The top landing-stage of the Citadel grew and filled the forward viewscreen of the ship’s launch. It was only when he realized that the tiny specks were people, and the larger, birdseed-sized, specks vehicles, that the real size of the thing was apparent. Obray of Erskyll, beside him, had been silent. He had been looking at the crescent-shaped industrial city, like a servile gorget around Zeggensburg’s neck.
“The way they’ve been crowded together!” he said. “And the buildings; no space between. And all that smoke! They must be using fossil-fuel!”
“It’s probably too hard to process fissionables in large quantities, with what they have.”
“You were right, last evening. These people have deliberately halted progress, even retrogressed, rather than give up slavery.”
Halting progress, to say
