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It must be horrible to be a brilliant young Proconsul of liberal tendencies and to have to sit mute while a cynical old Ministerial Secretary, vastly one's superior in the Imperial Establishment and a distant cousin of the Emperor to boot, calmly bartered away the sacred liberties of twenty million people. "But would that be legal, under the Imperial Constitution?" Olvir Nikkolon asked.
Perhaps they did. It wasn't for love of their Lords-Master; he was sure of that. Even from the beginning, they had found it impossible to disguise their contempt.... Then he saw Olvir Nikkolon stop short and thrust out his arm, pointing directly below the pickup, and as he watched, something green-gray, a remote-control contragravity lorry, came floating into the field of the screen.
Out of the screen-speaker a voice, as loud, by actual sound-meter test, as an anti-vehicle gun, thundered: "SILENCE!" Into the shocked stillness which it produced, he spoke, like a schoolmaster who has returned to find his room in an uproar: "Lord Nikkolon; what is this nonsense? You are Chairman of the Presidium; is this how you keep order here?
Lanze Degbrend, at the screen, twisted the dial again, and this time the screen flickered and cleared, and they were looking into the Convocation Chamber from the extreme rear, above the double doors. Far away, in front, Olvir Nikkolon was rising behind the gold and onyx bench, and from the speaker the call bell tolled slowly, and the buzz of over two thousand whispering voices diminished.
"We've enacted the Emancipation Act," Olvir Nikkolon, who was ex officio chairman of the committee, reported. "Every slave on the planet must be free before the opening of the next Midyear Feasts." "And when will that be?" Aditya, he knew, had a three hundred and fifty-eight day year; even if the Midyear Feasts were just past, they were giving themselves very little time.
"At least, he was my chief-slave; now you people have taken him away from me. I don't know what I'm going to do without him. For that matter, I don't know what poor Zhorzh will do, either." "Have you gentlemen informed your chief-slaves that they are free, yet?" Nikkolon and Javasan looked at each other. Sesar Martwynn laughed. "They know," Javasan said. "I must say they are much disturbed."
Nikkolon began to speak: "Seven and a half centuries ago, our fathers went forth from Morglay to plant upon this planet a new banner...." It was evidently a set speech, one he had recited year after year, and every Lord Chairman of the Presidium before him. The splendid traditions. The glories of the Masterly race. The all-conquering Space Vikings. The proud heritage of the Sword-Worlds.
I know, there hasn't been a ship in or out of this system for five centuries, and I suppose you have a great many questions to ask about the Galactic Empire. Members of the Presidium and Chiefs of Managements may address me directly; others will please address the chairman." Olvir Nikkolon, the owner of Tchall Hozhet, was on his feet at once.
What is this, a planetary parliament or a spaceport saloon?" "You tricked us!" Nikkolon accused. "You didn't tell us about that article when we voted. Why, our whole society is based on slavery!" Other voices joined in: "That's all right for you people, you have robots...." "Maybe you don't know it, but there are twenty million slaves on this planet...." "Look, you can't free slaves!
Erskyll persisted. "How did the Lord Nikkolon get to be Chairman of the Presidium, and the Lord Javasan to be Chief of Administration?" That was very simple. The Convocation, consisting of the heads of all the Masterly families, actually small clans, numbered about twenty-five hundred. They elected the seven members of the Presidium, who drew lots for the Chairmanship. They served for life.
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