by Jack Vance
oxygen in the presence of sunlight. The Sultan wouldsell his right leg for something like that. He tries hard for Singhalutand Cirgamesc."
"And Ali?"
Trimmer hesitated. "I never said what I'm gonna say. Don't forget--Inever said it."
"Okay, you never said it."
"Ever hear of a _jehad_?"
"Mohammedan holy wars."
"Believe it or not, Ali wants a _jehad_."
"Sounds kinda fantastic."
"Sure it's fantastic. Don't forget, I never said anything about it. Butsuppose someone--strictly unofficial, of course--let the idea percolatearound the Peace Office back home."
"Ah," said Murphy. "That's why you came to see me."
* * * * *
Trimmer turned a look of injured innocence. "Now, Murphy, you're alittle unfair. I'm a friendly guy. Of course I don't like to see thebank lose what we've got tied up in the Sultan."
"Why don't you send in a report yourself?"
"I have! But when they hear the same thing from you, a _Know YourUniverse!_ man, they might make a move."
Murphy nodded.
"Well, we understand each other," said Trimmer heartily, "andeverything's clear."
"Not entirely. How's Ali going to launch a _jehad_ when he doesn't haveany weapons, no warships, no supplies?"
"Now," said Trimmer, "we're getting into the realm of supposition." Hepaused, looked behind him. A farmer pushing a rotary tiller, bowedpolitely, trundled ahead. Behind was a young man in a black turban, goldearrings, a black and red vest, white pantaloons, black curl-toedslippers. He bowed, started past. Trimmer held up his hand. "Don't wasteyour time up there; we're going back in a few minutes."
"Thank you, Tuan."
"Who are you reporting to? The Sultan or Prince Ali?"
"The Tuan is sure to pierce the veil of my evasions. I shall notdissemble. I am the Sultan's man."
Trimmer nodded. "Now, if you'll kindly remove to about a hundred yards,where your whisper pick-up won't work."
"By your leave, I go." He retreated without haste.
"He's almost certainly working for Ali," said Trimmer.
"Not a very subtle lie."
"Oh, yes--third level. He figured I'd take it second level."
"How's that again?"
"Naturally I wouldn't believe him. He knew I knew that he knew it. Sowhen he said 'Sultan', I'd think he wouldn't lie simply, but that he'dlie double--that he actually was working for the Sultan."
Murphy laughed. "Suppose he told you a fourth-level lie?"
"It starts to be a toss-up pretty soon," Trimmer admitted. "I don'tthink he gives me credit for that much subtlety.... What are you doingthe rest of the day?"
"Taking footage. Do you know where I can find some picturesque rites?Mystical dances, human sacrifice? I've got to work up some glamor andexotic lore."
"There's this sjambak in the cage. That's about as close to the medievalas you'll find anywhere in Earth Commonwealth."
"Speaking of sjambaks ..."
"No time," said Trimmer. "Got to get back. Drop in at my office--rightdown the square from the palace."
* * * * *
Murphy returned to his suite. The shadowy figure of his room servantsaid, "His Highness the Sultan desires the Tuan's attendance in theCascade Garden."
"Thank you," said Murphy. "As soon as I load my camera."
The Cascade Room was an open patio in front of an artificial waterfall.The Sultan was pacing back and forth, wearing dusty khaki puttees, brownplastic boots, a yellow polo shirt. He carried a twig which he used as ariding crop, slapping his boots as he walked. He turned his head asMurphy appeared, pointed his twig at a wicker bench.
"I pray you sit down, Mr. Murphy." He paced once up and back. "How isyour suite? You find it to your liking?"
"Very much so."
"Excellent," said the Sultan. "You do me honor with your presence."
Murphy waited patiently.
"I understand that you had a visitor this morning," said the Sultan.
"Yes. Mr. Trimmer."
"May I inquire the nature of the conversation?"
"It was of a personal nature," said Murphy, rather more shortly than hemeant.
The Sultan nodded wistfully. "A Singhalusi would have wasted an hourtelling me half-truths--distorted enough to confuse, but notsufficiently inaccurate to anger me if I had a spy-cell on him all thetime."
Murphy grinned. "A Singhalusi has to live here the rest of his life."
A servant wheeled a frosted cabinet before them, placed goblets undertwo spigots, withdrew. The Sultan cleared his throat. "Trimmer is anexcellent fellow, but unbelievably loquacious."
Murphy drew himself two inches of chilled rosy-pale liquor. The Sultanslapped his boots with the twig. "Undoubtedly he confided all my privatebusiness to you, or at least as much as I have allowed him to learn."
"Well--he spoke of your hope to increase the compass of Singhalut."
"That, my friend, is no hope; it's absolute necessity. Our populationdensity is fifteen hundred to the square mile. We must expand orsmother. There'll be too little food to eat, too little oxygen tobreathe."
Murphy suddenly came to life. "I could make that idea the theme of myfeature! 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 confidentialinformation--although Trimmer no doubt has preceded me with it." He gavehis boots an irritated whack. "To expand I need funds. Funds are bestsecured in an atmosphere of calm and confidence. The implication ofemergency would be disastrous to my aims."
"Well," said Murphy, "I see your position."
The Sultan glanced at Murphy sidelong. "Anticipating your cooperation,my Minister of Propaganda has arranged an hour's program, stressing ourprogressive social attitude, our prosperity and financial prospects ..."
"But, Sultan ..."
"Well?"
"I can't allow your Minister of Propaganda to use me and _Know YourUniverse!_ as a kind of investment brochure."
The Sultan nodded wearily. "I expected you to take that attitude....Well--what do you yourself have in mind?"
"I've been looking for something to tie to," said Murphy. "I think it'sgoing to be the dramatic contrast between the ruined cities and the newdomed valleys. How the Earth settlers succeeded where the ancient peoplefailed to meet the challenge of the dissipating atmosphere."
"Well," the Sultan said grudgingly, "that's not too bad."
"Today I want to take some shots of the palace, the dome, the city, thepaddies, groves, orchards, farms. Tomorrow I'm taking a trip out to oneof the ruins."
"I see," said the Sultan. "Then you won't need my charts andstatistics?"
"Well, Sultan, I could film the stuff your Propaganda Minister cookedup, and I could take it back to Earth. Howard Frayberg or Sam Catlinwould tear into it, rip it apart, lard in some head-hunting, a littlecannibalism and temple prostitution, and you'd never know you werewatching Singhalut. You'd scream with horror, and I'd be fired."
"In that case," said the Sultan, "I will leave you to the dictates ofyour conscience."
* * * * *
Howard Frayberg looked around the gray landscape of Riker's Planet,gazed out over the roaring black Mogador Ocean. "Sam, I think there's astory out there."
Sam Catlin shivered inside his electrically heated glass overcoat. "Outon that ocean? It's full of man-eating plesiosaurs--horrible thingsforty feet long."
"Suppose we worked something out on the line of Moby Dick? _The WhiteMonster of the Mogador Ocean._ We'd set sail in a catamaran--"
"Us?"
"No," said Frayberg impatiently. "Of course not us. Two or three of thestaff. They'd sail out there, look over these gray and red monsters,maybe fake a fight or two, but all the time they're after the legendarywhite one. How's it sound
?"
"I don't think we pay our men enough money."
"Wilbur Murphy might do it. He's willing to look for a man riding ahorse up to meet his space-ships."
"He might draw the line at a white plesiosaur riding up to meet hiscatamaran."
Frayberg
