So said his agent's handbook.
Later he met Veena's mother, Merl, a handsome woman with calm gray eyes who served them dinner by firelight. It was a good dinner. These colonists seemed like good people. A shame they qualified for inhibition.
Gently, Saxon began to probe.
In only six generations the colonists has scattered throughout the entire hemisphere. Although the matrix of their culture seemed to be the individual family unit, they lived according to whim. Some lived in small communal groups. Some lived alone. Some, by choice, were wanderers, rovers. They had science. Their philosophy seemed nebulous, based on a benevolent ecology, brotherhood with all living things.
Saxon frowned.
Six generations ago, the ecology on this world hardly had been benevolent for man. This area of the continent had been a steaming marsh, swarming with hungry saurians. Now it was all meadow and forest.
Saxon said thoughtfully, "Have you ever felt the need for organization? For a leader?"
He leaned back and waited for the seed to sprout. Two years ago on Eden VIII, near Rigel, he had said the same thing to a sixth-generation shaman, and it took scarcely a month for the shaman to start an intra-tribal war.
But now the seed fell on sterile ground. Lang said, "I don't understand. Any problem which cannot be solved at family level is referred to the annual council."
"A leader." Saxon was patient. "One strong man to represent everybody. To settle all problems as he sees fit?"