by Jack Vance
turned away. "Somebody's got to have ideas around here...."
"We'd better head back to the space-port," said Catlin. "We got twohours to make the Sirgamesk shuttle."
* * * * *
Wilbur Murphy sat in the Barangipan, watching marionettes performing toxylophone, castanet, gong and _gamelan_. The drama had its roots inproto-historic Mohenj[=o]-Dar[=o]. It had filtered down through ancientIndia, medieval Burma, Malaya, across the Straits of Malacca to Sumatraand Java; from modern Java across space to Cirgamesc, five thousandyears of time, two hundred light-years of space. Somewhere along theroute it had met and assimilated modern technology. Magnetic beamscontrolled arms, legs and bodies, guided the poses and posturings. Themanipulator's face, by agency of clip, wire, radio control and minusculeselsyn, projected his scowl, smile, sneer or grimace to the peakedlittle face he controlled. The language was that of Old Java, whichperhaps a third of the spectators understood. This portion did notinclude Murphy, and when the performance ended he was no wiser than atthe start.
Soek Panjoebang slipped into the seat beside Murphy. She wore musician'sgarb: a sarong of brown, blue, and black _batik_, and a fantasticheaddress of tiny silver bells. She greeted him with enthusiasm.
"Weelbrrr! I saw you watching...."
"It was very interesting."
"Ah, yes." She sighed. "Weelbrrr, you take me with you back to Earth?You make me a great picturama star, please, Weelbrrr?"
"Well, I don't know about that."
"I behave very well, Weelbrrr." She nuzzled his shoulder, lookedsoulfully up with her shiny yellow-hazel eyes. Murphy nearly forgot theexperiment he intended to perform.
"What did you do today, Weelbrrr? You look at all the pretty girls?"
"Nope. I ran footage. Got the palace, climbed the ridge up to thecondensation vanes. I never knew there was so much water in the air tillI saw the stream pouring off those vanes! And _hot_!"
"We have much sunlight; it makes the rice grow."
"The Sultan ought to put some of that excess light to work. There's asecret process.... Well, I'd better not say."
"Oh come, Weelbrrr! Tell me your secrets!"
"It's not much of a secret. Just a catalyst that separates clay intoaluminum and oxygen when sunlight shines on it."
Soek's eyebrows rose, poised in place like a seagull riding the wind."Weelbrrr! I did not know you for a man of learning!"
"Oh, you thought I was just a bum, eh? Good enough to make picturamastars out of _gamelan_ players, but no special genius...."
"No, no, Weelbrrr."
"I know lots of tricks. I can take a flashlight battery, a piece ofcopper foil, a few transistors and bamboo tube and turn out a paralyzergun that'll stop a man cold in his tracks. And you know how much itcosts?"
"No, Weelbrrr. How much?"
"Ten cents. It wears out after two or three months, but what's thedifference? I make 'em as a hobby--turn out two or three an hour."
"Weelbrrr! You're a man of marvels! Hello! We will drink!"
And Murphy settled back in the wicker chair, sipping his rice beer.
* * * * *
"Today," said Murphy, "I get into a space-suit, and ride out to theruins in the plain. Ghatamipol, I think they're called. Like to come?"
"No, Weelbrrr." Soek Panjoebang looked off into the garden, her handsbusy tucking a flower into her hair. A few minutes later she said, "Whymust you waste your time among the rocks? There are better things to doand see. And it might well be--dangerous." She murmured the last wordoff-handedly.
"Danger? From the sjambaks?"
"Yes, perhaps."
"The Sultan's giving me a guard. Twenty men with crossbows."
"The sjambaks carry shields."
"Why should they risk their lives attacking me?"
Soek Panjoebang shrugged. After a moment she rose to her feet. "Goodbye,Weelbrrr."
"Goodbye? Isn't this rather abrupt? Won't I see you tonight?"
"If so be Allah's will."
Murphy looked after the lithe swaying figure. She paused, plucked ayellow flower, looked over her shoulder. Her eyes, yellow as the flower,lucent as water-jewels, held his. Her face was utterly expressionless.She turned, tossed away the flower with a jaunty gesture, and continued,her shoulders swinging.
