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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 + + + + + + +</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—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>—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—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—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—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—on—" Catlin frowned. "I +can write it, but I can't pronounce +it." He printed on his scratch-screen: +CIRGAMESÇ.</p> + +<p>"Sirgamesk," read Frayberg.</p> + +<p>Catlin shook his head. "That's +what it looks like—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 Cirgamesç."</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," said Catlin. +"How did you pronounce that?"</p> + +<p>"Cirgamesç. 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—naked +girls dancing—stuff with roots in +Earth, but now typically Sirgamesk. +Lots of color. Secret rite stuff...."</p> + +<p>"Not much room on Cirgamesç +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">Cirgamesç</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—"</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 Singhalût 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—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. 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 <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. 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.</p> + +<p>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!"</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-Tomás, of the +House of Singhalût, 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-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 <i>Know Your Universe!</i> after all! +I suppose I ought to unlimber my +camera....</p> + +<p>Prince Ali-Tomás 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—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—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—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."</p> + +<p>Prince Ali-Tomás 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-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 <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-Tomás 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—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-Tomás again smiled complacently. +"I'm sure Singhalût 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-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 <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-Tomás. "We have +no horses on Cirgamesç. 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-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."</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—all +others must show themselves and +declare themselves true Singhalûsi."</p> + +<p>Murphy said tentatively, "I must +come back here and photograph +that cage."</p> + +<p>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."</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 +Singhalûsi. 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—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—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—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 +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?"</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-Tomás shall personally +conduct you through the +fish-hatcheries. We want you to +know we're doing a great job out +here on Singhalût."</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-Tomás 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 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!"</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 +Singhalût."</p> + +<p>"You have no temple dances?" +asked Murphy. "No fire-walkers, +snake-charmers—voodoo?"</p> + +<p>The Sultan smiled patronizingly. +"We came out here to Cirgamesç to +escape the ancient superstitions. +Our lives are calm, orderly. Even +the <i>amoks</i> have practically disappeared."</p> + +<p>"But the sjambaks—"</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 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 +<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 Singhalût?"</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—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—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 Singhalûsi 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 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.'"</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—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 Cirgamesç."</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—or Sultan."</p> + +<p>Murphy said impatiently. "In +any event, it's not who—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—worried, +frowning, dynamic. You should relax, +cultivate <i>napaû</i>, enjoy life as +we do here in Singhalût."</p> + +<p>"What's <i>napaû</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>napaû</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 Singhalût. 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—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 <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 +Cirgamesç?"</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—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—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—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."</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 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 <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—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 Singhalût 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—armed conquest?"</p> + +<p>Trimmer laughed. "You said it, +not me."</p> + +<p>"They can't carry on much of a +war—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—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 Singhalût and Cirgamesç."</p> + +<p>"And Ali?"</p> + +<p>Trimmer hesitated. "I never said +what I'm gonna say. Don't forget—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—strictly unofficial, +of course—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—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—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—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 +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."</p> + +<p>Murphy grinned. "A Singhalûsi +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—he spoke of your hope to +increase the compass of Singhalût."</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! Singhalût 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—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—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 Singhalût. 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—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—"</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 +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.</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—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—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 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....</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 Singhalût, 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-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.</p> + +<p>"There it is," said Prince Ali-Tomás. +"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-Tomás, +"but they march without +weapons. Give me weapons! I will +carry the word to Hadra, to New +Batavia, to Sundaman, to Boeng-Bohôt!"</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-Tomás, +"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—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—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...."</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—at least on Cirgamesç."</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—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."</p> + +<p>"But—how did you get away?"</p> + +<p>"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.</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—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 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...."</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 Singhalût!"</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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SJAMBAK *** + +***** This file should be named 30002-h.htm or 30002-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/0/0/30002/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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