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  This unexpected masquerade added a little charm to what had become a wearisome voyage. Clement dissolved in an attack of mad laughter when he saw Guiot looking at Garin with a dove-eyed and tear-streaming stare.

  Happily, their long campaign across Asia, while William’s army, coming out of Palestine, bad warred against the Mongols, had taught them to live with people of customs often quite strange, and for them, an Odeous was not so very different from a citizen of Cipanghu.

  On the ship, life went on afterwards with its accustomed routines. Djaffar passed most of his time watching to be sure the ship was behaving itself, kept taking notes and consulting the microparchment images, transparent as glass, which could be enlarged on a special screen. He even consented to give several cursory explanations to Garin, who was now capable of understanding these grimoires. When Djaffar went to his couch, he dreamed for long hours with his eyes wide open. Then he saw again the countryside of Alexandretta, his distant homeland, its blue sky, its long pebbled beaches, its dunes simmering with haze, its gardens of palms and gnarled, centuries-old olive trees, the multicolor clumps of fig trees and pomegranates, the groves of aromatic gums.

  He never missed his hour for prayer, for turning toward the pale and vanishing star where lay the tomb of the Prophet. This in no way prevented him from joining in the offices which the Templar recited faithfully each morning. The Turcopole seemed to have constructed a religion all his own, in which he mixed in perfect harmony the teachings of Islam and of Christianity.

  Houen-Lun, now, lived apart from everyone.

  Sometimes he exchanged rare words with Marco Polo or Djaffar, and spent the rest of his time in strange positions, his limbs bizarrely contorted, his spirit stretched out to seize upon the faint murmurings which he alone perceived, coming out of the infinity of space.

  Once Garin, intrigued by this apparent indifference to the outside world, dared ask him what he was doing.

  “Making progress,” replied the monk.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m learning not to be troubled with human emotions.”

  “Is that all?” the Templar pursued, a little taken aback.

  “No, I’m also losing the sense of my body and the perceptions that disturb it.”

  “But how do you do that?"

  “I forget it by not moving it I’ve stripped off my body, rejected the form of my intellect, driven off every preconception. So I can live in harmony with the universe and be one with it.”

  Garin went no further. Apparently the Tibetan through his long asceticism and draconian disciplines of physical control, had arrived at a mode of existence different from that of other human beings. The Templar would have liked to try it, but Houen-Lun seemed too far advanced in his practices to bother himself with a disciple. Besides, Marco Polo had warned him: the fate of the expedition rested on Houen-Lun. The first contact with the aliens would be decisive.

  The ship thus stayed to its course for interminable days. Without the magical clepshydras aboard, they would have all been incapable of realizing the passage of day and night.

  Now the Tholon brothers had accustomed themselves to their disguise, they had learned to anoint their faces and hands with a rainbow ointment the shades of which changed subtly io a cyclic rhythm. Thanks to a salve also concocted by Djaffar, they could bear the presence of the lenses in their eyes without any irritation.

  The Venetian spared them no compliments. According to his plans, the Tholon brothers would serve as his escort if perchance they had occasion to leave the ship. Djaffar could not leave the vessel, for he must defend it from all unexpected intrusion, and as for the Tibetan, he preferred to be alone, ready to probe minds, rather than mix himself in a crowd.

  Now Baphom was clearly visible. The star appeared on the screens like a little red sphere. And so far its demoniac inhabitants had not manifested themselves.

  But one day, when Djaffar was at his ritual of prayer, the Tibetan came out of his priestly immobility.

  Without showing the least emotion, he said simply: “My spirit is in contact with strangers aboard a ship like ours....”

  Then he fell back into his habitual silence, while his companions scanned the screens in vain and Joubert feverishly worked over his several instruments.

  A few instants later, Houen-Lun declared: “There are several Odeous traders. Four, in all. You’re going to locate their ship in a moment. Brother Joubert, you’ll send a distress signal, requesting their escort to the nearest spaceport. At the moment their minds are conditioned to this. They won’t be amazed at anything.”

  While the passengers quickly put on their disguises, Joubert was still examining his detectors. Finally a tiny bright point appeared on a luminous plate. Almost simultaneously a message echoed through the ship, asking its identification.

  The Templar was long prepared for such a meeting. He activated a tape which sent back a recording furnishing the requisite information.

  Almost at once the communications officer asked for precise information on the breakdown which was afflicting their ship. Joubert nervously turned to Houen-Lun. The Tibetan went to the transmitter and snapped off several phrases which seemed to satisfy their questioner completely, for a few minutes later a metal sphere stopped several cables distant from the ship occupied by the Terrans.

  “Brother Garin, and you, Guiot, get into your suits,” the Tibetan said then. “You’re going to pay a visit to these strangers so that you can pick up some metal jars containing air, which is what they think is the matter with us. Take these here and have the Odeous examine this object That will impress on their minds what they must know.”

