "Trimmer is an
+excellent fellow, but unbelievably loquacious."
+
+Murphy drew himself two inches of chilled rosy-pale liquor. The Sultan
+slapped his boots with the twig. "Undoubtedly he confided all my private
+business 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 population
+density is fifteen hundred to the square mile. We must expand or
+smother. There'll be too little food to eat, too little oxygen to
+breathe."
+
+Murphy suddenly came to life. "I could make that idea the theme of my
+feature! 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 confidential
+information--although Trimmer no doubt has preceded me with it." He gave
+his boots an irritated whack. "To expand I need funds. Funds are best
+secured in an atmosphere of calm and confidence. The implication of
+emergency 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 our
+progressive social attitude, our prosperity and financial prospects ..."
+
+"But, Sultan ..."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I can't allow your Minister of Propaganda to use me and _Know Your
+Universe!_ 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's
+going to be the dramatic contrast between the ruined cities and the new
+domed valleys. How the Earth settlers succeeded where the ancient people
+failed 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, the
+paddies, groves, orchards, farms. Tomorrow I'm taking a trip out to one
+of the ruins."
+
+"I see," said the Sultan. "Then you won't need my charts and
+statistics?"
+
+"Well, Sultan, I could film the stuff your Propaganda Minister cooked
+up, and I could take it back to Earth. Howard Frayberg or Sam Catlin
+would tear into it, rip it apart, lard in some head-hunting, a little
+cannibalism and temple prostitution, and you'd never know you were
+watching Singhalût. You'd scream with horror, and I'd be fired."
+
+"In that case," said the Sultan, "I will leave you to the dictates of
+your 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 a
+story out there."
+
+Sam Catlin shivered inside his electrically heated glass overcoat. "Out
+on that ocean? It's full of man-eating plesiosaurs--horrible things
+forty feet long."
+
+"Suppose we worked something out on the line of Moby Dick? _The White
+Monster of the Mogador Ocean._ We'd set sail in a catamaran--"
+
+"Us?"
+
+"No," said Frayberg impatiently. "Of course not us. Two or three of the
+staff. 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 legendary
+white 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 a
+horse up to meet his space-ships."
+
+"He might draw the line at a white plesiosaur riding up to meet his
+catamaran."
+
+Frayberg turned away. "Somebody's got to have ideas around here...."
+
+"We'd better head back to the space-port," said Catlin. "We got two
+hours to make the Sirgamesk shuttle."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wilbur Murphy sat in the Barangipan, watching marionettes performing to
+xylophone, castanet, gong and _gamelan_. The drama had its roots in
+proto-historic Mohenjō-Darō. It had filtered down through ancient India,
+medieval Burma, Malaya, across the Straits of Malacca to Sumatra and
+Java; from modern Java across space to Cirgamesç, five thousand years of
+time, two hundred light-years of space. Somewhere along the route it had
+met and assimilated modern technology. Magnetic beams controlled arms,
+legs and bodies, guided the poses and posturings. The manipulator's
+face, by agency of clip, wire, radio control and minuscule selsyn,
+projected his scowl, smile, sneer or grimace to the peaked little face
+he controlled. The language was that of Old Java, which perhaps a third
+of the spectators understood. This portion did not include Murphy, and
+when the performance ended he was no wiser than at the start.
+
+Soek Panjoebang slipped into the seat beside Murphy. She wore musician's
+garb: a sarong of brown, blue, and black _batik_, and a fantastic
+headdress 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, looked
+soulfully up with her shiny yellow-hazel eyes. Murphy nearly forgot the
+experiment 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 the
+condensation vanes. I never knew there was so much water in the air till
+I 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 a
+secret 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 into
+aluminum 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 picturama
+stars out of _gamelan_ players, but no special genius...."
+
+"No, no, Weelbrrr."
+
+"I know lots of tricks. I can take a flashlight battery, a piece of
+copper foil, a few transistors and bamboo tube and turn out a paralyzer
+gun that'll stop a man cold in his tracks. And you know how much it
+costs?"
+
+"No, Weelbrrr. How much?"
+
+"Ten cents. It wears out after two or three months, but what's the
+difference? 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 the
+ruins in the plain. Ghatamipol, I think they're called. Like to come?"
+
+"No, Weelbrrr." Soek Panjoebang looked off into the garden, her hands
+busy tucking a flower into her hair. A few minutes later she said, "Why
+must you waste your time among the rocks? There are better things to do
+and see. And it might well be--dangerous." She murmured the last word
+off-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 a
+yellow 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 dressed
+in space-suits for the plains, twenty men with sullen faces. The trip to
+Ghatamipol clearly was not to their liking. Murphy climbed into his own
+suit, checked the oxygen pressure gauge, the seal at his collar. "All
+ready, boys?"
+
+No one spoke. The silence drew out. The gatekeeper, on hand to let the
+party 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 leaks
+in his suit. Inside pressure: 14.6. Outside pressure: zero. His twenty
+guards morosely inspected their crossbows and slim swords.
+
+The white ruins of Ghatamipol lay five miles across Pharasang Plain. The
+horizon was clear, the sun was high, the sky was black.
+
+Murphy's radio hummed. Someone said sharply, "Look! There it goes!" He
+wheeled around; his guards had halted, and were pointing. He saw a fleet
+something 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 their
+radio intercoms.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The eroded city walls rose above them, occupied more and more of the
+sky. The platoon leader said in an angry voice, "We have gone far
+enough."
+
+"You're under my orders," said Murphy. "We're going through the gate."
+He punched the button on his camera and passed under the monstrous
+portal.
+
+The city was frailer stuff than the wall, and had succumbed to the thin
+storms which had raged a million years after the passing of life. Murphy
+marvelled at the scope of the ruins. Virgin archaeological territory! No
+telling what a few weeks digging might turn up. Murphy considered his
+expense 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 would
+gladly provide diggers. They were a sturdy enough people; they could
+make quite a showing in a week, if they were able to put aside their
+superstitions, fears and dreads.
+
+Murphy sized one of them up from the corner of his eye. He sat on a
+sunny slab of rock, and if he felt uneasy he concealed it quite
+successfully. 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 of
+the valley the man openly wore his shirt, a fine loose garment of
+electric blue, in defiance of the Sultan's edict. Of course out here he
+might be cold....
+
+Murphy felt his own skin crawling. How could he be cold? How could he be
+alive? Where was his space-suit? He lounged on the rock, grinning
+sardonically at Murphy. He wore heavy sandals, a black turban, loose
+breeches, the blue shirt. Nothing more.
+
+Where were the others?
+
+Murphy turned a feverish glance over his shoulder. A good three miles
+distant, bounding and leaping toward Singhalût, were twenty desperate
+figures. They all wore space-suits. This man here ... A sjambak? A
+wizard? A hallucination?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The creature rose to his feet, strode springily toward Murphy. He
+carried a crossbow and a sword, like those of Murphy's fleet-footed
+guards. But he wore no space-suit. Could there be breathable traces of
+an atmosphere? Murphy glanced at his gauge. Outside pressure: zero.
+
+Two other men appeared, moving with long elastic steps. Their eyes were
+bright, their faces flushed. They came up to Murphy, took his arm. They
+were solid, corporeal. They had no invisible force fields around their
+heads.
+
+Murphy jerked his arm free. "Let go of me, damn it!" But they certainly
+couldn't hear him through the vacuum.
+
+He glanced over his shoulder. The first man held his naked blade a foot
+or two behind Murphy's bulging space-suit. Murphy made no further
+resistance. He punched the button on his camera to automatic. It would
+now run for several hours, recording one hundred pictures per second, a
+thousand to the inch.
+
+The sjambaks led Murphy two hundred yards to a metal door. They opened
+it, pushed Murphy inside, banged it shut. Murphy felt the vibration
+through his shoes, heard a gradually waxing hum. His gauge showed an
+outside pressure of 5, 10, 12, 14, 14.5. An inner door opened. Hands
+pulled 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 other
+odds and ends.
+
+"There it is," said Prince Ali-Tomás. "Get to work. Let's see one of
+these 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. Give
+me 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 the
+table.
+
+Murphy laughed. "I've got myself in a fine mess. Suppose I don't make
+this 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 arrangements
+for your care on a long-term basis."
+
+Ali made a gesture. Hands seized Murphy's shoulders. A respirator was
+held to his nostrils. He thought of his camera, and he could have
+laughed. Mystery! Excitement! Thrills! Dramatic sequence for _Know Your
+Universe!_ Staff-man murdered by fanatics! The crime recorded on his own
+camera! 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's
+horseback 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 his
+superstition angle?"
+
+Sam Catlin, watching out the window, said in a tight voice, "Why not ask
+him yourself?"
+
+"Eh?"
+
+"Ask him for yourself! There he is--outside, riding some kind of
+critter...."
+
+"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 combination
+ram-jet and kiddie car with stirrups!"
+
+"He's coming aboard the ship," said Catlin. "That's the entrance port
+down there...."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wilbur Murphy sat in the captain's stateroom, taking careful breaths of
+air.
+
+"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 anything
+like it."
+
+"How does it feel out there, Wilbur?" Catlin asked.
+
+"It feels awful lonesome and empty. And the breath seeping up out of
+your lungs, never going in--that's a funny feeling. And you miss the air
+blowing on your skin. I never realized it before. Air feels like--like
+silk, 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 the
+sunlight you get warm. It's better in the shade. You don't lose any heat
+by air convection, but radiation and sweat evaporation keep you
+comfortably cool."
+
+"I still can't understand it," said Frayberg. "This Prince Ali, he's a
+kind of a rebel, eh?"
+
+"I don't blame him in a way. A normal man living under those domes has
+to let off steam somehow. Prince Ali decided to go out crusading. I
+think 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 men
+in space-suits. A little nick doesn't hurt him, but a little nick bursts
+open a space-suit, and the man inside comes apart."
+
+"Well," said the Captain. "I imagine the Peace Office will send out a
+team 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't
+think much about it. Still kinda woozy. I was halfway through
+decompression. They keep a man there eight hours, drop pressure on him
+two 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 sjambak
+out of me; there wasn't anywhere else they could keep me. Well, pretty
+soon my head cleared, and I saw this apparatus stuck to my chest." He
+poked at the mechanism on the table. "I saw the oxygen tank, I saw the
+blood running through the plastic pipes--blue from me to that carburetor
+arrangement, red on the way back in--and I figured out the whole
+arrangement. Carbon dioxide still exhales up through your lungs, but the
+vein back to the left auricle is routed through the carburetor and
+supercharged with oxygen. A man doesn't need to breathe. The carburetor
+flushes his blood with oxygen, the decompression tank adjusts him to the
+lack of air-pressure. There's only one thing to look out for; that's not
+to touch anything with your naked flesh. If it's in the sunshine it's
+blazing hot; if it's in the shade it's cold enough to cut. Otherwise
+you're free as a bird."
+
+"But--how did you get away?"
+
+"I saw those little rocket-bikes, and began figuring. I couldn't go back
+to Singhalût; I'd be lynched on sight as a sjambak. I couldn't fly to
+another planet--the bikes don't carry enough fuel.
+
+"I knew when the ship would be coming in, so I figured I'd fly up to
+meet it. I told the guard I was going outside a minute, and I got on one
+of 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 see
+up here the first time?"
+
+Murphy shrugged. "It might have been somebody up here skylarking. A
+little too much oxygen and you start cutting all kinds of capers. Or it
+might have been someone who decided he had enough crusading.
+
+"There's a sjambak in a cage, right in the middle of Singhalût. Prince
+Ali walks past; they look at each other eye to eye. Ali smiles a little
+and walks on. Suppose this sjambak tried to escape to the ship. He's
+taken aboard, turned over to the Sultan and the Sultan makes an example
+of 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 passed
+through quarantine. Passengers may now disembark. Important: no weapons
+or 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.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sjambak, by John Holbrook Vance
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30002 ***
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+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30002 ***</div>
+
+<div class="figl"><img src="images/001.png" width="372" height="550" alt="" title="" /></div>
+
+<div class="hd1"><p><big><i>Wilbur Murphy sought romance, excitement, and an impossible
+Horseman of Space. With polite smiles, the planet frustrated
+him at every turn&mdash;until he found them all the hard way!</i></big></p></div>
+
+<h1><span class="sp1">SJAMBAK</span></h1>
+
+<h2>By Jack Vance</h2>
+
+<p class="hd1"><small>Illustrated by VIRGIL FINLAY</small></p>
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Howard Frayberg</span>, Production
+Director of <i>Know Your
+Universe!</i>, was a man of sudden unpredictable
+moods; and Sam Catlin,
+the show's Continuity Editor,
+had learned to expect the worst.</p>
+
+<p>"Sam," said Frayberg, "regarding
+the show last night...." He paused
+to seek the proper words, and Catlin
+relaxed. Frayberg's frame of
+mind was merely critical. "Sam,
+we're in a rut. What's worse, the
+show's dull!"</p>
+
+<p>Sam Catlin shrugged, not committing
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Seaweed Processors of Alphard
+IX</i>&mdash;who cares about seaweed?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's factual stuff," said Sam, defensive
+but not wanting to go too
+far out on a limb. "We bring 'em
+everything&mdash;color, fact, romance,
+sight, sound, smell.... Next week,
+it's the Ball Expedition to the Mixtup
+Mountains on Gropus."</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg leaned forward. "Sam,
+we're working the wrong slant on
+this stuff.... We've got to loosen
+up, sock 'em! Shift our ground!
+Give 'em the old human angle&mdash;glamor,
+mystery, thrills!"</p>
+
+<p>Sam Catlin curled his lips. "I got
+just what you want."</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah? Show me."</p>
+
+<p>Catlin reached into his waste
+basket. "I filed this just ten minutes
+ago...." He smoothed out the
+pages. "'Sequence idea, by Wilbur
+Murphy. Investigate "Horseman of
+Space," the man who rides up to
+meet incoming space-ships.'"</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg tilted his head to the
+side. "Rides up on a <i>horse</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what Wilbur Murphy
+says."</p>
+
+<p>"How far up?"</p>
+
+<p>"Does it make any difference?"</p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;I guess not."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, for your information, it's
+up ten thousand, twenty thousand
+miles. He waves to the pilot, takes
+off his hat to the passengers, then
+rides back down."</p>
+
+<p>"And where does all this take
+place?"</p>
+
+<p>"On&mdash;on&mdash;" Catlin frowned. "I
+can write it, but I can't pronounce
+it." He printed on his scratch-screen:
+CIRGAMES&Ccedil;.</p>
+
+<p>"Sirgamesk," read Frayberg.</p>
+
+<p>Catlin shook his head. "That's
+what it looks like&mdash;but those consonants
+are all aspirated gutturals.
+It's more like 'Hrrghameshgrrh'."</p>
+
+<p>"Where did Murphy get this
+tip?"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't bother to ask."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," mused Frayberg, "we
+could always do a show on strange
+superstitions. Is Murphy around?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's explaining his expense account
+to Shifkin."</p>
+
+<p>"Get him in here; let's talk to
+him."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Wilbur Murphy</span> had a
+blond crew-cut, a broad
+freckled nose, and a serious sidelong
+squint. He looked from his
+crumpled sequence idea to Catlin
+and Frayberg. "Didn't like it, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"We thought the emphasis should
+be a little different," explained Catlin.
+"Instead of 'The Space Horseman,'
+we'd give it the working title,
+'Odd Superstitions of Hrrghameshgrrh'."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, hell!" said Frayberg. "Call
+it Sirgamesk."</p>
+
+<p>"Anyway," said Catlin, "that's
+the angle."</p>
+
+<p>"But it's not superstition," said
+Murphy.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, come, Wilbur ..."</p>
+
+<p>"I got this for sheer sober-sided
+fact. A man rides a horse up to
+meet the incoming ships!"</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you get this wild
+fable?"</p>
+
+<p>"My brother-in-law is purser
+on the <i>Celestial Traveller</i>. At Riker's
+Planet they make connection
+with the feeder line out of Cirgames&ccedil;."</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a minute," said Catlin.
+"How did you pronounce that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Cirgames&ccedil;. The steward on the
+shuttle-ship gave out this story, and
+my brother-in-law passed it along to
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"Somebody's pulling somebody's
+leg."</p>
+
+<p>"My brother-in-law wasn't, and
+the steward was cold sober."</p>
+
+<p>"They've been eating <i>bhang</i>.
+Sirgamesk is a Javanese planet,
+isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Javanese, Arab, Malay."</p>
+
+<p>"Then they took a <i>bhang</i> supply
+with them, and <i>hashish</i>, <i>chat</i>, and
+a few other sociable herbs."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, this horseman isn't any
+drug-dream."</p>
+
+<p>"No? What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"So far as I know it's a man on
+a horse."</p>
+
+<p>"Ten thousand miles up? In a
+vacuum?"</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly."</p>
+
+<p>"No space-suit?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's the story."</p>
+
+<p>Catlin and Frayberg looked at
+each other.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Wilbur," Catlin began.</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg interrupted. "What we
+can use, Wilbur, is a sequence on
+Sirgamesk superstition. Emphasis
+on voodoo or witchcraft&mdash;naked
+girls dancing&mdash;stuff with roots in
+Earth, but now typically Sirgamesk.
+Lots of color. Secret rite stuff...."</p>
+
+<p>"Not much room on Cirgames&ccedil;
+for secret rites."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a big planet, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not quite as big as Mars.
+There's no atmosphere. The settlers
+live in mountain valleys, with air-tight
+lids over 'em."</p>
+
+<p>Catlin flipped the pages of
+<i>Thumbnail Sketches of the Inhabited
+Worlds</i>. "Says here there's
+ancient ruins millions of years old.
+When the atmosphere went, the
+population went with it."</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg became animated.
+"There's lots of material out there!
+Go get it, Wilbur! Life! Sex! Excitement!
+Mystery!"</p>
+
+<p>"Okay," said Wilbur Murphy.</p>
+
+<p>"But lay off this horseman-in-space.
+There <i>is</i> a limit to public
+credulity, and don't you let anyone
+tell you different."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Cirgames&ccedil;</span> hung outside the
+port, twenty thousand miles
+ahead. The steward leaned over
+Wilbur Murphy's shoulder and
+pointed a long brown finger. "It
+was right out there, sir. He came
+riding up&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What kind of a man was it?
+Strange-looking?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. He was Cirgameski."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh. You saw him with your
+own eyes, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>The steward bowed, and his loose
+white mantle fell forward. "Exactly,
+sir."</p>
+
+<p>"No helmet, no space-suit?"</p>
+
+<p>"He wore a short Singhal&ucirc;t vest
+and pantaloons and a yellow Hadrasi
+hat. No more."</p>
+
+<p>"And the horse?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, the horse! There's a different
+matter."</p>
+
+<p>"Different how?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't describe the horse. I was
+intent on the man."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you recognize him?"</p>
+
+<p>"By the brow of Lord Allah, it's
+well not to look too closely when
+such matters occur."</p>
+
+<p>"Then&mdash;you <i>did</i> recognize him!"</p>
+
+<p>"I must be at my task, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy frowned in vexation at
+the steward's retreating back, then
+bent over his camera to check the
+tape-feed. If anything appeared
+now, and his eyes could see it, the
+two-hundred million audience of
+<i>Know Your Universe!</i> could see it
+with him.</p>
+
+<p>When he looked up, Murphy
+made a frantic grab for the stanchion,
+then relaxed. Cirgames&ccedil; had
+taken the Great Twitch. It was an
+illusion, a psychological quirk. One
+instant the planet lay ahead; then
+a man winked or turned away, and
+when he looked back, "ahead" had
+become "below"; the planet had
+swung an astonishing ninety degrees
+across the sky, and they were <i>falling</i>!</p>
+
+<p>Murphy leaned against the stanchion.
+"'The Great Twitch'," he
+muttered to himself, "I'd like to
+get <i>that</i> on two hundred million
+screens!"</p>
+
+<p>Several hours passed. Cirgames&ccedil;
+grew. The Sampan Range rose up
+like a dark scab; the valley sultanates
+of Singhal&ucirc;t, Hadra, New
+Batavia, and Boeng-Boh&ocirc;t showed
+like glistening chicken-tracks; the
+Great Rift Colony of Sundaman
+stretched down through the foothills
+like the trail of a slug.</p>
+
+<p>A loudspeaker voice rattled the
+ship. "Attention passengers for
+Singhal&ucirc;t and other points on Cirgames&ccedil;!
+Kindly prepare your luggage
+for disembarkation. Customs
+at Singhal&ucirc;t are extremely thorough.
+Passengers are warned to take
+no weapons, drugs or explosives
+ashore. This is important!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The warning</span> turned out to
+be an understatement. Murphy
+was plied with questions. He suffered
+search of an intimate nature.
+He was three-dimensionally X-rayed
+with a range of frequencies
+calculated to excite fluorescence in
+whatever object he might have
+secreted in his stomach, in a hollow
+bone, or under a layer of flesh.</p>
+
+<p>His luggage was explored with
+similar minute attention, and
+Murphy rescued his cameras with
+difficulty. "What're you so damn
+anxious about? I don't have drugs;
+I don't have contraband ..."</p>
+
+<p>"It's guns, your excellency. Guns,
+weapons, explosives ..."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't have any guns."</p>
+
+<p>"But these objects here?"</p>
+
+<p>"They're cameras. They record
+pictures and sounds and smells."</p>
+
+<p>The inspector seized the cases
+with a glittering smile of triumph.
+"They resemble no cameras of my
+experience; I fear I shall have to
+impound ..."</p>
+
+<p>A young man in loose white
+pantaloons, a pink vest, pale green
+cravat and a complex black turban
+strolled up. The inspector made a
+swift obeisance, with arms spread
+wide. "Excellency."</p>
+
+<p>The young man raised two fingers.
+"You may find it possible to
+spare Mr. Murphy any unnecessary
+formality."</p>
+
+<p>"As your Excellency recommends...."
+The inspector nimbly
+repacked Murphy's belongings,
+while the young man looked on benignly.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy covertly inspected his
+face. The skin was smooth, the color
+of the rising moon; the eyes were
+narrow, dark, superficially placid.
+The effect was of silken punctilio
+with hot ruby blood close beneath.</p>
+
+<p>Satisfied with the inspector's
+zeal, he turned to Murphy. "Allow
+me to introduce myself, Tuan
+Murphy. I am Ali-Tom&aacute;s, of the
+House of Singhal&ucirc;t, and my father
+the Sultan begs you to accept our
+poor hospitality."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, thank you," said Murphy.
+"This is a very pleasant surprise."</p>
+
+<p>"If you will allow me to conduct
+you...." He turned to the inspector.
+"Mr. Murphy's luggage to the
+palace."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Murphy</span> accompanied Ali-Tom&aacute;s
+into the outside light,
+fitting his own quick step to the
+prince's feline saunter. This is coming
+it pretty soft, he said to himself.
+I'll have a magnificent suite, with
+bowls of fruit and gin pahits, not
+to mention two or three silken girls
+with skin like rich cream bringing
+me towels in the shower.... Well,
+well, well, it's not so bad working
+for <i>Know Your Universe!</i> after all!
+I suppose I ought to unlimber my
+camera....</p>
+
+<p>Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s watched him
+with interest. "And what is the
+audience of <i>Know Your Universe!</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"We call 'em 'participants'."</p>
+
+<p>"Expressive. And how many
+participants do you serve?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, the Bowdler Index rises and
+falls. We've got about two hundred
+million screens, with five hundred
+million participants."</p>
+
+<p>"Fascinating! And tell me&mdash;how
+do you record smells?"</p>
+
+<p>Murphy displayed the odor recorder
+on the side of the camera,
+with its gelatinous track which fixed
+the molecular design.</p>
+
+<p>"And the odors recreated&mdash;they
+are like the originals?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty close. Never exact, but
+none of the participants knows the
+difference. Sometimes the synthetic
+odor is an improvement."</p>
+
+<p>"Astounding!" murmured the
+prince.</p>
+
+<p>"And sometimes ... Well, Carson
+Tenlake went out to get the myrrh-blossoms
+on Venus. It was a hot
+day&mdash;as days usually are on Venus&mdash;and
+a long climb. When the show
+was run off, there was more smell
+of Carson than of flowers."</p>
+
+<p>Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s laughed politely.
+"We turn through here."</p>
+
+<p>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
+warmth and golden light. As far in
+either direction as the eye could
+reach, the hillsides were terraced,
+barred in various shades of green.
+Spattering the valley floor were tall
+canvas pavilions, tents, booths, shelters.</p>
+
+<p>"Naturally," said Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s,
+"we hope that you and your
+participants will enjoy Singhal&ucirc;t.
+It is a truism that, in order to import,
+we must export; we wish to
+encourage a pleasurable response
+to the 'Made in Singhal&ucirc;t' tag on
+our <i>batiks</i>, carvings, lacquers."</p>
+
+<p>They rolled quietly across the
+square in a surface-car displaying
+the House emblem. Murphy rested
+against deep, cool cushions. "Your
+inspectors are pretty careful about
+weapons."</p>
+
+<p>Ali-Tom&aacute;s smiled complacently.
+"Our existence is ordered and
+peaceful. You may be familiar with
+the concept of <i>adak</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think so."</p>
+
+<p>"A word, an idea from old Earth.
+Every living act is ordered by ritual.
+But our heritage is passionate&mdash;and
+when unyielding <i>adak</i> stands
+in the way of an irresistible emotion,
+there is turbulence, sometimes
+even killing."</p>
+
+<p>"An <i>amok</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly. It is as well that the
+<i>amok</i> has no weapons other than
+his knife. Otherwise he would kill
+twenty where now he kills one."</p>
+
+<p>The car rolled along a narrow
+avenue, scattering pedestrians to
+either side like the bow of a boat
+spreading foam. The men wore
+loose white pantaloons and a short
+open vest; the women wore only
+the pantaloons.</p>
+
+<p>"Handsome set of people," remarked
+Murphy.</p>
+
+<p>Ali-Tom&aacute;s again smiled complacently.
+"I'm sure Singhal&ucirc;t will
+present an inspiring and beautiful
+spectacle for your program."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy remembered the keynote
+to Howard Frayberg's instructions:
+"<i>Excitement! Sex! Mystery!</i>" Frayberg
+cared little for inspiration or
+beauty. "I imagine," he said casually,
+"that you celebrate a number of
+interesting festivals? Colorful dancing?
+Unique customs?"</p>
+
+<p>Ali-Tom&aacute;s shook his head. "To
+the contrary. We left our superstitions
+and ancestor-worship back
+on Earth. We are quiet Mohammedans
+and indulge in very little
+festivity. Perhaps here is the reason
+for <i>amoks</i> and sjambaks."</p>
+
+<p>"Sjambaks?"</p>
+
+<p>"We are not proud of them. You
+will hear sly rumor, and it is better
+that I arm you beforehand with
+truth."</p>
+
+<p>"What is a sjambak?"</p>
+
+<p>"They are bandits, flouters of
+authority. I will show you one presently."</p>
+
+<p>"I heard," said Murphy, "of a
+man riding a horse up to meet the
+space-ships. What would account
+for a story like that?"</p>
+
+<p>"It can have no possible basis,"
+said Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s. "We have
+no horses on Cirgames&ccedil;. None
+whatever."</p>
+
+<p>"But ..."</p>
+
+<p>"The veriest idle talk. Such nonsense
+will have no interest for your
+intelligent participants."</p>
+
+<p>The car rolled into a square a
+hundred yards on a side, lined
+with luxuriant banana palms. Opposite
+was an enormous pavilion of
+gold and violet silk, with a dozen
+peaked gables casting various
+changing sheens. In the center of
+the square a twenty-foot pole supported
+a cage about two feet wide,
+three feet long, and four feet high.</p>
+
+<p>Inside this cage crouched a naked
+man.</p>
+
+<p>The car rolled past. Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s
+waved an idle hand. The
+caged man glared down from
+bloodshot eyes. "That," said Ali-Tom&aacute;s,
+"is a sjambak. As you see,"
+a faint note of apology entered his
+voice, "we attempt to discourage
+them."</p>
+
+<p>"What's that metal object on his
+chest?"</p>
+
+<p>"The mark of his trade. By that
+you may know all sjambak. In
+these unsettled times only we of the
+House may cover our chests&mdash;all
+others must show themselves and
+declare themselves true Singhal&ucirc;si."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy said tentatively, "I must
+come back here and photograph
+that cage."</p>
+
+<p>Ali-Tom&aacute;s smilingly shook his
+head. "I will show you our farms,
+our vines and orchards. Your participants
+will enjoy these; they have
+no interest in the dolor of an ignoble
+sjambak."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Murphy, "our aim
+is a well-rounded production. We
+want to show the farmers at work,
+the members of the great House at
+their responsibilities, as well as the
+deserved fate of wrongdoers."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly. For every sjambak
+there are ten thousand industrious
+Singhal&ucirc;si. It follows then that only
+one ten-thousandth part of your
+film should be devoted to this infamous
+minority."</p>
+
+<p>"About three-tenths of a second,
+eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"No more than they deserve."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't know my Production
+Director. His name is Howard
+Frayberg, and ..."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Howard Frayberg</span> was
+deep in conference with Sam
+Catlin, under the influence of what
+Catlin called his philosophic kick.
+It was the phase which Catlin
+feared most.</p>
+
+<p>"Sam," said Frayberg, "do you
+know the danger of this business?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ulcers," Catlin replied promptly.</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg shook his head. "We've
+got an occupational disease to fight&mdash;progressive
+mental myopia."</p>
+
+<p>"Speak for yourself," said Catlin.</p>
+
+<p>"Consider. We sit in this office.
