igh.

Inside this cage crouched a naked man.

The car rolled past. Prince Ali-Tomas waved an idle hand. The caged man
glared down from bloodshot eyes. "That," said Ali-Tomas, "is a sjambak.
As you see," a faint note of apology entered his voice, "we attempt to
discourage them."

"What's that metal object on his chest?"

"The mark of his trade. By that you may know all sjambak. In these
unsettled times only we of the House may cover our chests--all others
must show themselves and declare themselves true Singhalusi."

Murphy said tentatively, "I must come back here and photograph that
cage."

Ali-Tomas smilingly shook his head. "I will show you our farms, our
vines and orchards. Your participants will enjoy these; they have no
interest in the dolor of an ignoble sjambak."

"Well," said Murphy, "our aim is a well-rounded production. We want to
show the farmers at work, the members of the great House at their
responsibilities, as well as the deserved fate of wrongdoers."

"Exactly. For every sjambak there are ten thousand industrious
Singhalusi. It follows then that only one ten-thousandth part of your
film should be devoted to this infamous minority."

"About three-tenths of a second, eh?"

"No more than they deserve."

"You don't know my Production Director. His name is Howard Frayberg,
and ..."

* * * * *

Howard Frayberg was deep in conference with Sam Catlin, under the
influence of what Catlin called his philosophic kick. It was the phase
which Catlin feared most.

"Sam," said Frayberg, "do you know the danger of this business?"

"Ulcers," Catlin replied promptly.

Frayberg shook his head. "We've got an occupational disease to
fight--progressive mental myopia."

"Speak for yourself," said Catlin.

"Consider. We sit in this office. We think we know what kind of show we
want. We send out our staff to get it. We're signing the checks, so back
it comes the way we asked for it. We look at it, hear it, smell it--and
pretty soon we believe it: our version of the universe, full-blown from
our brains like Minerva stepping out of Zeus. You see what I mean?"

"I understand the words."

"We've got our own picture of what's going on. We ask for it, we get it.
It builds up and up--and finally we're like mice in a trap built of our
own ideas. We cannibalize our own brains."

"Nobody'll ever accuse you of being stingy with a metaphor."

"Sam, let's have the truth. How many ti