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. "There it is," said Prince Ali-Tomás. "Get to work. Let's see one of these paralysis weapons you boast of." "Just like that, eh?" "Just like that." "What do you want 'em for?" "Does it matter?" "I'd like to know." Murphy was conscious of his camera, recording sight, sound, odor. "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!" "How? Why?" "It is enough that I will it. Again, I beg of you ..." He indicated the table. Murphy laughed. "I've got myself in a fine mess. Suppose I don't make this weapon for you?" "You'll remain until you do, under increasingly difficult conditions." "I'll be here a long time." "If such is the case," said Ali-Tomás, "we must make our arrangements for your care on a long-term basis." 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 _Know Your Universe!_ Staff-man murdered by fanatics! The crime recorded on his own camera! See the blood, hear his death-rattle, smell the poison! The vapor choked him. _What a break! What a sequence!_ * * * * * "Sirgamesk," said Howard Frayberg, "bigger and brighter every minute." "It must've been just about in here," said Catlin, "that Wilbur's horseback rider appeared." "That's right! Steward!" "Yes, sir?" "We're about twenty thousand miles out, aren't we?" "About fifteen thousand, sir." "Sidereal Cavalry! What an idea! I wonder how Wilbur's making out on his superstition angle?" Sam Catlin, watching out the window, said in a tight voice, "Why not ask him yourself?" "Eh?" "Ask him for yourself! There he is--outside, riding some kind of critter...." "It's a ghost," whispered Frayberg. "A man without a space-suit.... There's no such thing!" "He sees us.... Look...." Murphy was staring at them, and his surprise seemed equal to their own. He waved his hand. Catlin gingerly waved back. Said Frayberg, "That's not a horse he's riding. It's a combination ram-jet and kiddie car with stirrups!" "He's coming aboard the ship," said Catlin. "That's the entrance port down there...." * * * * * Wilbur Murphy sat in the captain's stateroom, taking careful breaths of air. "How are you now?" asked Frayberg. "Fine. A little sore in the lungs." "I shouldn't wonder," the ship's doctor growled. "I never saw anything like it." "How does it feel out there, Wilbur?" Catlin asked.