You bank the ship around to the temple, deciding to make a grand entrance. "Too bad I'm not a chick,' you think jokingly, 'Then maybe they'd worship me.'
You aim for a wide stone courtyard in the center of the temple complex; the area is dotted with what you can only assume are the priests of this world's backward religion. When the ship comes down, the little robed figures scatter from the cloud created by its rockets. You step out into the dust sure to bring along your trusty laser pistol. As it clears, some of the priests step out into view. The nearest peers up at you through his hood and you realize he's naught but a teenage boy. As they gather closer, drawn by curiosity you notice they are all young and all male, not a one beyond the age of twenty, were you to guess. Their faces and figures look plump and healthy, not what you'd expect for people living in the desert.
From your vest pocket you remove one of earth's greatest scientific achievements, after beer of course: the phonetic translator. You fit the little microphone and computer to your ear excited to give this new technology a try. Pulling a receiver down to your lips you speak, "are one of you the leader?"
The boys don't respond. Instead they share nervous looks as if you'd spoken a taboo. You scratch your head and try again, "if your leader is not among you can you call him?" Again more nervous looks, but this time one of the older ones steps forward. He bows politely to you before responding, "to call without urgent need is an affront."
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