The Altar at Asconel by John Brunner

no one can stand against him. He’s a superior being and men ought to recognize that and serve him.”
    “Is he a telepathic mutation from human stock?”
    “I’ve never seen him. But the priests say he’s different. Superior. Deserving of our worship.”
    Spartak wiped sweat from his face. “I’m told he demands human sacrifices. Is that true?”
    “No, of course not!” Shocked, the bound man tried to sit up, and failed. “The priests say it’s blasphemy to call it sacrifice. It’s a free-will offering, and it’s an honor to serve Belizuek in that way just as in any other.”
    Spartak’s jaw set in a grim line. If in such a short time Bucyon and his consort Lydis had managed to persuade all—or even a substantial part—of the citizens of Asconel that this transcendent rubbish was the revealed and mystic truth, their mission wasn’t going to be confined to so simple a task as deposing the usurper and restoring the rightful Warden.
    “Where does Belizuek come from?”
    “The priests say he’s existed since the beginning of the galaxy.”
    “Then where is Brinze?”
    “That’s where Shry and Bucyon and Lydis and some of the others come from. But I don’t know where it lies.”
    “Delcadoré,” Vix muttered to himself, over at the control board. “I’d not meant to go so close to the hub—there are still idiots around there with dreams of Imperial glory, and it’s risky. But if that’s where Tiorin is said to be …” He glanced over his shoulder. “I have a course set up now. Anything more you want from him?”
    “Not right now.” Spartak straightened. “What shall we do with him?”
    “Put him where he put Vineta, why not?”
    “No, that’s too small—literally and absolutely. In a closet we can lock; that would do.”
    “There’s an empty one next to the head,” Vix grunted. “I’ll help you lug him down there.”
    Still weary from the mental strain as well as from the physical effort of hauling the reluctant Korisul to his prison, Spartak stole into the lower cabin. Vineta had stretched out on the left bunk, and was sleeping with deep and regular breathing. Near her pillow she had ranged the little objects to which she plainly attached a great deal of value: the shell, the solido, the cheap jewelry.…
    Spartak put his medical case away and crept out again.
    “You again, Spartak?” Vix called as he re-entered the control cabin. “Say—uh—I ought to thank you. I guess I was too shaken up to remember. It was very smart, the way you stopped the fight. And it was just as well we tackled him your way and not mine. Apart from anything else, I imagine you’re now convinced that I wasn’t spinning you a wild fantasy about what’s happened on Asconel!”
    Spartak shook his head distractedly. “It’s incredible,” he muttered. “The speed and completeness of the process, to have produced a fanatic like Korisu in so short a time—it almost persuades me that you were right about witchcraft.”
    Vix hesitated. Then he put out his hand. “Brother, I was in two minds whether to go to Annanworld and seek you out. I wondered if I might not burden myself. But ten years is a slice out of any man’s life, and love for a world like Asconel is a bond to bring men together.”
    Spartak put his hand into the other’s grasp.
    But the full measure of Korisu’s fanaticism did not emerge until much later—until the time when they went to feed him in his cramped prison and found that he had contrived to strangle himself, against all probablity, with the braided leather Vix had used to bind his arms.…
    The shadow of that incredible death still lay over them when they gathered in the control room to watch the planet Delcadoré grow beyond the main ports. To break the intolerable silence between them, Vineta—recovered almostcompletely from her treatment at the hands of Korisu—spoke up.
    “What sort of a world is this one, now?”
    Vix, occupied with the controls, tossed an answering