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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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