"Precisely."
"Where do the Kondaran priests come in?"
"Oh, those two aren't going to confine the final stage of their game to
the one continent. That's just the starting point--the home base. And
what they're doing now is just the opening of the game. The end game
will decide control of the entire planet. Sira Nal's just getting off to
an early start, that's all."
"This is legitimate, according to their rules?"
"I guess so. According to Kir's tapes, he thinks it's a clever maneuver.
'Sound move' is the way he expressed it." Lanko stood and walked over to
the reproducer set. "That all came from the tapes, of course."
"How much more has Kir told you?"
"As little as possible."
* * * * *
Banasel looked toward the prisoner. "Why not cooeperate? You're due for
Aldebaran anyway. And a little help now would make it easier for you and
your partners later."
Genro Kir's lip curled. "As I told your friend, I don't have to lower
myself to work with a bunch of low-grade primitives."
"See what I mean?" Lanko slanted an eyebrow at Banasel. "But I think our
friend here will help us some, anyway. That 'sound move' he recorded is
almost sure to catch us one of the players."
"Oh?"
"Sure. What's the whole foundation of this cult of Kondaro?"
"Why, they navigate ships. They keep strict security on their methods.
They enforce that security by terrorism. They claim that no one else can
successfully cross the Great Sea, and it seems to be a proven fact that
they're right. So, they collect from seamen, traders, and shipowners."
"That's right. And they claim that only they can overcome the spells and
actions of the sea demons, which try to destroy any ship that sails the
sea. First, though, they navigate ships. They guarantee to get 'em
across the sea and back. Right?"
Banasel nodded.
"Suppose they start losing ships? Suppose that from now on, no ship
returns to port?" Lanko walked over to the control console.
"Hey, wait a minute. I know these priests are a bunch of pirates--or
some of them are, at any rate. But we can't--"
"Who said anything about destroying life?" Lanko spread his hands. "We
have here a fairly nice group of islands," he pointed out. "Not too
spacious, of course, and not possessed of any luxurious cities. But
there's water, and fresh fruits are available in plenty. The ships are
provisioned fairly well, but they generally put in here for those very
fruits. So, all we need do is give a little unwanted help."
"Shipwreck?"
"Something like that."
Banasel shook his head doubtfully. "It'll take a long time to undermine
their reputation that way," he objected. "And we'd have a lot of people
on these islands before we were through."
"I don't think so. Kondaro's a god, remember? And gods are infallible.
Sira Nal can explain a few disappearances by accusations of irreverence,
but he'll know better than to try explaining too many that way. I should
imagine that the normal losses due to unexpected storms just about use
up his allotment along that line."
[Illustration]
Lanko shook his head. "No, Sira Nal's going to have to do something to
prevent any rumor to the effect that the sea god is losing his grip." He
paused. "And what ship do you think I spotted standing this way?"
"Oh, no! That's too much of a coincidence."
"No, not really. We took considerable time gathering in our boy here."
Lanko inclined his head toward Genro Kir. "And the _Bordeklu's_ home
port is Tanagor, so Musa's old ship wouldn't spend too much of a layover
in Kneuros. They're on schedule all right. You'd like to see your old
friend, Dontor, again, wouldn't you, Musa? Sort of watch him try to save
his ship in a real emergency?"
Musa grinned wolfishly. "Might be fun, at that," he agreed.
* * * * *
Dontor strode firmly toward the ladder leading to the observation deck.
The slaves had rigged the screen, and the priest looked proudly about
this ship of which he was the actual and absolute master. Slowly, in
majestic silence, he mounted the ladder and passed through the opening
in the curtain.
He went to the middle of the forecastle, and stopped, waiting until the
two junior priests had taken their positions near him and the slaves had
set down the equipment chests. The slaves straightened, and stood, arms
folded, waiting. Dontor inspected the area, then moved his head
imperiously.
"Very good," he said. "Take your posts."
As the slaves left, the three priests opened their instrument chests,
removing navigational tools. Alnar went to the folding table, spread the
chart over it, then took his watch out of the chest and stood back,
holding it.
"Just about time, sir."
"Very well." Dontor glanced at the juniors, saw that Kuero had his
sextant ready, and raised his own.
"Now," he instructed, when the readings were complete, "you will each
calculate our position independently. I'll check your work when you have
finished." He replaced his sextant in its case, then headed the small
procession back to the cabins.
The ship's routine continued its uneventful course. The junior priests
reported to Dontor with their calculations. Their work was examined,
criticized, and finally approved. They were given further instructions.
All was well aboard the _Bordeklu_.
The chief priest examined the charts and decided on the course for the
next watch. The ship, he thought, would have to put in for water. And
some of the island fruits would go well on the table. He set a course
accordingly, and went topside to give instructions to the pilot.
* * * * *
_"Are you going to help them on their way?"_
_"It's not necessary, unless they start to by-pass the island. They'll
have plenty to worry about when they try to anchor."_
* * * * *
Ahead of the ship, the sea was calm. No cloud marred the bright blue
overhead. Slowly, a vague shape formed on the horizon, then it grew, to
become a small, wooded island.
The ship continued on its course, approaching the bit of land, and
neared the breaker line. Orders sounded sharply, and the sails
collapsed, spilling their wind. A crew forward cut the snubbing line,
and the bow anchor splashed into the water.
The ship continued, and the anchor cable became taut. In defiance of the
helmsman's efforts, the ship continued on a straight course. The bow
line stretched, then loosened a little, as the anchor dragged. Still,
the ship refused to swing. Hurriedly, the crew aft dropped the stern
anchor. But the ship persisted on its course. All hands forward took
shelter as the bow cable snapped and whipped viciously across the deck.
The ship maintained its slow progress.
Frantically, the crew backed the sails, hoisting them to take all the
wind possible. The helmsman spun the wheel in a final effort to turn the
ship back to sea, then cast a glance astern at the taut cable, and
ducked for shelter.
Sea anchors were hastily thrown overside, but still the ship approached
the beach. The keel grated on sand, and the ship continued to move
forward, as though, tired of the sea, it had decided to return to the
forest. At last, wedged among the trees, the vessel stopped, far above
the sands of the beach.
It was obviously there to stay.
Dontor stood, looking seaward. He shook his head, looked forward, then
down at the ground beneath the ship. This was outside his experience. It
was also outside the teaching so carefully instilled in his mind in the
classrooms back at Tanagor, and later during those long days and nights
when he was a junior priest. He had been taught to speak of sea demons,
and to explain their actions, but he had not been told to believe in
them.
He wondered if the great Kondaro really existed, and if he did, just
what he might think of Dontor and of the ship he had so recently
controlled. The thought crossed his mind that a real god might be
somewhat critical of the priesthood of the sea.
"Something," he mused aloud, "will have to be done to prevent loss of
faith."
* * * * *
_"Well," remarked Lanko as he snapped the tractor off. "That's the first
handful of sand for the cook pot."_
* * * * *
Sira Nal drummed impatiently on the table before him.
"I thought you could handle routine operations," he said bitingly. "Now,
you tell me you've been missing ship after ship. What happened to them?"