obot-controlled weapons."

"Don't worry, sir," Loran said kindly. "We slaves will take care of
it. Our form of religion doesn't prohibit robots unless they are in
the shape of a man. We think of real robots as being human in shape."

One of the galactics rose.

"I know you're right, but my conscience won't let me vote for robots
in any form. Therefore I am resigning from the council."

A second rose, then a third and fourth. They looked at each other, and
one spoke for the group.

"We are also resigning. I suggest that four slaves be appointed in our
places for the duration of the war. Then they will have a majority and
no galactic need violate his conscience by voting for the use of
robots."

The Cerberans were crushed, but the infested area was huge and the
invasion of the globular cluster took time. The war emergency lasted
fifty years. When it was over, the slaves called on the galactics to
take back control of the government.

But the widespread use of robot mechanisms in the war had caused a
reaction among the galactics. Their consciences simmered and a wave of
orthodoxy swept over their race. There was difficulty in persuading
galactics to leave their home planets to sit on the council, because
faster-than-light ships used robot controls.

The slaves scoured the planet that housed the council and kept two or
three seats filled with galactics for a while. But they were generally
old, and they died, and most of them were unmarried or childless.

* * * * *

Loran Crotay, twelfth-generation slave, sat in his home chatting with
a friend from far-off Pornalu VI. Being in the space-shipping
business, he had many friends throughout the Galaxy.

His wife answered the door and a pink humanoid shuffled in, mumbling
greetings, and went into the other room. He was middle-aged, studious
and bespectacled, and he wore a wig. Loran's friend watched him
curiously.

"Haven't seen one of them in years, Loran. We have a reservation for
the poor devils on my planet. Don't reproduce very fast, you know, and
they may become extinct. Too bad--they're so likable. Always so
ethical and conscientious."

"I know." Loran nodded. "We let poor Vendro make a few _dopolins_
tutoring our son. He's very intelligent and a good teacher. I like to
help them all I can--the only ethical thing to do. I wouldn't feel
like a slave if I didn't give poor Vendro a break."

"That's true," said his friend. "A sla