+We think we know what kind of
+show we want. We send out our
+staff to get it. We're signing the
+checks, so back it comes the way
+we asked for it. We look at it, hear
+it, smell it&mdash;and pretty soon we believe
+it: our version of the universe,
+full-blown from our brains like
+Minerva stepping out of Zeus. You
+see what I mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"I understand the words."</p>
+
+<p>"We've got our own picture of
+what's going on. We ask for it, we
+get it. It builds up and up&mdash;and
+finally we're like mice in a trap
+built of our own ideas. We cannibalize
+our own brains."</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody'll ever accuse you of being
+stingy with a metaphor."</p>
+
+<p>"Sam, let's have the truth. How
+many times have you been off
+Earth?"</p>
+
+<p>"I went to Mars once. And I
+spent a couple of weeks at Aristillus
+Resort on the Moon."</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg leaned back in his chair
+as if shocked. "And we're supposed
+to be a couple of learned planetologists!"</p>
+
+<p>Catlin made grumbling noise in
+his throat. "I haven't been around
+the zodiac, so what? You sneezed
+a few minutes ago and I said
+<i>gesundheit</i>, but I don't have any
+doctor's degree."</p>
+
+<p>"There comes a time in a man's
+life," said Frayberg, "when he wants
+to take stock, get a new perspective."</p>
+
+<p>"Relax, Howard, relax."</p>
+
+<p>"In our case it means taking out
+our preconceived ideas, looking at
+them, checking our illusions against
+reality."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you serious about this?"</p>
+
+<p>"Another thing," said Frayberg,
+"I want to check up a little. Shifkin
+says the expense accounts are
+frightful. But he can't fight it.
+When Keeler says he paid ten
+munits for a loaf of bread on Nekkar
+IV, who's gonna call him on
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hell, let him eat bread! That's
+cheaper than making a safari
+around the cluster, spot-checking
+the super-markets."</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg paid no heed. He
+touched a button; a three-foot
+sphere full of glistening motes appeared.
+Earth was at the center,
+with thin red lines, the scheduled
+space-ship routes, radiating out in
+all directions.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's see what kind of circle
+we can make," said Frayberg.
+"Gower's here at Canopus, Keeler's
+over here at Blue Moon, Wilbur
+Murphy's at Sirgamesk ..."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't forget," muttered Catlin,
+"we got a show to put on."</p>
+
+<p>"We've got material for a year,"
+scoffed Frayberg. "Get hold of
+Space-Lines. We'll start with Sirgamesk,
+and see what Wilbur
+Murphy's up to."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Wilbur Murphy</span> was being
+presented to the Sultan of
+Singhal&ucirc;t by the Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s.
+The Sultan, a small mild man of
+seventy, sat crosslegged on an enormous
+pink and green air-cushion.
+"Be at your ease, Mr. Murphy. We
+dispense with as much protocol here
+as practicable." The Sultan had a
+dry clipped voice and the air of a
+rather harassed corporation executive.
+"I understand you represent
+Earth-Central Home Screen Network?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a staff photographer for the
+<i>Know Your Universe!</i> show."</p>
+
+<p>"We export a great deal to
+Earth," mused the Sultan, "but not
+as much as we'd like. We're very
+pleased with your interest in us,
+and naturally we want to help you
+in every way possible. Tomorrow
+the Keeper of the Archives will
+present a series of charts analyzing
+our economy. Ali-Tom&aacute;s shall personally
+conduct you through the
+fish-hatcheries. We want you to
+know we're doing a great job out
+here on Singhal&ucirc;t."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure you are," said Murphy
+uncomfortably. "However, that
+isn't quite the stuff I want."</p>
+
+<p>"No? Just where do your desires
+lie?"</p>
+
+<p>Ali-Tom&aacute;s said delicately. "Mr.
+Murphy took a rather profound interest
+in the sjambak displayed in
+the square."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh. And you explained that
+these renegades could hold no interest
+for serious students of our
+planet?"</p>
+
+<p>Murphy started to explain that
+clustered around two hundred million
+screens tuned to <i>Know Your
+Universe!</i> were four or five hundred
+million participants, the
+greater part of them neither serious
+nor students. The Sultan cut in
+decisively. "I will now impart something
+truly interesting. We Singhal&ucirc;si
+are making preparations to
+reclaim four more valleys, with an
+added area of six hundred thousand
+acres! I shall put my physiographic
+models at your disposal;
+you may use them to the fullest extent!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be pleased for the opportunity,"
+declared Murphy. "But tomorrow
+I'd like to prowl around
+the valley, meet your people, observe
+their customs, religious rites,
+courtships, funerals ..."</p>
+
+<p>The Sultan pulled a sour face.
+"We are ditch-water dull. Festivals
+are celebrated quietly in the home;
+there is small religious fervor;
+courtships are consummated by
+family contract. I fear you will find
+little sensational material here in
+Singhal&ucirc;t."</p>
+
+<p>"You have no temple dances?"
+asked Murphy. "No fire-walkers,
+snake-charmers&mdash;voodoo?"</p>
+
+<p>The Sultan smiled patronizingly.
+"We came out here to Cirgames&ccedil; to
+escape the ancient superstitions.
+Our lives are calm, orderly. Even
+the <i>amoks</i> have practically disappeared."</p>
+
+<p>"But the sjambaks&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Negligible."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Murphy, "I'd like
+to visit some of these ancient
+cities."</p>
+
+<p>"I advise against it," declared
+the Sultan. "They are shards,
+weathered stone. There are no inscriptions,
+no art. There is no stimulation
+in dead stone. Now. Tomorrow
+I will hear a report on hybrid
+soybean plantings in the Upper
+Kam District. You will want to
+be present."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Murphy's suite</span> matched
+or even excelled his expectation.
+He had four rooms and a private
+garden enclosed by a thicket
+of bamboo. His bathroom walls
+were slabs of glossy actinolite, inlaid
+with cinnabar, jade, galena,
+pyrite and blue malachite, in representations
+of fantastic birds. His
+bedroom was a tent thirty feet high.
+Two walls were dark green fabric;
+a third was golden rust; the fourth
+opened upon the private garden.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy's bed was a pink and
+yellow creation ten feet square, soft
+as cobweb, smelling of rose sandalwood.
+Carved black lacquer tubs
+held fruit; two dozen wines, liquors,
+syrups, essences flowed at a
+touch from as many ebony spigots.</p>
+
+<p>The garden centered on a pool of
+cool water, very pleasant in the
+hothouse climate of Singhal&ucirc;t. The
+only shortcoming was the lack of
+the lovely young servitors Murphy
+had envisioned. He took it upon
+himself to repair this lack, and in a
+shady wine-house behind the palace,
+called the Barangipan, he
+made the acquaintance of a girl-musician
+named Soek Panjoebang.
+He found her enticing tones of
+quavering sweetness from the
+<i>gamelan</i>, an instrument well-loved
+in Old Bali. Soek Panjoebang had
+the delicate features and transparent
+skin of Sumatra, the supple
+long limbs of Arabia and in a pair
+of wide and golden eyes a heritage
+from somewhere in Celtic Europe.
+Murphy bought her a goblet of
+frozen shavings, each a different
+perfume, while he himself drank
+white rice-beer. Soek Panjoebang
+displayed an intense interest in the
+ways of Earth, and Murphy found
+it hard to guide the conversation.
+"Weelbrrr," she said. "Such a funny
+name, Weelbrrr. Do you think
+I could play the <i>gamelan</i> in the
+great cities, the great palaces of
+Earth?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure. There's no law against
+<i>gamelans</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"You talk so funny, Weelbrrr. I
+like to hear you talk."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you get kinda bored
+here in Singhal&ucirc;t?"</p>
+
+<p>She shrugged. "Life is pleasant,
+but it concerns with little things.
+We have no great adventures. We
+grow flowers, we play the <i>gamelan</i>."
+She eyed him archly sidelong.
+"We love.... We sleep...."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy grinned. "You run
+<i>amok</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, no. That is no more."</p>
+
+<p>"Not since the sjambaks, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"The sjambaks are bad. But better
+than <i>amok</i>. When a man feels
+the knot forming around his chest,
+he no longer takes his kris and runs
+down the street&mdash;he becomes sjambak."</p>
+
+<p>This was getting interesting.
+"Where does he go? What does he
+do?"</p>
+
+<p>"He robs."</p>
+
+<p>"Who does he rob? What does
+he do with his loot?"</p>
+
+<p>She leaned toward him. "It is
+not well to talk of them."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Sultan does not wish it.
+Everywhere are listeners. When
+one talks sjambak, the Sultan's
+ears rise, like the points on a cat."</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose they do&mdash;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 know about it."</p>
+
+<p>"He is very bad. He opened the
+monorail car and the air rushed
+out. Forty-two Singhal&ucirc;si and
+Hadrasi bloated and blew up."</p>
+
+<p>"And what happened to the
+sjambak?"</p>
+
+<p>"He took all the gold and money
+and jewels and ran away."</p>
+
+<p>"Ran where?"</p>
+
+<p>"Out across Great Pharasang
+Plain. But he was a fool. He came
+back to Singhal&ucirc;t for his wife; he
+was caught and set up for all people
+to look at, so they might tell
+each other, 'thus it is for sjambaks.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Where do the sjambaks hide
+out?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," she looked vaguely around
+the room, "out on the plains. In
+the mountains."</p>
+
+<p>"They must have some shelter&mdash;an
+air-dome."</p>
+
+<p>"No. The Sultan would send out
+his patrol-boat and destroy them.
+They roam quietly. They hide
+among the rocks and tend their
+oxygen stills. Sometimes they visit
+the old cities."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder," said Murphy, staring
+into his beer, "could it be sjambaks
+who ride horses up to meet the
+space-ship?"</p>
+
+<p>Soek Panjoebang knit her black
+eyebrows, as if preoccupied.</p>
+
+<p>"That's what brought me out
+here," Murphy went on. "This
+story of a man riding a horse out
+in space."</p>
+
+<p>"Ridiculous; we have no horses
+in Cirgames&ccedil;."</p>
+
+<p>"All right, the steward won't
+swear to the horse. Suppose the
+man was up there on foot or riding
+a bicycle. But the steward recognized
+the man."</p>
+
+<p>"Who was this man, pray?"</p>
+
+<p>"The steward clammed up....
+The name would have been just
+noise to me, anyway."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>I</i> might recognize the name...."</p>
+
+<p>"Ask him yourself. The ship's
+still out at the field."</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head slowly, holding
+her golden eyes on his face. "I
+do not care to attract the attention
+of either steward, sjambak&mdash;or Sultan."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy said impatiently. "In
+any event, it's not who&mdash;but <i>how</i>.
+How does the man breathe? Vacuum
+sucks a man's lungs up out of
+his mouth, bursts his stomach, his
+ears...."</p>
+
+<p>"We have excellent doctors,"
+said Soek Panjoebang shuddering,
+"but alas! I am not one of them."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Murphy looked</span> at her
+sharply. Her voice held the
+plangent sweetness of her instrument,
+with additional overtones of
+mockery. "There must be some kind
+of invisible dome around him, holding
+in air," said Murphy.</p>
+
+<p>"And what if there is?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's something new, and if it is,
+I want to find out about it."</p>
+
+<p>Soek smiled languidly. "You are
+so typical an old-lander&mdash;worried,
+frowning, dynamic. You should relax,
+cultivate <i>napa&ucirc;</i>, enjoy life as
+we do here in Singhal&ucirc;t."</p>
+
+<p>"What's <i>napa&ucirc;</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's our philosophy, where we
+find meaning and life and beauty
+in every aspect of the world."</p>
+
+<p>"That sjambak in the cage
+could do with a little less <i>napa&ucirc;</i>
+right now."</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt he is unhappy," she
+agreed.</p>
+
+<p>"Unhappy! He's being tortured!"</p>
+
+<p>"He broke the Sultan's law. His
+life is no longer his own. It belongs
+to Singhal&ucirc;t. If the Sultan wishes
+to use it to warn other wrongdoers,
+the fact that the man suffers
+is of small interest."</p>
+
+<p>"If they all wear that metal ornament,
+how can they hope to hide
+out?" He glanced at her own bare
+bosom.</p>
+
+<p>"They appear by night&mdash;slip
+through the streets like ghosts...."
+She looked in turn at Murphy's
+loose shirt. "You will notice persons
+brushing up against you, feeling
+you," she laid her hand along
+his breast, "and when this happens
+you will know they are agents of the
+Sultan, because only strangers and
+the House may wear shirts. But
+now, let me sing to you&mdash;a song
+from the Old Land, old Java. You
+will not understand the tongue, but
+no other words so join the voice of
+the <i>gamelan</i>."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"This is</span> the gravy-train," said
+Murphy. "Instead of a garden
+suite with a private pool, I
+usually sleep in a bubble-tent, with
+nothing to eat but condensed food."</p>
+
+<p>Soek Panjoebang flung the water
+out of her sleek black hair. "Perhaps,
+Weelbrrr, you will regret leaving
+Cirgames&ccedil;?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he looked up to the transparent
+roof, barely visible where the
+sunlight collected and refracted, "I
+don't particularly like being shut up
+like a bird in an aviary.... Mildly
+claustrophobic, I guess."</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast, drinking thick
+coffee from tiny silver cups, Murphy
+looked long and reflectively at Soek
+Panjoebang.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you thinking, Weelbrrr?"</p>
+
+<p>Murphy drained his coffee. "I'm
+thinking that I'd better be getting
+to work."</p>
+
+<p>"And what do you do?"</p>
+
+<p>"First I'm going to shoot the palace,
+and you sitting here in the garden
+playing your <i>gamelan</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"But Weelbrrr&mdash;not <i>me</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"You're a part of the universe,
+rather an interesting part. Then I'll
+take the square...."</p>
+
+<p>"And the sjambak?"</p>
+
+<p>A quiet voice spoke from behind.
+"A visitor, Tuan Murphy."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy turned his head. "Bring
+him in." He looked back to Soek
+Panjoebang. She was on her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"It is necessary that I go."</p>
+
+<p>"When will I see you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Tonight&mdash;at the Barangipan."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The quiet voice</span> said, "Mr.
+Rube Trimmer, Tuan."</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer was small and middle-aged,
+with thin shoulders and a
+paunch. He carried himself with a
+hell-raising swagger, left over from
+a time twenty years gone. His skin
+had the waxy look of lost floridity,
+his tuft of white hair was coarse
+and thin, his eyelids hung in the
+off-side droop that amateur physiognomists
+like to associate with
+guile.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm Resident Director of the
+Import-Export Bank," said Trimmer.
+"Heard you were here and
+thought I'd pay my respects."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you don't see many
+strangers."</p>
+
+<p>"Not too many&mdash;there's nothing
+much to bring 'em. Cirgames&ccedil; isn't
+a comfortable tourist planet. Too
+confined, shut in. A man with a
+sensitive psyche goes nuts pretty
+easy here."</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah," said Murphy. "I was
+thinking the same thing this morning.
+That dome begins to give a
+man the willies. How do the natives
+stand it? Or do they?"</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer pulled out a cigar case.
+Murphy refused the offer.</p>
+
+<p>"Local tobacco," said Trimmer.
+"Very good." He lit up thoughtfully.
+"Well, you might say that the
+Cirgameski are schizophrenic.
+They've got the docile Javanese
+blood, plus the Arabian &eacute;lan. The
+Javanese part is on top, but every
+once in a while you see a flash of
+arrogance.... You never know.
+I've been out here nine years and
+I'm still a stranger." He puffed on
+his cigar, studied Murphy with his
+careful eyes. "You work for <i>Know
+Your Universe!</i>, I hear."</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah. I'm one of the leg men."</p>
+
+<p>"Must be a great job."</p>
+
+<p>"A man sees a lot of the galaxy,
+and he runs into queer tales, like
+this sjambak stuff."</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer nodded without surprise.
+"My advice to you, Murphy,
+is lay off the sjambaks. They're not
+healthy around here."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy was startled by the
+bluntness. "What's the big mystery
+about these sjambaks?"</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer looked around the
+room. "This place is bugged."</p>
+
+<p>"I found two pick-ups and
+plugged 'em," said Murphy.</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer laughed. "Those were
+just plants. They hide 'em where a
+man might just barely spot 'em.
+You can't catch the real ones.
+They're woven into the cloth&mdash;pressure-sensitive
+wires."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy looked critically at the
+cloth walls.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't let it worry you," said
+Trimmer. "They listen more out of
+habit than anything else. If you're
+fussy we'll go for a walk."</p>
+
+<p>The road led past the palace into
+the country. Murphy and Trimmer
+sauntered along a placid river, overgrown
+with lily pads, swarming
+with large white ducks.</p>
+
+<p>"This sjambak business," said
+Murphy. "Everybody talks around
+it. You can't pin anybody down."</p>
+
+<p>"Including me," said Trimmer.
+"I'm more or less privileged around
+here. The Sultan finances his reclamation
+through the bank, on the
+basis of my reports. But there's
+more to Singhal&ucirc;t than the Sultan."</p>
+
+<p>"Namely?"</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer waved his cigar waggishly.
+"Now we're getting in where
+I don't like to talk. I'll give you a
+hint. Prince Ali thinks roofing-in
+more valleys is a waste of money,
+when there's Hadra and New Batavia
+and Sundaman so close."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean&mdash;armed conquest?"</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer laughed. "You said it,
+not me."</p>
+
+<p>"They can't carry on much of a
+war&mdash;unless the soldiers commute
+by monorail."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe Prince Ali thinks he's
+got the answer."</p>
+
+<p>"Sjambaks?"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't say it," said Trimmer
+blandly.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy grinned. After a moment
+he said. "I picked up with a
+girl named Soek Panjoebang who
+plays the <i>gamelan</i>. I suppose she's
+working for either the Sultan or
+Prince Ali. Do you know which?"</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer's eyes sparkled. He
+shook his head. "Might be either
+one. There's a way to find out."</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah?"</p>
+
+<p>"Get her off where you're sure
+there's no spy-cells. Tell her two
+things&mdash;one for Ali, the other for
+the Sultan. Whichever one reacts
+you know you've got her tagged."</p>
+
+<p>"For instance?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, for instance she learns that
+you can rig up a hypnotic ray from
+a flashlight 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
+on his cigar with gusto, "tell her
+you're on to a catalyst that turns
+clay into aluminum and oxygen in
+the presence of sunlight. The Sultan
+would sell his right leg for
+something like that. He tries hard
+for Singhal&ucirc;t and Cirgames&ccedil;."</p>
+
+<p>"And Ali?"</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer hesitated. "I never said
+what I'm gonna say. Don't forget&mdash;I
+never said it."</p>
+
+<p>"Okay, you never said it."</p>
+
+<p>"Ever hear of a <i>jehad</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mohammedan holy wars."</p>
+
+<p>"Believe it or not, Ali wants a
+<i>jehad</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Sounds kinda fantastic."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure it's fantastic. Don't forget,
+I never said anything about it. But
+suppose someone&mdash;strictly unofficial,
+of course&mdash;let the idea percolate
+around the Peace Office back
+home."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," said Murphy. "That's why
+you came to see me."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Trimmer turned</span> a look of
+injured innocence. "Now, Murphy,
+you're a little unfair. I'm a
+friendly guy. Of course I don't like
+to see the bank lose what we've got
+tied up in the Sultan."</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you send in a report
+yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have! But when they hear the
+same thing from you, a <i>Know Your
+Universe!</i> man, they might make a
+move."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we understand each
+other," said Trimmer heartily,
+"and everything's clear."</p>
+
+<p>"Not entirely. How's Ali going to
+launch a <i>jehad</i> when he doesn't
+have any weapons, no warships, no
+supplies?"</p>
+
+<p>"Now," said Trimmer, "we're
+getting into the realm of supposition."
+He paused, looked behind
+him. A farmer pushing a rotary
+tiller, bowed politely, trundled
+ahead. Behind was a young man in
+a black turban, gold earrings, a
+black and red vest, white pantaloons,
+black curl-toed slippers. He
+bowed, started past. Trimmer held
+up his hand. "Don't waste your
+time up there; we're going back in
+a few minutes."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Tuan."</p>
+
+<p>"Who are you reporting to? The
+Sultan or Prince Ali?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Tuan is sure to pierce the
+veil of my evasions. I shall not dissemble.
+I am the Sultan's man."</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer nodded. "Now, if you'll
+kindly remove to about a hundred
+yards, where your whisper pick-up
+won't work."</p>
+
+<p>"By your leave, I go." He retreated
+without haste.</p>
+
+<p>"He's almost certainly working
+for Ali," said Trimmer.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a very subtle lie."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes&mdash;third level. He figured
+I'd take it second level."</p>
+
+<p>"How's that again?"</p>
+
+<p>"Naturally I wouldn't believe
+him. He knew I knew that he knew
+it. So when he said 'Sultan', I'd
+think he wouldn't lie simply, but
+that he'd lie double&mdash;that he actually
+was working for the Sultan."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy laughed. "Suppose he
+told you a fourth-level lie?"</p>
+
+<p>"It starts to be a toss-up pretty
+soon," Trimmer admitted. "I don't
+think he gives me credit for that
+much subtlety.... What are you
+doing the rest of the day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Taking footage. Do you know
+where I can find some picturesque
+rites? Mystical dances, human sacrifice?
+I've got to work up some
+glamor and exotic lore."</p>
+
+<p>"There's this sjambak in the
+cage. That's about as close to the
+medieval as you'll find anywhere in
+Earth Commonwealth."</p>
+
+<p>"Speaking of sjambaks ..."</p>
+
+<p>"No time," said Trimmer. "Got
+to get back. Drop in at my office&mdash;right
+down the square from the
+palace."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Murphy returned</span> to his
+suite. The shadowy figure of
+his room servant said, "His Highness
+the Sultan desires the Tuan's
+attendance in the Cascade Garden."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said Murphy. "As
+soon as I load my camera."</p>
+
+<p>The Cascade Room was an open
+patio in front of an artificial waterfall.
+The Sultan was pacing back
+and forth, wearing dusty khaki puttees,
+brown plastic boots, a yellow
+polo shirt. He carried a twig which
+he used as a riding crop, slapping
+his boots as he walked. He turned
+his head as Murphy appeared,
+pointed his twig at a wicker bench.</p>
+
+<p>"I pray you sit down, Mr. Murphy."
+He paced once up and back.
+"How is your suite? You find it to
+your liking?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very much so."</p>
+
+<p>"Excellent," said the Sultan.
+"You do me honor with your presence."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy waited patiently.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand that you had a
+visitor this morning," said the Sultan.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Mr. Trimmer."</p>
+
+<p>"May I inquire the nature of the
+conversation?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was of a personal nature,"
+said Murphy, rather more shortly
+than he meant.</p>
+
+<p>The Sultan nodded wistfully. "A
+Singhal&ucirc;si would have wasted an
+hour telling me half-truths&mdash;distorted
+enough to confuse, but not
+sufficiently inaccurate to anger me
+if I had a spy-cell on him all the
+time."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy grinned. "A Singhal&ucirc;si
+has to live here the rest of his life."</p>
+
+<p>A servant wheeled a frosted cabinet
+before them, placed goblets
+under two spigots, withdrew. The
+Sultan cleared his throat. "Trimmer
+is an excellent fellow, but unbelievably
+loquacious."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy drew himself two inches
+of chilled rosy-pale liquor. The Sultan
+slapped his boots with the twig.
+"Undoubtedly he confided all my
+private business to you, or at least
+as much as I have allowed him to
+learn."</p>
+
+<p>"Well&mdash;he spoke of your hope to
+increase the compass of Singhal&ucirc;t."</p>
+
+<p>"That, my friend, is no hope; it's
+absolute necessity. Our population
+density is fifteen hundred to the
+square mile. We must expand or
+smother. There'll be too little food
+to eat, too little oxygen to breathe."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy suddenly came to life. "I
+could make that idea the theme of
+my feature! Singhal&ucirc;t Dilemma:
+Expand or Perish!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, that would be inadvisable,
+inapplicable."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy was not convinced. "It
+sounds like a natural."</p>
+
+<p>The Sultan smiled. "I'll impart
+an item of confidential information&mdash;although
+Trimmer no doubt
+has preceded me with it." He gave
+his boots an irritated whack. "To
+expand I need funds. Funds are
+best secured in an atmosphere of
+calm and confidence. The implication
+of emergency would be disastrous
+to my aims."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Murphy, "I see
+your position."</p>
+
+<p>The Sultan glanced at Murphy
+sidelong. "Anticipating your cooperation,
+my Minister of Propaganda
+has arranged an hour's program,
+stressing our progressive social attitude,
+our prosperity and financial
+prospects ..."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Sultan ..."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't allow your Minister of
+Propaganda to use me and <i>Know
+Your Universe!</i> as a kind of investment
+brochure."</p>
+
+<p>The Sultan nodded wearily. "I
+expected you to take that attitude....
+Well&mdash;what do you yourself
+have in mind?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've been looking for something
+to tie to," said Murphy. "I think
+it's going to be the dramatic contrast
+between the ruined cities and
+the new domed valleys. How the
+Earth settlers succeeded where the
+ancient people failed to meet the
+challenge of the dissipating atmosphere."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," the Sultan said grudgingly,
+"that's not too bad."</p>
+
+<p>"Today I want to take some
+shots of the palace, the dome, the
+city, the paddies, groves, orchards,
+farms. Tomorrow I'm taking a trip
+out to one of the ruins."</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said the Sultan. "Then
+you won't need my charts and statistics?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Sultan, I could film the
+stuff your Propaganda Minister
+cooked up, and I could take it back
+to Earth. Howard Frayberg or Sam
+Catlin would tear into it, rip it
+apart, lard in some head-hunting, a
+little cannibalism and temple prostitution,
+and you'd never know you
+were watching Singhal&ucirc;t. You'd
+scream with horror, and I'd be
+fired."</p>
+
+<p>"In that case," said the Sultan,
+"I will leave you to the dictates of
+your conscience."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Howard Frayberg</span> looked
+around the gray landscape of
+Riker's Planet, gazed out over the
+roaring black Mogador Ocean.
+"Sam, I think there's a story out
+there."</p>
+
+<p>Sam Catlin shivered inside his
+electrically heated glass overcoat.
+"Out on that ocean? It's full of
+man-eating plesiosaurs&mdash;horrible
+things forty feet long."</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose we worked something
+out on the line of Moby Dick? <i>The
+White Monster of the Mogador
+Ocean.</i> We'd set sail in a catamaran&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Us?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Frayberg impatiently.
+"Of course not us. Two or three of
+the staff. 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 legendary
+white one. How's it sound?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think we pay our men
+enough money."</p>
+
+<p>"Wilbur Murphy might do it.
+He's willing to look for a man riding
+a horse up to meet his space-ships."</p>
+
+<p>"He might draw the line at a
+white plesiosaur riding up to meet
+his catamaran."</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg turned away. "Somebody's
+got to have ideas around
+here...."</p>
+
+<p>"We'd better head back to the
+space-port," said Catlin. "We got
+two hours to make the Sirgamesk
+shuttle."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Wilbur Murphy</span> sat in the
+Barangipan, watching marionettes
+performing to xylophone,
+castanet, gong and <i>gamelan</i>. The
+drama had its roots in proto-historic
+Mohenj&#333;-Dar&#333;. It had filtered
+down through ancient India, medieval
+Burma, Malaya, across the
+Straits of Malacca to Sumatra and
+Java; from modern Java across
+space to Cirgames&ccedil;, five thousand
+years of time, two hundred light-years
+of space. Somewhere along
+the route it had met and assimilated
+modern technology. Magnetic
+beams controlled arms, legs and
+bodies, guided the poses and posturings.
+The manipulator's face, by
+agency of clip, wire, radio control
+and minuscule selsyn, projected his
+scowl, smile, sneer or grimace to
+the peaked little face he controlled.
+The language was that of Old Java,
+which perhaps a third of the spectators
+understood. This portion did
+not include Murphy, and when
+the performance ended he was no
+wiser than at the start.</p>
+
+<p>Soek Panjoebang slipped into the
+seat beside Murphy. She wore musician's
+garb: a sarong of brown,
+blue, and black <i>batik</i>, and a fantastic
+headdress of tiny silver bells.
+She greeted him with enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>"Weelbrrr! I saw you watching...."</p>
+
+<p>"It was very interesting."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, yes." She sighed. "Weelbrrr,
+you take me with you back to
+Earth? You make me a great picturama
+star, please, Weelbrrr?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't know about that."</p>
+
+<p>"I behave very well, Weelbrrr."
+She nuzzled his shoulder, looked
+soulfully up with her shiny yellow-hazel
+eyes. Murphy nearly forgot
+the experiment he intended to perform.</p>
+
+<p>"What did you do today, Weelbrrr?
+You look at all the pretty
+girls?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nope. I ran footage. Got the
+palace, climbed the ridge up to the
+condensation vanes. I never knew
+there was so much water in the air
+till I saw the stream pouring off
+those vanes! And <i>hot</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"We have much sunlight; it
+makes the rice grow."</p>
+
+<p>"The Sultan ought to put some
+of that excess light to work.
+There's a secret process.... Well,
+I'd better not say."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh come, Weelbrrr! Tell me
+your secrets!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's not much of a secret. Just
+a catalyst that separates clay into
+aluminum and oxygen when sunlight
+shines on it."</p>
+
+<p>Soek's eyebrows rose, poised in
+place like a seagull riding the wind.
+"Weelbrrr! I did not know you for
+a man of learning!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you thought I was just a
+bum, eh? Good enough to make
+picturama stars out of <i>gamelan</i>
+players, but no special genius...."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, Weelbrrr."</p>
+
+<p>"I know lots of tricks. I can take
+a flashlight battery, a piece of copper
+foil, a few transistors and bamboo
+tube and turn out a paralyzer
+gun that'll stop a man cold in his
+tracks. And you know how much it
+costs?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Weelbrrr. How much?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ten cents. It wears out after
+two or three months, but what's
+the difference? I make 'em as a
+hobby&mdash;turn out two or three an
+hour."</p>
+
+<p>"Weelbrrr! You're a man of marvels!
