An hour or two later, when she declared that now he did need a rest and he was inclined to agree, he asked casually if she had any brothers or sisters.

“Sure. Lots of ’em.” She kept her eyes on the mirror, before which she sat combing her hair. “Rozh’d like to’ve met you when you came, but he’s too busy studying. ’S not all fun, being President.”

“Rozh? A brother? But you said your father—”

“Well, Joe won’ live forever, you know. Rozh has to be prepared.”

“But this—hey, wait!”

She gave him a direct glance. “Don’ you un’erstan’? Rozh is Joe’s oldes’ son by his chief orthowife. So he’ll be the next Pres’dent.”

“Oh.” Barlow sat for a while. At last: “Is the succession like that in all the other offices?”

“What else? It’d be an unnatural father who didn’ han’ on his position to his heirs, wouldn’t it?” Amily finished combing her locks, sprang up, and blew him a kiss. “I mus’ run. ’Bye, darling.” She hurried from the room. A moment later he heard her aircar take off.

Alone, he fretted for a while. But after all, he told himself, in the total context of history, hereditary government was the norm, elective government the deviation. Given proper training…modern genetics also, no doubt, and medicine, so there were no defectives…the same family might provide wise rulers for hundreds of years.

He was too tired to think further. Sleep swooped on him.

* * *

Soft music awoke him at dusk. A man entered, bearing a tray with tea and cookies. He was a burly fellow, with shaven pate and gray clothes like the garage attendants. His face was expressionless. He set the tray on the bed and prostrated himself.

After he had lain there for a number of seconds, Barlow snapped nervously, “Well, what’s the matter with you?”

“My owner hasn’ commanded me t’ arise,” responded a dead voice.

“Huh?”

Another man drifted in. He was more gaily clad, in some kind of livery, but his skull was as bare as the other’s. “If my owner please,” he said, “his bath an’ garments ’re ready. It’s soon time for the banquet.”

Barlow swung his feet to the carpet. “Good Lord!” he exploded. His tea spilled on the prostrate man, and it was hot, but there was no stir or whimper.

When he had argued his way to comprehension—which was not easy, both his chattels being invincibly stupid—Barlow stood for a long while staring at the wall. Well, he told himself at last, in a remote fashion, when fifteen billion people are jammed together on one impoverished planet, they are bound to become a cheap commodity.

With the help of some more tranquilizer, he made a creditable entrance at the feasting place and chatted with many of Earth’s rulers. Their total number was small, and he learned they were careful to restrict their own reproduction, lest the power they had be divided. However, they were no more conscious of tyrannizing the unfree than a rancher would be of unfairly dominating his cattle. Their welcome to Barlow was warm and genuine. When Amily took his arm and led the procession into the dining room, he began to feel that he had come home.