"Where do you want to start, Banasel?"
"Well—competition's the life of trade."
"That comes later." Lanko shook his head. "There's an alien or so to be taken care of first, you know."
"I know. It's fairly obvious."
"So, we've got to find him—or them."
Musa had regained his self-control. "What about these birds in hand?"
Banasel shrugged. "Small fry. We'll take care of them later." He walked over to the workbench, picking up Lanko's sword.
"I wondered about this before," he said. "Now, I'm sure about it. It simply doesn't match a normal technology for this period."
Musa looked at him curiously. "But there are a lot of those around Norlar," he said. "They're a rarity in the Galankar, to be sure, but—"
"That's what we mean," Lanko told him. "Too many anachronisms. First, we have this sword. Then, we meet these priests of Kondaro, who discuss meteorology, navigation, and pilotage with considerable understanding. We've had communicators planted on that ship for several days now, and I still can't see how the technology was developed that allowed the manufacture of some of their instruments. We should have noticed something wrong a long time ago.