The Sirian's smile gave way to uncertainty. "Leader—that is a strange thought in your mind. We have no leaders."
"But you must have leaders."
"Why?" asked the Sirian, his eyes wide. "We have no star-boat. We are not going anyplace."
The captain cleared his throat. "We have leaders not only in our rockets. We have them to help us make our laws, to supervise our work, to guide us in the decisions of our living."
The Sirian laughed like a happy child. "Laws, work—more strange thoughts. We do not have laws. We do not have work."
A scowl creased Captain Torkel's forehead. "But you must do work of some kind. What do you do all the time?"
"We pick fruit from the trees and make love and sing and sleep and lie in the forest and make up poems. Is there anything else to do?"
"But when you build shelters or make clothes—that is work."
Taaleeb laughed again. "No, no. Building a shelter or making clothes is just building a shelter or making clothes."
They came to the village. It lay in circle of domes about eight feet high that reflected the same shining colors as the meadow flowers. Whether they were wooden, metallic or vegetable Captain Torkel could not tell.