"Because I've seen the way they live in the Upper City. I've seen the life they lead and I've seen the life those people out there in the big room lead."
Tandor made a rumbling sound in his throat. "You don't think they'll appreciate your changing it, do you?"
Angus looked thoughtful. He smiled, "I know what our race is heading toward, now. We will be like Stasor—the man behind the veil—eventually. The longer the Diktor stays in power, and others like him, the longer will the rest of us be kept from that goal."
Tandor grinned like a wolf. "Some men like to be martyrs. It's a weakness of the brain." He scowled, and brought the flat of his ham-like hand down on the wooden tabletop. "I say it's madness. Let the Hierarch and the Diktor slit each other's throats. Let's go back to the star trails, Angus. Out where a man can breathe and stretch himself."
Angus shook his head. "Take the ship yourself. Go raiding, if you want. I stay. I want to answer a question."
"What question?"
"Why is science?"
"Why is—? You're crazy, now. I know it. Of all the stupid questions. Science is an art designed to better the life standards of the patrician class. There. That answer you?"
"I say science is something that should benefit all. Why do we have torches while the hierarchy and the patricians use illumi-lamps and incandescent walls? Why don't we have stoves instead of hearths or electronizers instead of percussion guns?"
Tandor smirked. "It's safer."