+Hello! We will drink!"</p>
+
+<p>And Murphy settled back in the
+wicker chair, sipping his rice beer.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"Today</span>," said Murphy, "I get
+into a space-suit, and ride
+out to the ruins in the plain. Ghatamipol,
+I think they're called. Like
+to come?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Weelbrrr." Soek Panjoebang
+looked off into the garden,
+her hands busy tucking a flower
+into her hair. A few minutes later
+she said, "Why must you waste
+your time among the rocks? There
+are better things to do and see.
+And it might well be&mdash;dangerous."
+She murmured the last word off-handedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Danger? From the sjambaks?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>"The Sultan's giving me a guard.
+Twenty men with crossbows."</p>
+
+<p>"The sjambaks carry shields."</p>
+
+<p>"Why should they risk their lives
+attacking me?"</p>
+
+<p>Soek Panjoebang shrugged. After
+a moment she rose to her feet.
+"Goodbye, Weelbrrr."</p>
+
+<p>"Goodbye? Isn't this rather
+abrupt? Won't I see you tonight?"</p>
+
+<p>"If so be Allah's will."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy looked after the lithe
+swaying figure. She paused, plucked
+a yellow 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.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy breathed deeply. She
+might have made picturama at
+that....</p>
+
+<p>One hour later he met his escort
+at the valley gate. They were
+dressed in space-suits for the plains,
+twenty men with sullen faces. The
+trip to Ghatamipol clearly was not
+to their liking. Murphy climbed into
+his own suit, checked the oxygen
+pressure gauge, the seal at his collar.
+"All ready, boys?"</p>
+
+<p>No one spoke. The silence drew
+out. The gatekeeper, on hand to
+let the party out, snickered.
+"They're all ready, Tuan."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Murphy, "let's go
+then."</p>
+
+<p>Outside the gate Murphy made
+a second check of his equipment.
+No leaks in his suit. Inside pressure:
+14.6. Outside pressure: zero. His
+twenty guards morosely inspected
+their crossbows and slim swords.</p>
+
+<p>The white ruins of Ghatamipol
+lay five miles across Pharasang
+Plain. The horizon was clear, the
+sun was high, the sky was black.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy's radio hummed. Someone
+said sharply, "Look! There it
+goes!" He wheeled around; his
+guards had halted, and were pointing.
+He saw a fleet something vanishing
+into the distance.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go," said Murphy.
+"There's nothing out there."</p>
+
+<p>"Sjambak."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there's only one of them."</p>
+
+<p>"Where one walks, others follow."</p>
+
+<p>"That's why the twenty of you
+are here."</p>
+
+<p>"It is madness! Challenging the
+sjambaks!"</p>
+
+<p>"What is gained?" another argued.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be the judge of that," said
+Murphy, and set off along the
+plain. The warriors reluctantly followed,
+muttering to each other
+over their radio intercoms.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The eroded</span> city walls rose
+above them, occupied more
+and more of the sky. The platoon
+leader said in an angry voice, "We
+have gone far enough."</p>
+
+<p>"You're under my orders," said
+Murphy. "We're going through
+the gate." He punched the button
+on his camera and passed under
+the monstrous portal.</p>
+
+<p>The city was frailer stuff than
+the wall, and had succumbed to the
+thin storms which had raged a million
+years after the passing of life.
+Murphy marvelled at the scope of
+the ruins. Virgin archaeological
+territory! No telling what a few
+weeks digging might turn up. Murphy
+considered his expense account.
+Shifkin was the obstacle.</p>
+
+<p>There'd be tremendous prestige
+and publicity for <i>Know Your Universe!</i>
+if Murphy uncovered a
+tomb, a library, works of art. The
+Sultan would gladly provide diggers.
+They were a sturdy enough
+people; they could make quite a
+showing in a week, if they were
+able to put aside their superstitions,
+fears and dreads.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy sized one of them up
+from the corner of his eye. He sat
+on a sunny slab of rock, and if he
+felt uneasy he concealed it quite
+successfully. In fact, thought Murphy,
+he appeared completely relaxed.
+Maybe the problem of securing
+diggers was a minor one after
+all....</p>
+
+<p>And here was an odd sidelight
+on the Singhal&ucirc;si character. Once
+clear of the valley the man openly
+wore his shirt, a fine loose garment
+of electric blue, in defiance of the
+Sultan's edict. Of course out here
+he might be cold....</p>
+
+<p>Murphy felt his own skin crawling.
+How could he be cold? How
+could he be alive? Where was his
+space-suit? He lounged on the rock,
+grinning sardonically at Murphy.
+He wore heavy sandals, a black
+turban, loose breeches, the blue
+shirt. Nothing more.</p>
+
+<p>Where were the others?</p>
+
+<p>Murphy turned a feverish glance
+over his shoulder. A good three
+miles distant, bounding and leaping
+toward Singhal&ucirc;t, were twenty
+desperate figures. They all wore
+space-suits. This man here ... A
+sjambak? A wizard? A hallucination?</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The creature</span> rose to his
+feet, strode springily toward
+Murphy. He carried a crossbow and
+a sword, like those of Murphy's
+fleet-footed guards. But he wore no
+space-suit. Could there be breathable
+traces of an atmosphere? Murphy
+glanced at his gauge. Outside
+pressure: zero.</p>
+
+<p>Two other men appeared, moving
+with long elastic steps. Their
+eyes were bright, their faces flushed.
+They came up to Murphy, took his
+arm. They were solid, corporeal.
+They had no invisible force fields
+around their heads.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy jerked his arm free.
+"Let go of me, damn it!" But they
+certainly couldn't hear him through
+the vacuum.</p>
+
+<p>He glanced over his shoulder.
+The first man held his naked blade
+a foot or two behind Murphy's
+bulging space-suit. Murphy made
+no further resistance. He punched
+the button on his camera to automatic.
+It would now run for several
+hours, recording one hundred
+pictures per second, a thousand to
+the inch.</p>
+
+<p>The sjambaks led Murphy two
+hundred yards to a metal door.
+They opened it, pushed Murphy
+inside, banged it shut. Murphy felt
+the vibration through his shoes,
+heard a gradually waxing hum. His
+gauge showed an outside pressure
+of 5, 10, 12, 14, 14.5. An inner
+door opened. Hands pulled Murphy
+in, unclamped his dome.</p>
+
+<p>"Just what's going on here?"
+demanded Murphy angrily.</p>
+
+<p>Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s pointed to a
+table. Murphy saw a flashlight battery,
+aluminum foil, wire, a transistor
+kit, metal tubing, tools, a few
+other odds and ends.</p>
+
+<p>"There it is," said Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s.
+"Get to work. Let's see one
+of these paralysis weapons you
+boast of."</p>
+
+<p>"Just like that, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just like that."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want 'em for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Does it matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like to know." Murphy was
+conscious of his camera, recording
+sight, sound, odor.</p>
+
+<p>"I lead an army," said Ali-Tom&aacute;s,
+"but they march without
+weapons. Give me weapons! I will
+carry the word to Hadra, to New
+Batavia, to Sundaman, to Boeng-Boh&ocirc;t!"</p>
+
+<p>"How? Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is enough that I will it.
+Again, I beg of you ..." He indicated
+the table.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy laughed. "I've got myself
+in a fine mess. Suppose I don't
+make this weapon for you?"</p>
+
+<p>"You'll remain until you do, under
+increasingly difficult conditions."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be here a long time."</p>
+
+<p>"If such is the case," said Ali-Tom&aacute;s,
+"we must make our arrangements
+for your care on a long-term
+basis."</p>
+
+<p>Ali made a gesture. Hands seized
+Murphy's shoulders. A respirator
+was held to his nostrils. He thought
+of his camera, and he could have
+laughed. Mystery! Excitement!
+Thrills! Dramatic sequence for
+<i>Know Your Universe!</i> Staff-man
+murdered by fanatics! The crime
+recorded on his own camera! See
+the blood, hear his death-rattle,
+smell the poison!</p>
+
+<p>The vapor choked him. <i>What a
+break! What a sequence!</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"Sirgamesk</span>," said Howard
+Frayberg, "bigger and brighter
+every minute."</p>
+
+<p>"It must've been just about in
+here," said Catlin, "that Wilbur's
+horseback rider appeared."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right! Steward!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"We're about twenty thousand
+miles out, aren't we?"</p>
+
+<p>"About fifteen thousand, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Sidereal Cavalry! What an idea!
+I wonder how Wilbur's making out
+on his superstition angle?"</p>
+
+<p>Sam Catlin, watching out the
+window, said in a tight voice,
+"Why not ask him yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ask him for yourself! There he
+is&mdash;outside, riding some kind of
+critter...."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a ghost," whispered Frayberg.
+"A man without a space-suit....
+There's no such thing!"</p>
+
+<p>"He sees us.... Look...."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy was staring at them,
+and his surprise seemed equal to
+their own. He waved his hand. Catlin
+gingerly waved back.</p>
+
+<p>Said Frayberg, "That's not a
+horse he's riding. It's a combination
+ram-jet and kiddie car with
+stirrups!"</p>
+
+<p>"He's coming aboard the ship,"
+said Catlin. "That's the entrance
+port down there...."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Wilbur Murphy</span> sat in the
+captain's stateroom, taking
+careful breaths of air.</p>
+
+<p>"How are you now?" asked
+Frayberg.</p>
+
+<p>"Fine. A little sore in the lungs."</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't wonder," the ship's
+doctor growled. "I never saw anything
+like it."</p>
+
+<p>"How does it feel out there, Wilbur?"
+Catlin asked.</p>
+
+<p>"It feels awful lonesome and
+empty. And the breath seeping up
+out of your lungs, never going in&mdash;that's
+a funny feeling. And you
+miss the air blowing on your skin.
+I never realized it before. Air feels
+like&mdash;like silk, like whipped cream&mdash;it's
+got texture...."</p>
+
+<p>"But aren't you cold? Space is
+supposed to be absolute zero!"</p>
+
+<p>"Space is nothing. It's not hot
+and it's not cold. When you're in
+the sunlight you get warm. It's better
+in the shade. You don't lose any
+heat by air convection, but radiation
+and sweat evaporation keep
+you comfortably cool."</p>
+
+<p>"I still can't understand it," said
+Frayberg. "This Prince Ali, he's a
+kind of a rebel, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't blame him in a way. A
+normal man living under those
+domes has to let off steam somehow.
+Prince Ali decided to go out
+crusading. I think he would have
+made it too&mdash;at least on Cirgames&ccedil;."</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly there are many more
+men inside the domes...."</p>
+
+<p>"When it comes to fighting," said
+Murphy, "a sjambak can lick
+twenty men in space-suits. A little
+nick doesn't hurt him, but a little
+nick bursts open a space-suit, and
+the man inside comes apart."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said the Captain. "I
+imagine the Peace Office will send
+out a team to put things in order
+now."</p>
+
+<p>Catlin asked, "What happened
+when you woke up from the chloroform?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, nothing very much. I felt
+this attachment on my chest, but
+didn't think much about it. Still
+kinda woozy. I was halfway
+through decompression. They keep
+a man there eight hours, drop pressure
+on him two pounds an hour,
+nice and slow so he don't get the
+bends."</p>
+
+<p>"Was this the same place they
+took you, when you met Ali?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah, that was their decompression
+chamber. They had to make a
+sjambak out of me; there wasn't
+anywhere else they could keep me.
+Well, pretty soon my head cleared,
+and I saw this apparatus stuck to
+my chest." He poked at the mechanism
+on the table. "I saw the oxygen
+tank, I saw the blood running
+through the plastic pipes&mdash;blue
+from me to that carburetor arrangement,
+red on the way back
+in&mdash;and I figured out the whole arrangement.
+Carbon dioxide still exhales
+up through your lungs, but
+the vein back to the left auricle is
+routed through the carburetor and
+supercharged with oxygen. A man
+doesn't need to breathe. The carburetor
+flushes his blood with oxygen,
+the decompression tank adjusts
+him to the lack of air-pressure.
+There's only one thing to look
+out for; that's not to touch anything
+with your naked flesh. If it's
+in the sunshine it's blazing hot; if
+it's in the shade it's cold enough to
+cut. Otherwise you're free as a
+bird."</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;how did you get away?"</p>
+
+<p>"I saw those little rocket-bikes,
+and began figuring. I couldn't go
+back to Singhal&ucirc;t; I'd be lynched
+on sight as a sjambak. I couldn't fly
+to another planet&mdash;the bikes don't
+carry enough fuel.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew when the ship would be
+coming in, so I figured I'd fly up to
+meet it. I told the guard I was going
+outside a minute, and I got on
+one of the rocket-bikes. There was
+nothing much to it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Frayberg, "it's a
+great feature, Wilbur&mdash;a great film!
+Maybe we can stretch it into two
+hours."</p>
+
+<p>"There's one thing bothering
+me," said Catlin. "Who did the
+steward see up here the first time?"</p>
+
+<p>Murphy shrugged. "It might
+have been somebody up here skylarking.
+A little too much oxygen
+and you start cutting all kinds of
+capers. Or it might have been
+someone who decided he had
+enough crusading.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a sjambak in a cage,
+right in the middle of Singhal&ucirc;t.
+Prince Ali walks past; they look at
+each other eye to eye. Ali smiles a
+little and walks on. Suppose this
+sjambak tried to escape to the ship.
+He's taken aboard, turned over to
+the Sultan and the Sultan makes an
+example of him...."</p>
+
+<p>"What'll the Sultan do to Ali?"</p>
+
+<p>Murphy shook his head. "If I
+were Ali I'd disappear."</p>
+
+<p>A loudspeaker turned on. "Attention
+all passengers. We have just
+passed through quarantine. Passengers
+may now disembark. Important:
+no weapons or explosives allowed
+on Singhal&ucirc;t!"</p>
+
+<p>"This is where I came in," said
+Murphy.</p>
+
+<p class="hd2">THE END</p>
+
+<div class="trn"><div class="figt"><a href="images/002-2.jpg"><img src="images/002-1.jpg" width="280" height="200" alt="" title="" /></a></div>
+
+<p><big><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></big></p>
+
+<p>This etext was produced from <i>If Worlds of Science Fiction</i> 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.</p></div>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30002 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
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+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #30002 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30002)
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sjambak, by John Holbrook Vance
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Sjambak
+
+Author: John Holbrook Vance
+
+Illustrator: Virgil Finlay
+
+Release Date: September 16, 2009 [EBook #30002]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SJAMBAK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[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 man
+of sudden unpredictable moods; and Sam Catlin, the show's Continuity
+Editor, had learned to expect the worst.
+
+"Sam," said Frayberg, "regarding the show last night...." He paused to
+seek the proper words, and Catlin relaxed. Frayberg's frame of mind was
+merely 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 far
+out on a limb. "We bring 'em everything--color, fact, romance, sight,
+sound, smell.... Next week, it's the Ball Expedition to the Mixtup
+Mountains on Gropus."
+
+Frayberg leaned forward. "Sam, we're working the wrong slant on this
+stuff.... We've got to loosen up, sock 'em! Shift our ground! Give 'em
+the 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 minutes
+ago...." He smoothed out the pages. "'Sequence idea, by Wilbur Murphy.
+Investigate "Horseman of Space," the man who rides up to meet incoming
+space-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 thousand
+miles. He waves to the pilot, takes off his hat to the passengers, then
+rides 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 consonants
+are 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 strange
+superstitions. 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 serious
+sidelong squint. He looked from his crumpled sequence idea to Catlin and
+Frayberg. "Didn't like it, eh?"
+
+"We thought the emphasis should be a little different," explained
+Catlin. "Instead of 'The Space Horseman,' we'd give it the working
+title, '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 meet
+the incoming ships!"
+
+"Where did you get this wild fable?"
+
+"My brother-in-law is purser on the _Celestial Traveller_. At Riker's
+Planet 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 my
+brother-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 a
+few 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 on
+Sirgamesk superstition. Emphasis on voodoo or witchcraft--naked girls
+dancing--stuff with roots in Earth, but now typically Sirgamesk. Lots of
+color. 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 in
+mountain valleys, with air-tight lids over 'em."
+
+Catlin flipped the pages of _Thumbnail Sketches of the Inhabited
+Worlds_. "Says here there's ancient ruins millions of years old. When
+the atmosphere went, the population went with it."
+
+Frayberg became animated. "There's lots of material out there! Go get
+it, Wilbur! Life! Sex! Excitement! Mystery!"
+
+"Okay," said Wilbur Murphy.
+
+"But lay off this horseman-in-space. There _is_ a limit to public
+credulity, and don't you let anyone tell you different."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Cirgamesç hung outside the port, twenty thousand miles ahead. The
+steward leaned over Wilbur Murphy's shoulder and pointed a long brown
+finger. "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 such
+matters occur."
+
+"Then--you _did_ recognize him!"
+
+"I must be at my task, sir."
+
+Murphy frowned in vexation at the steward's retreating back, then bent
+over his camera to check the tape-feed. If anything appeared now, and
+his eyes could see it, the two-hundred million audience of _Know Your
+Universe!_ could see it with him.
+
+When he looked up, Murphy made a frantic grab for the stanchion, then
+relaxed. Cirgamesç had taken the Great Twitch. It was an illusion, a
+psychological quirk. One instant the planet lay ahead; then a man winked
+or turned away, and when he looked back, "ahead" had become "below"; the
+planet had swung an astonishing ninety degrees across the sky, and they
+were _falling_!
+
+Murphy leaned against the stanchion. "'The Great Twitch'," he muttered
+to himself, "I'd like to get _that_ on two hundred million screens!"
+
+Several hours passed. Cirgamesç grew. The Sampan Range rose up like a
+dark scab; the valley sultanates of Singhalût, Hadra, New Batavia, and
+Boeng-Bohôt showed like glistening chicken-tracks; the Great Rift Colony
+of Sundaman stretched down through the foothills like the trail of a
+slug.
+
+A loudspeaker voice rattled the ship. "Attention passengers for
+Singhalût and other points on Cirgamesç! Kindly prepare your luggage for
+disembarkation. Customs at Singhalût are extremely thorough. Passengers
+are warned to take no weapons, drugs or explosives ashore. This is
+important!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The warning turned out to be an understatement. Murphy was plied with
+questions. He suffered search of an intimate nature. He was
+three-dimensionally X-rayed with a range of frequencies calculated to
+excite fluorescence in whatever object he might have secreted in his
+stomach, in a hollow bone, or under a layer of flesh.
+
+His luggage was explored with similar minute attention, and Murphy
+rescued 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. "They
+resemble no cameras of my experience; I fear I shall have to impound ..."
+
+A young man in loose white pantaloons, a pink vest, pale green cravat
+and a complex black turban strolled up. The inspector made a swift
+obeisance, 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 repacked
+Murphy's belongings, while the young man looked on benignly.
+
+Murphy covertly inspected his face. The skin was smooth, the color of
+the rising moon; the eyes were narrow, dark, superficially placid. The
+effect was of silken punctilio with hot ruby blood close beneath.
+
+Satisfied with the inspector's zeal, he turned to Murphy. "Allow me to
+introduce myself, Tuan Murphy. I am Ali-Tomás, of the House of
+Singhalût, and my father the Sultan begs you to accept our poor
+hospitality."
+
+"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 own
+quick step to the prince's feline saunter. This is coming it pretty
+soft, he said to himself. I'll have a magnificent suite, with bowls of
+fruit and gin pahits, not to mention two or three silken girls with skin
+like 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 I
+ought 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 hundred
+million 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 its
+gelatinous 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 the
+difference. Sometimes the synthetic odor is an improvement."
+
+"Astounding!" murmured the prince.
+
+"And sometimes ... Well, Carson Tenlake went out to get the
+myrrh-blossoms on Venus. It was a hot day--as days usually are on
+Venus--and a long climb. When the show was run off, there was more smell
+of 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 warmth
+and golden light. As far in either direction as the eye could reach, the
+hillsides were terraced, barred in various shades of green. Spattering
+the valley floor were tall canvas pavilions, tents, booths, shelters.
+
+"Naturally," said Prince Ali-Tomás, "we hope that you and your
+participants will enjoy Singhalût. It is a truism that, in order to
+import, we must export; we wish to encourage a pleasurable response to
+the 'Made in Singhalût' tag on our _batiks_, carvings, lacquers."
+
+They rolled quietly across the square in a surface-car displaying the
+House emblem. Murphy rested against deep, cool cushions. "Your
+inspectors 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 the
+way of an irresistible emotion, there is turbulence, sometimes even
+killing."
+
+"An _amok_."
+
+"Exactly. It is as well that the _amok_ has no weapons other than his
+knife. Otherwise he would kill twenty where now he kills one."
+
+The car rolled along a narrow avenue, scattering pedestrians to either
+side like the bow of a boat spreading foam. The men wore loose white
+pantaloons 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 an
+inspiring and beautiful spectacle for your program."
+
+Murphy remembered the keynote to Howard Frayberg's instructions:
+"_Excitement! Sex! Mystery!_" Frayberg cared little for inspiration or
+beauty. "I imagine," he said casually, "that you celebrate a number of
+interesting festivals? Colorful dancing? Unique customs?"
+
+Ali-Tomás shook his head. "To the contrary. We left our superstitions
+and ancestor-worship back on Earth. We are quiet Mohammedans and indulge
+in very little festivity. Perhaps here is the reason for _amoks_ and
+sjambaks."
+
+"Sjambaks?"
+
+"We are not proud of them. You will hear sly rumor, and it is better
+that I arm you beforehand with truth."
+
+"What is a sjambak?"
+
+"They are bandits, flouters of authority. I will show you one
+presently."
+
+"I heard," said Murphy, "of a man riding a horse up to meet the
+space-ships. What would account for a story like that?"
+
+"It can have no possible basis," said Prince Ali-Tomás. "We have no
+horses on Cirgamesç. None whatever."
+
+"But ..."
+
+"The veriest idle talk. Such nonsense will have no interest for your
+intelligent participants."
+
+The car rolled into a square a hundred yards on a side, lined with
+luxuriant banana palms. Opposite was an enormous pavilion of gold and
+violet silk, with a dozen peaked gables casting various changing sheens.
+In the center of the square a twenty-foot pole supported a cage about
+two 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 man
+glared down from bloodshot eyes. "That," said Ali-Tomás, "is a sjambak.
+As you see," a faint note of apology entered his voice, "we attempt to
+discourage them."
+
+"What's that metal object on his chest?"
+
+"The mark of his trade. By that you may know all sjambak. In these
+unsettled times only we of the House may cover our chests--all others
+must show themselves and declare themselves true Singhalûsi."
+
+Murphy said tentatively, "I must come back here and photograph that
+cage."
+
+Ali-Tomás smilingly shook his head. "I will show you our farms, our
+vines and orchards. Your participants will enjoy these; they have no
+interest in the dolor of an ignoble sjambak."
+
+"Well," said Murphy, "our aim is a well-rounded production. We want to
+show the farmers at work, the members of the great House at their
+responsibilities, as well as the deserved fate of wrongdoers."
+
+"Exactly. For every sjambak there are ten thousand industrious
+Singhalûsi. It follows then that only one ten-thousandth part of your
+film 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 the
+influence of what Catlin called his philosophic kick. It was the phase
+which 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 to
+fight--progressive mental myopia."
+
+"Speak for yourself," said Catlin.
+
+"Consider. We sit in this office. We think we know what kind of show we
+want. We send out our staff to get it. We're signing the checks, so back
+it comes the way we asked for it. We look at it, hear it, smell it--and
+pretty soon we believe it: our version of the universe, full-blown from
+our 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 our
+own 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 Resort
+on the Moon."
+
+Frayberg leaned back in his chair as if shocked. "And we're supposed to
+be a couple of learned planetologists!"
+
+Catlin made grumbling noise in his throat. "I haven't been around the
+zodiac, 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 to
+take stock, get a new perspective."
+
+"Relax, Howard, relax."
+
+"In our case it means taking out our preconceived ideas, looking at
+them, checking our illusions against reality."
+
+"Are you serious about this?"
+
+"Another thing," said Frayberg, "I want to check up a little. Shifkin
+says the expense accounts are frightful. But he can't fight it. When
+Keeler says he paid ten munits for a loaf of bread on Nekkar IV, who's
+gonna call him on it?"
+
+"Hell, let him eat bread! That's cheaper than making a safari around the
+cluster, spot-checking the super-markets."
+
+Frayberg paid no heed. He touched a button; a three-foot sphere full of
+glistening 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's
+here at Canopus, Keeler's over here at Blue Moon, Wilbur Murphy's at
+Sirgamesk ..."
+
+"Don't forget," muttered Catlin, "we got a show to put on."
+
+"We've got material for a year," scoffed Frayberg. "Get hold of
+Space-Lines. We'll start with Sirgamesk, and see what Wilbur Murphy's up
+to."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wilbur Murphy was being presented to the Sultan of Singhalût by the
+Prince Ali-Tomás. The Sultan, a small mild man of seventy, sat
+crosslegged on an enormous pink and green air-cushion. "Be at your ease,
+Mr. Murphy. We dispense with as much protocol here as practicable." The
+Sultan had a dry clipped voice and the air of a rather harassed
+corporation executive. "I understand you represent Earth-Central Home
+Screen 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 as
+we'd like. We're very pleased with your interest in us, and naturally we
+want to help you in every way possible. Tomorrow the Keeper of the
+Archives will present a series of charts analyzing our economy.
+Ali-Tomás shall personally conduct you through the fish-hatcheries. We
+want you to know we're doing a great job out here on Singhalût."
+
+"I'm sure you are," said Murphy uncomfortably. "However, that isn't
+quite the stuff I want."
+
+"No? Just where do your desires lie?"
+
+Ali-Tomás said delicately. "Mr. Murphy took a rather profound interest
+in the sjambak displayed in the square."
+
+"Oh. And you explained that these renegades could hold no interest for
+serious students of our planet?"
+
+Murphy started to explain that clustered around two hundred million
+screens tuned to _Know Your Universe!_ were four or five hundred million
+participants, the greater part of them neither serious nor students. The
+Sultan cut in decisively. "I will now impart something truly
+interesting. We Singhalûsi are making preparations to reclaim four more
+valleys, with an added area of six hundred thousand acres! I shall put
+my physiographic models at your disposal; you may use them to the
+fullest extent!"
+
+"I'll be pleased for the opportunity," declared Murphy. "But tomorrow
+I'd like to prowl around the valley, meet your people, observe their
+customs, religious rites, courtships, funerals ..."
+
+The Sultan pulled a sour face. "We are ditch-water dull. Festivals are
+celebrated quietly in the home; there is small religious fervor;
+courtships are consummated by family contract. I fear you will find
+little 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 to
+escape 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, weathered
+stone. There are no inscriptions, no art. There is no stimulation in
+dead stone. Now. Tomorrow I will hear a report on hybrid soybean
+plantings in the Upper Kam District. You will want to be present."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Murphy's suite matched or even excelled his expectation. He had four
+rooms and a private garden enclosed by a thicket of bamboo. His bathroom
+walls were slabs of glossy actinolite, inlaid with cinnabar, jade,
+galena, pyrite and blue malachite, in representations of fantastic
+birds. His bedroom was a tent thirty feet high. Two walls were dark
+green fabric; a third was golden rust; the fourth opened upon the
+private garden.
+
+Murphy's bed was a pink and yellow creation ten feet square, soft as
+cobweb, smelling of rose sandalwood. Carved black lacquer tubs held
+fruit; two dozen wines, liquors, syrups, essences flowed at a touch from
+as many ebony spigots.
+
+The garden centered on a pool of cool water, very pleasant in the
+hothouse climate of Singhalût. The only shortcoming was the lack of the
+lovely young servitors Murphy had envisioned. He took it upon himself to
+repair this lack, and in a shady wine-house behind the palace, called
+the Barangipan, he made the acquaintance of a girl-musician named Soek
+Panjoebang. He found her enticing tones of quavering sweetness from the
+_gamelan_, an instrument well-loved in Old Bali. Soek Panjoebang had the
+delicate features and transparent skin of Sumatra, the supple long limbs
+of Arabia and in a pair of wide and golden eyes a heritage from
+somewhere in Celtic Europe. Murphy bought her a goblet of frozen
+shavings, each a different perfume, while he himself drank white
+rice-beer. Soek Panjoebang displayed an intense interest in the ways of
+Earth, 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. We
+have no great adventures. We grow flowers, we play the _gamelan_." She
+eyed 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 knot
+forming around his chest, he no longer takes his kris and runs down the
+street--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 talks
+sjambak, 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 know
+about 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 to
+Singhalût for his wife; he was caught and set up for all people to look
+at, 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 the
+mountains."
+
+"They must have some shelter--an air-dome."
+
+"No. The Sultan would send out his patrol-boat and destroy them. They
+roam 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 sjambaks
+who 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 man
+riding 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 up
+there 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 do
+not care to attract the attention of either steward, sjambak--or
+Sultan."
+
+Murphy said impatiently. "In any event, it's not who--but _how_. How
+does 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 of
+her instrument, with additional overtones of mockery. "There must be
+some 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 we
+do here in Singhalût."
+
+"What's _napaû_?"
+
+"It's our philosophy, where we find meaning and life and beauty in every
+aspect of the world."
+
+"That sjambak in the cage could do with a little less _napaû_ right
+now."
+
+"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 to
+Singhalût. If the Sultan wishes to use it to warn other wrongdoers, the
+fact 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...." She
+looked in turn at Murphy's loose shirt. "You will notice persons
+brushing up against you, feeling you," she laid her hand along his
+breast, "and when this happens you will know they are agents of the
+Sultan, 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 not
+understand 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 with
+a private pool, I usually sleep in a bubble-tent, with nothing to eat
+but 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 the
+sunlight collected and refracted, "I don't particularly like being shut
+up like a bird in an aviary.... Mildly claustrophobic, I guess."
+
+After breakfast, drinking thick coffee from tiny silver cups, Murphy
+looked long and reflectively at Soek Panjoebang.
+
+"What are you thinking, Weelbrrr?"
+
+Murphy drained his coffee. "I'm thinking that I'd better be getting to
+work."
+
+"And what do you do?"
+
+"First I'm going to shoot the palace, and you sitting here in the garden
+playing your _gamelan_."
