The Players | Page 9

be a lot simpler. Less chance of a slip, too."
"Yeah, sure it would." Lanko gave his companion a disgusted look. "But have you ever tried that little trick?"
"No. I never had the occasion, but I've seen guardsmen run remote surveillances, and even exert control when necessary. They didn't have any trouble. We could try it, anyway."
Lanko sat up. "We could try it," he admitted, "but I know what would happen. I did try it once, and I found out a lot of things--quick." He looked into space for a moment. "How old are you, Banasel?"
"Why, you know that. I'm forty-one."
Lanko nodded. "So am I," he said. "And our civilization is a few thousand years old. And our species is somewhat older than that. We were in basic Guard training, and later in specialist philosophical training together. It took ten years, remember?"
"Sure. I remember every minute of it."
"Of course you do. It was that kind of training. But how old do you think some of those young guardsmen we worked with were?"
"Why, most of 'em were kids, fresh from school."
"That they were. But how many years--our years--had they spent in their schooling? How old were the civilizations they came from? And how old were their species?"
Lanko eyed him wryly.
Banasel looked thoughtfully across the room. "I never thought of it that way. Why, I suppose some of their forefathers were worrying about space travel before this planet was able to support life. And, come to think of it, I remember one of them making a casual remark about 'just a period ago,' when he was starting citizen training."
"That's what I mean." Lanko nodded emphatically. "'Just a period.' Only ten or twelve normal lifetimes for our kind of people. And his civilization's just as old compared to ours as he is compared to us--older, even.
"During that period he was so casual about, he was learning--practicing with his mind, so that the older citizens of the galaxy could make full contact with him without fear of injuring his mentality. He was learning concepts that he wouldn't dare even suggest to you or to me. Finally, after a few more periods, he'll begin to become mature. Do you think we could pick up all the knowledge and training back of his handling of technical equipment in a mere ten years of training?"
Banasel reached up, taking the small circlet from his head. He held it in his hand, looking at it with increased respect.
"You know," he admitted, "I really hadn't thought of it that way. They taught me to repair these things, among other pieces of equipment, and most of the construction is actually simple. They taught me a few uses for it, and I thought I understood it.
"Of course, I knew we were in contact with an advanced culture, and I knew that most of those guys we treated so casually had something that took a long time in the getting, but I didn't stop to think of the real stretch of time and study involved." He leaned back, replacing the mentacom on his head. "Somehow, they didn't make it apparent."
"Of course they didn't." Lanko spread his hands a little. "One doesn't deliberately give children a feeling of inferiority."
"Yeah. Will we ever learn?"
"Some. Some day. But we've got a long, lonely road to travel first." Lanko stood up and adjusted the communicator.
"Right now, though, we'd better keep tabs on Musa. In fact, we'd better follow him when he leaves here."
* * * * *
The temple of Kondaro, the sea god, had been built at the edge of a cliff, so that it overlooked the Eastern Sea. The huge, white dome furnished a landmark for mariners far out at sea, and dominated the waterfront of Norlar. Atop the dome, a torch provided a beacon to relieve the blackness of moonless nights. This was the home of the crimson priests, and the center of guidance for all who wished to sail eastward.
Musa stood for some time, admiring the temple, then walked between the carefully clipped hedges and up the long line of steps leading to the arched entrance.
Again, he stopped. Overhead, the curved ceiling of the main dome was lower than its outer dimensions would lead one to believe, but Musa hardly noticed that. He gazed about the main rotunda.
It was predominantly blue. The dome was a smooth, blue sky, and the smooth blueness continued down the walls. The white stone steps were terminated at the edges of a mosaic sea, which stretched to the far walls, broken only by a large statue of the sea god. Kondaro stood in the center of his temple, facing the entrance. One arm stretched out, the hand holding a torch, while the other arm cradled one of the great ships favored by the god. Beneath one foot was one of