Murphy breathed deeply. She might have made picturama at that....
One hour later he met his escort at the valley gate. They were dressedin space-suits for the plains, twenty men with sullen faces. The trip toGhatamipol clearly was not to their liking. Murphy climbed into his ownsuit, checked the oxygen pressure gauge, the seal at his collar. "Allready, boys?"
No one spoke. The silence drew out. The gatekeeper, on hand to let theparty out, snickered. "They're all ready, Tuan."
"Well," said Murphy, "let's go then."
Outside the gate Murphy made a second check of his equipment. No leaksin his suit. Inside pressure: 14.6. Outside pressure: zero. His twentyguards morosely inspected their crossbows and slim swords.
The white ruins of Ghatamipol lay five miles across Pharasang Plain. Thehorizon was clear, the sun was high, the sky was black.
Murphy's radio hummed. Someone said sharply, "Look! There it goes!" Hewheeled around; his guards had halted, and were pointing. He saw a fleetsomething vanishing into the distance.
"Let's go," said Murphy. "There's nothing out there."
"Sjambak."
"Well, there's only one of them."
"Where one walks, others follow."
"That's why the twenty of you are here."
"It is madness! Challenging the sjambaks!"
"What is gained?" another argued.
"I'll be the judge of that," said Murphy, and set off along the plain.The warriors reluctantly followed, muttering to each other over theirradio intercoms.
* * * * *
The eroded city walls rose above them, occupied more and more of thesky. The platoon leader said in an angry voice, "We have gone farenough."
"You're under my orders," said Murphy. "We're going through the gate."He punched the button on his camera and passed under the monstrousportal.
The city was frailer stuff than the wall, and had succumbed to the thinstorms which had raged a million years after the passing of life. Murphymarvelled at the scope of the ruins. Virgin archaeological territory! Notelling what a few weeks digging might turn up. Murphy considered hisexpense account. Shifkin was the obstacle.
There'd be tremendous prestige and publicity for _Know Your Universe!_if Murphy uncovered a tomb, a library, works of art. The Sultan wouldgladly provide diggers. They were a sturdy enough people; they couldmake quite a showing in a week, if they were able to put aside theirsuperstitions, fears and dreads.
Murphy sized one of them up from the corner of his eye. He sat on asunny slab of rock, and if he felt uneasy he concealed it quitesuccessfully. In fact, thought Murphy, he appeared completely relaxed.Maybe the problem of securing diggers was a minor one after all....
And here was an odd sidelight on the Singhalusi character. Once clear ofthe valley the man openly wore his shirt, a fine loose garment ofelectric blue, in defiance of the Sultan's edict. Of course out here hemight be cold....
Murphy felt his own skin crawling. How could he be cold? How could he bealive? Where was his space-suit? He lounged on the rock, grinningsardonically at Murphy. He wore heavy sandals, a black turban, loosebreeches, the blue shirt. Nothing more.
Where were the others?
Murphy turned a feverish glance over his shoulder. A good three milesdistant, bounding and leaping toward Singhalut, were twenty desperatefigures. They all wore space-suits. This man here ... A sjambak? Awizard? A hallucination?
* * * * *
The creature rose to his feet, strode springily toward Murphy. Hecarried a crossbow and a sword, like those of Murphy's fleet-footedguards. But he wore no space-suit. Could there be breathable traces ofan atm
osphere? Murphy glanced at his gauge. Outside pressure: zero.
Two other men appeared, moving with long elastic steps. Their eyes werebright, their faces flushed. They came up to Murphy, took his arm. Theywere solid, corporeal. They had no invisible force fields around theirheads.
Murphy jerked his arm free. "Let go of me, damn it!" But they certainlycouldn't hear him through the vacuum.
He glanced over his shoulder. The first man held his naked blade a footor two behind Murphy's bulging space-suit. Murphy made no furtherresistance. He punched the button on his camera to automatic. It wouldnow run for several hours, recording one hundred