+
+"But Weelbrrr--not _me_!"
+
+"You're a part of the universe, rather an interesting part. Then I'll
+take 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 Soek
+Panjoebang. 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. He
+carried himself with a hell-raising swagger, left over from a time
+twenty years gone. His skin had the waxy look of lost floridity, his
+tuft of white hair was coarse and thin, his eyelids hung in the off-side
+droop that amateur physiognomists like to associate with guile.
+
+"I'm Resident Director of the Import-Export Bank," said Trimmer. "Heard
+you 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 a
+comfortable tourist planet. Too confined, shut in. A man with a
+sensitive psyche goes nuts pretty easy here."
+
+"Yeah," said Murphy. "I was thinking the same thing this morning. That
+dome begins to give a man the willies. How do the natives stand it? Or
+do 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 got
+the docile Javanese blood, plus the Arabian élan. The Javanese part is
+on top, but every once in a while you see a flash of arrogance.... You
+never know. I've been out here nine years and I'm still a stranger." He
+puffed 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 this
+sjambak stuff."
+
+Trimmer nodded without surprise. "My advice to you, Murphy, is lay off
+the sjambaks. They're not healthy around here."
+
+Murphy was startled by the bluntness. "What's the big mystery about
+these 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 man
+might just barely spot 'em. You can't catch the real ones. They're woven
+into 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 habit
+than anything else. If you're fussy we'll go for a walk."
+
+The road led past the palace into the country. Murphy and Trimmer
+sauntered along a placid river, overgrown with lily pads, swarming with
+large white ducks.
+
+"This sjambak business," said Murphy. "Everybody talks around it. You
+can'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 my
+reports. But there's more to Singhalût than the Sultan."
+
+"Namely?"
+
+Trimmer waved his cigar waggishly. "Now we're getting in where I don't
+like to talk. I'll give you a hint. Prince Ali thinks roofing-in more
+valleys is a waste of money, when there's Hadra and New Batavia and
+Sundaman 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 by
+monorail."
+
+"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 named
+Soek Panjoebang who plays the _gamelan_. I suppose she's working for
+either 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 two
+things--one for Ali, the other for the Sultan. Whichever one reacts you
+know you've got her tagged."
+
+"For instance?"
+
+"Well, for instance she learns that you can rig up a hypnotic ray from a
+flashlight 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 on
+his cigar with gusto, "tell her you're on to a catalyst that turns clay
+into aluminum and oxygen in the presence of sunlight. The Sultan would
+sell his right leg for something like that. He tries hard for Singhalût
+and Cirgamesç."
+
+"And Ali?"
+
+Trimmer hesitated. "I never said what I'm gonna say. Don't forget--I
+never 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. But
+suppose someone--strictly unofficial, of course--let the idea percolate
+around 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 a
+little unfair. I'm a friendly guy. Of course I don't like to see the
+bank 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 Your
+Universe!_ man, they might make a move."
+
+Murphy nodded.
+
+"Well, we understand each other," said Trimmer heartily, "and
+everything's clear."
+
+"Not entirely. How's Ali going to launch a _jehad_ when he doesn't have
+any weapons, no warships, no supplies?"
+
+"Now," said Trimmer, "we're getting into the realm of supposition." He
+paused, looked behind him. A farmer pushing a rotary tiller, bowed
+politely, trundled ahead. Behind was a young man in a black turban, gold
+earrings, a black and red vest, white pantaloons, black curl-toed
+slippers. He bowed, started past. Trimmer held up his hand. "Don't waste
+your 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 not
+dissemble. 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. So
+when he said 'Sultan', I'd think he wouldn't lie simply, but that he'd
+lie 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't
+think he gives me credit for that much subtlety.... What are you doing
+the 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 and
+exotic lore."
+
+"There's this sjambak in the cage. That's about as close to the medieval
+as you'll find anywhere in Earth Commonwealth."
+
+"Speaking of sjambaks ..."
+
+"No time," said Trimmer. "Got to get back. Drop in at my office--right
+down the square from the palace."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Murphy returned to his suite. The shadowy figure of his room servant
+said, "His Highness the Sultan desires the Tuan's attendance in the
+Cascade 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, brown
+plastic boots, a yellow polo shirt. He carried a twig which he used as a
+riding crop, slapping his boots as he walked. He turned his head as
+Murphy appeared, pointed his twig at a wicker bench.
+
+"I pray you sit down, Mr. Murphy." He paced once up and back. "How is
+your 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 he
+meant.
+
+The Sultan nodded wistfully. "A Singhalûsi would have wasted an hour
+telling me half-truths--distorted enough to confuse, but not
+sufficiently inaccurate to anger me if I had a spy-cell on him all the
+time."
+
+Murphy grinned. "A Singhalûsi has to live here the rest of his life."
+
+A servant wheeled a frosted cabinet before them, placed goblets under
+two spigots, withdrew. The Sultan cleared his throat. "Trimmer is an
+excellent fellow, but unbelievably loquacious."
+
+Murphy drew himself two inches of chilled rosy-pale liquor. The Sultan
+slapped his boots with the twig. "Undoubtedly he confided all my private
+business 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 population
+density is fifteen hundred to the square mile. We must expand or
+smother. There'll be too little food to eat, too little oxygen to
+breathe."
+
+Murphy suddenly came to life. "I could make that idea the theme of my
+feature! 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 confidential
+information--although Trimmer no doubt has preceded me with it." He gave
+his boots an irritated whack. "To expand I need funds. Funds are best
+secured in an atmosphere of calm and confidence. The implication of
+emergency 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 our
+progressive social attitude, our prosperity and financial prospects ..."
+
+"But, Sultan ..."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I can't allow your Minister of Propaganda to use me and _Know Your
+Universe!_ 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's
+going to be the dramatic contrast between the ruined cities and the new
+domed valleys. How the Earth settlers succeeded where the ancient people
+failed 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, the
+paddies, groves, orchards, farms. Tomorrow I'm taking a trip out to one
+of the ruins."
+
+"I see," said the Sultan. "Then you won't need my charts and
+statistics?"
+
+"Well, Sultan, I could film the stuff your Propaganda Minister cooked
+up, and I could take it back to Earth. Howard Frayberg or Sam Catlin
+would tear into it, rip it apart, lard in some head-hunting, a little
+cannibalism and temple prostitution, and you'd never know you were
+watching Singhalût. You'd scream with horror, and I'd be fired."
+
+"In that case," said the Sultan, "I will leave you to the dictates of
+your 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 a
+story out there."
+
+Sam Catlin shivered inside his electrically heated glass overcoat. "Out
+on that ocean? It's full of man-eating plesiosaurs--horrible things
+forty feet long."
+
+"Suppose we worked something out on the line of Moby Dick? _The White
+Monster of the Mogador Ocean._ We'd set sail in a catamaran--"
+
+"Us?"
+
+"No," said Frayberg impatiently. "Of course not us. Two or three of the
+staff. 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 legendary
+white 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 a
+horse up to meet his space-ships."
+
+"He might draw the line at a white plesiosaur riding up to meet his
+catamaran."
+
+Frayberg turned away. "Somebody's got to have ideas around here...."
+
+"We'd better head back to the space-port," said Catlin. "We got two
+hours to make the Sirgamesk shuttle."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wilbur Murphy sat in the Barangipan, watching marionettes performing to
+xylophone, castanet, gong and _gamelan_. The drama had its roots in
+proto-historic Mohenjō-Darō. It had filtered down through ancient India,
+medieval Burma, Malaya, across the Straits of Malacca to Sumatra and
+Java; from modern Java across space to Cirgamesç, five thousand years of
+time, two hundred light-years of space. Somewhere along the route it had
+met and assimilated modern technology. Magnetic beams controlled arms,
+legs and bodies, guided the poses and posturings. The manipulator's
+face, by agency of clip, wire, radio control and minuscule selsyn,
+projected his scowl, smile, sneer or grimace to the peaked little face
+he controlled. The language was that of Old Java, which perhaps a third
+of the spectators understood. This portion did not include Murphy, and
+when the performance ended he was no wiser than at the start.
+
+Soek Panjoebang slipped into the seat beside Murphy. She wore musician's
+garb: a sarong of brown, blue, and black _batik_, and a fantastic
+headdress 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, looked
+soulfully up with her shiny yellow-hazel eyes. Murphy nearly forgot the
+experiment 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 the
+condensation vanes. I never knew there was so much water in the air till
+I 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 a
+secret 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 into
+aluminum 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 picturama
+stars out of _gamelan_ players, but no special genius...."
+
+"No, no, Weelbrrr."
+
+"I know lots of tricks. I can take a flashlight battery, a piece of
+copper foil, a few transistors and bamboo tube and turn out a paralyzer
+gun that'll stop a man cold in his tracks. And you know how much it
+costs?"
+
+"No, Weelbrrr. How much?"
+
+"Ten cents. It wears out after two or three months, but what's the
+difference? 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 the
+ruins in the plain. Ghatamipol, I think they're called. Like to come?"
+
+"No, Weelbrrr." Soek Panjoebang looked off into the garden, her hands
+busy tucking a flower into her hair. A few minutes later she said, "Why
+must you waste your time among the rocks? There are better things to do
+and see. And it might well be--dangerous." She murmured the last word
+off-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 a
+yellow 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 dressed
+in space-suits for the plains, twenty men with sullen faces. The trip to
+Ghatamipol clearly was not to their liking. Murphy climbed into his own
+suit, checked the oxygen pressure gauge, the seal at his collar. "All
+ready, boys?"
+
+No one spoke. The silence drew out. The gatekeeper, on hand to let the
+party 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 leaks
+in his suit. Inside pressure: 14.6. Outside pressure: zero. His twenty
+guards morosely inspected their crossbows and slim swords.
+
+The white ruins of Ghatamipol lay five miles across Pharasang Plain. The
+horizon was clear, the sun was high, the sky was black.
+
+Murphy's radio hummed. Someone said sharply, "Look! There it goes!" He
+wheeled around; his guards had halted, and were pointing. He saw a fleet
+something 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 their
+radio intercoms.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The eroded city walls rose above them, occupied more and more of the
+sky. The platoon leader said in an angry voice, "We have gone far
+enough."
+
+"You're under my orders," said Murphy. "We're going through the gate."
+He punched the button on his camera and passed under the monstrous
+portal.
+
+The city was frailer stuff than the wall, and had succumbed to the thin
+storms which had raged a million years after the passing of life. Murphy
+marvelled at the scope of the ruins. Virgin archaeological territory! No
+telling what a few weeks digging might turn up. Murphy considered his
+expense 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 would
+gladly provide diggers. They were a sturdy enough people; they could
+make quite a showing in a week, if they were able to put aside their
+superstitions, fears and dreads.
+
+Murphy sized one of them up from the corner of his eye. He sat on a
+sunny slab of rock, and if he felt uneasy he concealed it quite
+successfully. 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 of
+the valley the man openly wore his shirt, a fine loose garment of
+electric blue, in defiance of the Sultan's edict. Of course out here he
+might be cold....
+
+Murphy felt his own skin crawling. How could he be cold? How could he be
+alive? Where was his space-suit? He lounged on the rock, grinning
+sardonically at Murphy. He wore heavy sandals, a black turban, loose
+breeches, the blue shirt. Nothing more.
+
+Where were the others?
+
+Murphy turned a feverish glance over his shoulder. A good three miles
+distant, bounding and leaping toward Singhalût, were twenty desperate
+figures. They all wore space-suits. This man here ... A sjambak? A
+wizard? A hallucination?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The creature rose to his feet, strode springily toward Murphy. He
+carried a crossbow and a sword, like those of Murphy's fleet-footed
+guards. But he wore no space-suit. Could there be breathable traces of
+an atmosphere? Murphy glanced at his gauge. Outside pressure: zero.
+
+Two other men appeared, moving with long elastic steps. Their eyes were
+bright, their faces flushed. They came up to Murphy, took his arm. They
+were solid, corporeal. They had no invisible force fields around their
+heads.
+
+Murphy jerked his arm free. "Let go of me, damn it!" But they certainly
+couldn't hear him through the vacuum.
+
+He glanced over his shoulder. The first man held his naked blade a foot
+or two behind Murphy's bulging space-suit. Murphy made no further
+resistance. He punched the button on his camera to automatic. It would
+now run for several hours, recording one hundred pictures per second, a
+thousand to the inch.
+
+The sjambaks led Murphy two hundred yards to a metal door. They opened
+it, pushed Murphy inside, banged it shut. Murphy felt the vibration
+through his shoes, heard a gradually waxing hum. His gauge showed an
+outside pressure of 5, 10, 12, 14, 14.5. An inner door opened. Hands
+pulled 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 other
+odds and ends.
+
+"There it is," said Prince Ali-Tomás. "Get to work. Let's see one of
+these 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. Give
+me 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 the
+table.
+
+Murphy laughed. "I've got myself in a fine mess. Suppose I don't make
+this 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 arrangements
+for your care on a long-term basis."
+
+Ali made a gesture. Hands seized Murphy's shoulders. A respirator was
+held to his nostrils. He thought of his camera, and he could have
+laughed. Mystery! Excitement! Thrills! Dramatic sequence for _Know Your
+Universe!_ Staff-man murdered by fanatics! The crime recorded on his own
+camera! 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's
+horseback 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 his
+superstition angle?"
+
+Sam Catlin, watching out the window, said in a tight voice, "Why not ask
+him yourself?"
+
+"Eh?"
+
+"Ask him for yourself! There he is--outside, riding some kind of
+critter...."
+
+"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 combination
+ram-jet and kiddie car with stirrups!"
+
+"He's coming aboard the ship," said Catlin. "That's the entrance port
+down there...."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wilbur Murphy sat in the captain's stateroom, taking careful breaths of
+air.
+
+"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 anything
+like it."
+
+"How does it feel out there, Wilbur?" Catlin asked.
+
+"It feels awful lonesome and empty. And the breath seeping up out of
+your lungs, never going in--that's a funny feeling. And you miss the air
+blowing on your skin. I never realized it before. Air feels like--like
+silk, 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 the
+sunlight you get warm. It's better in the shade. You don't lose any heat
+by air convection, but radiation and sweat evaporation keep you
+comfortably cool."
+
+"I still can't understand it," said Frayberg. "This Prince Ali, he's a
+kind of a rebel, eh?"
+
+"I don't blame him in a way. A normal man living under those domes has
+to let off steam somehow. Prince Ali decided to go out crusading. I
+think 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 men
+in space-suits. A little nick doesn't hurt him, but a little nick bursts
+open a space-suit, and the man inside comes apart."
+
+"Well," said the Captain. "I imagine the Peace Office will send out a
+team 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't
+think much about it. Still kinda woozy. I was halfway through
+decompression. They keep a man there eight hours, drop pressure on him
+two 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 sjambak
+out of me; there wasn't anywhere else they could keep me. Well, pretty
+soon my head cleared, and I saw this apparatus stuck to my chest." He
+poked at the mechanism on the table. "I saw the oxygen tank, I saw the
+blood running through the plastic pipes--blue from me to that carburetor
+arrangement, red on the way back in--and I figured out the whole
+arrangement. Carbon dioxide still exhales up through your lungs, but the
+vein back to the left auricle is routed through the carburetor and
+supercharged with oxygen. A man doesn't need to breathe. The carburetor
+flushes his blood with oxygen, the decompression tank adjusts him to the
+lack of air-pressure. There's only one thing to look out for; that's not
+to touch anything with your naked flesh. If it's in the sunshine it's
+blazing hot; if it's in the shade it's cold enough to cut. Otherwise
+you're free as a bird."
+
+"But--how did you get away?"
+
+"I saw those little rocket-bikes, and began figuring. I couldn't go back
+to Singhalût; I'd be lynched on sight as a sjambak. I couldn't fly to
+another planet--the bikes don't carry enough fuel.
+
+"I knew when the ship would be coming in, so I figured I'd fly up to
+meet it. I told the guard I was going outside a minute, and I got on one
+of 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 see
+up here the first time?"
+
+Murphy shrugged. "It might have been somebody up here skylarking. A
+little too much oxygen and you start cutting all kinds of capers. Or it
+might have been someone who decided he had enough crusading.
+
+"There's a sjambak in a cage, right in the middle of Singhalût. Prince
+Ali walks past; they look at each other eye to eye. Ali smiles a little
+and walks on. Suppose this sjambak tried to escape to the ship. He's
+taken aboard, turned over to the Sultan and the Sultan makes an example
+of 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 passed
+through quarantine. Passengers may now disembark. Important: no weapons
+or 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.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sjambak, by John Holbrook Vance
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SJAMBAK ***
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diff --git a/old/30002-0.zip b/old/30002-0.zip
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sjambak, by John Holbrook Vance
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Sjambak
+
+Author: John Holbrook Vance
+
+Illustrator: Virgil Finlay
+
+Release Date: September 16, 2009 [EBook #30002]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SJAMBAK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+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. Within the
+    text, [=o] represents a lowercase _o_ with an upper macron.
+
+
+
+
+[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 man
+of sudden unpredictable moods; and Sam Catlin, the show's Continuity
+Editor, had learned to expect the worst.
+
+"Sam," said Frayberg, "regarding the show last night...." He paused to
+seek the proper words, and Catlin relaxed. Frayberg's frame of mind was
+merely 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 far
+out on a limb. "We bring 'em everything--color, fact, romance, sight,
+sound, smell.... Next week, it's the Ball Expedition to the Mixtup
+Mountains on Gropus."
+
+Frayberg leaned forward. "Sam, we're working the wrong slant on this
+stuff.... We've got to loosen up, sock 'em! Shift our ground! Give 'em
+the 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 minutes
+ago...." He smoothed out the pages. "'Sequence idea, by Wilbur Murphy.
+Investigate "Horseman of Space," the man who rides up to meet incoming
+space-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 thousand
+miles. He waves to the pilot, takes off his hat to the passengers, then
+rides 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: CIRGAMES�.
+
+"Sirgamesk," read Frayberg.
+
+Catlin shook his head. "That's what it looks like--but those consonants
+are 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 strange
+superstitions. 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 serious
+sidelong squint. He looked from his crumpled sequence idea to Catlin and
+Frayberg. "Didn't like it, eh?"
+
+"We thought the emphasis should be a little different," explained
+Catlin. "Instead of 'The Space Horseman,' we'd give it the working
+title, '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 meet
+the incoming ships!"
+
+"Where did you get this wild fable?"
+
+"My brother-in-law is purser on the _Celestial Traveller_. At Riker's
+Planet they make connection with the feeder line out of Cirgames�."
+
+"Wait a minute," said Catlin. "How did you pronounce that?"
+
+"Cirgames�. The steward on the shuttle-ship gave out this story, and my
+brother-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 a
+few 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 on
+Sirgamesk superstition. Emphasis on voodoo or witchcraft--naked girls
+dancing--stuff with roots in Earth, but now typically Sirgamesk. Lots of
+color. Secret rite stuff...."
+
+"Not much room on Cirgames� for secret rites."
+
+"It's a big planet, isn't it?"
+
+"Not quite as big as Mars. There's no atmosphere. The settlers live in
+mountain valleys, with air-tight lids over 'em."
+
+Catlin flipped the pages of _Thumbnail Sketches of the Inhabited
+Worlds_. "Says here there's ancient ruins millions of years old. When
+the atmosphere went, the population went with it."
+
+Frayberg became animated. "There's lots of material out there! Go get
+it, Wilbur! Life! Sex! Excitement! Mystery!"
+
+"Okay," said Wilbur Murphy.
+
+"But lay off this horseman-in-space. There _is_ a limit to public
+credulity, and don't you let anyone tell you different."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Cirgames� hung outside the port, twenty thousand miles ahead. The
+steward leaned over Wilbur Murphy's shoulder and pointed a long brown
+finger. "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 Singhal�t 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 such
+matters occur."
+
+"Then--you _did_ recognize him!"
+
+"I must be at my task, sir."
+
+Murphy frowned in vexation at the steward's retreating back, then bent
+over his camera to check the tape-feed. If anything appeared now, and
+his eyes could see it, the two-hundred million audience of _Know Your
+Universe!_ could see it with him.
+
+When he looked up, Murphy made a frantic grab for the stanchion, then
+relaxed. Cirgames� had taken the Great Twitch. It was an illusion, a
+psychological quirk. One instant the planet lay ahead; then a man winked
+or turned away, and when he looked back, "ahead" had become "below"; the
+planet had swung an astonishing ninety degrees across the sky, and they
+were _falling_!
+
+Murphy leaned against the stanchion. "'The Great Twitch'," he muttered
+to himself, "I'd like to get _that_ on two hundred million screens!"
+
+Several hours passed. Cirgames� grew. The Sampan Range rose up like a
+dark scab; the valley sultanates of Singhal�t, Hadra, New Batavia, and
+Boeng-Boh�t showed like glistening chicken-tracks; the Great Rift Colony
+of Sundaman stretched down through the foothills like the trail of a
+slug.
+
+A loudspeaker voice rattled the ship. "Attention passengers for
+Singhal�t and other points on Cirgames�! Kindly prepare your luggage for
+disembarkation. Customs at Singhal�t are extremely thorough. Passengers
+are warned to take no weapons, drugs or explosives ashore. This is
+important!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The warning turned out to be an understatement. Murphy was plied with
+questions. He suffered search of an intimate nature. He was
+three-dimensionally X-rayed with a range of frequencies calculated to
+excite fluorescence in whatever object he might have secreted in his
+stomach, in a hollow bone, or under a layer of flesh.
+
+His luggage was explored with similar minute attention, and Murphy
+rescued 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. "They
+resemble no cameras of my experience; I fear I shall have to impound ..."
+
+A young man in loose white pantaloons, a pink vest, pale green cravat
+and a complex black turban strolled up. The inspector made a swift
+obeisance, 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 repacked
+Murphy's belongings, while the young man looked on benignly.
+
+Murphy covertly inspected his face. The skin was smooth, the color of
+the rising moon; the eyes were narrow, dark, superficially placid. The
+effect was of silken punctilio with hot ruby blood close beneath.
+
+Satisfied with the inspector's zeal, he turned to Murphy. "Allow me to
+introduce myself, Tuan Murphy. I am Ali-Tom�s, of the House of
+Singhal�t, and my father the Sultan begs you to accept our poor
+hospitality."
+
+"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-Tom�s into the outside light, fitting his own
+quick step to the prince's feline saunter. This is coming it pretty
+soft, he said to himself. I'll have a magnificent suite, with bowls of
+fruit and gin pahits, not to mention two or three silken girls with skin
+like 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 I
+ought to unlimber my camera....
+
+Prince Ali-Tom�s 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 hundred
+million 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 its
+gelatinous 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 the
+difference. Sometimes the synthetic odor is an improvement."
+
+"Astounding!" murmured the prince.
+
+"And sometimes ... Well, Carson Tenlake went out to get the
+myrrh-blossoms on Venus. It was a hot day--as days usually are on
+Venus--and a long climb. When the show was run off, there was more smell
+of Carson than of flowers."
+
+Prince Ali-Tom�s 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 warmth
+and golden light. As far in either direction as the eye could reach, the
+hillsides were terraced, barred in various shades of green. Spattering
+the valley floor were tall canvas pavilions, tents, booths, shelters.
+
+"Naturally," said Prince Ali-Tom�s, "we hope that you and your
+participants will enjoy Singhal�t. It is a truism that, in order to
+import, we must export; we wish to encourage a pleasurable response to
+the 'Made in Singhal�t' tag on our _batiks_, carvings, lacquers."
+
+They rolled quietly across the square in a surface-car displaying the
+House emblem. Murphy rested against deep, cool cushions. "Your
+inspectors are pretty careful about weapons."
+
+Ali-Tom�s 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 the
+way of an irresistible emotion, there is turbulence, sometimes even
+killing."
+
+"An _amok_."
+
+"Exactly. It is as well that the _amok_ has no weapons other than his
+knife. Otherwise he would kill twenty where now he kills one."
+
+The car rolled along a narrow avenue, scattering pedestrians to either
+side like the bow of a boat spreading foam. The men wore loose white
+pantaloons and a short open vest; the women wore only the pantaloons.
+
+"Handsome set of people," remarked Murphy.
+
+Ali-Tom�s again smiled complacently. "I'm sure Singhal�t will present an
+inspiring and beautiful spectacle for your program."
+
+Murphy remembered the keynote to Howard Frayberg's instructions:
+"_Excitement! Sex! Mystery!_" Frayberg cared little for inspiration or
+beauty. "I imagine," he said casually, "that you celebrate a number of
+interesting festivals? Colorful dancing? Unique customs?"
+
+Ali-Tom�s shook his head. "To the contrary. We left our superstitions
+and ancestor-worship back on Earth. We are quiet Mohammedans and indulge
+in very little festivity. Perhaps here is the reason for _amoks_ and
+sjambaks."
+
+"Sjambaks?"
+
+"We are not proud of them. You will hear sly rumor, and it is better
+that I arm you beforehand with truth."
+
+"What is a sjambak?"
+
+"They are bandits, flouters of authority. I will show you one
+presently."
+
+"I heard," said Murphy, "of a man riding a horse up to meet the
+space-ships. What would account for a story like that?"
+
+"It can have no possible basis," said Prince Ali-Tom�s. "We have no
+horses on Cirgames�. None whatever."
+
+"But ..."
+
+"The veriest idle talk. Such nonsense will have no interest for your
+intelligent participants."
+
+The car rolled into a square a hundred yards on a side, lined with
+luxuriant banana palms. Opposite was an enormous pavilion of gold and
+violet silk, with a dozen peaked gables casting various changing sheens.
+In the center of the square a twenty-foot pole supported a cage about
+two feet wide, three feet long, and four feet high.
+
+Inside this cage crouched a naked man.
+
+The car rolled past. Prince Ali-Tom�s waved an idle hand. The caged man
+glared down from bloodshot eyes. "That," said Ali-Tom�s, "is a sjambak.
+As you see," a faint note of apology entered his voice, "we attempt to
+discourage them."
+
+"What's that metal object on his chest?"
+
+"The mark of his trade. By that you may know all sjambak. In these
+unsettled times only we of the House may cover our chests--all others
+must show themselves and declare themselves true Singhal�si."
+
+Murphy said tentatively, "I must come back here and photograph that
+cage."
+
+Ali-Tom�s smilingly shook his head. "I will show you our farms, our
+vines and orchards. Your participants will enjoy these; they have no
+interest in the dolor of an ignoble sjambak."
+
+"Well," said Murphy, "our aim is a well-rounded production. We want to
+show the farmers at work, the members of the great House at their
+responsibilities, as well as the deserved fate of wrongdoers."
+
+"Exactly. For every sjambak there are ten thousand industrious
+Singhal�si. It follows then that only one ten-thousandth part of your
+film 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 the
+influence of what Catlin called his philosophic kick. It was the phase
+which 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 to
+fight--progressive mental myopia."
+
+"Speak for yourself," said Catlin.
+
+"Consider. We sit in this office. We think we know what kind of show we
+want. We send out our staff to get it. We're signing the checks, so back
+it comes the way we asked for it. We look at it, hear it, smell it--and
+pretty soon we believe it: our version of the universe, full-blown from
+our 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 our
+own 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 Resort
+on the Moon."
+
+Frayberg leaned back in his chair as if shocked. "And we're supposed to
+be a couple of learned planetologists!"
+
+Catlin made grumbling noise in his throat. "I haven't been around the
+zodiac, 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 to
+take stock, get a new perspective."
+
+"Relax, Howard, relax."
+
+"In our case it means taking out our preconceived ideas, looking at
+them, checking our illusions against reality."
+
+"Are you serious about this?"
+
+"Another thing," said Frayberg, "I want to check up a little. Shifkin
+says the expense accounts are frightful. But he can't fight it. When
+Keeler says he paid ten munits for a loaf of bread on Nekkar IV, who's
+gonna call him on it?"
+
+"Hell, let him eat bread! That's cheaper than making a safari around the
+cluster, spot-checking the super-markets."
+
+Frayberg paid no heed. He touched a button; a three-foot sphere full of
+glistening 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's
+here at Canopus, Keeler's over here at Blue Moon, Wilbur Murphy's at
+Sirgamesk ..."
+
+"Don't forget," muttered Catlin, "we got a show to put on."
+
+"We've got material for a year," scoffed Frayberg. "Get hold of
+Space-Lines. We'll start with Sirgamesk, and see what Wilbur Murphy's up
+to."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wilbur Murphy was being presented to the Sultan of Singhal�t by the
+Prince Ali-Tom�s. The Sultan, a small mild man of seventy, sat
+crosslegged on an enormous pink and green air-cushion. "Be at your ease,
+Mr. Murphy. We dispense with as much protocol here as practicable." The
+Sultan had a dry clipped voice and the air of a rather harassed
+corporation executive. "I understand you represent Earth-Central Home
+Screen 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 as
+we'd like. We're very pleased with your interest in us, and naturally we
+want to help you in every way possible. Tomorrow the Keeper of the
+Archives will present a series of charts analyzing our economy.
+Ali-Tom�s shall personally conduct you through the fish-hatcheries. We
+want you to know we're doing a great job out here on Singhal�t."
+
+"I'm sure you are," said Murphy uncomfortably. "However, that isn't
+quite the stuff I want."
+
+"No? Just where do your desires lie?"
+
+Ali-Tom�s said delicately. "Mr. Murphy took a rather profound interest
+in the sjambak displayed in the square."
+
+"Oh. And you explained that these renegades could hold no interest for
+serious students of our planet?"
+
+Murphy started to explain that clustered around two hundred million
+screens tuned to _Know Your Universe!_ were four or five hundred million
+participants, the greater part of them neither serious nor students. The
+Sultan cut in decisively. "I will now impart something truly
+interesting. We Singhal�si are making preparations to reclaim four more
+valleys, with an added area of six hundred thousand acres! I shall put
+my physiographic models at your disposal; you may use them to the
+fullest extent!"
