A Slave is a Slave | Page 4

It merely intensified, which
amounted to the same thing.
"Lieutenant Carmath, I am morally certain I heard you correctly, but
let's just check. You said...."
He repeated the lieutenant back, almost word for word. Carmath
nodded.
"That was it, sir. The missile-crypts are stacked full of old photoprints
and recording and microfilm spools. The sighting-and-guidance
systems for all the launchers are completely missing. The letoff
mechanisms all lack major parts. There is an elaborate set of detection
equipment, which will detect absolutely nothing. I saw a few pairs of
binoculars about; I suspect that that is what we were first observed
with."
"This office, now; I suppose all the paperwork is up to the minute in
quintulplicate, and initialed by everybody within sight or hearing?"
"I haven't checked on that yet, sir. If you're thinking of betting on it,
please don't expect me to cover you, though."
"Well, thank you, Lieutenant Carmath. Stick around; I'm sending down
a tech-intelligence crew to look at what's left of the place. While you're
waiting, you might sort out whoever seems to be in charge and find out
just what in Nifflheim he thinks that launching-station was maintained
for."
[Illustration]

"I think I can tell you that, now, Commodore," Prince Trevannion said
as Shatrak blanked the screen. "We have a petrified authoritarianism.
Quite likely some sort of an oligarchy; I'd guess that this Convocation
thing they talk about consists of all the ruling class, everybody has
equal voice, and nobody will take the responsibility for doing anything.
And the actual work of government is probably handled by a corps of
bureaucrats entrenched in their jobs, unwilling to exert any effort and
afraid to invite any criticism, and living only to retire on their pensions.
I've seen governments like that before." He named a few. "One thing;
once a government like that has been bludgeoned into the Empire, it
rarely makes any trouble later."
"Just to judge by this missileless non-launching station," Shatrak said,
"they couldn't even decide on what kind of trouble to make, or how to
start it. I think you're going to have a nice easy Proconsulate here,
Count Erskyll."
Count Erskyll started to say something. No doubt he was about to tell
Shatrak, cuttingly, that he didn't want an easy Proconsulate, but an
opportunity to help these people. He was saved from this by the
buzzing of Shatrak's communication-screen.
It was Colonel Pyairr Ravney, the Navy Landing-Troop commander.
Like everybody else who had gone down to Zeggensburg, he was in
battle-dress and armed; the transpex visor of his helmet was pushed up.
Between Shatrak's generation and Count Erskyll's, he sported a pointed
mustache and a spiky chin-beard, which, on his thin and dark-eyed face,
looked distinctly Mephistophelean. He was grinning.
"Well, sir, I think we can call it a done job," he said. "There's a
delegation here who want to talk to the Lords-Master of the ships on
behalf of the Lords-Master of the Convocation. Two of them, with
about a dozen portfolio-bearers and note-takers. I'm not too good in
Lingua Terra, outside Basic, at best, and their brand is far from that. I
gather that they're some kind of civil-servants, personal representatives
of the top Lords-Master."
"Do we want to talk to them?" Shatrak asked.

"Well, we should only talk to the actual, titular, heads of the
government--Mastership," Erskyll, suddenly protocol-conscious,
objected. "We can't negotiate with subordinates."
"Oh, who's talking about negotiating; there isn't anything to negotiate.
Aditya is now a part of the Galactic Empire. If this present regime
assents to that, they can stay in power. If not, we will toss them out and
install a new government. We will receive this delegation, inform them
to that effect, and send them back to relay the information to their
Lords-Master." He turned to the Commodore. "May I speak to Colonel
Ravney?"
Shatrak assented. He asked Ravney where these Lords-Master were.
"Here in the Citadel, in what they call the Convocation Chamber. Close
to a thousand of them, screaming recriminations at one another. Sounds
like feeding time at the Imperial Zoo. I think they all want to surrender,
but nobody dares propose it first. I've just put a cordon around it and
placed it off limits to everybody. And everything outside off limits to
the Convocation."
"Well thought of, Colonel. I suppose the Citadel teems with bureaucrats
and such low life-forms?"
"Bulging with them. Literally thousands. Lanze Degbrend and
Commander Douvrin and a few others are trying to get some sensible
answers out of some of them."
"This delegation; how had you thought of sending them up?"
"Landing-craft to Isobel; Isobel will bring them the rest of the way."
He looked at his watch. "Well, don't be in too much of a rush to get
them here, Colonel. We don't want them