They waited impatiently for the half hour to pass. The theater filled up rapidly, with first-nighters in all their finery. "I'm glad we wore our formal clothes, dear." "Yes," Hendriks said, looking at the others. "This is quite an event. Quite an event." * * * * * The theater was totally filled by 8 P. M. sharp; the corps of near-nude usherettes performed their job swiftly and efficiently. And suddenly a voice said, "Welcome to ULTRARAMA." It was a cultured, soft female voice--and it came from so close to him that he glanced in surprise at his wife. But she was looking at him. She had heard the voice too. It continued: "You are about to witness the most spectacular form of entertainment ever conceived by the mind of man. Twelve years of concentrated work went into producing what you are about to see--and no one but you will experience it. Each of you will be _taking part_; each of you will, as the series of scenes we have assembled unfolds, be caught up in the reality of ULTRARAMA--the _realer_-than-reality Ultra-reality of ULTRARAMA. Shall we begin?" The lights in the theater dimmed--and the vast screen came to life. It was incredible. And they were in Africa. The huge plains of South Africa opened out before them. Hendriks turned his head, looking around in astonishment. The audience seemed to have disappeared. He was alone--alone in a world of yellowing grass and strange thick trees, a flat world where death could strike at any moment. In the distance he saw four grotesque shapes--giraffes, moving along in their ungainly but yet tremendously rapid way, their long necks projecting stiffly from their bodies. He repressed a chuckle. And then a low growl made him jump. He backed against a rough-barked tree and felt sweat cascade down his body as a tawny shape sprang from behind a twisted shrub, pounced on one of the giraffes, smashed the fragile neck with a fierce swipe of a paw. The lioness. Sudden death springing from nowhere, a bright streak that brought violence. Hendriks looked around uneasily. The giraffes had fled; the lioness was dragging her kill into the underbrush. The warm smell of death was in the air--that, and the buzzing of green-eyed flies an inch long. Perched on a scrawny, almost leafless tree were hooded ugly shapes. Vultures. _Are they waiting for me?_ This was _too_ real. This was _unbearably_ real. A herd of gazelles came bounding out of the background, relieving some of the tension. The lovely creatures seemed to float along, touching the ground only at occasional intervals. Behind them marched the dull-gray bulks of a herd of elephants, shambling with a ponderous gait. This was Africa. This was the real thing, Hendriks told himself. It wasn't a show. Through some magic the ULTRARAMA people had actually sent him here.