+
+"I'll be pleased for the opportunity," declared Murphy. "But tomorrow
+I'd like to prowl around the valley, meet your people, observe their
+customs, religious rites, courtships, funerals ..."
+
+The Sultan pulled a sour face. "We are ditch-water dull. Festivals are
+celebrated quietly in the home; there is small religious fervor;
+courtships are consummated by family contract. I fear you will find
+little sensational material here in Singhal�t."
+
+"You have no temple dances?" asked Murphy. "No fire-walkers,
+snake-charmers--voodoo?"
+
+The Sultan smiled patronizingly. "We came out here to Cirgames� to
+escape 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, weathered
+stone. There are no inscriptions, no art. There is no stimulation in
+dead stone. Now. Tomorrow I will hear a report on hybrid soybean
+plantings in the Upper Kam District. You will want to be present."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Murphy's suite matched or even excelled his expectation. He had four
+rooms and a private garden enclosed by a thicket of bamboo. His bathroom
+walls were slabs of glossy actinolite, inlaid with cinnabar, jade,
+galena, pyrite and blue malachite, in representations of fantastic
+birds. His bedroom was a tent thirty feet high. Two walls were dark
+green fabric; a third was golden rust; the fourth opened upon the
+private garden.
+
+Murphy's bed was a pink and yellow creation ten feet square, soft as
+cobweb, smelling of rose sandalwood. Carved black lacquer tubs held
+fruit; two dozen wines, liquors, syrups, essences flowed at a touch from
+as many ebony spigots.
+
+The garden centered on a pool of cool water, very pleasant in the
+hothouse climate of Singhal�t. The only shortcoming was the lack of the
+lovely young servitors Murphy had envisioned. He took it upon himself to
+repair this lack, and in a shady wine-house behind the palace, called
+the Barangipan, he made the acquaintance of a girl-musician named Soek
+Panjoebang. He found her enticing tones of quavering sweetness from the
+_gamelan_, an instrument well-loved in Old Bali. Soek Panjoebang had the
+delicate features and transparent skin of Sumatra, the supple long limbs
+of Arabia and in a pair of wide and golden eyes a heritage from
+somewhere in Celtic Europe. Murphy bought her a goblet of frozen
+shavings, each a different perfume, while he himself drank white
+rice-beer. Soek Panjoebang displayed an intense interest in the ways of
+Earth, 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 Singhal�t?"
+
+She shrugged. "Life is pleasant, but it concerns with little things. We
+have no great adventures. We grow flowers, we play the _gamelan_." She
+eyed 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 knot
+forming around his chest, he no longer takes his kris and runs down the
+street--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 talks
+sjambak, 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 know
+about it."
+
+"He is very bad. He opened the monorail car and the air rushed out.
+Forty-two Singhal�si 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 to
+Singhal�t for his wife; he was caught and set up for all people to look
+at, 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 the
+mountains."
+
+"They must have some shelter--an air-dome."
+
+"No. The Sultan would send out his patrol-boat and destroy them. They
+roam 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 sjambaks
+who 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 man
+riding a horse out in space."
+
+"Ridiculous; we have no horses in Cirgames�."
+
+"All right, the steward won't swear to the horse. Suppose the man was up
+there 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 do
+not care to attract the attention of either steward, sjambak--or
+Sultan."
+
+Murphy said impatiently. "In any event, it's not who--but _how_. How
+does 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 of
+her instrument, with additional overtones of mockery. "There must be
+some 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 _napa�_, enjoy life as we
+do here in Singhal�t."
+
+"What's _napa�_?"
+
+"It's our philosophy, where we find meaning and life and beauty in every
+aspect of the world."
+
+"That sjambak in the cage could do with a little less _napa�_ right
+now."
+
+"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 to
+Singhal�t. If the Sultan wishes to use it to warn other wrongdoers, the
+fact 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...." She
+looked in turn at Murphy's loose shirt. "You will notice persons
+brushing up against you, feeling you," she laid her hand along his
+breast, "and when this happens you will know they are agents of the
+Sultan, 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 not
+understand 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 with
+a private pool, I usually sleep in a bubble-tent, with nothing to eat
+but condensed food."
+
+Soek Panjoebang flung the water out of her sleek black hair. "Perhaps,
+Weelbrrr, you will regret leaving Cirgames�?"
+
+"Well," he looked up to the transparent roof, barely visible where the
+sunlight collected and refracted, "I don't particularly like being shut
+up like a bird in an aviary.... Mildly claustrophobic, I guess."
+
+After breakfast, drinking thick coffee from tiny silver cups, Murphy
+looked long and reflectively at Soek Panjoebang.
+
+"What are you thinking, Weelbrrr?"
+
+Murphy drained his coffee. "I'm thinking that I'd better be getting to
+work."
+
+"And what do you do?"
+
+"First I'm going to shoot the palace, and you sitting here in the garden
+playing your _gamelan_."
+
+"But Weelbrrr--not _me_!"
+
+"You're a part of the universe, rather an interesting part. Then I'll
+take 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 Soek
+Panjoebang. 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. He
+carried himself with a hell-raising swagger, left over from a time
+twenty years gone. His skin had the waxy look of lost floridity, his
+tuft of white hair was coarse and thin, his eyelids hung in the off-side
+droop that amateur physiognomists like to associate with guile.
+
+"I'm Resident Director of the Import-Export Bank," said Trimmer. "Heard
+you 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. Cirgames� isn't a
+comfortable tourist planet. Too confined, shut in. A man with a
+sensitive psyche goes nuts pretty easy here."
+
+"Yeah," said Murphy. "I was thinking the same thing this morning. That
+dome begins to give a man the willies. How do the natives stand it? Or
+do 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 got
+the docile Javanese blood, plus the Arabian �lan. The Javanese part is
+on top, but every once in a while you see a flash of arrogance.... You
+never know. I've been out here nine years and I'm still a stranger." He
+puffed 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 this
+sjambak stuff."
+
+Trimmer nodded without surprise. "My advice to you, Murphy, is lay off
+the sjambaks. They're not healthy around here."
+
+Murphy was startled by the bluntness. "What's the big mystery about
+these 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 man
+might just barely spot 'em. You can't catch the real ones. They're woven
+into 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 habit
+than anything else. If you're fussy we'll go for a walk."
+
+The road led past the palace into the country. Murphy and Trimmer
+sauntered along a placid river, overgrown with lily pads, swarming with
+large white ducks.
+
+"This sjambak business," said Murphy. "Everybody talks around it. You
+can'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 my
+reports. But there's more to Singhal�t than the Sultan."
+
+"Namely?"
+
+Trimmer waved his cigar waggishly. "Now we're getting in where I don't
+like to talk. I'll give you a hint. Prince Ali thinks roofing-in more
+valleys is a waste of money, when there's Hadra and New Batavia and
+Sundaman 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 by
+monorail."
+
+"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 named
+Soek Panjoebang who plays the _gamelan_. I suppose she's working for
+either 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 two
+things--one for Ali, the other for the Sultan. Whichever one reacts you
+know you've got her tagged."
+
+"For instance?"
+
+"Well, for instance she learns that you can rig up a hypnotic ray from a
+flashlight 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 on
+his cigar with gusto, "tell her you're on to a catalyst that turns clay
+into aluminum and oxygen in the presence of sunlight. The Sultan would
+sell his right leg for something like that. He tries hard for Singhal�t
+and Cirgames�."
+
+"And Ali?"
+
+Trimmer hesitated. "I never said what I'm gonna say. Don't forget--I
+never 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. But
+suppose someone--strictly unofficial, of course--let the idea percolate
+around 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 a
+little unfair. I'm a friendly guy. Of course I don't like to see the
+bank 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 Your
+Universe!_ man, they might make a move."
+
+Murphy nodded.
+
+"Well, we understand each other," said Trimmer heartily, "and
+everything's clear."
+
+"Not entirely. How's Ali going to launch a _jehad_ when he doesn't have
+any weapons, no warships, no supplies?"
+
+"Now," said Trimmer, "we're getting into the realm of supposition." He
+paused, looked behind him. A farmer pushing a rotary tiller, bowed
+politely, trundled ahead. Behind was a young man in a black turban, gold
+earrings, a black and red vest, white pantaloons, black curl-toed
+slippers. He bowed, started past. Trimmer held up his hand. "Don't waste
+your 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 not
+dissemble. 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. So
+when he said 'Sultan', I'd think he wouldn't lie simply, but that he'd
+lie 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't
+think he gives me credit for that much subtlety.... What are you doing
+the 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 and
+exotic lore."
+
+"There's this sjambak in the cage. That's about as close to the medieval
+as you'll find anywhere in Earth Commonwealth."
+
+"Speaking of sjambaks ..."
+
+"No time," said Trimmer. "Got to get back. Drop in at my office--right
+down the square from the palace."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Murphy returned to his suite. The shadowy figure of his room servant
+said, "His Highness the Sultan desires the Tuan's attendance in the
+Cascade 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, brown
+plastic boots, a yellow polo shirt. He carried a twig which he used as a
+riding crop, slapping his boots as he walked. He turned his head as
+Murphy appeared, pointed his twig at a wicker bench.
+
+"I pray you sit down, Mr. Murphy." He paced once up and back. "How is
+your 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 he
+meant.
+
+The Sultan nodded wistfully. "A Singhal�si would have wasted an hour
+telling me half-truths--distorted enough to confuse, but not
+sufficiently inaccurate to anger me if I had a spy-cell on him all the
+time."
+
+Murphy grinned. "A Singhal�si has to live here the rest of his life."
+
+A servant wheeled a frosted cabinet before them, placed goblets under
+two spigots, withdrew. The Sultan cleared his throat. "Trimmer is an
+excellent fellow, but unbelievably loquacious."
+
+Murphy drew himself two inches of chilled rosy-pale liquor. The Sultan
+slapped his boots with the twig. "Undoubtedly he confided all my private
+business 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 Singhal�t."
+
+"That, my friend, is no hope; it's absolute necessity. Our population
+density is fifteen hundred to the square mile. We must expand or
+smother. There'll be too little food to eat, too little oxygen to
+breathe."
+
+Murphy suddenly came to life. "I could make that idea the theme of my
+feature! Singhal�t 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 confidential
+information--although Trimmer no doubt has preceded me with it." He gave
+his boots an irritated whack. "To expand I need funds. Funds are best
+secured in an atmosphere of calm and confidence. The implication of
+emergency 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 our
+progressive social attitude, our prosperity and financial prospects ..."
+
+"But, Sultan ..."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I can't allow your Minister of Propaganda to use me and _Know Your
+Universe!_ 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's
+going to be the dramatic contrast between the ruined cities and the new
+domed valleys. How the Earth settlers succeeded where the ancient people
+failed 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, the
+paddies, groves, orchards, farms. Tomorrow I'm taking a trip out to one
+of the ruins."
+
+"I see," said the Sultan. "Then you won't need my charts and
+statistics?"
+
+"Well, Sultan, I could film the stuff your Propaganda Minister cooked
+up, and I could take it back to Earth. Howard Frayberg or Sam Catlin
+would tear into it, rip it apart, lard in some head-hunting, a little
+cannibalism and temple prostitution, and you'd never know you were
+watching Singhal�t. You'd scream with horror, and I'd be fired."
+
+"In that case," said the Sultan, "I will leave you to the dictates of
+your 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 a
+story out there."
+
+Sam Catlin shivered inside his electrically heated glass overcoat. "Out
+on that ocean? It's full of man-eating plesiosaurs--horrible things
+forty feet long."
+
+"Suppose we worked something out on the line of Moby Dick? _The White
+Monster of the Mogador Ocean._ We'd set sail in a catamaran--"
+
+"Us?"
+
+"No," said Frayberg impatiently. "Of course not us. Two or three of the
+staff. 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 legendary
+white 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 a
+horse up to meet his space-ships."
+
+"He might draw the line at a white plesiosaur riding up to meet his
+catamaran."
+
+Frayberg turned away. "Somebody's got to have ideas around here...."
+
+"We'd better head back to the space-port," said Catlin. "We got two
+hours to make the Sirgamesk shuttle."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wilbur Murphy sat in the Barangipan, watching marionettes performing to
+xylophone, castanet, gong and _gamelan_. The drama had its roots in
+proto-historic Mohenj[=o]-Dar[=o]. It had filtered down through ancient
+India, medieval Burma, Malaya, across the Straits of Malacca to Sumatra
+and Java; from modern Java across space to Cirgames�, five thousand
+years of time, two hundred light-years of space. Somewhere along the
+route it had met and assimilated modern technology. Magnetic beams
+controlled arms, legs and bodies, guided the poses and posturings. The
+manipulator's face, by agency of clip, wire, radio control and minuscule
+selsyn, projected his scowl, smile, sneer or grimace to the peaked
+little face he controlled. The language was that of Old Java, which
+perhaps a third of the spectators understood. This portion did not
+include Murphy, and when the performance ended he was no wiser than at
+the start.
+
+Soek Panjoebang slipped into the seat beside Murphy. She wore musician's
+garb: a sarong of brown, blue, and black _batik_, and a fantastic
+headdress 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, looked
+soulfully up with her shiny yellow-hazel eyes. Murphy nearly forgot the
+experiment 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 the
+condensation vanes. I never knew there was so much water in the air till
+I 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 a
+secret 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 into
+aluminum 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 picturama
+stars out of _gamelan_ players, but no special genius...."
+
+"No, no, Weelbrrr."
+
+"I know lots of tricks. I can take a flashlight battery, a piece of
+copper foil, a few transistors and bamboo tube and turn out a paralyzer
+gun that'll stop a man cold in his tracks. And you know how much it
+costs?"
+
+"No, Weelbrrr. How much?"
+
+"Ten cents. It wears out after two or three months, but what's the
+difference? 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 the
+ruins in the plain. Ghatamipol, I think they're called. Like to come?"
+
+"No, Weelbrrr." Soek Panjoebang looked off into the garden, her hands
+busy tucking a flower into her hair. A few minutes later she said, "Why
+must you waste your time among the rocks? There are better things to do
+and see. And it might well be--dangerous." She murmured the last word
+off-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 a
+yellow 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 dressed
+in space-suits for the plains, twenty men with sullen faces. The trip to
+Ghatamipol clearly was not to their liking. Murphy climbed into his own
+suit, checked the oxygen pressure gauge, the seal at his collar. "All
+ready, boys?"
+
+No one spoke. The silence drew out. The gatekeeper, on hand to let the
+party 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 leaks
+in his suit. Inside pressure: 14.6. Outside pressure: zero. His twenty
+guards morosely inspected their crossbows and slim swords.
+
+The white ruins of Ghatamipol lay five miles across Pharasang Plain. The
+horizon was clear, the sun was high, the sky was black.
+
+Murphy's radio hummed. Someone said sharply, "Look! There it goes!" He
+wheeled around; his guards had halted, and were pointing. He saw a fleet
+something 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 their
+radio intercoms.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The eroded city walls rose above them, occupied more and more of the
+sky. The platoon leader said in an angry voice, "We have gone far
+enough."
+
+"You're under my orders," said Murphy. "We're going through the gate."
+He punched the button on his camera and passed under the monstrous
+portal.
+
+The city was frailer stuff than the wall, and had succumbed to the thin
+storms which had raged a million years after the passing of life. Murphy
+marvelled at the scope of the ruins. Virgin archaeological territory! No
+telling what a few weeks digging might turn up. Murphy considered his
+expense 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 would
+gladly provide diggers. They were a sturdy enough people; they could
+make quite a showing in a week, if they were able to put aside their
+superstitions, fears and dreads.
+
+Murphy sized one of them up from the corner of his eye. He sat on a
+sunny slab of rock, and if he felt uneasy he concealed it quite
+successfully. 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 Singhal�si character. Once clear of
+the valley the man openly wore his shirt, a fine loose garment of
+electric blue, in defiance of the Sultan's edict. Of course out here he
+might be cold....
+
+Murphy felt his own skin crawling. How could he be cold? How could he be
+alive? Where was his space-suit? He lounged on the rock, grinning
+sardonically at Murphy. He wore heavy sandals, a black turban, loose
+breeches, the blue shirt. Nothing more.
+
+Where were the others?
+
+Murphy turned a feverish glance over his shoulder. A good three miles
+distant, bounding and leaping toward Singhal�t, were twenty desperate
+figures. They all wore space-suits. This man here ... A sjambak? A
+wizard? A hallucination?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The creature rose to his feet, strode springily toward Murphy. He
+carried a crossbow and a sword, like those of Murphy's fleet-footed
+guards. But he wore no space-suit. Could there be breathable traces of
+an atmosphere? Murphy glanced at his gauge. Outside pressure: zero.
+
+Two other men appeared, moving with long elastic steps. Their eyes were
+bright, their faces flushed. They came up to Murphy, took his arm. They
+were solid, corporeal. They had no invisible force fields around their
+heads.
+
+Murphy jerked his arm free. "Let go of me, damn it!" But they certainly
+couldn't hear him through the vacuum.
+
+He glanced over his shoulder. The first man held his naked blade a foot
+or two behind Murphy's bulging space-suit. Murphy made no further
+resistance. He punched the button on his camera to automatic. It would
+now run for several hours, recording one hundred pictures per second, a
+thousand to the inch.
+
+The sjambaks led Murphy two hundred yards to a metal door. They opened
+it, pushed Murphy inside, banged it shut. Murphy felt the vibration
+through his shoes, heard a gradually waxing hum. His gauge showed an
+outside pressure of 5, 10, 12, 14, 14.5. An inner door opened. Hands
+pulled Murphy in, unclamped his dome.
+
+"Just what's going on here?" demanded Murphy angrily.
+
+Prince Ali-Tom�s pointed to a table. Murphy saw a flashlight battery,
+aluminum foil, wire, a transistor kit, metal tubing, tools, a few other
+odds and ends.
+
+"There it is," said Prince Ali-Tom�s. "Get to work. Let's see one of
+these 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-Tom�s, "but they march without weapons. Give
+me weapons! I will carry the word to Hadra, to New Batavia, to Sundaman,
+to Boeng-Boh�t!"
+
+"How? Why?"
+
+"It is enough that I will it. Again, I beg of you ..." He indicated the
+table.
+
+Murphy laughed. "I've got myself in a fine mess. Suppose I don't make
+this 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-Tom�s, "we must make our arrangements
+for your care on a long-term basis."
+
+Ali made a gesture. Hands seized Murphy's shoulders. A respirator was
+held to his nostrils. He thought of his camera, and he could have
+laughed. Mystery! Excitement! Thrills! Dramatic sequence for _Know Your
+Universe!_ Staff-man murdered by fanatics! The crime recorded on his own
+camera! 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's
+horseback 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 his
+superstition angle?"
+
+Sam Catlin, watching out the window, said in a tight voice, "Why not ask
+him yourself?"
+
+"Eh?"
+
+"Ask him for yourself! There he is--outside, riding some kind of
+critter...."
+
+"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 combination
+ram-jet and kiddie car with stirrups!"
+
+"He's coming aboard the ship," said Catlin. "That's the entrance port
+down there...."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wilbur Murphy sat in the captain's stateroom, taking careful breaths of
+air.
+
+"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 anything
+like it."
+
+"How does it feel out there, Wilbur?" Catlin asked.
+
+"It feels awful lonesome and empty. And the breath seeping up out of
+your lungs, never going in--that's a funny feeling. And you miss the air
+blowing on your skin. I never realized it before. Air feels like--like
+silk, 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 the
+sunlight you get warm. It's better in the shade. You don't lose any heat
+by air convection, but radiation and sweat evaporation keep you
+comfortably cool."
+
+"I still can't understand it," said Frayberg. "This Prince Ali, he's a
+kind of a rebel, eh?"
+
+"I don't blame him in a way. A normal man living under those domes has
+to let off steam somehow. Prince Ali decided to go out crusading. I
+think he would have made it too--at least on Cirgames�."
+
+"Certainly there are many more men inside the domes...."
+
+"When it comes to fighting," said Murphy, "a sjambak can lick twenty men
+in space-suits. A little nick doesn't hurt him, but a little nick bursts
+open a space-suit, and the man inside comes apart."
+
+"Well," said the Captain. "I imagine the Peace Office will send out a
+team 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't
+think much about it. Still kinda woozy. I was halfway through
+decompression. They keep a man there eight hours, drop pressure on him
+two 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 sjambak
+out of me; there wasn't anywhere else they could keep me. Well, pretty
+soon my head cleared, and I saw this apparatus stuck to my chest." He
+poked at the mechanism on the table. "I saw the oxygen tank, I saw the
+blood running through the plastic pipes--blue from me to that carburetor
+arrangement, red on the way back in--and I figured out the whole
+arrangement. Carbon dioxide still exhales up through your lungs, but the
+vein back to the left auricle is routed through the carburetor and
+supercharged with oxygen. A man doesn't need to breathe. The carburetor
+flushes his blood with oxygen, the decompression tank adjusts him to the
+lack of air-pressure. There's only one thing to look out for; that's not
+to touch anything with your naked flesh. If it's in the sunshine it's
+blazing hot; if it's in the shade it's cold enough to cut. Otherwise
+you're free as a bird."
+
+"But--how did you get away?"
+
+"I saw those little rocket-bikes, and began figuring. I couldn't go back
+to Singhal�t; I'd be lynched on sight as a sjambak. I couldn't fly to
+another planet--the bikes don't carry enough fuel.
+
+"I knew when the ship would be coming in, so I figured I'd fly up to
+meet it. I told the guard I was going outside a minute, and I got on one
+of 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 see
+up here the first time?"
+
+Murphy shrugged. "It might have been somebody up here skylarking. A
+little too much oxygen and you start cutting all kinds of capers. Or it
+might have been someone who decided he had enough crusading.
+
+"There's a sjambak in a cage, right in the middle of Singhal�t. Prince
+Ali walks past; they look at each other eye to eye. Ali smiles a little
+and walks on. Suppose this sjambak tried to escape to the ship. He's
+taken aboard, turned over to the Sultan and the Sultan makes an example
+of 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 passed
+through quarantine. Passengers may now disembark. Important: no weapons
+or explosives allowed on Singhal�t!"
+
+"This is where I came in," said Murphy.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sjambak, by John Holbrook Vance
+
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sjambak, by John Holbrook Vance
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Sjambak
+
+Author: John Holbrook Vance
+
+Illustrator: Virgil Finlay
+
+Release Date: September 16, 2009 [EBook #30002]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SJAMBAK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
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+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figl"><img src="images/001.png" width="372" height="550" alt="" title="" /></div>
+
+<div class="hd1"><p><big><i>Wilbur Murphy sought romance, excitement, and an impossible
+Horseman of Space. With polite smiles, the planet frustrated
+him at every turn&mdash;until he found them all the hard way!</i></big></p></div>
+
+<h1><span class="sp1">SJAMBAK</span></h1>
+
+<h2>By Jack Vance</h2>
+
+<p class="hd1"><small>Illustrated by VIRGIL FINLAY</small></p>
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Howard Frayberg</span>, Production
+Director of <i>Know Your
+Universe!</i>, was a man of sudden unpredictable
+moods; and Sam Catlin,
+the show's Continuity Editor,
+had learned to expect the worst.</p>
+
+<p>"Sam," said Frayberg, "regarding
+the show last night...." He paused
+to seek the proper words, and Catlin
+relaxed. Frayberg's frame of
+mind was merely critical. "Sam,
+we're in a rut. What's worse, the
+show's dull!"</p>
+
+<p>Sam Catlin shrugged, not committing
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Seaweed Processors of Alphard
+IX</i>&mdash;who cares about seaweed?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's factual stuff," said Sam, defensive
+but not wanting to go too
+far out on a limb. "We bring 'em
+everything&mdash;color, fact, romance,
+sight, sound, smell.... Next week,
+it's the Ball Expedition to the Mixtup
+Mountains on Gropus."</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg leaned forward. "Sam,
+we're working the wrong slant on
+this stuff.... We've got to loosen
+up, sock 'em! Shift our ground!
+Give 'em the old human angle&mdash;glamor,
+mystery, thrills!"</p>
+
+<p>Sam Catlin curled his lips. "I got
+just what you want."</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah? Show me."</p>
+
+<p>Catlin reached into his waste
+basket. "I filed this just ten minutes
+ago...." He smoothed out the
+pages. "'Sequence idea, by Wilbur
+Murphy. Investigate "Horseman of
+Space," the man who rides up to
+meet incoming space-ships.'"</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg tilted his head to the
+side. "Rides up on a <i>horse</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what Wilbur Murphy
+says."</p>
+
+<p>"How far up?"</p>
+
+<p>"Does it make any difference?"</p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;I guess not."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, for your information, it's
+up ten thousand, twenty thousand
+miles. He waves to the pilot, takes
+off his hat to the passengers, then
+rides back down."</p>
+
+<p>"And where does all this take
+place?"</p>
+
+<p>"On&mdash;on&mdash;" Catlin frowned. "I
+can write it, but I can't pronounce
+it." He printed on his scratch-screen:
+CIRGAMES&Ccedil;.</p>
+
+<p>"Sirgamesk," read Frayberg.</p>
+
+<p>Catlin shook his head. "That's
+what it looks like&mdash;but those consonants
+are all aspirated gutturals.
+It's more like 'Hrrghameshgrrh'."</p>
+
+<p>"Where did Murphy get this
+tip?"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't bother to ask."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," mused Frayberg, "we
+could always do a show on strange
+superstitions. Is Murphy around?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's explaining his expense account
+to Shifkin."</p>
+
+<p>"Get him in here; let's talk to
+him."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Wilbur Murphy</span> had a
+blond crew-cut, a broad
+freckled nose, and a serious sidelong
+squint. He looked from his
+crumpled sequence idea to Catlin
+and Frayberg. "Didn't like it, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"We thought the emphasis should
+be a little different," explained Catlin.
+"Instead of 'The Space Horseman,'
+we'd give it the working title,
+'Odd Superstitions of Hrrghameshgrrh'."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, hell!" said Frayberg. "Call
+it Sirgamesk."</p>
+
+<p>"Anyway," said Catlin, "that's
+the angle."</p>
+
+<p>"But it's not superstition," said
+Murphy.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, come, Wilbur ..."</p>
+
+<p>"I got this for sheer sober-sided
+fact. A man rides a horse up to
+meet the incoming ships!"</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you get this wild
+fable?"</p>
+
+<p>"My brother-in-law is purser
+on the <i>Celestial Traveller</i>. At Riker's
+Planet they make connection
+with the feeder line out of Cirgames&ccedil;."</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a minute," said Catlin.
+"How did you pronounce that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Cirgames&ccedil;. The steward on the
+shuttle-ship gave out this story, and
+my brother-in-law passed it along to
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"Somebody's pulling somebody's
+leg."</p>
+
+<p>"My brother-in-law wasn't, and
+the steward was cold sober."</p>
+
+<p>"They've been eating <i>bhang</i>.
+Sirgamesk is a Javanese planet,
+isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Javanese, Arab, Malay."</p>
+
+<p>"Then they took a <i>bhang</i> supply
+with them, and <i>hashish</i>, <i>chat</i>, and
+a few other sociable herbs."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, this horseman isn't any
+drug-dream."</p>
+
+<p>"No? What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"So far as I know it's a man on
+a horse."</p>
+
+<p>"Ten thousand miles up? In a
+vacuum?"</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly."</p>
+
+<p>"No space-suit?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's the story."</p>
+
+<p>Catlin and Frayberg looked at
+each other.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Wilbur," Catlin began.</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg interrupted. "What we
+can use, Wilbur, is a sequence on
+Sirgamesk superstition. Emphasis
+on voodoo or witchcraft&mdash;naked
+girls dancing&mdash;stuff with roots in
+Earth, but now typically Sirgamesk.
+Lots of color. Secret rite stuff...."</p>
+
+<p>"Not much room on Cirgames&ccedil;
+for secret rites."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a big planet, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not quite as big as Mars.
+There's no atmosphere. The settlers
+live in mountain valleys, with air-tight
+lids over 'em."</p>
+
+<p>Catlin flipped the pages of
+<i>Thumbnail Sketches of the Inhabited
+Worlds</i>. "Says here there's
+ancient ruins millions of years old.
+When the atmosphere went, the
+population went with it."</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg became animated.
+"There's lots of material out there!
+Go get it, Wilbur! Life! Sex! Excitement!
+Mystery!"</p>
+
+<p>"Okay," said Wilbur Murphy.</p>
+
+<p>"But lay off this horseman-in-space.
+There <i>is</i> a limit to public
+credulity, and don't you let anyone
+tell you different."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Cirgames&ccedil;</span> hung outside the
+port, twenty thousand miles
+ahead. The steward leaned over
+Wilbur Murphy's shoulder and
+pointed a long brown finger. "It
+was right out there, sir. He came
+riding up&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What kind of a man was it?
+Strange-looking?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. He was Cirgameski."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh. You saw him with your
+own eyes, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>The steward bowed, and his loose
+white mantle fell forward. "Exactly,
+sir."</p>
+
+<p>"No helmet, no space-suit?"</p>
+
+<p>"He wore a short Singhal&ucirc;t vest
+and pantaloons and a yellow Hadrasi
+hat. No more."</p>
+
+<p>"And the horse?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, the horse! There's a different
+matter."</p>
+
+<p>"Different how?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't describe the horse. I was
+intent on the man."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you recognize him?"</p>
+
+<p>"By the brow of Lord Allah, it's
+well not to look too closely when
+such matters occur."</p>
+
+<p>"Then&mdash;you <i>did</i> recognize him!"</p>
+
+<p>"I must be at my task, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy frowned in vexation at
+the steward's retreating back, then
+bent over his camera to check the
+tape-feed. If anything appeared
+now, and his eyes could see it, the
+two-hundred million audience of
+<i>Know Your Universe!</i> could see it
+with him.</p>
+
+<p>When he looked up, Murphy
+made a frantic grab for the stanchion,
+then relaxed. Cirgames&ccedil; had
+taken the Great Twitch. It was an
+illusion, a psychological quirk. One
+instant the planet lay ahead; then
+a man winked or turned away, and
+when he looked back, "ahead" had
+become "below"; the planet had
+swung an astonishing ninety degrees
+across the sky, and they were <i>falling</i>!</p>
+
+<p>Murphy leaned against the stanchion.
