“The monks aren't allowed sex, booze, that sort of thing, I imagine.”
“Good heavens, why not? In moderation, of course.”
“And they live on a higher scale?”
“No, no, not at all. Don't misunderstand. The planet is a prosperous one. Exceedingly prosperous. There is everything needed for comfortable existence for everyone. Shangri-La is one planet where the pursuit of happiness is pursuable by all.” Captain Woiski chuckled again.
Ronny said, “It sounds good enough, although I'm leery of benevolent dictatorships. The trouble with them is that it's up to the dictators to decide what's benevolent. And almost always, nepotism rears its head, favoritism of one sort or another. How long will it be before one of your moderate monks decides he'll moderately tinker with the tests, or whatever, just to be sure his favorite nephew makes the grade? A high I.Q. is no guarantee of integrity.”
The captain didn't disagree. “That's always possible, I suppose. One guard against it, in this case, is the matter of motive. The privilege of being a monk isn't as great as all that. Materially, you aren't particularly better off than any one else. You have more leisure, that's true, but actually most of them are so caught up in their studies or research that they put in more hours of endeavor than does the farmer or industrial worker on Shangri-La.”
“Well,” Ronny said, “let's just hope that Tommy Paine never hears of this place.”
“Who?” the captain said.
Ronny Bronston reversed his engines. “Oh, nobody important. A guy I know of.”
Captain Woiski scowled. “Seems to me I've heard the name.”