  So saying, the lama handed Garin a bronze cylinder on which were strange, twisting ideograms. The Templar took it In his fingertips, studied it distrustfully, a brief glance which served to awaken in him curious hallucinations. A choir of crystalline voices repeated a monotone and ceaseless litany. He turned his eyes away and the noise ceased. Garin put the malefic object into a leather bag, then the Templar and his brother placed the magical networks onto their heads, which gave them a violent headache, but a swallow of syrup eased that quickly. Joubert and Clement then helped their friends get into their cumbersome suits. Finally the two envoys entered the airlock and manipulated the wheel on the hatchway. A few seconds later they found themselves outside. It was a breathtaking experience to find themselves so isolated between the two vessels in the face of starry infinity. The Ter-rans underwent a brief moment of panic.

  But they quickly recovered their wits. The two ships were close, and the crossing was easy. They maneuvered themselves carefully with little rockets which let off tiny jets of air. Little by little they approached the lock of the second ship, and when they bad grappled to it their anxiety much eased. Now it only remained to learn what manner of welcome was awaiting them.

  The opening of the lock posed no problem, and when they had gotten the second hatch to work, they found themselves in the presence of the occupants of the other ship.

  The network had conditioned them and they should not have felt any surprise, but the reality far surpassed the images their minds had received.

  The two couples who regarded them with those immense eyes, eyes imprinted with a poignant sorrow, were of a breathtaking beauty. The graceful bodies of the two women, tightly fitted with translucent suits, were of rare perfection. And when the Odeous spoke to them in a musical voice, Garin and Guiot were mute, struck dumb with admiration.

  Happily, their friends, thinking that they were, suffering from oxygen deprivation in their ship, made haste to open the visors of their helmets, asking with infinite tenderness: “Do you feel better now?”

  “Thank you," Garin sighed. "Our strength is returning.” And his brother was casting avid eyes on the two alien women, marking small pointed breasts under the bronze tunics, slender legs, impudent mouths, red as fruits, saying to himself that if all the Odeous women were so wondrously lovely, his mission was going to be ridiculously
pleasant.

  "What happened?" asked one of the athletically built Adonises.

  “Our air tanks were filled wrong,” said the Templar. “So we were trying to reach the nearest base, but, without you, 1 don’t know if we would have gotten there.”

  "The Ethirs who tend the ships are getting more and more careless,” one of the women agreed. “We’ve had some problems too. A food synthesizer broke down, that’s why we’ve had to cut our voyage short. What was your destination?” "Orph,” Garin said. "Our friends are impatiently waiting for our return. We’re going to reboard. ... Do you want us to come back and bring you some food?”

  “No. Our backup synthesizer is working, thank you. We’ve prepared four cylinders for use. Will they be enough?"

  “More than enough. The base isn’t very far.”

  ‘Two hours of flight time, about You can just follow us; we’ll advise the satellite authorities that we're coming in. But Tm uncommonly rude. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m called Ildes, and my companion is Ilea; and he is Wrer and she Wrera.”

  "Heaven save you,” Guiot wished them, quite naturally using the formula ordinary in such occasion. “As for me, I’m Guioult and my friend is Garoun.” '

  “Have you been long captives?”

  “Alas, I was quite young when the Baphomets imprisoned me on this cursed ship,” Guiot lied boldly. “How can I thank you?"

  “Isn’t it natural that companions in misfortune should help one another?” Wrer sighed, sadly smiling. “Death alone will bring us deliverance. Forgive us for prolonging your ordeal."

  “I’ve brought you a gift," Garin said then, bringing out the cylinder Joubert had sent “Quite a small thing, but this object will help you bear the long hours of captivity.”

  “Thank you from the bottom of our hearts!" Wrera exclaimed. “How marvelous. Just looking at it makes me already forget the monotony of my poor existence. Here are your tanks. We’re going to help you fix them on your back."

  The two Terrans then reclosed their visors and let themselves be harnessed up, bending under the weight. Then they worked their way back into the locks where their hosts made the hand sign for good-bye.

  The return crossing was a little more difficult. Because of their burden, the projectors were less effective, but once they were launched everything went well.

  Stopping was a little delicate and Guiot had to deaden the shock with his hands as he came in, but die contact was not too brutal.

  The four Terrans found themselves a few moments later in the living quarters of their ship.

  “Everything went all right?” Marco Polo asked anxiously, the moment his envoys had taken their helmets off.

  “No problem,” Garin assured him. “The Odeous are charming folk who are very willing to help their neighbor.”

  “Ah, yes, and their women have no equal,” Guiot exclaimed lyrically. “My word, I’ve never seen such girls....”

  Marco Polo gave them a bewildered look. He was apparently expecting a different kind of report But Joubert put the tanks in the place reserved for them. To render his story believable he had emptied the main reservoir of its contents.

  “Good. Now we just have to board one of the space castles built by the Baphomets to protect their planet What did the Odeous tell you in that matter?”

  “Just that they would show us the way and announce our arrival,” Garin answered.

  “Perfect," the Venetian replied, rubbing his hands. “So the garrison won’t suspect us at all. Let’s hope it isn’t too well manned and that our friend Houen-Lun can control their minds without difficulty."

