The horror was not all on the visitors’ side of the desk, either. Obray of Erskyll was staring at the delegation and saying, “Slaves!” under his breath. Obray of Erskyll had never, in his not-too-long life, seen a slave before.
“They can’t be,” Tchall Hozhet replied. “A Lord-Master is one who owns slaves.” He gave that a moment’s consideration. “But if they aren’t Lords-Master, they must be slaves, and. …” No. That wouldn’t do, either. “But a slave is one who belongs to a Lord-Master.”
Rule of the Excluded Third; evidently Pre-Atomic formal logic had crept back to Aditya. Chmidd, looking around, saw the ranks of spacemen on either side, now at parade-rest.
“But aren’t they slaves?” he asked.
“They are spacemen of the Imperial Navy,” Shatrak roared. “Call one a slave to his face and you’ll get a rifle-butt in yours. And I shan’t lift a finger to stop it.” He glared at Chmidd and Hozhet. “Who had the infernal impudence to send slaves to deal with the Empire? He needs to be taught a lesson.”
“Why, I was sent by the Lord-Master Olvir Nikkolon, and. …”
“Tchall!” Chmidd hissed at him. “We cannot speak to Lords-Master. We must speak to their chief-slaves.”
“But they have no slaves,” Hozhet objected. “Didn’t you hear the … the one with the small beard … say so?”
“But that’s ridiculous, Khreggor. Who does the work, and who tells them what to do? Who told these people to come here?”
“Our Emperor sent us. That is his picture, behind me. But we are not his slaves. He is merely the chief man among us. Do your Masters not have one among them who is chief?”
“That’s right,” Chmidd said to Hozhet. “In the Convocation, your Lord-Master is chief, and in the Mastership, my Lord-Master, Rovard Javasan, is chief.”
“But they don’t tell the other Lords-Master what to do. In Convocation, the other Lords-Master tell them. …”
“That’s what I meant about an oligarchy,” he whispered, in Imperial, to Erskyll.
“Suppose we tell Ravney to herd these Lords-Master onto a couple of landing-craft and bring them up here?” Shatrak suggested. He made the suggestion in Lingua Terra Basic, and loudly.
“I think we can manage without that.” He raised his voice, speaking in Lingua Terra Basic:
“It does not matter whether these slaves talk to us or not. This planet is now under the rule of his Imperial Majesty, Rodrik III. If this Mastership wants to govern the planet under the Emperor, they may do so. If not, we will make an end of them and set up a new government here.”
He paused. Chmidd and Hozhet were looking at one another in shocked incredulity.
“Tchall, they mean it,” Chmidd said. “They can do it, too.”
“We have nothing more to say to you slaves,” he continued. “Hereafter, we will speak directly to the Lords-Master.”
“But. … The Lords-Master never do business directly,” Hozhet said. “It is un-Masterly. Such discussions are between chief-slaves.”
“This thing they call the Convocation,” Shatrak mentioned. “I wonder if the members have the business done entirely through their slaves.”
“Oh, no!” That shocked Chmidd into direct address. “No slave is allowed in the Convocation Chamber.”
He wondered how they kept the place swept out. Robots, no doubt. Or else, what happened when the Masters weren’t there didn’t count.
“Very well. Your people have recorders; are they on?”
Hozhet asked Chmidd; Chmidd asked the herald, who asked one of the menials in the rear, who asked somebody else. The reply came back through the same channels; they were.
“Very well. At this time tomorrow, we will speak to the Convocation of Lords-Master. Commodore Shatrak, see to it that Colonel Ravney has them in the Convocation Chamber, and that preparations in the room are made, so that we may address them in the dignity befitting representatives of his Imperial Majesty.” He turned to the Adityan slaves. “That is all. You have permission to go.”
They watched the delegation back out, with the honor-guard following. When the doors had closed behind them, Shatrak ran his hand over his bald head and laughed.
“Shaved heads, every one of them. That’s probably why they thought I was your slave. Bet those gorgets are servile badges, too.” He touched the Knight’s Star of the Order of the Empire at his throat. “Probably thought that was what this was. We would have to draw something like this!”
“They simply can’t imagine anybody not being either a slave or a slave-owner,” Erskyll was saying. “That must mean that there is no free non-slave-holding class at all. Universal slavery! Well, we’ll have to do something about that. Proclaim total emancipation, immediately.”
“Oh, no; we can’t do anything like that. The Constitution won’t permit us to. Section Two, Article One: Every Empire planet shall be self-governed as to its own affairs, in the manner of its own choice, and without interference.
”
“But slavery. … Section Two, Article Six,” Erskyll objected. “There shall be no chattel slavery or serfdom anywhere in the Empire; no sapient being of any race whatsoever shall be the property of any being but himself.
”
“That’s correct,” he agreed. “If this Mastership intends to remain the planetary government under the Empire, they will be obliged to abolish slavery, but they will have to do it by their own act. We cannot do it for them.”
“You know what I’d do, Prince Trevannion?” Shatrak said. “I’d just heave this Mastership thing out, and set up a nice tight military dictatorship. We have the planet under martial rule now; let’s just keep it that way for about five years, till we can train a new government.”
That suggestion seemed to pain Count Erskyll almost as much as the existing situation.
They dined late, in Commodore Shatrak’s private dining room. Beside Shatrak, Erskyll and himself, there were Lanze Degbrend, and Count Erskyll’s charge-d’affaires, Sharll Ernanday, and Patrique Morvill and Pyairr Ravney and the naval intelligence officer, Commander Andrey Douvrin. Ordinarily, he deplored serious discussion at meals, but under the circumstances it was unavoidable; nobody could think or talk of anything else. The discussion which he had hoped would follow the meal began
