Kennon had to agree that Blalok was right. He, too, liked the real thing far better than its imitations.
“If it’s this profitable, then why sell Lani?” Kennon asked.
“It’s the Family’s idea. Actually—since the export type is surplus it does us no harm. We keep enough for servants—and the others would be inefficient for most farm work. So disposal by sale is a logical and profitable way of culling. But now the Boss-man is being pressured into breeding an export type. And this I don’t like. It’s too commercial. Smells like slavery.”
“You’re a Mystic, aren’t you?” Kennon asked.
“Sure—but that doesn’t mean I like slavery. Oh, I know some of those fatheaded Brotherhood economists call our system economic slavery—and I’ll admit that it’s pretty hard to crack out of a spherical trust. But that doesn’t mean that we have to stay where we are. Mystics aren’t owned by their entrepreneurs. Sure, it’s a tough haul to beat the boss, but it can be done. I did it, and others do it all the time. The situation isn’t hopeless.”
“But it is with the Lani,” Kennon added.
“Of course. That’s why they should be protected. What chance does a Lani have? Without us they can’t even keep going as a race. They’re technological morons. They don’t live long enough to understand modern civilization. To turn those poor helpless humanoids out into human society would be criminal. It’s our duty to protect them even while we’re using them.”
“Man’s burden?’ Kennon said, repeating the old cliche.
“Exactly.” Blalok scowled. “I wish I had guts enough to give the Boss-man the facts—but I can’t get nerve enough to try. I’ve a good job here—a wife and two kids—and I don’t want to jeopardize my future.” Blalok glanced over the side. “Well, here we are,” he said, and began descending into the center of a spokelike mass of buildings radiating outward from a central hub.
“Hmm—big place,” Kennon murmured.