  “The prospect looks good," said the Tibetan, lapsing from his silence. “My talismans have completely dominated the crew of this ship. They’ve just destroyed the cylinder according to my orders, leaving no trace of it. As for the garrison they call satellite 289, it comprises about ten Odeous. I shouldn’t meet any difficulty getting them to swallow our story."

  “So much the better,” Marco Polo rejoiced. “Let’s follow our guides. They’re going to our next destination.”

  After a short journey during which the Terrans watched neighboring space very attentively, the satellite they bad been told of stood out against the inky sky.

  Strange castle in truth, this glittering torus bristled with vanes—antennae, in the Odeous tongue—which turned slowly in space. About its circumference, several platforms had been set up to receive and refit the ships from space. All, luckily, were empty.

  Joubert replied to a message demanding the ship’s identicfication, and then the voice of the communications officer invited them to dock at berth four.

  The learned alchemist programmed the autopilot for that maneuver and the ship grounded itself on the shining surface without so much as a shudder.

  At once two dish-ended arms came to lock it in, and a supple tube adjusted itself over the outer hatch of the airlock.

  For the first time since their departure, the Terrans found themselves in enemy territory. Marco Polo looked anxiously at the Tibetan to assure himself that all was going as it ought, but Houen-Lu stayed quiet, fixed in his priestly posture, his eyes glazed in mystic contemplation.

  The inner lock opened then with a dry click; the passengers felt a slight pain in their ears while a light fresh breeze swept pleasantly through the living quarters, chasing away the stench which had accumulated there.

  “Let’s go,” Marco Polo ordered in the alien language, and they went out through the brilliantly lighted tunnel.

  His companions, save for Houen-Lun, followed him with a hesitant step at first, then with more and more confidence.

  The Terrans, taking the ramp provided for that purpose, reached the passage which ran around the satellite. There was in effect an artificial gravity nearly equal to that of the Earth, so they walked without difficulty up to the section where the crew of the other ship was waiting for them, along with about fifty other Odeous.

  With a signal, they bade them sit^own. “Wrer," one said, “told me that you had trouble with the ventilation system.”

  “That’s right,” Garin said shortly. “The Ethir are getting more and more careless.”

  “Alas, they are slaves as we are. Their life is a long wait on death. But I found no trace of your outward voyage. Where are you coming in from?”

  “We left from Baphom by the nadir lanes,” Joubert explained, “with Orph for our destination. Happily, we had gone through a routine check which saved us from asphyxiation.”

  “But a very painless way of getting from life to death," the officer murmured. “So. . . . Since you seem to cling to life, we’re going to fill your reservoirs. That will take awhile. You can go then and finish your mission, unless you’d prefer to go back to Baphom for a general refitting.”

  “What matter?” Garin said laconically.

  “Of course, it doesn’t help you,” the Odeous agreed with a look of undemanding. “Yet, I have here a cargo jettisoned by a ship in trouble, and you could take advantage of that to get back to Baphom. It’s a matter of supplies coming from Lyzog, a newly discovered planet, drugs for which our masters are so eager and a few instruments of undetermined use.”

  The Templar thought but an instant. He had in his hands an unexpected chance to introduce himself into the enemy fortress, and Houen-Lun would surely find a way to get interesting information out of their enemies.

  “All right, Baphom,” he growled. “There is as good as anywhere.”

  “You want help to load this cargo7”

  “No. We’ll do it alone. It’s our business."

  “Very well. Wrer will show you the way.”

  The Terrans rose then and followed their guide along the passages. He, luckily, did not seem at all talkative.

  He brought the pseudo-Odeous to a room where about ten small cases were stored, then, considering his mission accomplished, withdrew to rejoin his companions.

  Garin and Guiot gathered up the cargo without difficulty, using a small cart. Apparen
tly the muscular strength of humans was superior to that of the Odeous. Then they set the machine rolling over the ground, which was covered with an amazing carpet, soft as velvet, with no seam; and they all regained the lock. In two trips the cargo was loaded.

  There remained the business of taking their leave. The Terrans went back to the room where the guardian of the castle was always to be found, and Garin announced simply: “Finished. Can we go?”

  The technician cast a glance over the various dials. "The pressure in your reservoirs is normal,” he replied. “You can put out” He consulted several forms. “Ah I I’ve found a record of your ship. The microfilms regarding you were lost You are indeed Guioult and Garoun?”

  "That’s right,” the Templar agreed.

  “Sign these releases,” murmured the Odeous, handing them a transparent rectangle and a stylus.

  The Terrans did so, wondering all the while if their initials might not arouse the supervisor’s suspicions.

  Apparently the education they had received was perfect. The supervisor glanced rapidly over the documents. “Everything in order,” he said. “May death free you soon.”

  “Wish you the same,” the. comrades said in unison, walking out without asking further questions.

  They were all sweating liberally and feared their makeup might run.

  On the return walk they met Wrera, who gave them the sign for farewell, but she spoke not a word to them. Guiot turned back to look at the graceful silhouette, but his brother dragged him along rapidly. The moment seemed ill chosen to be counting the flowers.

  Once aboard, Marco Polo and Joubert closed the lock and the alchemist proceeded to the routine operations of undocking. The ship took off then, headed for Baphom.