The orderly who escorted them to their room cast an occasional side-long glance, full of awe, at them. Their heat-guns had been taken from their room.
"I don't know what we're in for, Tom," John said gravely into his pocket transmitter when he had tuned in to the ship. "This place is the biggest mess of contradictions I ever ran into. You'd think from the way they live that it's a decadent society living on the ruins of a former civilization.
"The perplexing thing is that they obviously have power and know how to use it, but don't."
"Your job is to find the motivation, John," replied the commander. "Remember, we couldn't understand the underground living habits of the Deneb IV natives until we lost half a search party in one of their semi-annual meteor showers. Do you have any recommendations for the ship?"
"I'd advise you blasting off and taking an orbit," answered John, "but every gun at the spaceport is trained on the ship. I wouldn't take any chances that they don't have atomic weapons. Despite these swords and spears, we've seen several regulation heat-guns around here."
"It might interest you to know that they're keeping us awake aboard with a battery of spotlights on us all night," said Tom drily.
"Spotlights." John swore softly. "And all we have to see by are candles!"
They didn't sleep well that night. They had the distinct impression that armed guards clanked by occasionally outside in the corridor.
There was no indication that they were prisoners the next day, however. Third Sarge Elfor and the other officers were cordial at breakfast and lunch, although they caught some quizzical glances directed at them from time to time. Their movements were not hampered. They were given the run of the town.