+"'The Great Twitch'," he
+muttered to himself, "I'd like to
+get <i>that</i> on two hundred million
+screens!"</p>
+
+<p>Several hours passed. Cirgames&ccedil;
+grew. The Sampan Range rose up
+like a dark scab; the valley sultanates
+of Singhal&ucirc;t, Hadra, New
+Batavia, and Boeng-Boh&ocirc;t showed
+like glistening chicken-tracks; the
+Great Rift Colony of Sundaman
+stretched down through the foothills
+like the trail of a slug.</p>
+
+<p>A loudspeaker voice rattled the
+ship. "Attention passengers for
+Singhal&ucirc;t and other points on Cirgames&ccedil;!
+Kindly prepare your luggage
+for disembarkation. Customs
+at Singhal&ucirc;t are extremely thorough.
+Passengers are warned to take
+no weapons, drugs or explosives
+ashore. This is important!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The warning</span> turned out to
+be an understatement. Murphy
+was plied with questions. He suffered
+search of an intimate nature.
+He was three-dimensionally X-rayed
+with a range of frequencies
+calculated to excite fluorescence in
+whatever object he might have
+secreted in his stomach, in a hollow
+bone, or under a layer of flesh.</p>
+
+<p>His luggage was explored with
+similar minute attention, and
+Murphy rescued his cameras with
+difficulty. "What're you so damn
+anxious about? I don't have drugs;
+I don't have contraband ..."</p>
+
+<p>"It's guns, your excellency. Guns,
+weapons, explosives ..."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't have any guns."</p>
+
+<p>"But these objects here?"</p>
+
+<p>"They're cameras. They record
+pictures and sounds and smells."</p>
+
+<p>The inspector seized the cases
+with a glittering smile of triumph.
+"They resemble no cameras of my
+experience; I fear I shall have to
+impound ..."</p>
+
+<p>A young man in loose white
+pantaloons, a pink vest, pale green
+cravat and a complex black turban
+strolled up. The inspector made a
+swift obeisance, with arms spread
+wide. "Excellency."</p>
+
+<p>The young man raised two fingers.
+"You may find it possible to
+spare Mr. Murphy any unnecessary
+formality."</p>
+
+<p>"As your Excellency recommends...."
+The inspector nimbly
+repacked Murphy's belongings,
+while the young man looked on benignly.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy covertly inspected his
+face. The skin was smooth, the color
+of the rising moon; the eyes were
+narrow, dark, superficially placid.
+The effect was of silken punctilio
+with hot ruby blood close beneath.</p>
+
+<p>Satisfied with the inspector's
+zeal, he turned to Murphy. "Allow
+me to introduce myself, Tuan
+Murphy. I am Ali-Tom&aacute;s, of the
+House of Singhal&ucirc;t, and my father
+the Sultan begs you to accept our
+poor hospitality."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, thank you," said Murphy.
+"This is a very pleasant surprise."</p>
+
+<p>"If you will allow me to conduct
+you...." He turned to the inspector.
+"Mr. Murphy's luggage to the
+palace."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Murphy</span> accompanied Ali-Tom&aacute;s
+into the outside light,
+fitting his own quick step to the
+prince's feline saunter. This is coming
+it pretty soft, he said to himself.
+I'll have a magnificent suite, with
+bowls of fruit and gin pahits, not
+to mention two or three silken girls
+with skin like rich cream bringing
+me towels in the shower.... Well,
+well, well, it's not so bad working
+for <i>Know Your Universe!</i> after all!
+I suppose I ought to unlimber my
+camera....</p>
+
+<p>Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s watched him
+with interest. "And what is the
+audience of <i>Know Your Universe!</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"We call 'em 'participants'."</p>
+
+<p>"Expressive. And how many
+participants do you serve?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, the Bowdler Index rises and
+falls. We've got about two hundred
+million screens, with five hundred
+million participants."</p>
+
+<p>"Fascinating! And tell me&mdash;how
+do you record smells?"</p>
+
+<p>Murphy displayed the odor recorder
+on the side of the camera,
+with its gelatinous track which fixed
+the molecular design.</p>
+
+<p>"And the odors recreated&mdash;they
+are like the originals?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty close. Never exact, but
+none of the participants knows the
+difference. Sometimes the synthetic
+odor is an improvement."</p>
+
+<p>"Astounding!" murmured the
+prince.</p>
+
+<p>"And sometimes ... Well, Carson
+Tenlake went out to get the myrrh-blossoms
+on Venus. It was a hot
+day&mdash;as days usually are on Venus&mdash;and
+a long climb. When the show
+was run off, there was more smell
+of Carson than of flowers."</p>
+
+<p>Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s laughed politely.
+"We turn through here."</p>
+
+<p>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
+warmth and golden light. As far in
+either direction as the eye could
+reach, the hillsides were terraced,
+barred in various shades of green.
+Spattering the valley floor were tall
+canvas pavilions, tents, booths, shelters.</p>
+
+<p>"Naturally," said Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s,
+"we hope that you and your
+participants will enjoy Singhal&ucirc;t.
+It is a truism that, in order to import,
+we must export; we wish to
+encourage a pleasurable response
+to the 'Made in Singhal&ucirc;t' tag on
+our <i>batiks</i>, carvings, lacquers."</p>
+
+<p>They rolled quietly across the
+square in a surface-car displaying
+the House emblem. Murphy rested
+against deep, cool cushions. "Your
+inspectors are pretty careful about
+weapons."</p>
+
+<p>Ali-Tom&aacute;s smiled complacently.
+"Our existence is ordered and
+peaceful. You may be familiar with
+the concept of <i>adak</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think so."</p>
+
+<p>"A word, an idea from old Earth.
+Every living act is ordered by ritual.
+But our heritage is passionate&mdash;and
+when unyielding <i>adak</i> stands
+in the way of an irresistible emotion,
+there is turbulence, sometimes
+even killing."</p>
+
+<p>"An <i>amok</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly. It is as well that the
+<i>amok</i> has no weapons other than
+his knife. Otherwise he would kill
+twenty where now he kills one."</p>
+
+<p>The car rolled along a narrow
+avenue, scattering pedestrians to
+either side like the bow of a boat
+spreading foam. The men wore
+loose white pantaloons and a short
+open vest; the women wore only
+the pantaloons.</p>
+
+<p>"Handsome set of people," remarked
+Murphy.</p>
+
+<p>Ali-Tom&aacute;s again smiled complacently.
+"I'm sure Singhal&ucirc;t will
+present an inspiring and beautiful
+spectacle for your program."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy remembered the keynote
+to Howard Frayberg's instructions:
+"<i>Excitement! Sex! Mystery!</i>" Frayberg
+cared little for inspiration or
+beauty. "I imagine," he said casually,
+"that you celebrate a number of
+interesting festivals? Colorful dancing?
+Unique customs?"</p>
+
+<p>Ali-Tom&aacute;s shook his head. "To
+the contrary. We left our superstitions
+and ancestor-worship back
+on Earth. We are quiet Mohammedans
+and indulge in very little
+festivity. Perhaps here is the reason
+for <i>amoks</i> and sjambaks."</p>
+
+<p>"Sjambaks?"</p>
+
+<p>"We are not proud of them. You
+will hear sly rumor, and it is better
+that I arm you beforehand with
+truth."</p>
+
+<p>"What is a sjambak?"</p>
+
+<p>"They are bandits, flouters of
+authority. I will show you one presently."</p>
+
+<p>"I heard," said Murphy, "of a
+man riding a horse up to meet the
+space-ships. What would account
+for a story like that?"</p>
+
+<p>"It can have no possible basis,"
+said Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s. "We have
+no horses on Cirgames&ccedil;. None
+whatever."</p>
+
+<p>"But ..."</p>
+
+<p>"The veriest idle talk. Such nonsense
+will have no interest for your
+intelligent participants."</p>
+
+<p>The car rolled into a square a
+hundred yards on a side, lined
+with luxuriant banana palms. Opposite
+was an enormous pavilion of
+gold and violet silk, with a dozen
+peaked gables casting various
+changing sheens. In the center of
+the square a twenty-foot pole supported
+a cage about two feet wide,
+three feet long, and four feet high.</p>
+
+<p>Inside this cage crouched a naked
+man.</p>
+
+<p>The car rolled past. Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s
+waved an idle hand. The
+caged man glared down from
+bloodshot eyes. "That," said Ali-Tom&aacute;s,
+"is a sjambak. As you see,"
+a faint note of apology entered his
+voice, "we attempt to discourage
+them."</p>
+
+<p>"What's that metal object on his
+chest?"</p>
+
+<p>"The mark of his trade. By that
+you may know all sjambak. In
+these unsettled times only we of the
+House may cover our chests&mdash;all
+others must show themselves and
+declare themselves true Singhal&ucirc;si."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy said tentatively, "I must
+come back here and photograph
+that cage."</p>
+
+<p>Ali-Tom&aacute;s smilingly shook his
+head. "I will show you our farms,
+our vines and orchards. Your participants
+will enjoy these; they have
+no interest in the dolor of an ignoble
+sjambak."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Murphy, "our aim
+is a well-rounded production. We
+want to show the farmers at work,
+the members of the great House at
+their responsibilities, as well as the
+deserved fate of wrongdoers."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly. For every sjambak
+there are ten thousand industrious
+Singhal&ucirc;si. It follows then that only
+one ten-thousandth part of your
+film should be devoted to this infamous
+minority."</p>
+
+<p>"About three-tenths of a second,
+eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"No more than they deserve."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't know my Production
+Director. His name is Howard
+Frayberg, and ..."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Howard Frayberg</span> was
+deep in conference with Sam
+Catlin, under the influence of what
+Catlin called his philosophic kick.
+It was the phase which Catlin
+feared most.</p>
+
+<p>"Sam," said Frayberg, "do you
+know the danger of this business?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ulcers," Catlin replied promptly.</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg shook his head. "We've
+got an occupational disease to fight&mdash;progressive
+mental myopia."</p>
+
+<p>"Speak for yourself," said Catlin.</p>
+
+<p>"Consider. We sit in this office.
+We think we know what kind of
+show we want. We send out our
+staff to get it. We're signing the
+checks, so back it comes the way
+we asked for it. We look at it, hear
+it, smell it&mdash;and pretty soon we believe
+it: our version of the universe,
+full-blown from our brains like
+Minerva stepping out of Zeus. You
+see what I mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"I understand the words."</p>
+
+<p>"We've got our own picture of
+what's going on. We ask for it, we
+get it. It builds up and up&mdash;and
+finally we're like mice in a trap
+built of our own ideas. We cannibalize
+our own brains."</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody'll ever accuse you of being
+stingy with a metaphor."</p>
+
+<p>"Sam, let's have the truth. How
+many times have you been off
+Earth?"</p>
+
+<p>"I went to Mars once. And I
+spent a couple of weeks at Aristillus
+Resort on the Moon."</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg leaned back in his chair
+as if shocked. "And we're supposed
+to be a couple of learned planetologists!"</p>
+
+<p>Catlin made grumbling noise in
+his throat. "I haven't been around
+the zodiac, so what? You sneezed
+a few minutes ago and I said
+<i>gesundheit</i>, but I don't have any
+doctor's degree."</p>
+
+<p>"There comes a time in a man's
+life," said Frayberg, "when he wants
+to take stock, get a new perspective."</p>
+
+<p>"Relax, Howard, relax."</p>
+
+<p>"In our case it means taking out
+our preconceived ideas, looking at
+them, checking our illusions against
+reality."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you serious about this?"</p>
+
+<p>"Another thing," said Frayberg,
+"I want to check up a little. Shifkin
+says the expense accounts are
+frightful. But he can't fight it.
+When Keeler says he paid ten
+munits for a loaf of bread on Nekkar
+IV, who's gonna call him on
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hell, let him eat bread! That's
+cheaper than making a safari
+around the cluster, spot-checking
+the super-markets."</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg paid no heed. He
+touched a button; a three-foot
+sphere full of glistening motes appeared.
+Earth was at the center,
+with thin red lines, the scheduled
+space-ship routes, radiating out in
+all directions.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's see what kind of circle
+we can make," said Frayberg.
+"Gower's here at Canopus, Keeler's
+over here at Blue Moon, Wilbur
+Murphy's at Sirgamesk ..."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't forget," muttered Catlin,
+"we got a show to put on."</p>
+
+<p>"We've got material for a year,"
+scoffed Frayberg. "Get hold of
+Space-Lines. We'll start with Sirgamesk,
+and see what Wilbur
+Murphy's up to."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Wilbur Murphy</span> was being
+presented to the Sultan of
+Singhal&ucirc;t by the Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s.
+The Sultan, a small mild man of
+seventy, sat crosslegged on an enormous
+pink and green air-cushion.
+"Be at your ease, Mr. Murphy. We
+dispense with as much protocol here
+as practicable." The Sultan had a
+dry clipped voice and the air of a
+rather harassed corporation executive.
+"I understand you represent
+Earth-Central Home Screen Network?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a staff photographer for the
+<i>Know Your Universe!</i> show."</p>
+
+<p>"We export a great deal to
+Earth," mused the Sultan, "but not
+as much as we'd like. We're very
+pleased with your interest in us,
+and naturally we want to help you
+in every way possible. Tomorrow
+the Keeper of the Archives will
+present a series of charts analyzing
+our economy. Ali-Tom&aacute;s shall personally
+conduct you through the
+fish-hatcheries. We want you to
+know we're doing a great job out
+here on Singhal&ucirc;t."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure you are," said Murphy
+uncomfortably. "However, that
+isn't quite the stuff I want."</p>
+
+<p>"No? Just where do your desires
+lie?"</p>
+
+<p>Ali-Tom&aacute;s said delicately. "Mr.
+Murphy took a rather profound interest
+in the sjambak displayed in
+the square."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh. And you explained that
+these renegades could hold no interest
+for serious students of our
+planet?"</p>
+
+<p>Murphy started to explain that
+clustered around two hundred million
+screens tuned to <i>Know Your
+Universe!</i> were four or five hundred
+million participants, the
+greater part of them neither serious
+nor students. The Sultan cut in
+decisively. "I will now impart something
+truly interesting. We Singhal&ucirc;si
+are making preparations to
+reclaim four more valleys, with an
+added area of six hundred thousand
+acres! I shall put my physiographic
+models at your disposal;
+you may use them to the fullest extent!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be pleased for the opportunity,"
+declared Murphy. "But tomorrow
+I'd like to prowl around
+the valley, meet your people, observe
+their customs, religious rites,
+courtships, funerals ..."</p>
+
+<p>The Sultan pulled a sour face.
+"We are ditch-water dull. Festivals
+are celebrated quietly in the home;
+there is small religious fervor;
+courtships are consummated by
+family contract. I fear you will find
+little sensational material here in
+Singhal&ucirc;t."</p>
+
+<p>"You have no temple dances?"
+asked Murphy. "No fire-walkers,
+snake-charmers&mdash;voodoo?"</p>
+
+<p>The Sultan smiled patronizingly.
+"We came out here to Cirgames&ccedil; to
+escape the ancient superstitions.
+Our lives are calm, orderly. Even
+the <i>amoks</i> have practically disappeared."</p>
+
+<p>"But the sjambaks&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Negligible."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Murphy, "I'd like
+to visit some of these ancient
+cities."</p>
+
+<p>"I advise against it," declared
+the Sultan. "They are shards,
+weathered stone. There are no inscriptions,
+no art. There is no stimulation
+in dead stone. Now. Tomorrow
+I will hear a report on hybrid
+soybean plantings in the Upper
+Kam District. You will want to
+be present."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Murphy's suite</span> matched
+or even excelled his expectation.
+He had four rooms and a private
+garden enclosed by a thicket
+of bamboo. His bathroom walls
+were slabs of glossy actinolite, inlaid
+with cinnabar, jade, galena,
+pyrite and blue malachite, in representations
+of fantastic birds. His
+bedroom was a tent thirty feet high.
+Two walls were dark green fabric;
+a third was golden rust; the fourth
+opened upon the private garden.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy's bed was a pink and
+yellow creation ten feet square, soft
+as cobweb, smelling of rose sandalwood.
+Carved black lacquer tubs
+held fruit; two dozen wines, liquors,
+syrups, essences flowed at a
+touch from as many ebony spigots.</p>
+
+<p>The garden centered on a pool of
+cool water, very pleasant in the
+hothouse climate of Singhal&ucirc;t. The
+only shortcoming was the lack of
+the lovely young servitors Murphy
+had envisioned. He took it upon
+himself to repair this lack, and in a
+shady wine-house behind the palace,
+called the Barangipan, he
+made the acquaintance of a girl-musician
+named Soek Panjoebang.
+He found her enticing tones of
+quavering sweetness from the
+<i>gamelan</i>, an instrument well-loved
+in Old Bali. Soek Panjoebang had
+the delicate features and transparent
+skin of Sumatra, the supple
+long limbs of Arabia and in a pair
+of wide and golden eyes a heritage
+from somewhere in Celtic Europe.
+Murphy bought her a goblet of
+frozen shavings, each a different
+perfume, while he himself drank
+white rice-beer. Soek Panjoebang
+displayed an intense interest in the
+ways of Earth, and Murphy found
+it hard to guide the conversation.
+"Weelbrrr," she said. "Such a funny
+name, Weelbrrr. Do you think
+I could play the <i>gamelan</i> in the
+great cities, the great palaces of
+Earth?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure. There's no law against
+<i>gamelans</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"You talk so funny, Weelbrrr. I
+like to hear you talk."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you get kinda bored
+here in Singhal&ucirc;t?"</p>
+
+<p>She shrugged. "Life is pleasant,
+but it concerns with little things.
+We have no great adventures. We
+grow flowers, we play the <i>gamelan</i>."
+She eyed him archly sidelong.
+"We love.... We sleep...."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy grinned. "You run
+<i>amok</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, no. That is no more."</p>
+
+<p>"Not since the sjambaks, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"The sjambaks are bad. But better
+than <i>amok</i>. When a man feels
+the knot forming around his chest,
+he no longer takes his kris and runs
+down the street&mdash;he becomes sjambak."</p>
+
+<p>This was getting interesting.
+"Where does he go? What does he
+do?"</p>
+
+<p>"He robs."</p>
+
+<p>"Who does he rob? What does
+he do with his loot?"</p>
+
+<p>She leaned toward him. "It is
+not well to talk of them."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Sultan does not wish it.
+Everywhere are listeners. When
+one talks sjambak, the Sultan's
+ears rise, like the points on a cat."</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose they do&mdash;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 know about it."</p>
+
+<p>"He is very bad. He opened the
+monorail car and the air rushed
+out. Forty-two Singhal&ucirc;si and
+Hadrasi bloated and blew up."</p>
+
+<p>"And what happened to the
+sjambak?"</p>
+
+<p>"He took all the gold and money
+and jewels and ran away."</p>
+
+<p>"Ran where?"</p>
+
+<p>"Out across Great Pharasang
+Plain. But he was a fool. He came
+back to Singhal&ucirc;t for his wife; he
+was caught and set up for all people
+to look at, so they might tell
+each other, 'thus it is for sjambaks.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Where do the sjambaks hide
+out?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," she looked vaguely around
+the room, "out on the plains. In
+the mountains."</p>
+
+<p>"They must have some shelter&mdash;an
+air-dome."</p>
+
+<p>"No. The Sultan would send out
+his patrol-boat and destroy them.
+They roam quietly. They hide
+among the rocks and tend their
+oxygen stills. Sometimes they visit
+the old cities."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder," said Murphy, staring
+into his beer, "could it be sjambaks
+who ride horses up to meet the
+space-ship?"</p>
+
+<p>Soek Panjoebang knit her black
+eyebrows, as if preoccupied.</p>
+
+<p>"That's what brought me out
+here," Murphy went on. "This
+story of a man riding a horse out
+in space."</p>
+
+<p>"Ridiculous; we have no horses
+in Cirgames&ccedil;."</p>
+
+<p>"All right, the steward won't
+swear to the horse. Suppose the
+man was up there on foot or riding
+a bicycle. But the steward recognized
+the man."</p>
+
+<p>"Who was this man, pray?"</p>
+
+<p>"The steward clammed up....
+The name would have been just
+noise to me, anyway."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>I</i> might recognize the name...."</p>
+
+<p>"Ask him yourself. The ship's
+still out at the field."</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head slowly, holding
+her golden eyes on his face. "I
+do not care to attract the attention
+of either steward, sjambak&mdash;or Sultan."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy said impatiently. "In
+any event, it's not who&mdash;but <i>how</i>.
+How does the man breathe? Vacuum
+sucks a man's lungs up out of
+his mouth, bursts his stomach, his
+ears...."</p>
+
+<p>"We have excellent doctors,"
+said Soek Panjoebang shuddering,
+"but alas! I am not one of them."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Murphy looked</span> at her
+sharply. Her voice held the
+plangent sweetness of her instrument,
+with additional overtones of
+mockery. "There must be some kind
+of invisible dome around him, holding
+in air," said Murphy.</p>
+
+<p>"And what if there is?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's something new, and if it is,
+I want to find out about it."</p>
+
+<p>Soek smiled languidly. "You are
+so typical an old-lander&mdash;worried,
+frowning, dynamic. You should relax,
+cultivate <i>napa&ucirc;</i>, enjoy life as
+we do here in Singhal&ucirc;t."</p>
+
+<p>"What's <i>napa&ucirc;</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's our philosophy, where we
+find meaning and life and beauty
+in every aspect of the world."</p>
+
+<p>"That sjambak in the cage
+could do with a little less <i>napa&ucirc;</i>
+right now."</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt he is unhappy," she
+agreed.</p>
+
+<p>"Unhappy! He's being tortured!"</p>
+
+<p>"He broke the Sultan's law. His
+life is no longer his own. It belongs
+to Singhal&ucirc;t. If the Sultan wishes
+to use it to warn other wrongdoers,
+the fact that the man suffers
+is of small interest."</p>
+
+<p>"If they all wear that metal ornament,
+how can they hope to hide
+out?" He glanced at her own bare
+bosom.</p>
+
+<p>"They appear by night&mdash;slip
+through the streets like ghosts...."
+She looked in turn at Murphy's
+loose shirt. "You will notice persons
+brushing up against you, feeling
+you," she laid her hand along
+his breast, "and when this happens
+you will know they are agents of the
+Sultan, because only strangers and
+the House may wear shirts. But
+now, let me sing to you&mdash;a song
+from the Old Land, old Java. You
+will not understand the tongue, but
+no other words so join the voice of
+the <i>gamelan</i>."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"This is</span> the gravy-train," said
+Murphy. "Instead of a garden
+suite with a private pool, I
+usually sleep in a bubble-tent, with
+nothing to eat but condensed food."</p>
+
+<p>Soek Panjoebang flung the water
+out of her sleek black hair. "Perhaps,
+Weelbrrr, you will regret leaving
+Cirgames&ccedil;?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he looked up to the transparent
+roof, barely visible where the
+sunlight collected and refracted, "I
+don't particularly like being shut up
+like a bird in an aviary.... Mildly
+claustrophobic, I guess."</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast, drinking thick
+coffee from tiny silver cups, Murphy
+looked long and reflectively at Soek
+Panjoebang.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you thinking, Weelbrrr?"</p>
+
+<p>Murphy drained his coffee. "I'm
+thinking that I'd better be getting
+to work."</p>
+
+<p>"And what do you do?"</p>
+
+<p>"First I'm going to shoot the palace,
+and you sitting here in the garden
+playing your <i>gamelan</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"But Weelbrrr&mdash;not <i>me</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"You're a part of the universe,
+rather an interesting part. Then I'll
+take the square...."</p>
+
+<p>"And the sjambak?"</p>
+
+<p>A quiet voice spoke from behind.
+"A visitor, Tuan Murphy."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy turned his head. "Bring
+him in." He looked back to Soek
+Panjoebang. She was on her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"It is necessary that I go."</p>
+
+<p>"When will I see you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Tonight&mdash;at the Barangipan."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The quiet voice</span> said, "Mr.
+Rube Trimmer, Tuan."</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer was small and middle-aged,
+with thin shoulders and a
+paunch. He carried himself with a
+hell-raising swagger, left over from
+a time twenty years gone. His skin
+had the waxy look of lost floridity,
+his tuft of white hair was coarse
+and thin, his eyelids hung in the
+off-side droop that amateur physiognomists
+like to associate with
+guile.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm Resident Director of the
+Import-Export Bank," said Trimmer.
+"Heard you were here and
+thought I'd pay my respects."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you don't see many
+strangers."</p>
+
+<p>"Not too many&mdash;there's nothing
+much to bring 'em. Cirgames&ccedil; isn't
+a comfortable tourist planet. Too
+confined, shut in. A man with a
+sensitive psyche goes nuts pretty
+easy here."</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah," said Murphy. "I was
+thinking the same thing this morning.
+That dome begins to give a
+man the willies. How do the natives
+stand it? Or do they?"</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer pulled out a cigar case.
+Murphy refused the offer.</p>
+
+<p>"Local tobacco," said Trimmer.
+"Very good." He lit up thoughtfully.
+"Well, you might say that the
+Cirgameski are schizophrenic.
+They've got the docile Javanese
+blood, plus the Arabian &eacute;lan. The
+Javanese part is on top, but every
+once in a while you see a flash of
+arrogance.... You never know.
+I've been out here nine years and
+I'm still a stranger." He puffed on
+his cigar, studied Murphy with his
+careful eyes. "You work for <i>Know
+Your Universe!</i>, I hear."</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah. I'm one of the leg men."</p>
+
+<p>"Must be a great job."</p>
+
+<p>"A man sees a lot of the galaxy,
+and he runs into queer tales, like
+this sjambak stuff."</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer nodded without surprise.
+"My advice to you, Murphy,
+is lay off the sjambaks. They're not
+healthy around here."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy was startled by the
+bluntness. "What's the big mystery
+about these sjambaks?"</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer looked around the
+room. "This place is bugged."</p>
+
+<p>"I found two pick-ups and
+plugged 'em," said Murphy.</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer laughed. "Those were
+just plants. They hide 'em where a
+man might just barely spot 'em.
+You can't catch the real ones.
+They're woven into the cloth&mdash;pressure-sensitive
+wires."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy looked critically at the
+cloth walls.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't let it worry you," said
+Trimmer. "They listen more out of
+habit than anything else. If you're
+fussy we'll go for a walk."</p>
+
+<p>The road led past the palace into
+the country. Murphy and Trimmer
+sauntered along a placid river, overgrown
+with lily pads, swarming
+with large white ducks.</p>
+
+<p>"This sjambak business," said
+Murphy. "Everybody talks around
+it. You can't pin anybody down."</p>
+
+<p>"Including me," said Trimmer.
+"I'm more or less privileged around
+here. The Sultan finances his reclamation
+through the bank, on the
+basis of my reports. But there's
+more to Singhal&ucirc;t than the Sultan."</p>
+
+<p>"Namely?"</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer waved his cigar waggishly.
+"Now we're getting in where
+I don't like to talk. I'll give you a
+hint. Prince Ali thinks roofing-in
+more valleys is a waste of money,
+when there's Hadra and New Batavia
+and Sundaman so close."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean&mdash;armed conquest?"</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer laughed. "You said it,
+not me."</p>
+
+<p>"They can't carry on much of a
+war&mdash;unless the soldiers commute
+by monorail."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe Prince Ali thinks he's
+got the answer."</p>
+
+<p>"Sjambaks?"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't say it," said Trimmer
+blandly.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy grinned. After a moment
+he said. "I picked up with a
+girl named Soek Panjoebang who
+plays the <i>gamelan</i>. I suppose she's
+working for either the Sultan or
+Prince Ali. Do you know which?"</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer's eyes sparkled. He
+shook his head. "Might be either
+one. There's a way to find out."</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah?"</p>
+
+<p>"Get her off where you're sure
+there's no spy-cells. Tell her two
+things&mdash;one for Ali, the other for
+the Sultan. Whichever one reacts
+you know you've got her tagged."</p>
+
+<p>"For instance?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, for instance she learns that
+you can rig up a hypnotic ray from
+a flashlight 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
+on his cigar with gusto, "tell her
+you're on to a catalyst that turns
+clay into aluminum and oxygen in
+the presence of sunlight. The Sultan
+would sell his right leg for
+something like that. He tries hard
+for Singhal&ucirc;t and Cirgames&ccedil;."</p>
+
+<p>"And Ali?"</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer hesitated. "I never said
+what I'm gonna say. Don't forget&mdash;I
+never said it."</p>
+
+<p>"Okay, you never said it."</p>
+
+<p>"Ever hear of a <i>jehad</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mohammedan holy wars."</p>
+
+<p>"Believe it or not, Ali wants a
+<i>jehad</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Sounds kinda fantastic."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure it's fantastic. Don't forget,
+I never said anything about it. But
+suppose someone&mdash;strictly unofficial,
+of course&mdash;let the idea percolate
+around the Peace Office back
+home."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," said Murphy. "That's why
+you came to see me."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Trimmer turned</span> a look of
+injured innocence. "Now, Murphy,
+you're a little unfair. I'm a
+friendly guy. Of course I don't like
+to see the bank lose what we've got
+tied up in the Sultan."</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you send in a report
+yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have! But when they hear the
+same thing from you, a <i>Know Your
+Universe!</i> man, they might make a
+move."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we understand each
+other," said Trimmer heartily,
+"and everything's clear."</p>
+
+<p>"Not entirely. How's Ali going to
+launch a <i>jehad</i> when he doesn't
+have any weapons, no warships, no
+supplies?"</p>
+
+<p>"Now," said Trimmer, "we're
+getting into the realm of supposition."
