Birthright

odd talent—they are sterilized. Without their knowing it, of course. And if it seems pretty certain that the talent will not breed on, we'll usually let them return to society, especially if it isn't too spectacular a talent, such as mild telepathy. If it's something really interesting, something that might lead people to demand that we find a way to unleash it, such as levitation, we usually ship the subject off to a frontier world.” “That's two decisions,” said Rojers. “You mentioned three.” “The third should be obvious.”

“Death?”

“Quickly and painlessly, if the talent warrants it,” said Herban. “And, in answer to your next question, it warrants it if it can ever, in any way, prove inimical to Man. For example, if a man's intelligence is so great that no device in our technologically oriented culture can measure it, he's too dangerous to live. Admittedly, that intelligence could conceivably make meaningful communicative contact with some of the races we just can't seem to get through to, or possibly cure every disease known to us ... but it could also mount a navy and a political following that would overthrow the existing order of things. And it's not just intelligence. A man who possesses the power of telekinesis to the ultimate degree can manipulate elements within the core of a star and cause it to go nova. This could be a boon if we get into another war with the Setts; but what if he decides that the government of his own system is totally corrupt? And the same goes for other talents. A legitimate case of prescience—and we haven't come across one yet—could destroy the economic structure of any world that deals heavily in financial speculation. Teleportation? More than half our economy is bound up in interplanetary and interstellar transportation. The ability to master involuntary hypnosis? It would lead to absolute control of a system, possibly of the entire galaxy.

“No, boy, these talents can't be allowed to survive. We don't destroy every highly intelligent man, or every man capable of telekinesis, or every telepath. Only those that can be considered a clear danger. And notice that I didn't say a clear andpresent danger; clear and future dangers are no damned better. And if we can discover the outer limits of a dangerous man's abilities before he does, it's a lot harder for

him to erect defenses, mental or otherwise, against us.”

“About how many people do you destroy?” asked Rojers. “We bring in about a million a year to each lab center,” said Herban. “There are far more, but most of them are eliminated from further consideration at lower levels. We just get the stinkers. Of that million, we'll return about eight hundred thousand intact, and another hundred and eighty thousand sterilized. As for the other twenty thousand ... well, we potentially save the galaxy a million times every half century or so.'’

“Save it from what?” said Rojers disgustedly. “We don't save itfrom anything,” said Herban very slowly, very seriously. “We save itfor something: for Man. Don't look so morally outraged, boy. I know you're thinking about all the poor innocent supermen who have gone to their deaths down here, all those fine talents who could have made Paradise happen right here and now, and maybe they could have. But I think of three trillion Men who aren't about to give up their birthright to anyone, including their progeny.” “And what about the incubators?” demanded Rojers. “What about all those tiny lives that we create and snuff out every day?”

“They serve their purpose,” answered Herban. “And their purpose is only partially to train you fellers and further develop the subscience of parthenogenesis.” “Oh?” Rojers was still suspicious.

“Absolutely. The talents we deal with down here are very rare sports, even those that might possibly reproduce their traits. But if you ever find a genetic method of unlocking that seventy percent, the human race will happily advance as a whole. It's just that no member of it is going to let his neighbor move up ahead of him.”

“But we haven't found a way to do that in four thousand years!” “And you may not for another four thousand,” agreed Herban. “But it's worth trying. And, in the meantime, Man isn't doing all that badly with his cunning, his sticks, and his stones, is he?” He arose abruptly. “I'll leave you here to think about what I've said; I'll be back in a few hours.” Herban stopped at the doorway and turned to Rojers. “You now have the power to expose a secret that's been kept for quite a few centuries. So consider all aspects of it very carefully.” He left, and the panel slid shut behind him.

Rojers sat and thought. He considered the revelations of the day logically, philosophically, practically, idealistically, morally, pragmatically. Having done so, he frowned and thought some more. When Herban returned for him, he rose silently and followed the Chief of Biochemistry back up to his own level. As they were approaching the incubator room, a brash young man representing the newstapes of a distant system walked up and asked for an interview. “I'm a little busy now,” said Herban, “but I'm sure Dr. Rojers would be happy to spend a little time talking to you.”

Rojers nodded his acquiescence.

“Fine,” said the reporter. “Can you fill me in on the whole operation right from the start?'’ “Certainly,” said Rojers quietly, walking toward the incubators. “Although there's really not much to tell. The Project was set up nearly four hundred years ago to develop a race of supermen, mental giants who could take some high ground that's beyond our reach just now. We haven't come up with our ideal yet, but we're still working on it, to be sure. In fact, you can tell your readers that we may be on the verge of a major breakthrough. I wouldn't be at all surprised if we synthesized a telepathic allele on a human chromosome by the end of this century...”

Herban remained where he was until they were out of earshot. Then, with a sigh, he lit a cigar and returned to his subsurface office. There was a lot of work yet to do before he could go home for the night to his fat naked women.

15: THE WARLORDS

...Thus, as the Oligarchy paused to consolidate, scores of warlords sprang up on the outskirts of the empire. All but one were either ignored or summarily dealt with... — Man: Twelve Millennia of Achievement ...About Grath (?—5912 G.E.) himself, very little is known, except that, though woefully undermanned and outnumbered, he stood up to the imperialistic empire of his race and came within a hairbreadth of triumph. He was unquestionably possessed of the most brilliant military mind of the Oligarchic era and perhaps ofany era—and most of Grath's historic battles are standard textbook reading to this very day... —Origin and History of the Sentient Races, Vol. 8 By all rights, it should have been as close to utopia as made no difference. The Oligarchy had divided, conquered, and consolidated, and for the first time in his galactic existence Man had run out of enemies. Alienenemies, that is.

But two million worlds constituted a lot of territory to belong to one political entity, and so Man fell to fighting against himself once again. Literally hundreds of warlords began springing up around the periphery of the empire; most were beaten down almost immediately, but a handful—such as Grath—began piling up a number of minor triumphs. He stood now, hands on hips, looking up at the heavens from the surface of an uncharted world half a galaxy away from Deluros VIII. The lights of the stars ran together, becoming a vast white blur that seemed to stretch outward to infinity. But that was a visual illusion, nothing more. Grath knew exactly where Deluros was, knew every possible means of approach, knew the long and bloody path he must hew to be able to stand thus on any world from which Deluros was distinguishable from the massive white curtain that he planned someday to rule. First there would be Altair, then the Spica mining worlds to keep up his flow of supplies. These conquests would be followed up by a quick feint toward Earth. The birthplace of the race served no useful military purpose, but it was cherished with an almost religious intensity by the trillions who had deserted it for more promising worlds. The Navy would respond to his move, and then his main forces would wipe out Sirius V in half a day's time. Next it would be on to Pollux, Canphor, Lodin, and finally Deluros itself. Caliban alone would be left unscathed, for Caliban alone was too valuable to destroy.

It would be accomplished neither quickly nor easily. Deluros was not at the geographic center of the galaxy, but it was the very epicenter of the Oligarchy. No approach could be made without passing at least a quarter of a million worlds of the empire, each under the protection of the Oligarchy's vast naval

fleet. And, too, there were the other warlords, who in the beginning would probably cause him even