call the Convocation Chamber. Closeto a thousand of them, screaming recriminations at one another. Soundslike feeding time at the Imperial Zoo. I think they all want tosurrender, but nobody dares propose it first. I've just put a cordonaround it and placed it off limits to everybody. And everything outsideoff limits to the Convocation."
"Well thought of, Colonel. I suppose the Citadel teems with bureaucratsand such low life-forms?"
"Bulging with them. Literally thousands. Lanze Degbrend and CommanderDouvrin and a few others are trying to get some sensible answers out ofsome of them."
"This delegation; how had you thought of sending them up?"
"Landing-craft to _Isobel_; _Isobel_ will bring them the rest of theway."
He looked at his watch. "Well, don't be in too much of a rush to getthem here, Colonel. We don't want them till after lunch. Delay them on_Isobel_; the skipper can see that they have their own lunch aboard. Andentertain them with some educational films. Something to convince themthat there is slightly more to the Empire than one ship-of-the-line, twocruisers and four destroyers."
Count Erskyll was dissatisfied about that, too. He wanted to see thedelegation at once and make arrangements to talk to their superiors.Count Erskyll, among other things, was zealous, and of this hedisapproved. Zealous statesmen perhaps did more mischief than anythingin the Galaxy--with the possible exception of procrastinating soldiers.That could indicate the fundamental difference between statecraft andwar. He'd have to play with that idea a little.
* * * * *
An Empire ship-of-the-line was almost a mile in diameter. It was morethan a battle-craft; it also had political functions. The grand salon,on the outer zone where the curvature of the floors was lessdisconcerting, was as magnificent as any but a few of the rooms of theImperial Palace at Asgard on Odin, the floor richly carpeted and thewalls alternating mirrors and paintings. The movable furniture variedaccording to occasion; at present, it consisted of the bare desk atwhich they sat, the three chairs they occupied, and the threesecretary-robots, their rectangular black casts blazened with the Sunand Cogwheel of the Empire. It faced the door, at the far end of theroom; on either side, a rank of spacemen, in dress uniform and underarms, stood.
In principle, annexing a planet to the Empire was simplicity itself, butlike so many things simple in principle, it was apt to be complicated inpractice, and to this, he suspected, the present instance would be noexception.
In principle, one simply informed the planetary government that it wasnow subject to the sovereignty of his Imperial Majesty, the GalacticEmperor. This information was always conveyed by a MinisterialSecretary, directly under the Prime Minister and only one more step downfrom the Emperor, in the present instance Jurgen, Prince Trevannion. Tomake sure that the announcement carried conviction, the presumedly gladtidings were accompanied by the Imperial Space Navy, at presentrepresented by Commodore Vann Shatrak and a seven ship battle-line unit,and two thousand Imperial Landing-Troops.
When the locals had been properly convinced--with as little bloodshed asnecessary, but always beyond any dispute--an Imperial Proconsul, in thiscase Obray, Count Erskyll, would be installed. He would by no meansgovern the planet. The Imperial Constitution was definite on that point;every planetary government should be sovereign as to intraplanetaryaffairs. The Proconsul, within certain narrow and entirely inelasticlimits, would merely govern the government.
Unfortunately, Obray, Count Erskyll, appeared not to understand thiscompletely. It was his impression that he was a torch-bearer of Imperialcivilization, or something equally picturesque and metaphorical. As heconceived it, it was the duty of the Empire, as represented by himself,to make over backward planets like Aditya in the image of Odin or Mardukor Osiris or Baldur or, preferably, his own home world of Aton.
This was Obray of Erskyll's first proconsular appointment, it was due tofamily influence, and it was a mistake. Mistakes, of course, wereinevitable in anything as large and complex as the Galactic Empire, andany institution guided by men was subject to one kind of influence oranother, family influence being no worse than any other kind. In thiscase, the ultra-conservative Erskylls of Aton, from old Errol, Duke ofYorvoy, down, had become alarmed at the political radicalism of youngObray, and had, on his graduation from the University of Nefertiti,persuaded the Prime Minister to appoint him to a Proconsulate as farfrom Aton as possible, where he would not embarrass them. Just at thattime, more important matters having been gotten out of the way, Adityahad come up for annexation, and Obray of Erskyll had been namedProconsul.
