Count Erskyll was aghast. He stared at Ravney for an instant, then snatched up his brandy-glass—the meal had gotten to that point—and drained it at a gulp. The others watched solicitously while he coughed and spluttered over it.
"Commodore Shatrak," he said sternly. "I hope that you will take severe disciplinary action; this is the most outrageous...."
"I'll do nothing of the sort," Shatrak retorted. "The colonel is to be commended; did the best thing he could, under the circumstances. What are you going to do when slavery is abolished here, Colonel?"
"Oh, tell them that they have been given their freedom as a special reward for meritorious service, and then sign them up for a five year enlistment."
"That might work. Again, it might not."
"I think, Colonel, that before you do that, you had better disarm them again. You might possibly have some trouble, otherwise."
Ravney looked at him sharply. "They might not want to be free? I'd thought of that."
"Nonsense!" Erskyll declared. "Who ever heard of slaves rebelling against freedom?"
Freedom was a Good Thing. It was a Good Thing for everybody, everywhere and all the time. Count Erskyll knew it, because freedom was a Good Thing for him.
He thought, suddenly, of an old tomcat belonging to a lady of his acquaintance at Paris-on-Baldur, a most affectionate cat, who insisted on catching mice and bringing them as presents to all his human friends. To this cat's mind, it was inconceivable that anybody would not be most happy to receive a nice fresh-killed mouse.