"I got this for sheer sober-sided fact. A man rides a horse up to meet the incoming ships!" "Where did you get this wild fable?" "My brother-in-law is purser on the _Celestial Traveller_. At Riker's Planet they make connection with the feeder line out of Cirgamesç." "Wait a minute," said Catlin. "How did you pronounce that?" "Cirgamesç. The steward on the shuttle-ship gave out this story, and my brother-in-law passed it along to me." "Somebody's pulling somebody's leg." "My brother-in-law wasn't, and the steward was cold sober." "They've been eating _bhang_. Sirgamesk is a Javanese planet, isn't it?" "Javanese, Arab, Malay." "Then they took a _bhang_ supply with them, and _hashish_, _chat_, and a few other sociable herbs." "Well, this horseman isn't any drug-dream." "No? What is it?" "So far as I know it's a man on a horse." "Ten thousand miles up? In a vacuum?" "Exactly." "No space-suit?" "That's the story." Catlin and Frayberg looked at each other. "Well, Wilbur," Catlin began. Frayberg interrupted. "What we can use, Wilbur, is a sequence on Sirgamesk superstition. Emphasis on voodoo or witchcraft--naked girls dancing--stuff with roots in Earth, but now typically Sirgamesk. Lots of color. Secret rite stuff...." "Not much room on Cirgamesç for secret rites." "It's a big planet, isn't it?" "Not quite as big as Mars. There's no atmosphere. The settlers live in mountain valleys, with air-tight lids over 'em." Catlin flipped the pages of _Thumbnail Sketches of the Inhabited Worlds_. "Says here there's ancient ruins millions of years old. When the atmosphere went, the population went with it." Frayberg became animated. "There's lots of material out there! Go get it, Wilbur! Life! Sex! Excitement! Mystery!" "Okay," said Wilbur Murphy. "But lay off this horseman-in-space. There _is_ a limit to public credulity, and don't you let anyone tell you different." * * * * * Cirgamesç hung outside the port, twenty thousand miles ahead. The steward leaned over Wilbur Murphy's shoulder and pointed a long brown finger. "It was right out there, sir. He came riding up--" "What kind of a man was it? Strange-looking?" "No. He was Cirgameski." "Oh. You saw him with your own eyes, eh?" The steward bowed, and his loose white mantle fell forward. "Exactly, sir." "No helmet, no space-suit?" "He wore a short Singhalût vest and pantaloons and a yellow Hadrasi hat. No more." "And the horse?" "Ah, the horse! There's a different matter." "Different how?" "I can't describe the horse. I was intent on the man." "Did you recognize him?" "By the brow of Lord Allah, it's well not to look too closely when such matters occur." "Then--you _did_ recognize him!" "I must be at my task, sir."