raised his voice,
and read:

"_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._"

The Convocation Chamber was silent, like a bomb with a defective fuse,
for all of thirty seconds. Then it blew up with a roar. Out of the
corner of his eye, he saw the doors slide apart and an airjeep,
bristling with machine guns, float in and rise to the ceiling. The first
inarticulate roar was followed by a babel of voices, like a tropical
cloudburst on a prefab hut. Olvir Nikkolon's mouth was working as he
shouted unheard.

He pressed another of the row of buttons on the arm of his chair. 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? 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! That's ridiculous. A slave's a _slave_!"

"Who'll do the work? And who would they belong to? They'd have to belong
to somebody!"

"What I want to know," Rovard Javasan made himself heard, is, "_how_ are
you going to free them?"

There was an ancient word, originating in one of the lost languages of
Pre-Atomic Terra--_sixtifor_. It meant, the basic, fundamental,
question. Rovard Javasan, he suspected, had just asked the sixtifor. Of
course, Obray, Count Erskyll, Planetary Proconsul of Aditya, didn't
realize that. He didn't even know what Javasan meant. Just free them.
Commodore Vann Shatrak couldn't see much of a problem, either. He would
have answered, Just free them, and then shoot down the first two or
three thousand who took it seriously. Jurgen, Prince Trevannion, had no
intention whatever of attempting to answer the sixtifor.

"My dear Lord Javasan, that is the problem of the Adityan Mastership.
They are your slaves; we have neither the intention nor the right to
free them. But let me rem