+He paused, looked behind
+him. A farmer pushing a rotary
+tiller, bowed politely, trundled
+ahead. Behind was a young man in
+a black turban, gold earrings, a
+black and red vest, white pantaloons,
+black curl-toed slippers. He
+bowed, started past. Trimmer held
+up his hand. "Don't waste your
+time up there; we're going back in
+a few minutes."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Tuan."</p>
+
+<p>"Who are you reporting to? The
+Sultan or Prince Ali?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Tuan is sure to pierce the
+veil of my evasions. I shall not dissemble.
+I am the Sultan's man."</p>
+
+<p>Trimmer nodded. "Now, if you'll
+kindly remove to about a hundred
+yards, where your whisper pick-up
+won't work."</p>
+
+<p>"By your leave, I go." He retreated
+without haste.</p>
+
+<p>"He's almost certainly working
+for Ali," said Trimmer.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a very subtle lie."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes&mdash;third level. He figured
+I'd take it second level."</p>
+
+<p>"How's that again?"</p>
+
+<p>"Naturally I wouldn't believe
+him. He knew I knew that he knew
+it. So when he said 'Sultan', I'd
+think he wouldn't lie simply, but
+that he'd lie double&mdash;that he actually
+was working for the Sultan."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy laughed. "Suppose he
+told you a fourth-level lie?"</p>
+
+<p>"It starts to be a toss-up pretty
+soon," Trimmer admitted. "I don't
+think he gives me credit for that
+much subtlety.... What are you
+doing the rest of the day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Taking footage. Do you know
+where I can find some picturesque
+rites? Mystical dances, human sacrifice?
+I've got to work up some
+glamor and exotic lore."</p>
+
+<p>"There's this sjambak in the
+cage. That's about as close to the
+medieval as you'll find anywhere in
+Earth Commonwealth."</p>
+
+<p>"Speaking of sjambaks ..."</p>
+
+<p>"No time," said Trimmer. "Got
+to get back. Drop in at my office&mdash;right
+down the square from the
+palace."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Murphy returned</span> to his
+suite. The shadowy figure of
+his room servant said, "His Highness
+the Sultan desires the Tuan's
+attendance in the Cascade Garden."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said Murphy. "As
+soon as I load my camera."</p>
+
+<p>The Cascade Room was an open
+patio in front of an artificial waterfall.
+The Sultan was pacing back
+and forth, wearing dusty khaki puttees,
+brown plastic boots, a yellow
+polo shirt. He carried a twig which
+he used as a riding crop, slapping
+his boots as he walked. He turned
+his head as Murphy appeared,
+pointed his twig at a wicker bench.</p>
+
+<p>"I pray you sit down, Mr. Murphy."
+He paced once up and back.
+"How is your suite? You find it to
+your liking?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very much so."</p>
+
+<p>"Excellent," said the Sultan.
+"You do me honor with your presence."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy waited patiently.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand that you had a
+visitor this morning," said the Sultan.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Mr. Trimmer."</p>
+
+<p>"May I inquire the nature of the
+conversation?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was of a personal nature,"
+said Murphy, rather more shortly
+than he meant.</p>
+
+<p>The Sultan nodded wistfully. "A
+Singhal&ucirc;si would have wasted an
+hour telling me half-truths&mdash;distorted
+enough to confuse, but not
+sufficiently inaccurate to anger me
+if I had a spy-cell on him all the
+time."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy grinned. "A Singhal&ucirc;si
+has to live here the rest of his life."</p>
+
+<p>A servant wheeled a frosted cabinet
+before them, placed goblets
+under two spigots, withdrew. The
+Sultan cleared his throat. "Trimmer
+is an excellent fellow, but unbelievably
+loquacious."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy drew himself two inches
+of chilled rosy-pale liquor. The Sultan
+slapped his boots with the twig.
+"Undoubtedly he confided all my
+private business to you, or at least
+as much as I have allowed him to
+learn."</p>
+
+<p>"Well&mdash;he spoke of your hope to
+increase the compass of Singhal&ucirc;t."</p>
+
+<p>"That, my friend, is no hope; it's
+absolute necessity. Our population
+density is fifteen hundred to the
+square mile. We must expand or
+smother. There'll be too little food
+to eat, too little oxygen to breathe."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy suddenly came to life. "I
+could make that idea the theme of
+my feature! Singhal&ucirc;t Dilemma:
+Expand or Perish!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, that would be inadvisable,
+inapplicable."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy was not convinced. "It
+sounds like a natural."</p>
+
+<p>The Sultan smiled. "I'll impart
+an item of confidential information&mdash;although
+Trimmer no doubt
+has preceded me with it." He gave
+his boots an irritated whack. "To
+expand I need funds. Funds are
+best secured in an atmosphere of
+calm and confidence. The implication
+of emergency would be disastrous
+to my aims."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Murphy, "I see
+your position."</p>
+
+<p>The Sultan glanced at Murphy
+sidelong. "Anticipating your cooperation,
+my Minister of Propaganda
+has arranged an hour's program,
+stressing our progressive social attitude,
+our prosperity and financial
+prospects ..."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Sultan ..."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't allow your Minister of
+Propaganda to use me and <i>Know
+Your Universe!</i> as a kind of investment
+brochure."</p>
+
+<p>The Sultan nodded wearily. "I
+expected you to take that attitude....
+Well&mdash;what do you yourself
+have in mind?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've been looking for something
+to tie to," said Murphy. "I think
+it's going to be the dramatic contrast
+between the ruined cities and
+the new domed valleys. How the
+Earth settlers succeeded where the
+ancient people failed to meet the
+challenge of the dissipating atmosphere."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," the Sultan said grudgingly,
+"that's not too bad."</p>
+
+<p>"Today I want to take some
+shots of the palace, the dome, the
+city, the paddies, groves, orchards,
+farms. Tomorrow I'm taking a trip
+out to one of the ruins."</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said the Sultan. "Then
+you won't need my charts and statistics?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Sultan, I could film the
+stuff your Propaganda Minister
+cooked up, and I could take it back
+to Earth. Howard Frayberg or Sam
+Catlin would tear into it, rip it
+apart, lard in some head-hunting, a
+little cannibalism and temple prostitution,
+and you'd never know you
+were watching Singhal&ucirc;t. You'd
+scream with horror, and I'd be
+fired."</p>
+
+<p>"In that case," said the Sultan,
+"I will leave you to the dictates of
+your conscience."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Howard Frayberg</span> looked
+around the gray landscape of
+Riker's Planet, gazed out over the
+roaring black Mogador Ocean.
+"Sam, I think there's a story out
+there."</p>
+
+<p>Sam Catlin shivered inside his
+electrically heated glass overcoat.
+"Out on that ocean? It's full of
+man-eating plesiosaurs&mdash;horrible
+things forty feet long."</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose we worked something
+out on the line of Moby Dick? <i>The
+White Monster of the Mogador
+Ocean.</i> We'd set sail in a catamaran&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Us?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Frayberg impatiently.
+"Of course not us. Two or three of
+the staff. 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 legendary
+white one. How's it sound?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think we pay our men
+enough money."</p>
+
+<p>"Wilbur Murphy might do it.
+He's willing to look for a man riding
+a horse up to meet his space-ships."</p>
+
+<p>"He might draw the line at a
+white plesiosaur riding up to meet
+his catamaran."</p>
+
+<p>Frayberg turned away. "Somebody's
+got to have ideas around
+here...."</p>
+
+<p>"We'd better head back to the
+space-port," said Catlin. "We got
+two hours to make the Sirgamesk
+shuttle."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Wilbur Murphy</span> sat in the
+Barangipan, watching marionettes
+performing to xylophone,
+castanet, gong and <i>gamelan</i>. The
+drama had its roots in proto-historic
+Mohenj&#333;-Dar&#333;. It had filtered
+down through ancient India, medieval
+Burma, Malaya, across the
+Straits of Malacca to Sumatra and
+Java; from modern Java across
+space to Cirgames&ccedil;, five thousand
+years of time, two hundred light-years
+of space. Somewhere along
+the route it had met and assimilated
+modern technology. Magnetic
+beams controlled arms, legs and
+bodies, guided the poses and posturings.
+The manipulator's face, by
+agency of clip, wire, radio control
+and minuscule selsyn, projected his
+scowl, smile, sneer or grimace to
+the peaked little face he controlled.
+The language was that of Old Java,
+which perhaps a third of the spectators
+understood. This portion did
+not include Murphy, and when
+the performance ended he was no
+wiser than at the start.</p>
+
+<p>Soek Panjoebang slipped into the
+seat beside Murphy. She wore musician's
+garb: a sarong of brown,
+blue, and black <i>batik</i>, and a fantastic
+headdress of tiny silver bells.
+She greeted him with enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>"Weelbrrr! I saw you watching...."</p>
+
+<p>"It was very interesting."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, yes." She sighed. "Weelbrrr,
+you take me with you back to
+Earth? You make me a great picturama
+star, please, Weelbrrr?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't know about that."</p>
+
+<p>"I behave very well, Weelbrrr."
+She nuzzled his shoulder, looked
+soulfully up with her shiny yellow-hazel
+eyes. Murphy nearly forgot
+the experiment he intended to perform.</p>
+
+<p>"What did you do today, Weelbrrr?
+You look at all the pretty
+girls?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nope. I ran footage. Got the
+palace, climbed the ridge up to the
+condensation vanes. I never knew
+there was so much water in the air
+till I saw the stream pouring off
+those vanes! And <i>hot</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"We have much sunlight; it
+makes the rice grow."</p>
+
+<p>"The Sultan ought to put some
+of that excess light to work.
+There's a secret process.... Well,
+I'd better not say."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh come, Weelbrrr! Tell me
+your secrets!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's not much of a secret. Just
+a catalyst that separates clay into
+aluminum and oxygen when sunlight
+shines on it."</p>
+
+<p>Soek's eyebrows rose, poised in
+place like a seagull riding the wind.
+"Weelbrrr! I did not know you for
+a man of learning!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you thought I was just a
+bum, eh? Good enough to make
+picturama stars out of <i>gamelan</i>
+players, but no special genius...."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, Weelbrrr."</p>
+
+<p>"I know lots of tricks. I can take
+a flashlight battery, a piece of copper
+foil, a few transistors and bamboo
+tube and turn out a paralyzer
+gun that'll stop a man cold in his
+tracks. And you know how much it
+costs?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Weelbrrr. How much?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ten cents. It wears out after
+two or three months, but what's
+the difference? I make 'em as a
+hobby&mdash;turn out two or three an
+hour."</p>
+
+<p>"Weelbrrr! You're a man of marvels!
+Hello! We will drink!"</p>
+
+<p>And Murphy settled back in the
+wicker chair, sipping his rice beer.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"Today</span>," said Murphy, "I get
+into a space-suit, and ride
+out to the ruins in the plain. Ghatamipol,
+I think they're called. Like
+to come?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Weelbrrr." Soek Panjoebang
+looked off into the garden,
+her hands busy tucking a flower
+into her hair. A few minutes later
+she said, "Why must you waste
+your time among the rocks? There
+are better things to do and see.
+And it might well be&mdash;dangerous."
+She murmured the last word off-handedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Danger? From the sjambaks?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>"The Sultan's giving me a guard.
+Twenty men with crossbows."</p>
+
+<p>"The sjambaks carry shields."</p>
+
+<p>"Why should they risk their lives
+attacking me?"</p>
+
+<p>Soek Panjoebang shrugged. After
+a moment she rose to her feet.
+"Goodbye, Weelbrrr."</p>
+
+<p>"Goodbye? Isn't this rather
+abrupt? Won't I see you tonight?"</p>
+
+<p>"If so be Allah's will."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy looked after the lithe
+swaying figure. She paused, plucked
+a yellow 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.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy breathed deeply. She
+might have made picturama at
+that....</p>
+
+<p>One hour later he met his escort
+at the valley gate. They were
+dressed in space-suits for the plains,
+twenty men with sullen faces. The
+trip to Ghatamipol clearly was not
+to their liking. Murphy climbed into
+his own suit, checked the oxygen
+pressure gauge, the seal at his collar.
+"All ready, boys?"</p>
+
+<p>No one spoke. The silence drew
+out. The gatekeeper, on hand to
+let the party out, snickered.
+"They're all ready, Tuan."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Murphy, "let's go
+then."</p>
+
+<p>Outside the gate Murphy made
+a second check of his equipment.
+No leaks in his suit. Inside pressure:
+14.6. Outside pressure: zero. His
+twenty guards morosely inspected
+their crossbows and slim swords.</p>
+
+<p>The white ruins of Ghatamipol
+lay five miles across Pharasang
+Plain. The horizon was clear, the
+sun was high, the sky was black.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy's radio hummed. Someone
+said sharply, "Look! There it
+goes!" He wheeled around; his
+guards had halted, and were pointing.
+He saw a fleet something vanishing
+into the distance.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go," said Murphy.
+"There's nothing out there."</p>
+
+<p>"Sjambak."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there's only one of them."</p>
+
+<p>"Where one walks, others follow."</p>
+
+<p>"That's why the twenty of you
+are here."</p>
+
+<p>"It is madness! Challenging the
+sjambaks!"</p>
+
+<p>"What is gained?" another argued.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be the judge of that," said
+Murphy, and set off along the
+plain. The warriors reluctantly followed,
+muttering to each other
+over their radio intercoms.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The eroded</span> city walls rose
+above them, occupied more
+and more of the sky. The platoon
+leader said in an angry voice, "We
+have gone far enough."</p>
+
+<p>"You're under my orders," said
+Murphy. "We're going through
+the gate." He punched the button
+on his camera and passed under
+the monstrous portal.</p>
+
+<p>The city was frailer stuff than
+the wall, and had succumbed to the
+thin storms which had raged a million
+years after the passing of life.
+Murphy marvelled at the scope of
+the ruins. Virgin archaeological
+territory! No telling what a few
+weeks digging might turn up. Murphy
+considered his expense account.
+Shifkin was the obstacle.</p>
+
+<p>There'd be tremendous prestige
+and publicity for <i>Know Your Universe!</i>
+if Murphy uncovered a
+tomb, a library, works of art. The
+Sultan would gladly provide diggers.
+They were a sturdy enough
+people; they could make quite a
+showing in a week, if they were
+able to put aside their superstitions,
+fears and dreads.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy sized one of them up
+from the corner of his eye. He sat
+on a sunny slab of rock, and if he
+felt uneasy he concealed it quite
+successfully. In fact, thought Murphy,
+he appeared completely relaxed.
+Maybe the problem of securing
+diggers was a minor one after
+all....</p>
+
+<p>And here was an odd sidelight
+on the Singhal&ucirc;si character. Once
+clear of the valley the man openly
+wore his shirt, a fine loose garment
+of electric blue, in defiance of the
+Sultan's edict. Of course out here
+he might be cold....</p>
+
+<p>Murphy felt his own skin crawling.
+How could he be cold? How
+could he be alive? Where was his
+space-suit? He lounged on the rock,
+grinning sardonically at Murphy.
+He wore heavy sandals, a black
+turban, loose breeches, the blue
+shirt. Nothing more.</p>
+
+<p>Where were the others?</p>
+
+<p>Murphy turned a feverish glance
+over his shoulder. A good three
+miles distant, bounding and leaping
+toward Singhal&ucirc;t, were twenty
+desperate figures. They all wore
+space-suits. This man here ... A
+sjambak? A wizard? A hallucination?</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The creature</span> rose to his
+feet, strode springily toward
+Murphy. He carried a crossbow and
+a sword, like those of Murphy's
+fleet-footed guards. But he wore no
+space-suit. Could there be breathable
+traces of an atmosphere? Murphy
+glanced at his gauge. Outside
+pressure: zero.</p>
+
+<p>Two other men appeared, moving
+with long elastic steps. Their
+eyes were bright, their faces flushed.
+They came up to Murphy, took his
+arm. They were solid, corporeal.
+They had no invisible force fields
+around their heads.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy jerked his arm free.
+"Let go of me, damn it!" But they
+certainly couldn't hear him through
+the vacuum.</p>
+
+<p>He glanced over his shoulder.
+The first man held his naked blade
+a foot or two behind Murphy's
+bulging space-suit. Murphy made
+no further resistance. He punched
+the button on his camera to automatic.
+It would now run for several
+hours, recording one hundred
+pictures per second, a thousand to
+the inch.</p>
+
+<p>The sjambaks led Murphy two
+hundred yards to a metal door.
+They opened it, pushed Murphy
+inside, banged it shut. Murphy felt
+the vibration through his shoes,
+heard a gradually waxing hum. His
+gauge showed an outside pressure
+of 5, 10, 12, 14, 14.5. An inner
+door opened. Hands pulled Murphy
+in, unclamped his dome.</p>
+
+<p>"Just what's going on here?"
+demanded Murphy angrily.</p>
+
+<p>Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s pointed to a
+table. Murphy saw a flashlight battery,
+aluminum foil, wire, a transistor
+kit, metal tubing, tools, a few
+other odds and ends.</p>
+
+<p>"There it is," said Prince Ali-Tom&aacute;s.
+"Get to work. Let's see one
+of these paralysis weapons you
+boast of."</p>
+
+<p>"Just like that, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just like that."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want 'em for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Does it matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like to know." Murphy was
+conscious of his camera, recording
+sight, sound, odor.</p>
+
+<p>"I lead an army," said Ali-Tom&aacute;s,
+"but they march without
+weapons. Give me weapons! I will
+carry the word to Hadra, to New
+Batavia, to Sundaman, to Boeng-Boh&ocirc;t!"</p>
+
+<p>"How? Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is enough that I will it.
+Again, I beg of you ..." He indicated
+the table.</p>
+
+<p>Murphy laughed. "I've got myself
+in a fine mess. Suppose I don't
+make this weapon for you?"</p>
+
+<p>"You'll remain until you do, under
+increasingly difficult conditions."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be here a long time."</p>
+
+<p>"If such is the case," said Ali-Tom&aacute;s,
+"we must make our arrangements
+for your care on a long-term
+basis."</p>
+
+<p>Ali made a gesture. Hands seized
+Murphy's shoulders. A respirator
+was held to his nostrils. He thought
+of his camera, and he could have
+laughed. Mystery! Excitement!
+Thrills! Dramatic sequence for
+<i>Know Your Universe!</i> Staff-man
+murdered by fanatics! The crime
+recorded on his own camera! See
+the blood, hear his death-rattle,
+smell the poison!</p>
+
+<p>The vapor choked him. <i>What a
+break! What a sequence!</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"Sirgamesk</span>," said Howard
+Frayberg, "bigger and brighter
+every minute."</p>
+
+<p>"It must've been just about in
+here," said Catlin, "that Wilbur's
+horseback rider appeared."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right! Steward!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"We're about twenty thousand
+miles out, aren't we?"</p>
+
+<p>"About fifteen thousand, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Sidereal Cavalry! What an idea!
+I wonder how Wilbur's making out
+on his superstition angle?"</p>
+
+<p>Sam Catlin, watching out the
+window, said in a tight voice,
+"Why not ask him yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ask him for yourself! There he
+is&mdash;outside, riding some kind of
+critter...."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a ghost," whispered Frayberg.
+"A man without a space-suit....
+There's no such thing!"</p>
+
+<p>"He sees us.... Look...."</p>
+
+<p>Murphy was staring at them,
+and his surprise seemed equal to
+their own. He waved his hand. Catlin
+gingerly waved back.</p>
+
+<p>Said Frayberg, "That's not a
+horse he's riding. It's a combination
+ram-jet and kiddie car with
+stirrups!"</p>
+
+<p>"He's coming aboard the ship,"
+said Catlin. "That's the entrance
+port down there...."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Wilbur Murphy</span> sat in the
+captain's stateroom, taking
+careful breaths of air.</p>
+
+<p>"How are you now?" asked
+Frayberg.</p>
+
+<p>"Fine. A little sore in the lungs."</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't wonder," the ship's
+doctor growled. "I never saw anything
+like it."</p>
+
+<p>"How does it feel out there, Wilbur?"
+Catlin asked.</p>
+
+<p>"It feels awful lonesome and
+empty. And the breath seeping up
+out of your lungs, never going in&mdash;that's
+a funny feeling. And you
+miss the air blowing on your skin.
+I never realized it before. Air feels
+like&mdash;like silk, like whipped cream&mdash;it's
+got texture...."</p>
+
+<p>"But aren't you cold? Space is
+supposed to be absolute zero!"</p>
+
+<p>"Space is nothing. It's not hot
+and it's not cold. When you're in
+the sunlight you get warm. It's better
+in the shade. You don't lose any
+heat by air convection, but radiation
+and sweat evaporation keep
+you comfortably cool."</p>
+
+<p>"I still can't understand it," said
+Frayberg. "This Prince Ali, he's a
+kind of a rebel, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't blame him in a way. A
+normal man living under those
+domes has to let off steam somehow.
+Prince Ali decided to go out
+crusading. I think he would have
+made it too&mdash;at least on Cirgames&ccedil;."</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly there are many more
+men inside the domes...."</p>
+
+<p>"When it comes to fighting," said
+Murphy, "a sjambak can lick
+twenty men in space-suits. A little
+nick doesn't hurt him, but a little
+nick bursts open a space-suit, and
+the man inside comes apart."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said the Captain. "I
+imagine the Peace Office will send
+out a team to put things in order
+now."</p>
+
+<p>Catlin asked, "What happened
+when you woke up from the chloroform?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, nothing very much. I felt
+this attachment on my chest, but
+didn't think much about it. Still
+kinda woozy. I was halfway
+through decompression. They keep
+a man there eight hours, drop pressure
+on him two pounds an hour,
+nice and slow so he don't get the
+bends."</p>
+
+<p>"Was this the same place they
+took you, when you met Ali?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah, that was their decompression
+chamber. They had to make a
+sjambak out of me; there wasn't
+anywhere else they could keep me.
+Well, pretty soon my head cleared,
+and I saw this apparatus stuck to
+my chest." He poked at the mechanism
+on the table. "I saw the oxygen
+tank, I saw the blood running
+through the plastic pipes&mdash;blue
+from me to that carburetor arrangement,
+red on the way back
+in&mdash;and I figured out the whole arrangement.
+Carbon dioxide still exhales
+up through your lungs, but
+the vein back to the left auricle is
+routed through the carburetor and
+supercharged with oxygen. A man
+doesn't need to breathe. The carburetor
+flushes his blood with oxygen,
+the decompression tank adjusts
+him to the lack of air-pressure.
+There's only one thing to look
+out for; that's not to touch anything
+with your naked flesh. If it's
+in the sunshine it's blazing hot; if
+it's in the shade it's cold enough to
+cut. Otherwise you're free as a
+bird."</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;how did you get away?"</p>
+
+<p>"I saw those little rocket-bikes,
+and began figuring. I couldn't go
+back to Singhal&ucirc;t; I'd be lynched
+on sight as a sjambak. I couldn't fly
+to another planet&mdash;the bikes don't
+carry enough fuel.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew when the ship would be
+coming in, so I figured I'd fly up to
+meet it. I told the guard I was going
+outside a minute, and I got on
+one of the rocket-bikes. There was
+nothing much to it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Frayberg, "it's a
+great feature, Wilbur&mdash;a great film!
+Maybe we can stretch it into two
+hours."</p>
+
+<p>"There's one thing bothering
+me," said Catlin. "Who did the
+steward see up here the first time?"</p>
+
+<p>Murphy shrugged. "It might
+have been somebody up here skylarking.
+A little too much oxygen
+and you start cutting all kinds of
+capers. Or it might have been
+someone who decided he had
+enough crusading.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a sjambak in a cage,
+right in the middle of Singhal&ucirc;t.
+Prince Ali walks past; they look at
+each other eye to eye. Ali smiles a
+little and walks on. Suppose this
+sjambak tried to escape to the ship.
+He's taken aboard, turned over to
+the Sultan and the Sultan makes an
+example of him...."</p>
+
+<p>"What'll the Sultan do to Ali?"</p>
+
+<p>Murphy shook his head. "If I
+were Ali I'd disappear."</p>
+
+<p>A loudspeaker turned on. "Attention
+all passengers. We have just
+passed through quarantine. Passengers
+may now disembark. Important:
+no weapons or explosives allowed
+on Singhal&ucirc;t!"</p>
+
+<p>"This is where I came in," said
+Murphy.</p>
+
+<p class="hd2">THE END</p>
+
+<div class="trn"><div class="figt"><a href="images/002-2.jpg"><img src="images/002-1.jpg" width="280" height="200" alt="" title="" /></a></div>
+
+<p><big><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></big></p>
+
+<p>This etext was produced from <i>If Worlds of Science Fiction</i> 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.</p></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sjambak, by John Holbrook Vance
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sjambak, by John Holbrook Vance
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Sjambak
+
+Author: John Holbrook Vance
+
+Illustrator: Virgil Finlay
+
+Release Date: September 16, 2009 [EBook #30002]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SJAMBAK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+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. Within the
+    text, [=o] represents a lowercase _o_ with an upper macron.
+
+
+
+
+[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 man
+of sudden unpredictable moods; and Sam Catlin, the show's Continuity
+Editor, had learned to expect the worst.
+
+"Sam," said Frayberg, "regarding the show last night...." He paused to
+seek the proper words, and Catlin relaxed. Frayberg's frame of mind was
+merely 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 far
+out on a limb. "We bring 'em everything--color, fact, romance, sight,
+sound, smell.... Next week, it's the Ball Expedition to the Mixtup
+Mountains on Gropus."
+
+Frayberg leaned forward. "Sam, we're working the wrong slant on this
+stuff.... We've got to loosen up, sock 'em! Shift our ground! Give 'em
+the 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 minutes
+ago...." He smoothed out the pages. "'Sequence idea, by Wilbur Murphy.
+Investigate "Horseman of Space," the man who rides up to meet incoming
+space-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 thousand
+miles. He waves to the pilot, takes off his hat to the passengers, then
+rides 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: CIRGAMESC.
+
+"Sirgamesk," read Frayberg.
+
+Catlin shook his head. "That's what it looks like--but those consonants
+are 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 strange
+superstitions. 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 serious
+sidelong squint. He looked from his crumpled sequence idea to Catlin and
+Frayberg. "Didn't like it, eh?"
+
+"We thought the emphasis should be a little different," explained
+Catlin. "Instead of 'The Space Horseman,' we'd give it the working
+title, '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 meet
+the incoming ships!"
+
+"Where did you get this wild fable?"
+
+"My brother-in-law is purser on the _Celestial Traveller_. At Riker's
+Planet they make connection with the feeder line out of Cirgamesc."
+
+"Wait a minute," said Catlin. "How did you pronounce that?"
+
+"Cirgamesc. The steward on the shuttle-ship gave out this story, and my
+brother-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 a
+few 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 on
+Sirgamesk superstition. Emphasis on voodoo or witchcraft--naked girls
+dancing--stuff with roots in Earth, but now typically Sirgamesk. Lots of
+color. Secret rite stuff...."
+
+"Not much room on Cirgamesc for secret rites."
+
+"It's a big planet, isn't it?"
+
+"Not quite as big as Mars. There's no atmosphere. The settlers live in
+mountain valleys, with air-tight lids over 'em."
+
+Catlin flipped the pages of _Thumbnail Sketches of the Inhabited
+Worlds_. "Says here there's ancient ruins millions of years old. When
+the atmosphere went, the population went with it."
+
+Frayberg became animated. "There's lots of material out there! Go get
+it, Wilbur! Life! Sex! Excitement! Mystery!"
+
+"Okay," said Wilbur Murphy.
+
+"But lay off this horseman-in-space. There _is_ a limit to public
+credulity, and don't you let anyone tell you different."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Cirgamesc hung outside the port, twenty thousand miles ahead. The
+steward leaned over Wilbur Murphy's shoulder and pointed a long brown
+finger. "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 Singhalut 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 such
+matters occur."
+
+"Then--you _did_ recognize him!"
+
+"I must be at my task, sir."
+
+Murphy frowned in vexation at the steward's retreating back, then bent
+over his camera to check the tape-feed. If anything appeared now, and
+his eyes could see it, the two-hundred million audience of _Know Your
+Universe!_ could see it with him.
+
+When he looked up, Murphy made a frantic grab for the stanchion, then
+relaxed. Cirgamesc had taken the Great Twitch. It was an illusion, a
+psychological quirk. One instant the planet lay ahead; then a man winked
+or turned away, and when he looked back, "ahead" had become "below"; the
+planet had swung an astonishing ninety degrees across the sky, and they
+were _falling_!
+
+Murphy leaned against the stanchion. "'The Great Twitch'," he muttered
+to himself, "I'd like to get _that_ on two hundred million screens!"
+
+Several hours passed. Cirgamesc grew. The Sampan Range rose up like a
+dark scab; the valley sultanates of Singhalut, Hadra, New Batavia, and
+Boeng-Bohot showed like glistening chicken-tracks; the Great Rift Colony
+of Sundaman stretched down through the foothills like the trail of a
+slug.
+
+A loudspeaker voice rattled the ship. "Attention passengers for
+Singhalut and other points on Cirgamesc! Kindly prepare your luggage for
+disembarkation. Customs at Singhalut are extremely thorough. Passengers
+are warned to take no weapons, drugs or explosives ashore. This is
+important!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The warning turned out to be an understatement. Murphy was plied with
+questions. He suffered search of an intimate nature. He was
+three-dimensionally X-rayed with a range of frequencies calculated to
+excite fluorescence in whatever object he might have secreted in his
+stomach, in a hollow bone, or under a layer of flesh.
+
+His luggage was explored with similar minute attention, and Murphy
+rescued 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. "They
+resemble no cameras of my experience; I fear I shall have to impound ..."
+
+A young man in loose white pantaloons, a pink vest, pale green cravat
+and a complex black turban strolled up. The inspector made a swift
+obeisance, 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 repacked
+Murphy's belongings, while the young man looked on benignly.
+
+Murphy covertly inspected his face. The skin was smooth, the color of
+the rising moon; the eyes were narrow, dark, superficially placid. The
+effect was of silken punctilio with hot ruby blood close beneath.
