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There are more than fifty billion
droids at work throughout the galaxy,
doing the jobs better handled by hard
metal than by soft flesh. Human
muscles strain and grow weak, and
human hearts grow weary of toil and
indignity -- droids have no such
problems. They have no bones, and
they have no souls. And when humans
grow old and feeble, they must be
cared for, must be clothed and fed --
that is their right. But droids have no
rights, and so they end up here, in the
vast, corroded canyons of Ronyards.
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