"And if it's a prison," he went on, "then why isn't there a third zap gun in here with us? In case we should happen to have working weapons. Which we do."

"There unquestionably is one," said Nessus. "Your headlamps prove that the third zap gun is not working. The zap guns are clearly automatic; otherwise someone would be guarding you. It should be safe for Speaker to use the Slaver digging tool."

"That's good news," Louis said. "Except that I've been looking around -"

He and Speaker were floating upside down in an airborne Sargasso Sea. Of three archaic flying jet packs, one was still occupied. The skeleton was small but human. Not a trace of skin remained on the white bones. The clothing must have been good, for shreds of it still survived: brightly colored rags, including a tattered yellow cloak that hung straight down from the point of the flyer's jaw.

The other packs were empty. But the bones had to be somewhere … Louis forced his head back, back …

The basement of the police building was a wide, dim, conical pit. Around the wall were concentric rings of cells. The doors were trap doors above the cells. There were radial stairways leading down to the pit at the apex. In and around the pit were the bones Louis was searching for, shining dimly back at him from far below.

He couldn't wonder that one man in a ruined flying pack had been afraid to turn himself loose. But others, trapped here in cars and backpacks, had preferred the long fall to death by thirst.

Louis said, "I don't see what Speaker is supposed to use the Slaver disintegrator on."

"I have been thinking about that very seriously."

"It he blows a hole in the wall, it doesn't help us. Likewise the ceiling, which he can't reach anyway. If he hits the generator for the field holding us here, we fall ninety feet to the floor. But if he doesn't, we'll be here until we starve, or until we give up and turn ourselves loose. Then we fall ninety feet to the floor."

"Yes."

"That's all? Just yes?"

"I need more data. Will one of you please describe what you see around you? I see only part of a curved wall."

They took turns describing the conical cell block, what they could see of it in the dim, point-source light. Speaker turned on his own lights, and that helped.

But when Louis ran out of things to say, he was still trapped, upside down, without food or water, hanging above a lethal drop.

Louis felt a bubbling scream somewhere in him, buried deep and well under control, but rising. Soon it would be near the surface …

And he wondered if Nessus would leave them.

That was bad. It was a question with an obvious answer. There was every reason why the puppeteer should leave, and no reason why he should not.

Unless he still hoped to find civilized natives here.

"The floating vehicles and the age of the skeletons both indicate that there is nobody tending the machinery of the cell block," Speaker speculated. "The fields that trapped us must have collected a few vehicles after the city was deserted; but then there were no more vehicles on the Ringworld. So the machines still work, because nothing has strained their powers in so long a time."

"That may be so," said Nessus. "But someone is monitoring our conversation."

Louis felt his ears prick up. He saw Speaker's fan out.

"It must have required excellent technique to tap a closed beam. One wonders if the eavesdropper has a translator."

"What can you tell about him?"

"Only his direction. The source of the interference is your own present whereabouts. Perhaps the eavesdropper is above you."

Reflexively Louis tried to look up. Not a prayer. He was head down, with two crash balloons and the flycycle between him and the ceiling.

"We've found the Ringworld civilization," he said aloud.

"Perhaps. I think a civilized being could have repaired the third zap gun, as you called it. But the main thing … let me think."

And the puppeteer went off into Beethoven, or the Beatles, or something classical-sounding. For all Louis could tell he was making it up as he went along.

And when he said let me think, he meant it. The whistling went on and on. Louis was getting thirsty. And hungry. And his head was pounding.

He had given up hope, several separate times, when the puppet= came on again. "I would have preferred to use the Slaver disintegrator, but it is not to be. Louis, you will have to do it; you are primate-descended, better than Speaker at climbing. You will secure the -"

"Climbing?"

"When I finish you may ask questions, Louis. Secure the flashlight-laser from wherever you put it. Use the beam to puncture the balloon in front of you. You will have to snatch at its fabric as you fall. Use it to climb over the flycycle until you are balanced on top. Then -"

"You're out of your mind."

"Let me finish, Louis. The purpose of all this activity is to destroy the zap gun, as you called it. Probably there are two zap guns. One is over the door you entered by, or under it. The other may be anywhere. Your only clue may be that it looks like the first zap gun."

"Sure, and it may not. Never mind that. How do you expect me to grab at the fabric of an exploding balloon fast enough to — No. I can't."

"Louis. How can I reach you if a weapon waits to burn out my machinery?"

"I don't know."

"Do you expect Speaker to do the climbing?"

"Can't cats climb?"

Speaker said, "My ancestors were plains cats, Louis. My burnt hand is healing slowly. I cannot climb. In any case, the leaf-eater's proposition is insane. Surely you see that he is merely looking for an excuse to desert us."

Louis saw. Perhaps he let the fear show.

"I will not leave you yet," Nessus said. "I will wait. Perhaps you will conceive a better plan. Perhaps the eavesdropper will show himself. I will wait."

Louis Wu, wedged upside down and motionless between two shaped balloons, naturally found it difficuk to measure time. Nothing changed. Nothing moved. He could hear Nessus whistling in the distance; but nothing else seemed to be happening.

Eventually Louis started counting his own heartbeats. Seventy-two to the minute, he figured.

Precisely ten minutes later he was heard to say, "Seventy-two. One. What am I doing?"

"Were you speaking to me, Louis?"

"Tanjit! Speaker, I can't take this. I'd rather die now than go crazy first." He began forcing his arms down.

"I command, Louis, under combat conditions. I order you to remain calm, and wait."

"Sorry." Louis forced his arms down, relax, jerk down, relax. There it was: his belt. His hand was too far forward. He forced his elbow back, relax, jerk back …

"What the puppeteer suggests is suicide, Louis."

"Maybe." He had it: the flashlight-laser. Two more jerks freed it from his belt and pointed it forward; he would burn into the dashboard but would not burn himself.

He fired.

The balloon collapsed slowly. As it did, the one at his back pushed him forward into the dashboard. Under the lighter pressure, it was easy to push the fiashligbt-laser into his belt and to clutch two handfuls of wrinkling, collapsing fabric.

He was also sliding out of his seat. Faster, faster — He gripped with manic force, and when he turned over, falling, his hands did not slip on the fabric. He hung by his hands beneath his flycycle, with a ninety foot drop below and -

"Speaker!"

"Here I am, Louis. I have secured my own weapon. Shall I pop the other balloon for you?"

"Yes!" It was right across his path, blocking him entirely.

The balloon did not collapse. One side of it puffed dust for two seconds, then disappeared in a great puff of air. Speaker had zapped it with one beam of the disintegrator.