A Slave is a Slave

all the crewmen you can spare and arm. Andevery vehicle you have. This is only the start of it; there'll be ageneral massacre of Masters next. I don't doubt it's started already."

  At another screen, Pyairr Ravney was saying, to the officer of the dayof the Palace Guard: "No, there's no telling what they'll do next.Whatever it is, be ready for it ten minutes ago."

  He stubbed out his cigarette and rose, and as he did, Erskyll came outof his daze and onto his feet.

  "Commodore Shatrak! I mean, Admiral," he corrected himself. "We mustre-impose martial rule. I wish I'd never talked you into terminating it.Look at that!" He pointed at the screen; big dump-lorries were alreadycoming in the doors under the pickup, with a mob of gowned civil-servicepeople crowding in under them. They and the soldiers began draggingbodies out from among the seats to be loaded and hauled away. "There'sthe planetary government, murdered to the last man!"

  "I'm afraid we can't do anything like that," he said. "This seems to bea simple transfer of power by _coup-d'etat_; rather more extreme thanusual, but normal political practice on this sort of planet. The Empirehas no right to interfere."

  Erskyll turned on him indignantly. "But it's mass murder!"

  "It's an accomplished fact. Whoever ordered this, Citizen Chmidd andCitizen Hozhet and Citizen Zhannar and the rest of your good democraticcitizens, are now the planetary government of Aditya. As long as theydon't attack us, or repudiate the sovereignty of the Emperor, you'llhave to recognize them as such."

  "A bloody-handed gang of murderers; recognize them?"

  "All governments have a little blood here and there on their hands;you've seen this by screen instead of reading about it in a historybook, but that shouldn't make any difference. And you've said,yourself, that the Masters would have to be eliminated. You've toldChmidd and Hozhet and the others that, repeatedly. Of course, you meantlegally, by constitutional and democratic means, but that seemed just abit too tedious to them. They had them all together in one room, wherethey could be eliminated easily, and ... Lanze; see if you can getanything on the Citadel telecast."

  Degbrend put on another communication-screen and fiddled for a moment.What came on was a view, from another angle, of the Convocation Chamber.A voice was saying:

  "... not one left alive. The People's Labor Police, acting on orders ofPeople's Manager of Labor Zhorzh Khouzhik and People's Provost-MarshalYakoop Zhannar, are now eliminating the rest of the ci-devant Masterlyclass, all of whom are here in Zeggensburg. The people are directed tocooperate; kill them all, men, women and children. We must allow none ofthese foul exploiters of the people live to see today's sun go down...."

  "You mean, we sit here while those animals butcher women and children?"Shatrak demanded, looking from the Proconsul to the MinisterialSecretary. "Well, by Ghu, I won't! If I have to face a court for it, allwell and good, but...."

  "You won't, Admiral. I seem to recall, some years ago, a CommodoreHastings, who got a baronetcy for stopping a pogrom on Anath...."

  "And broadcast an announcement that any of the Masterly class may findasylum here at the Proconsular Palace. They're political fugitives;scores of precedents for that," Erskyll added.

  Shatrak was back at the screen to the _Empress Eulalie_.

  "Patrique, get a jam-beam focussed on that telecast station at theCitadel; get it off the air. Then broadcast on the same wavelength;announce that anybody claiming sanctuary at the Proconsular Palace willbe taken in and protected. And start getting troops down, and all thespacemen you can spare."

  At the same time, Ravney was saying, into his own screen:

  "Plan Four. Variation H-3; this is a rescue operation. This is not,repeat, underscore, _not_ an intervention in planetary government. Youare to protect members of the Masterly class in danger from mobviolence. That's anybody with hair on his head. Stay away from theCitadel; the ones there are all dead. Start with the four buildingsclosest to us, and get them cleared out. If the shaveheads give you anytrouble, don't argue with them, just shoot them...."

  Erskyll, after his brief moment of decisiveness, was staring at thescreen to the Convocation Chamber, where bodies were still being heavedinto the lorries like black sacks of grain. Lanze Degbrend summoned arobot, had it pour a highball, and gave it to the Proconsul.

