“Yes--Earth strain. That’s why they’re so big. We also have sheep and swine, but you won’t see them on this run.” “Any native animals?” “A few--and some which are native to other worlds. But they’re luxury-trade items. The big sale items are beef, pork, and mutton.” Blalok chuckled. “Did you think that the Lani were our principal export?” Kennon nodded. “They’re only a drop in the bucket. Agriculture--Earth-style agriculture--is our main source of income. The Lani are valuable principally to keep down the cost of overhead. Virtually all of them work right here on the island. We don’t sell more than a hundred a year less than five per cent of our total. And those are surplus--too light or too delicate for farm work.” “Where do you find a market for all this produce?” Kennon asked. “There’s two hundred million people here, and quite a few billion more in space-train range. We can produce more cheaply than any competitor, and we can undersell any competition, even full automation.” Blalok chuckled. “There are some things that a computer can’t do as well as a human being, and one of them is farm the foods on which humanity is accustomed to feed. A man’ll pay two credits for a steak. He could get a Chlorella substitute for half a credit, but he’ll still buy the steak if he can afford it. Same thing goes for fruit, vegetables, grain, and garden truck. Man’s eating habits have only changed from necessity. Those who can pay will still pay well for natural foods.” Blalok chuckled. “We’ve put quite a dent in the algae and synthetics operations in this sector.” “It’s still a luxury trade,” Kennon said. “You’ve eaten synthetic,” Blalok replied. “What do you prefer?” 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.