Lan peered calmly out of his vehicle. They were hovering in Earth's upper atmosphere, at the permitted limit.
"Be patient. These people have almost reached the critical point. We'll get the signal before long."
Jarth Rolan popped out of his chair and danced about in nervous excitement.
"Won't it be dangerous? For us, I mean. Going down into that radioactive atmosphere. And how about them—will any of them live? Suppose we wait too long?"
Lan Barda laughed. He was a husky humanoid, pinkish of skin and completely hairless, like all galactics. He slapped Jarth Rolan's back.
"We have experts watching. These humans have used four cobalt bombs, and plenty of smaller stuff. The fallout is close to the danger point. Our observers will know just when we can move in because—" he winked and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper—"they're using automatically controlled instruments."
"Oh, my!" Jarth Rolan clapped his hands to his cheeks. "But those are robots—and the use of robots is against religion."
"I know, Jarth. But we won't be using them much longer, will we?" He poked a playful finger into Jarth's ribs. "We'll have slaves—and it'll be completely ethical."
Jarth Rolan winced. "Must you use that word 'slaves,' Lan? It sounds so—" He waved his hands.
Lan laughed again. "Be honest with yourself, Jarth. You're out to make a few dopolins for yourself as a slave raider."