That had been the mistake. He should have been sent to some planet whichhad been under Imperial rule for some time, where the Proconsulate ranitself in a well-worn groove, and where he could at leisure learn theprocedures and unlearn some of the unrealisms absorbed at the Universityfrom professors too well insulated from the realities of politics.
* * * * *
There was a stir among the guards; helmet-visors were being snappeddown; feet scuffed. They stiffened to attention, the great doors at theother end of the grand salon slid open, and the guards presented arms asthe Adityan delegation was ushered in.
There were fourteen of them. They all wore ankle-length gowns, and theyall had shaven heads. The one in the lead carried a staff and wore apale green gown; he was apparently a herald. Behind him came two inwhite gowns, their empty hands folded on their breasts; one was a hugebulk of obesity with a bulging brow, protuberant eyes and a purseylittle mouth, and the other was thin and cadaverous, with a skull-like,almost fleshless face. The ones behind, in dark green and pale blue,carried portfolios and slung sound-recorder cases. There was a metallictwinkle at each throat; as they approached, he could see that they allwore large silver gorgets. They came to a halt twenty feet from thedesk. The herald raised his staff.
"I present the Admirable and Trusty Tchall Hozhet, personal chief-slaveof the Lord-Master Olvir Nikkolon, Chairman of the Presidium of theLords-Master's Convocation, and Khreggor Chmidd, chief-slave in officeto the Lord-Master Rovard Javasan, Chief of Administration ofManagement of the Mastership," he said. Then he stopped, puzzled,looking from one to another of them. When his eyes fell on Vann Shatrak,he brightened.
"Are you," he asked, "the chief-slave of the chief Lord-Master of thisship?"
Shatrak's face turned pink; the pink darkened to red. He used a word; itwas a completely unprintable word. So, except for a few scatteredpronouns, conjunctions and prepositions, were the next fifty words heused. The herald stiffened. The two delegates behind him were aghast.The subordinate burden-bearers in the rear began looking aroundapprehensively.
"I," Shatrak finally managed, "am an officer of his Imperial Majesty'sSpace Navy. I am in command of this battle-line unit. I am _not_"--hereverted briefly to obscenity--"a slave."
"You mean, you are a Lord-Master, too?" That seemed to horrify theherald even more that the things Shatrak had been calling him. "Forgiveme, Lord-Master. I did not think...."
"That's right; you didn't," Shatrak agreed. "And don't call meLord-Master again, or I'll...."
"Just a moment, Commodore." He waved the herald aside and addressed thetwo in white gowns, shifting to Lingua Terra. "This is a ship of theGalactic Empire," he told them. "In the Empire, there are no slaves. Canyou understand that?"
Evidently not. The huge one, Khreggor Chmidd, turned to the skull-facedTchall Hozhet, saying: "Then they must all be Lords-Master." He saw theobjection to that at once. "But how can one be a Lord-Master if thereare no slaves?"
The horror was not all on the visitors' side of the desk, either. Obrayof Erskyll was staring at the delegation and saying, "Slaves!" under hisbreath. Obray of Erskyll had never, in his not-too-long life, seen aslave before.
"They can't be," Tchall Hozhet replied. "A Lord-Master is one who ownsslaves." He gave that a moment's consideration. "But if they aren'tLords-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 creptback to Aditya. Chmidd, looking around, saw the ranks of spacemen oneither side, now at parade-rest.
"But aren't they slaves?" he asked.
"They are spacemen of the Imperial Navy," Shatrak roared. "Call one aslave to his face and you'll get a rifle-butt in yours. And I shan'tlift a finger to stop it." He glared at Chmidd and Hozhet. "Who had theinfernal impudence to send slaves to deal with the Empire? He needs tobe 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. Wemust speak to their
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