  "Go ahead, Count Erskyll; drink it down. Medicinal," he was saying."Believe me you certainly need it."

  Erskyll gulped it down. "I think I could use another, if you please," hesaid, handing the glass back to Lanze. "And a cigarette." After he hadtasted his second drink and puffed on the cigarette, he said: "I was soproud. I thought they were learning democracy."

  "We don't, any of us, have too much to be proud about," Degbrend toldhim. "They must have been planning and preparing this for a couple ofmonths, and we never caught a whisper of it."

  That was correct. They had deluded Erskyll into thinking that they weregoing to let the Masters vote themselves out of power and set up arepresentative government. They had deluded the Masters into believingthat they were in favor of the _status quo_, and opposed to Erkyll'sdemocratization and socialization. There must be only a few of them inthe conspiracy. Chmidd and Hozhet and Zhannar and Khouzhik and Schfertsand the rest of the Citadel chief-slave clique. Among them, theycontrolled all the armed force. The bickering and rivalries must havebeen part of the camouflage. He supposed that a few of the upper armycommanders had been in on it, too.

  A communication-screen began making noises. Somebody flipped the switch,and Khreggor Chmidd appeared in it. Erskyll swore softly, and went toface the screen-image of the elephantine ex-slave of the ex-Lord Master,the late Rovard Javasan.

  "Citizen Proconsul; why is our telecast station, which is vitally neededto give information to the people, jammed off the air, and why are youbroadcasting, on our wavelength, advice to the criminals of theci-devant Masterly class to take refuge in your Proconsular Palace fromthe just vengeance of the outraged victims of their century-longexploitation?" he began. "This is a flagrant violation of the ImperialConstitution; our Emperor will not be pleased at this unjustifiedintervention in the affairs, and this interference with the planetaryauthority, of the People's Commonwealth of Aditya!"

  Obray of Erskyll must have realized, for the first time, that he wasstill holding a highball glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other.He flung both of them away.

  "If the Imperial troops we are sending into the city to rescue women andchildren in danger from your hoodlums meet with the least resistance,you won't be in a position to find out what his Majesty thinks about it,because Admiral Shatrak will have you and your accomplices shot in theConvocation Chamber, where you massacred the legitimate government ofthis planet," he barked.

  So the real Obray, Count Erskyll, had at last emerged. All theliberalism and socialism and egalitarianism, all the Helping-Hand,Torch-of-Democracy, idealism, was merely a surface stucco applied at theuniversity during the last six years. For twenty-four years before that,from the day of his birth, he had been taught, by his parents, hisnurse, his governess, his tutors, what it meant to be an Erskyll of Atonand a grandson of Errol, Duke of Yorvoy. As he watched Khreggor Chmiddin the screen, he grew angrier, if possible.

  "Do you know what you blood-thirsty imbeciles have done?" he demanded."You have just murdered, along with two thousand men, some five billioncrowns, the money needed to finance all these fine modernization andindustrialization plans. Or are you crazy enough to think that theEmpire is going to indemnify you for being emancipated and pay thatmoney over to you?"

  "But, Citizen Proconsul...."

  "And don't call me Citizen Proconsul! I am a noble of the GalacticEmpire, and on this pigpen of a planet I represent his Imperial Majesty.You will respect, and address, me accordingly."

  Khreggor Chmidd no longer wore the gorget of servility, but, as LanzeDegbrend had once remarked, it was still tattooed on his soul. Hegulped.

  "Y-yes, Lord-Master Proconsul!"

  They were together again in the big conference-room, which Vann Shatra
khad been using, through the day, as an extemporised Battle-Control. Theyslumped wearily in chairs; they smoked and drank coffee; they anxiouslylooked from viewscreen to viewscreen, wondering when, and how soon, thetrouble would break out again. It was dark, outside, now. Floodlightsthrew a white dazzle from the top of the Proconsular Palace and from thetops of the four buildings around it that Imperial troops had clearedand occupied, and from contragravity vehicles above. There was light andactivity at the Citadel, and in the Servile City to the south-east; therest of Zeggensburg was dark and quiet.

  "I don't think we'll have any more trouble," Admiral Shatrak was