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Look here; you're not going to work against this, are you? You won't advise these ci-devant Lords-Master to vote against it, when it comes up?" "Certainly not. I think your constitution Khreggor Chmidd's and Tchall Hozhet's, to be exact will be nothing short of a political disaster, but it will insure some political stability, which is all that matters from the Imperial point of view.
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.
"This is a ship of the Galactic Empire," he told them. "In the Empire, there are no slaves. Can you understand that?" Evidently not. The huge one, Khreggor Chmidd, turned to the skull-faced Tchall Hozhet, saying: "Then they must all be Lords-Master." He saw the objection to that at once. "But how can one be a Lord-Master if there are no slaves?"
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.
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."
"I present the Admirable and Trusty Tchall Hozhet, personal chief-slave of the Lord-Master Olvir Nikkolon, Chairman of the Presidium of the Lords-Master's Convocation, and Khreggor Chmidd, chief-slave in office to the Lord-Master Rovard Javasan, Chief of Administration of Management of the Mastership," he said. Then he stopped, puzzled, looking from one to another of them.
Our chief-slaves have warned us of the trap concealed in this constitution written by the Proconsul, Count Erskyll. My faithful Tchall Hozhet has shown me all the pitfalls in this infamous document...." Obray, Count Erskyll, was staring in dismay at the screen.
Don't ask me why," Tchall Hozhet snapped at him. "I don't know, either. But they are here with ships and guns and soldiers; what can we do?" "That's very close to it," he admitted. "But there is one thing you haven't considered. A slave only gets what his master gives him.
"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.