Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed. THIS WORLD IS TABOO by MURRAY LEINSTER ACE BOOKS, INC. 23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N. Y. * * * * * THIS WORLD IS TABOO 1 The little Med Ship came out of overdrive and the stars were strange and the Milky Way seemed unfamiliar. Which, of course, was because the Milky Way and the local Cepheid marker-stars were seen from an unaccustomed angle and a not-yet-commonplace pattern of varying magnitudes. But Calhoun grunted in satisfaction. There was a banded sun off to port, which was good. A breakout at no more than sixty light-hours from one's destination wasn't bad, in a strange sector of the galaxy and after three light-years of journeying blind. "Arise and shine, Murgatroyd," said Calhoun. "Comb your whiskers. Get set to astonish the natives!" A sleepy, small, shrill voice said: "_Chee!_" Murgatroyd the _tormal_ came crawling out of the small cubbyhole which was his own. He blinked at Calhoun. "We're due to land shortly," Calhoun observed. "You will impress the local inhabitants. I will get unpopular. According to the records, there's been no Med Ship inspection here for twelve standard years. And that was practically no inspection, to judge by the report." Murgatroyd said: "_Chee-chee!_" He began to make his toilet, first licking his right-hand whiskers and then his left. Then he stood up and shook himself and looked interestedly at Calhoun. _Tormals_ are companionable small animals. They are charmed when somebody speaks to them. They find great, deep satisfaction in imitating the actions of humans, as parrots and mynahs and parakeets imitate human speech. But _tormals_ have certain valuable, genetically transmitted talents which make them much more valuable than mere companions or pets. Calhoun got a light-reading for the banded sun. It could hardly be an accurate measure of distance, but it was a guide. "Hold on to something, Murgatroyd!" he said. Murgatroyd watched. He saw Calhoun make certain gestures which presaged discomfort. He popped back into his cubbyhole. Calhoun threw the overdrive switch and the Med Ship flicked back into that questionable state of being in which velocities of hundreds of times that of light are possible. The sensation of going into overdrive was unpleasant. A moment later, the sensation of coming out was no less so. Calhoun had experienced it often enough, and still didn't like it. The sun Weald burned huge and terrible in space. It was close, now. Its disk covered half a degree of arc.