+
+Satisfied with the inspector's zeal, he turned to Murphy. "Allow me to
+introduce myself, Tuan Murphy. I am Ali-Tomas, of the House of
+Singhalut, and my father the Sultan begs you to accept our poor
+hospitality."
+
+"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-Tomas into the outside light, fitting his own
+quick step to the prince's feline saunter. This is coming it pretty
+soft, he said to himself. I'll have a magnificent suite, with bowls of
+fruit and gin pahits, not to mention two or three silken girls with skin
+like 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 I
+ought to unlimber my camera....
+
+Prince Ali-Tomas 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 hundred
+million 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 its
+gelatinous 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 the
+difference. Sometimes the synthetic odor is an improvement."
+
+"Astounding!" murmured the prince.
+
+"And sometimes ... Well, Carson Tenlake went out to get the
+myrrh-blossoms on Venus. It was a hot day--as days usually are on
+Venus--and a long climb. When the show was run off, there was more smell
+of Carson than of flowers."
+
+Prince Ali-Tomas 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 warmth
+and golden light. As far in either direction as the eye could reach, the
+hillsides were terraced, barred in various shades of green. Spattering
+the valley floor were tall canvas pavilions, tents, booths, shelters.
+
+"Naturally," said Prince Ali-Tomas, "we hope that you and your
+participants will enjoy Singhalut. It is a truism that, in order to
+import, we must export; we wish to encourage a pleasurable response to
+the 'Made in Singhalut' tag on our _batiks_, carvings, lacquers."
+
+They rolled quietly across the square in a surface-car displaying the
+House emblem. Murphy rested against deep, cool cushions. "Your
+inspectors are pretty careful about weapons."
+
+Ali-Tomas 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 the
+way of an irresistible emotion, there is turbulence, sometimes even
+killing."
+
+"An _amok_."
+
+"Exactly. It is as well that the _amok_ has no weapons other than his
+knife. Otherwise he would kill twenty where now he kills one."
+
+The car rolled along a narrow avenue, scattering pedestrians to either
+side like the bow of a boat spreading foam. The men wore loose white
+pantaloons and a short open vest; the women wore only the pantaloons.
+
+"Handsome set of people," remarked Murphy.
+
+Ali-Tomas again smiled complacently. "I'm sure Singhalut will present an
+inspiring and beautiful spectacle for your program."
+
+Murphy remembered the keynote to Howard Frayberg's instructions:
+"_Excitement! Sex! Mystery!_" Frayberg cared little for inspiration or
+beauty. "I imagine," he said casually, "that you celebrate a number of
+interesting festivals? Colorful dancing? Unique customs?"
+
+Ali-Tomas shook his head. "To the contrary. We left our superstitions
+and ancestor-worship back on Earth. We are quiet Mohammedans and indulge
+in very little festivity. Perhaps here is the reason for _amoks_ and
+sjambaks."
+
+"Sjambaks?"
+
+"We are not proud of them. You will hear sly rumor, and it is better
+that I arm you beforehand with truth."
+
+"What is a sjambak?"
+
+"They are bandits, flouters of authority. I will show you one
+presently."
+
+"I heard," said Murphy, "of a man riding a horse up to meet the
+space-ships. What would account for a story like that?"
+
+"It can have no possible basis," said Prince Ali-Tomas. "We have no
+horses on Cirgamesc. None whatever."
+
+"But ..."
+
+"The veriest idle talk. Such nonsense will have no interest for your
+intelligent participants."
+
+The car rolled into a square a hundred yards on a side, lined with
+luxuriant banana palms. Opposite was an enormous pavilion of gold and
+violet silk, with a dozen peaked gables casting various changing sheens.
+In the center of the square a twenty-foot pole supported a cage about
+two feet wide, three feet long, and four feet high.
+
+Inside this cage crouched a naked man.
+
+The car rolled past. Prince Ali-Tomas waved an idle hand. The caged man
+glared down from bloodshot eyes. "That," said Ali-Tomas, "is a sjambak.
+As you see," a faint note of apology entered his voice, "we attempt to
+discourage them."
+
+"What's that metal object on his chest?"
+
+"The mark of his trade. By that you may know all sjambak. In these
+unsettled times only we of the House may cover our chests--all others
+must show themselves and declare themselves true Singhalusi."
+
+Murphy said tentatively, "I must come back here and photograph that
+cage."
+
+Ali-Tomas smilingly shook his head. "I will show you our farms, our
+vines and orchards. Your participants will enjoy these; they have no
+interest in the dolor of an ignoble sjambak."
+
+"Well," said Murphy, "our aim is a well-rounded production. We want to
+show the farmers at work, the members of the great House at their
+responsibilities, as well as the deserved fate of wrongdoers."
+
+"Exactly. For every sjambak there are ten thousand industrious
+Singhalusi. It follows then that only one ten-thousandth part of your
+film 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 the
+influence of what Catlin called his philosophic kick. It was the phase
+which 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 to
+fight--progressive mental myopia."
+
+"Speak for yourself," said Catlin.
+
+"Consider. We sit in this office. We think we know what kind of show we
+want. We send out our staff to get it. We're signing the checks, so back
+it comes the way we asked for it. We look at it, hear it, smell it--and
+pretty soon we believe it: our version of the universe, full-blown from
+our 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 our
+own 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 Resort
+on the Moon."
+
+Frayberg leaned back in his chair as if shocked. "And we're supposed to
+be a couple of learned planetologists!"
+
+Catlin made grumbling noise in his throat. "I haven't been around the
+zodiac, 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 to
+take stock, get a new perspective."
+
+"Relax, Howard, relax."
+
+"In our case it means taking out our preconceived ideas, looking at
+them, checking our illusions against reality."
+
+"Are you serious about this?"
+
+"Another thing," said Frayberg, "I want to check up a little. Shifkin
+says the expense accounts are frightful. But he can't fight it. When
+Keeler says he paid ten munits for a loaf of bread on Nekkar IV, who's
+gonna call him on it?"
+
+"Hell, let him eat bread! That's cheaper than making a safari around the
+cluster, spot-checking the super-markets."
+
+Frayberg paid no heed. He touched a button; a three-foot sphere full of
+glistening 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's
+here at Canopus, Keeler's over here at Blue Moon, Wilbur Murphy's at
+Sirgamesk ..."
+
+"Don't forget," muttered Catlin, "we got a show to put on."
+
+"We've got material for a year," scoffed Frayberg. "Get hold of
+Space-Lines. We'll start with Sirgamesk, and see what Wilbur Murphy's up
+to."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wilbur Murphy was being presented to the Sultan of Singhalut by the
+Prince Ali-Tomas. The Sultan, a small mild man of seventy, sat
+crosslegged on an enormous pink and green air-cushion. "Be at your ease,
+Mr. Murphy. We dispense with as much protocol here as practicable." The
+Sultan had a dry clipped voice and the air of a rather harassed
+corporation executive. "I understand you represent Earth-Central Home
+Screen 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 as
+we'd like. We're very pleased with your interest in us, and naturally we
+want to help you in every way possible. Tomorrow the Keeper of the
+Archives will present a series of charts analyzing our economy.
+Ali-Tomas shall personally conduct you through the fish-hatcheries. We
+want you to know we're doing a great job out here on Singhalut."
+
+"I'm sure you are," said Murphy uncomfortably. "However, that isn't
+quite the stuff I want."
+
+"No? Just where do your desires lie?"
+
+Ali-Tomas said delicately. "Mr. Murphy took a rather profound interest
+in the sjambak displayed in the square."
+
+"Oh. And you explained that these renegades could hold no interest for
+serious students of our planet?"
+
+Murphy started to explain that clustered around two hundred million
+screens tuned to _Know Your Universe!_ were four or five hundred million
+participants, the greater part of them neither serious nor students. The
+Sultan cut in decisively. "I will now impart something truly
+interesting. We Singhalusi are making preparations to reclaim four more
+valleys, with an added area of six hundred thousand acres! I shall put
+my physiographic models at your disposal; you may use them to the
+fullest extent!"
+
+"I'll be pleased for the opportunity," declared Murphy. "But tomorrow
+I'd like to prowl around the valley, meet your people, observe their
+customs, religious rites, courtships, funerals ..."
+
+The Sultan pulled a sour face. "We are ditch-water dull. Festivals are
+celebrated quietly in the home; there is small religious fervor;
+courtships are consummated by family contract. I fear you will find
+little sensational material here in Singhalut."
+
+"You have no temple dances?" asked Murphy. "No fire-walkers,
+snake-charmers--voodoo?"
+
+The Sultan smiled patronizingly. "We came out here to Cirgamesc to
+escape 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, weathered
+stone. There are no inscriptions, no art. There is no stimulation in
+dead stone. Now. Tomorrow I will hear a report on hybrid soybean
+plantings in the Upper Kam District. You will want to be present."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Murphy's suite matched or even excelled his expectation. He had four
+rooms and a private garden enclosed by a thicket of bamboo. His bathroom
+walls were slabs of glossy actinolite, inlaid with cinnabar, jade,
+galena, pyrite and blue malachite, in representations of fantastic
+birds. His bedroom was a tent thirty feet high. Two walls were dark
+green fabric; a third was golden rust; the fourth opened upon the
+private garden.
+
+Murphy's bed was a pink and yellow creation ten feet square, soft as
+cobweb, smelling of rose sandalwood. Carved black lacquer tubs held
+fruit; two dozen wines, liquors, syrups, essences flowed at a touch from
+as many ebony spigots.
+
+The garden centered on a pool of cool water, very pleasant in the
+hothouse climate of Singhalut. The only shortcoming was the lack of the
+lovely young servitors Murphy had envisioned. He took it upon himself to
+repair this lack, and in a shady wine-house behind the palace, called
+the Barangipan, he made the acquaintance of a girl-musician named Soek
+Panjoebang. He found her enticing tones of quavering sweetness from the
+_gamelan_, an instrument well-loved in Old Bali. Soek Panjoebang had the
+delicate features and transparent skin of Sumatra, the supple long limbs
+of Arabia and in a pair of wide and golden eyes a heritage from
+somewhere in Celtic Europe. Murphy bought her a goblet of frozen
+shavings, each a different perfume, while he himself drank white
+rice-beer. Soek Panjoebang displayed an intense interest in the ways of
+Earth, 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 Singhalut?"
+
+She shrugged. "Life is pleasant, but it concerns with little things. We
+have no great adventures. We grow flowers, we play the _gamelan_." She
+eyed 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 knot
+forming around his chest, he no longer takes his kris and runs down the
+street--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 talks
+sjambak, 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 know
+about it."
+
+"He is very bad. He opened the monorail car and the air rushed out.
+Forty-two Singhalusi 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 to
+Singhalut for his wife; he was caught and set up for all people to look
+at, 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 the
+mountains."
+
+"They must have some shelter--an air-dome."
+
+"No. The Sultan would send out his patrol-boat and destroy them. They
+roam 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 sjambaks
+who 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 man
+riding a horse out in space."
+
+"Ridiculous; we have no horses in Cirgamesc."
+
+"All right, the steward won't swear to the horse. Suppose the man was up
+there 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 do
+not care to attract the attention of either steward, sjambak--or
+Sultan."
+
+Murphy said impatiently. "In any event, it's not who--but _how_. How
+does 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 of
+her instrument, with additional overtones of mockery. "There must be
+some 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 _napau_, enjoy life as we
+do here in Singhalut."
+
+"What's _napau_?"
+
+"It's our philosophy, where we find meaning and life and beauty in every
+aspect of the world."
+
+"That sjambak in the cage could do with a little less _napau_ right
+now."
+
+"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 to
+Singhalut. If the Sultan wishes to use it to warn other wrongdoers, the
+fact 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...." She
+looked in turn at Murphy's loose shirt. "You will notice persons
+brushing up against you, feeling you," she laid her hand along his
+breast, "and when this happens you will know they are agents of the
+Sultan, 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 not
+understand 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 with
+a private pool, I usually sleep in a bubble-tent, with nothing to eat
+but condensed food."
+
+Soek Panjoebang flung the water out of her sleek black hair. "Perhaps,
+Weelbrrr, you will regret leaving Cirgamesc?"
+
+"Well," he looked up to the transparent roof, barely visible where the
+sunlight collected and refracted, "I don't particularly like being shut
+up like a bird in an aviary.... Mildly claustrophobic, I guess."
+
+After breakfast, drinking thick coffee from tiny silver cups, Murphy
+looked long and reflectively at Soek Panjoebang.
+
+"What are you thinking, Weelbrrr?"
+
+Murphy drained his coffee. "I'm thinking that I'd better be getting to
+work."
+
+"And what do you do?"
+
+"First I'm going to shoot the palace, and you sitting here in the garden
+playing your _gamelan_."
+
+"But Weelbrrr--not _me_!"
+
+"You're a part of the universe, rather an interesting part. Then I'll
+take 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 Soek
+Panjoebang. 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. He
+carried himself with a hell-raising swagger, left over from a time
+twenty years gone. His skin had the waxy look of lost floridity, his
+tuft of white hair was coarse and thin, his eyelids hung in the off-side
+droop that amateur physiognomists like to associate with guile.
+
+"I'm Resident Director of the Import-Export Bank," said Trimmer. "Heard
+you 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. Cirgamesc isn't a
+comfortable tourist planet. Too confined, shut in. A man with a
+sensitive psyche goes nuts pretty easy here."
+
+"Yeah," said Murphy. "I was thinking the same thing this morning. That
+dome begins to give a man the willies. How do the natives stand it? Or
+do 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 got
+the docile Javanese blood, plus the Arabian elan. The Javanese part is
+on top, but every once in a while you see a flash of arrogance.... You
+never know. I've been out here nine years and I'm still a stranger." He
+puffed 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 this
+sjambak stuff."
+
+Trimmer nodded without surprise. "My advice to you, Murphy, is lay off
+the sjambaks. They're not healthy around here."
+
+Murphy was startled by the bluntness. "What's the big mystery about
+these 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 man
+might just barely spot 'em. You can't catch the real ones. They're woven
+into 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 habit
+than anything else. If you're fussy we'll go for a walk."
+
+The road led past the palace into the country. Murphy and Trimmer
+sauntered along a placid river, overgrown with lily pads, swarming with
+large white ducks.
+
+"This sjambak business," said Murphy. "Everybody talks around it. You
+can'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 my
+reports. But there's more to Singhalut than the Sultan."
+
+"Namely?"
+
+Trimmer waved his cigar waggishly. "Now we're getting in where I don't
+like to talk. I'll give you a hint. Prince Ali thinks roofing-in more
+valleys is a waste of money, when there's Hadra and New Batavia and
+Sundaman 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 by
+monorail."
+
+"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 named
+Soek Panjoebang who plays the _gamelan_. I suppose she's working for
+either 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 two
+things--one for Ali, the other for the Sultan. Whichever one reacts you
+know you've got her tagged."
+
+"For instance?"
+
+"Well, for instance she learns that you can rig up a hypnotic ray from a
+flashlight 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 on
+his cigar with gusto, "tell her you're on to a catalyst that turns clay
+into aluminum and oxygen in the presence of sunlight. The Sultan would
+sell his right leg for something like that. He tries hard for Singhalut
+and Cirgamesc."
+
+"And Ali?"
+
+Trimmer hesitated. "I never said what I'm gonna say. Don't forget--I
+never 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. But
+suppose someone--strictly unofficial, of course--let the idea percolate
+around 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 a
+little unfair. I'm a friendly guy. Of course I don't like to see the
+bank 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 Your
+Universe!_ man, they might make a move."
+
+Murphy nodded.
+
+"Well, we understand each other," said Trimmer heartily, "and
+everything's clear."
+
+"Not entirely. How's Ali going to launch a _jehad_ when he doesn't have
+any weapons, no warships, no supplies?"
+
+"Now," said Trimmer, "we're getting into the realm of supposition." He
+paused, looked behind him. A farmer pushing a rotary tiller, bowed
+politely, trundled ahead. Behind was a young man in a black turban, gold
+earrings, a black and red vest, white pantaloons, black curl-toed
+slippers. He bowed, started past. Trimmer held up his hand. "Don't waste
+your 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 not
+dissemble. 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. So
+when he said 'Sultan', I'd think he wouldn't lie simply, but that he'd
+lie 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't
+think he gives me credit for that much subtlety.... What are you doing
+the 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 and
+exotic lore."
+
+"There's this sjambak in the cage. That's about as close to the medieval
+as you'll find anywhere in Earth Commonwealth."
+
+"Speaking of sjambaks ..."
+
+"No time," said Trimmer. "Got to get back. Drop in at my office--right
+down the square from the palace."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Murphy returned to his suite. The shadowy figure of his room servant
+said, "His Highness the Sultan desires the Tuan's attendance in the
+Cascade 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, brown
+plastic boots, a yellow polo shirt. He carried a twig which he used as a
+riding crop, slapping his boots as he walked. He turned his head as
+Murphy appeared, pointed his twig at a wicker bench.
+
+"I pray you sit down, Mr. Murphy." He paced once up and back. "How is
+your 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 he
+meant.
+
+The Sultan nodded wistfully. "A Singhalusi would have wasted an hour
+telling me half-truths--distorted enough to confuse, but not
+sufficiently inaccurate to anger me if I had a spy-cell on him all the
+time."
+
+Murphy grinned. "A Singhalusi has to live here the rest of his life."
+
+A servant wheeled a frosted cabinet before them, placed goblets under
+two spigots, withdrew. The Sultan cleared his throat. "Trimmer is an
+excellent fellow, but unbelievably loquacious."
+
+Murphy drew himself two inches of chilled rosy-pale liquor. The Sultan
+slapped his boots with the twig. "Undoubtedly he confided all my private
+business 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 Singhalut."
+
+"That, my friend, is no hope; it's absolute necessity. Our population
+density is fifteen hundred to the square mile. We must expand or
+smother. There'll be too little food to eat, too little oxygen to
+breathe."
+
+Murphy suddenly came to life. "I could make that idea the theme of my
+feature! Singhalut 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 confidential
+information--although Trimmer no doubt has preceded me with it." He gave
+his boots an irritated whack. "To expand I need funds. Funds are best
+secured in an atmosphere of calm and confidence. The implication of
+emergency 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 our
+progressive social attitude, our prosperity and financial prospects ..."
+
+"But, Sultan ..."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I can't allow your Minister of Propaganda to use me and _Know Your
+Universe!_ 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's
+going to be the dramatic contrast between the ruined cities and the new
+domed valleys. How the Earth settlers succeeded where the ancient people
+failed 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, the
+paddies, groves, orchards, farms. Tomorrow I'm taking a trip out to one
+of the ruins."
+
+"I see," said the Sultan. "Then you won't need my charts and
+statistics?"
+
+"Well, Sultan, I could film the stuff your Propaganda Minister cooked
+up, and I could take it back to Earth. Howard Frayberg or Sam Catlin
+would tear into it, rip it apart, lard in some head-hunting, a little
+cannibalism and temple prostitution, and you'd never know you were
+watching Singhalut. You'd scream with horror, and I'd be fired."
+
+"In that case," said the Sultan, "I will leave you to the dictates of
+your 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 a
+story out there."
+
+Sam Catlin shivered inside his electrically heated glass overcoat. "Out
+on that ocean? It's full of man-eating plesiosaurs--horrible things
+forty feet long."
+
+"Suppose we worked something out on the line of Moby Dick? _The White
+Monster of the Mogador Ocean._ We'd set sail in a catamaran--"
+
+"Us?"
+
+"No," said Frayberg impatiently. "Of course not us. Two or three of the
+staff. 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 legendary
+white 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 a
+horse up to meet his space-ships."
+
+"He might draw the line at a white plesiosaur riding up to meet his
+catamaran."
+
+Frayberg turned away. "Somebody's got to have ideas around here...."
+
+"We'd better head back to the space-port," said Catlin. "We got two
+hours to make the Sirgamesk shuttle."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wilbur Murphy sat in the Barangipan, watching marionettes performing to
+xylophone, castanet, gong and _gamelan_. The drama had its roots in
+proto-historic Mohenj[=o]-Dar[=o]. It had filtered down through ancient
+India, medieval Burma, Malaya, across the Straits of Malacca to Sumatra
+and Java; from modern Java across space to Cirgamesc, five thousand
+years of time, two hundred light-years of space. Somewhere along the
+route it had met and assimilated modern technology. Magnetic beams
+controlled arms, legs and bodies, guided the poses and posturings. The
+manipulator's face, by agency of clip, wire, radio control and minuscule
+selsyn, projected his scowl, smile, sneer or grimace to the peaked
+little face he controlled. The language was that of Old Java, which
+perhaps a third of the spectators understood. This portion did not
+include Murphy, and when the performance ended he was no wiser than at
+the start.
+
+Soek Panjoebang slipped into the seat beside Murphy. She wore musician's
+garb: a sarong of brown, blue, and black _batik_, and a fantastic
+headdress 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, looked
+soulfully up with her shiny yellow-hazel eyes. Murphy nearly forgot the
+experiment 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 the
+condensation vanes. I never knew there was so much water in the air till
+I 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 a
+secret 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 into
+aluminum 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 picturama
+stars out of _gamelan_ players, but no special genius...."
+
+"No, no, Weelbrrr."
+
+"I know lots of tricks. I can take a flashlight battery, a piece of
+copper foil, a few transistors and bamboo tube and turn out a paralyzer
+gun that'll stop a man cold in his tracks. And you know how much it
+costs?"
+
+"No, Weelbrrr. How much?"
+
+"Ten cents. It wears out after two or three months, but what's the
+difference? 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 the
+ruins in the plain. Ghatamipol, I think they're called. Like to come?"
+
+"No, Weelbrrr." Soek Panjoebang looked off into the garden, her hands
+busy tucking a flower into her hair. A few minutes later she said, "Why
+must you waste your time among the rocks? There are better things to do
+and see. And it might well be--dangerous." She murmured the last word
+off-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 a
+yellow 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 dressed
+in space-suits for the plains, twenty men with sullen faces. The trip to
+Ghatamipol clearly was not to their liking. Murphy climbed into his own
+suit, checked the oxygen pressure gauge, the seal at his collar. "All
+ready, boys?"
+
+No one spoke. The silence drew out. The gatekeeper, on hand to let the
+party 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 leaks
+in his suit. Inside pressure: 14.6. Outside pressure: zero. His twenty
+guards morosely inspected their crossbows and slim swords.
+
+The white ruins of Ghatamipol lay five miles across Pharasang Plain. The
+horizon was clear, the sun was high, the sky was black.
+
+Murphy's radio hummed. Someone said sharply, "Look! There it goes!" He
+wheeled around; his guards had halted, and were pointing. He saw a fleet
+something 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 their
+radio intercoms.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The eroded city walls rose above them, occupied more and more of the
+sky. The platoon leader said in an angry voice, "We have gone far
+enough."
+
+"You're under my orders," said Murphy. "We're going through the gate."
+He punched the button on his camera and passed under the monstrous
+portal.
+
+The city was frailer stuff than the wall, and had succumbed to the thin
+storms which had raged a million years after the passing of life. Murphy
+marvelled at the scope of the ruins. Virgin archaeological territory! No
+telling what a few weeks digging might turn up. Murphy considered his
+expense 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 would
+gladly provide diggers. They were a sturdy enough people; they could
+make quite a showing in a week, if they were able to put aside their
+superstitions, fears and dreads.
+
+Murphy sized one of them up from the corner of his eye. He sat on a
+sunny slab of rock, and if he felt uneasy he concealed it quite
+successfully. 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 Singhalusi character. Once clear of
+the valley the man openly wore his shirt, a fine loose garment of
+electric blue, in defiance of the Sultan's edict. Of course out here he
+might be cold....
+
+Murphy felt his own skin crawling. How could he be cold? How could he be
+alive? Where was his space-suit? He lounged on the rock, grinning
+sardonically at Murphy. He wore heavy sandals, a black turban, loose
+breeches, the blue shirt. Nothing more.
+
+Where were the others?
+
+Murphy turned a feverish glance over his shoulder. A good three miles
+distant, bounding and leaping toward Singhalut, were twenty desperate
+figures. They all wore space-suits. This man here ... A sjambak? A
+wizard? A hallucination?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The creature rose to his feet, strode springily toward Murphy. He
+carried a crossbow and a sword, like those of Murphy's fleet-footed
+guards. But he wore no space-suit. Could there be breathable traces of
+an atmosphere? Murphy glanced at his gauge. Outside pressure: zero.
+
+Two other men appeared, moving with long elastic steps. Their eyes were
+bright, their faces flushed. They came up to Murphy, took his arm. They
+were solid, corporeal. They had no invisible force fields around their
+heads.
+
+Murphy jerked his arm free. "Let go of me, damn it!" But they certainly
+couldn't hear him through the vacuum.
+
+He glanced over his shoulder. The first man held his naked blade a foot
+or two behind Murphy's bulging space-suit. Murphy made no further
+resistance. He punched the button on his camera to automatic. It would
+now run for several hours, recording one hundred pictures per second, a
+thousand to the inch.
+
+The sjambaks led Murphy two hundred yards to a metal door. They opened
+it, pushed Murphy inside, banged it shut. Murphy felt the vibration
+through his shoes, heard a gradually waxing hum. His gauge showed an
+outside pressure of 5, 10, 12, 14, 14.5. An inner door opened. Hands
+pulled Murphy in, unclamped his dome.
+
+"Just what's going on here?" demanded Murphy angrily.
+
+Prince Ali-Tomas pointed to a table. Murphy saw a flashlight battery,
+aluminum foil, wire, a transistor kit, metal tubing, tools, a few other
+odds and ends.
+
+"There it is," said Prince Ali-Tomas. "Get to work. Let's see one of
+these 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-Tomas, "but they march without weapons. Give
+me weapons! I will carry the word to Hadra, to New Batavia, to Sundaman,
+to Boeng-Bohot!"
+
+"How? Why?"
+
+"It is enough that I will it. Again, I beg of you ..." He indicated the
+table.
+
+Murphy laughed. "I've got myself in a fine mess. Suppose I don't make
+this 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-Tomas, "we must make our arrangements
+for your care on a long-term basis."
+
+Ali made a gesture. Hands seized Murphy's shoulders. A respirator was
+held to his nostrils. He thought of his camera, and he could have
+laughed. Mystery! Excitement! Thrills! Dramatic sequence for _Know Your
+Universe!_ Staff-man murdered by fanatics! The crime recorded on his own
+camera! 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's
+horseback 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 his
+superstition angle?"
+
+Sam Catlin, watching out the window, said in a tight voice, "Why not ask
+him yourself?"
+
+"Eh?"
+
+"Ask him for yourself! There he is--outside, riding some kind of
+critter...."
+
+"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 combination
+ram-jet and kiddie car with stirrups!"
+
+"He's coming aboard the ship," said Catlin. "That's the entrance port
+down there...."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wilbur Murphy sat in the captain's stateroom, taking careful breaths of
+air.
+
+"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 anything
+like it."
+
+"How does it feel out there, Wilbur?" Catlin asked.
+
+"It feels awful lonesome and empty. And the breath seeping up out of
+your lungs, never going in--that's a funny feeling. And you miss the air
+blowing on your skin. I never realized it before. Air feels like--like
+silk, 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 the
+sunlight you get warm. It's better in the shade. You don't lose any heat
+by air convection, but radiation and sweat evaporation keep you
+comfortably cool."
+
+"I still can't understand it," said Frayberg. "This Prince Ali, he's a
+kind of a rebel, eh?"
+
+"I don't blame him in a way. A normal man living under those domes has
+to let off steam somehow. Prince Ali decided to go out crusading. I
+think he would have made it too--at least on Cirgamesc."
+
+"Certainly there are many more men inside the domes...."
+
+"When it comes to fighting," said Murphy, "a sjambak can lick twenty men
+in space-suits. A little nick doesn't hurt him, but a little nick bursts
+open a space-suit, and the man inside comes apart."
+
+"Well," said the Captain. "I imagine the Peace Office will send out a
+team 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't
+think much about it. Still kinda woozy. I was halfway through
+decompression. They keep a man there eight hours, drop pressure on him
+two 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 sjambak
+out of me; there wasn't anywhere else they could keep me. Well, pretty
+soon my head cleared, and I saw this apparatus stuck to my chest." He
+poked at the mechanism on the table. "I saw the oxygen tank, I saw the
+blood running through the plastic pipes--blue from me to that carburetor
+arrangement, red on the way back in--and I figured out the whole
+arrangement. Carbon dioxide still exhales up through your lungs, but the
+vein back to the left auricle is routed through the carburetor and
+supercharged with oxygen. A man doesn't need to breathe. The carburetor
+flushes his blood with oxygen, the decompression tank adjusts him to the
+lack of air-pressure. There's only one thing to look out for; that's not
+to touch anything with your naked flesh. If it's in the sunshine it's
+blazing hot; if it's in the shade it's cold enough to cut. Otherwise
+you're free as a bird."
+
+"But--how did you get away?"
+
+"I saw those little rocket-bikes, and began figuring. I couldn't go back
+to Singhalut; I'd be lynched on sight as a sjambak. I couldn't fly to
+another planet--the bikes don't carry enough fuel.
+
+"I knew when the ship would be coming in, so I figured I'd fly up to
+meet it. I told the guard I was going outside a minute, and I got on one
+of 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 see
+up here the first time?"
+
+Murphy shrugged. "It might have been somebody up here skylarking. A
+little too much oxygen and you start cutting all kinds of capers. Or it
+might have been someone who decided he had enough crusading.
+
+"There's a sjambak in a cage, right in the middle of Singhalut. Prince
+Ali walks past; they look at each other eye to eye. Ali smiles a little
+and walks on. Suppose this sjambak tried to escape to the ship. He's
+taken aboard, turned over to the Sultan and the Sultan makes an example
+of 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 passed
+through quarantine. Passengers may now disembark. Important: no weapons
+or explosives allowed on Singhalut!"
+
+"This is where I came in," said Murphy.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sjambak, by John Holbrook Vance
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