"A galactic is always ethical," said Jarth Rolan solemnly. "This affair, for example. We let these poor creatures of Earth handle their own affairs with no interference until they doomed themselves. It was unethical to intervene a minute sooner. Yes—the ethical way and I feel better for it and proud to be a galactic." "That's true," said Lan Barda. "A galactic wouldn't feel right, being a member of the dominant race of the Galaxy, if he didn't help the less fortunate." arth Rolan had prepared a center on his estate for the slaves. The demand was greater than the supply. He chatted happily with his wife. "An excellent investment, Shalla—yes. And the highest group council wants us to lease them out by the day for the present instead of selling outright." She nodded. "That's the fair way. Everybody can have a turn having a slave." "And," said Jarth, rubbing his pink hands, "we'll collect every day and still hold title." "Will they multiply fast," asked Shalla, "so there will be enough for all?" "They always did on Earth. Yes. By the time we pass our estate on to our son, this investment will have multiplied in value." At the center, the slaves clustered about the bulletin boards to read the slave code. The three who had been brought aboard last stood together. Laurent Crotier and his wife Jean were still in their wedding clothes, and Sam the taxi driver was in uniform. They read the seven articles of the slave code. "We have to work twelve hours a day," Laurent observed. "And have off every seventh day. This could be worse." "We'll keep our eyes open and wait for our chance," Sam piped up. "Some day we'll make a break out of here." "Yeah," said Jean. "And remember, Frenchy, no kids." Nine months later, Laurent, Jr., was born. Before the blessed event, Laurent went to Jarth Rolan with a complaint. "She can't do it, work twelve hours a day now. You have to change the rules. By gar, if my wife die 'count of this, I goin' kill you, Jarth Rolan." Jarth Rolan waltzed about nervously, biting his fingernails.
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