presented arms as
the Adityan delegation was ushered in.

There were fourteen of them. They all wore ankle-length gowns, and they
all had shaven heads. The one in the lead carried a staff and wore a
pale green gown; he was apparently a herald. Behind him came two in
white gowns, their empty hands folded on their breasts; one was a huge
bulk of obesity with a bulging brow, protuberant eyes and a pursey
little 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 metallic
twinkle at each throat; as they approached, he could see that they all
wore large silver gorgets. They came to a halt twenty feet from the
desk. The herald raised his staff.

"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. When his eyes fell on Vann Shatrak,
he brightened.

"Are you," he asked, "the chief-slave of the chief Lord-Master of this
ship?"

Shatrak's face turned pink; the pink darkened to red. He used a word; it
was a completely unprintable word. So, except for a few scattered
pronouns, conjunctions and prepositions, were the next fifty words he
used. The herald stiffened. The two delegates behind him were aghast.
The subordinate burden-bearers in the rear began looking around
apprehensively.

"I," Shatrak finally managed, "am an officer of his Imperial Majesty's
Space Navy. I am in command of this battle-line unit. I am _not_"--he
reverted briefly to obscenity--"a slave."

"You mean, you are a Lord-Master, too?" That seemed to horrify the
herald even more that the things Shatrak had been calling him. "Forgive
me, Lord-Master. I did not think...."

"That's right; you didn't," Shatrak agreed. "And don't call me
Lord-Master again, or I'll...."

"Just a moment, Commodore." He waved the herald aside and addressed the
two in white gowns, shifting to Lingua Terra. "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: