Sjambak

by Jack Vance

cities."

  "I wonder," said Murphy, staring into his beer, "could it be sjambakswho 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 manriding 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 upthere 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 donot care to attract the attention of either steward, sjambak--orSultan."

  Murphy said impatiently. "In any event, it's not who--but _how_. Howdoes 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 ofher instrument, with additional overtones of mockery. "There must besome 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 wedo here in Singhalut."

  "What's _napau_?"

  "It's our philosophy, where we find meaning and life and beauty in everyaspect of the world."

  "That sjambak in the cage could do with a little less _napau_ rightnow."

  "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 toSinghalut. If the Sultan wishes to use it to warn other wrongdoers, thefact 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...." Shelooked in turn at Murphy's loose shirt. "You will notice personsbrushing up against you, feeling you," she laid her hand along hisbreast, "and when this happens you will know they are agents of theSultan, 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 notunderstand 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 witha private pool, I usually sleep in a bubble-tent, with nothing to eatbut 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 thesunlight collected and refracted, "I don't particularly like being shutup like a bird in an aviary.... Mildly claustrophobic, I guess."

  After breakfast, drinking thick coffee from tiny silver cups, Murphylooked long and reflectively at Soek Panjoebang.

  "What are you thinking, Weelbrrr?"

  Murphy drained his coffee. "I'm thinking that I'd better be getting towork."

  "And what do you do?"

  "First I'm going to shoot the palace, and you sitting here in the gardenplaying your _gamelan_."

  "But Weelbrrr--not _me_!"

  "You're a part of the universe, rather an interesting part. Then I'lltake 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 SoekPanjoebang. 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. Hecarried himself with a hell-raising swagger, left over from a timetwenty years gone. His skin had the waxy look of lost floridity, histuft of white hair was coarse and thin, his eyelids hung in the off-sidedroop that amateur physiognomists like to associate with guile.

  "I'm Resident Director of the Import-Export Bank," said Trimmer. "Heardyou 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 acomfortable tourist planet. Too confined, shut in. A man with asensitive psyche goes nuts pretty easy here."

  "Yeah," said Murphy. "I was thinking the same thing this morning. Thatdome begins to give a man the willies. How do the natives stand it? Ordo 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 gotthe docile Javanese blood, plus the Arabian elan. The Javanese part ison top, but every once in a while you see a flash of arrogance.... Younever know. I've been out here nine years and I'm still a stranger." Hepuffed 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 thissjambak stuff."

  Trimmer nodded without surprise. "My advice to you, Murphy, is lay offthe sjambaks. They're not healthy around here."

  Murphy was startled by the bluntness. "What's the big mystery aboutthese 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 manmight just barely spot 'em. You can't catch the real ones. They're woveninto 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 habitthan anything else. If you're fussy we'll go for a walk."

  The road led past the palace into the country. Murphy and Trimmersauntered along a placid river, overgrown with lily pads, swarming withlarge white ducks.

  "This sjambak business," said Murphy. "Everybody talks around it. Youcan'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 myreports. But there's more to Singhalut than the Sultan."

  "Namely?"

  Trimmer waved his cigar waggishly. "Now we're getting in where I don'tlike to talk. I'll give you a hint. Prince Ali thinks roofing-in morevalleys is a waste of money, when there's Hadra and New Batavia andSundaman 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 bymonorail."

  "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 namedSoek Panjoebang who plays the _gamelan_. I suppose she's working foreither 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 twothings--one for Ali, the other for the Sultan. Whichever one reacts youknow you've got her tagged."

  "For instance?"

  "Well, for instance she lea
rns that you can rig up a hypnotic ray from aflashlight 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 onhis cigar with gusto, "tell her you're on to a catalyst that turns clayinto aluminum and