Farr was not that Master Intellect, and he knew what he must do now. His blaster came slowly from its holster. He brought the gun to his temple. His finger tightened on the trigger. White fire exploded in his brain, cooking the cells, melting them. A last scream of defiance ripped from Farr's lips, then his form went suddenly limp and crumpled to the ground, to lay silent.... * * * * * It was Londar's time to return the cylinder to the temple. Its contents were worthless, he knew, but it was the Ancients' command that the ritual be observed, so the pygmy-creature dutifully bent and retrieved the gleaming container and walked slowly with it toward the brooding edifice. To carry out his mission, Londar would be forced to pass through the Great Lights, and Londar was afraid of the lights, much in the same way savages of Earth fear the magic of witch doctors. But the intelligence of the _Mumums_ was slightly above that of savages, and Londar realized in a vague way that the lights could not harm him, could not do the things to him they had done to the black-haired man from the sky. For, long ago, he had swallowed several of the mysterious crystals contained in the small silver tube swinging at his waist. The Ancients had commanded him to do that and Londar had complied, as had all his race, out of their great respect and love for the wise ones. The Ancients were gone now, had vanished into the sky many seasons since. But Londar and his people had lived on, ageless, undying, tirelessly performing the strange duties assigned them by the masters. Some day, another great race would come, and Londar's people would then surrender the silver tubes. The black-haired man might have been the representative of such a race, but he had shown contempt for the _Mumums_ and had slain Kyrrad. That would not be the way of a true people of supreme intellect. Londar walked on, the silvery tube fastened at his waist tinkling musically in rhythm to his stride.