Birthright

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“It won't take twenty-five years,” said Lavers. “You're on,” said Bartol. “You know, I think you're as odd as Jesser is.” “Perhaps,” said Lavers.

So the pilots were conditioned again, and within a year theAndromeda I had left the orbit in which it had

been constructed and was hurtling through the intergalactic void at an unimaginable speed. Jesser had indeed been chosen to pilot the mission, and when he was two years out from port with no untoward incidents, four more Andromeda ships were launched, each responsible for charting a different section of the neighboring galaxy.

Bartol spent most of the next year in the Project Control Building, checking the daily readouts of the five Hunks, while Lavers did the same for the pilots. The ships were exactly on course and on schedule, the inhabitants were in perfect physical health, and the Director finally made news of the Andromeda Project available to the media.

The people ate it up. Once again a new sense of purpose, of competition, was stirred within them. Andromeda, most of them agreed, would do for starters, just as Sirius had done some millennia back. But Andromeda was just one galaxy, and not such a big and impressive one at that. There were more than fifty galaxies just in our local group, and then... “And then I noticed this fluctuation,” said one of the minor functionaries on the Andromeda staff. Lavers looked at the readout and shook his head. “Not good,” he said. “Not good at all.” “What seems to be the problem?” said Bartol, who had wandered over. “Encephalogram,” said Lavers.

“On who?”

“Jesser.”

“What does it mean?” asked Bartol.

“Perhaps nothing,” said Lavers. “But if you'll recall a wager we made some years back, I think if I were you I'd get my money ready.”

“Based on one slight deviation from the norm?” said Bartol. “When you're hooked into an alien being three hundred thousand light-years from the nearest star, there is no such thing as aslight deviation,” said Lavers. The deviation remained so long that it finally became accepted as a standard reading until the other pilots began showing the same deviation, all between two and three years into their flight. “But it isn't the same at all,” said Lavers grimly. “It's smaller, slighter. Jesser's has changed so minutely over the past couple of years that it's hardly seemed like a change at all, until you compare it to the other four.”

Bartol merely grunted, and expressed confidence in the basic self- preservational instinct of the five pilots. And then one day Jesser's encephalic reading went right off the scale and came back to his original

norm, all in the space of four hours.

“That's it,” said Lavers. “He's broken through. In a couple of years the others will do it too.” “So he's broken through,” said Bartol. “It changes nothing. He'll evaluate the situation, realize that turning back without being able to slingshot around a star or a black hole will take more fuel than he's got, and he'll keep going. After all, he's a Man, and Men preserve themselves.” “Men do a lot of things,” said Lavers quietly. And, 350,000 light-years away, Jesser took one last baleful look at his companion and slowly unhooked his breathing apparatus.

19: THE PHILOSOPHERS

...It was with the establishment of the University at Aristotle that the Commonwealth began churning out a steady stream of brilliant philosophers as regularly as clockwork. In fact, in retrospect we can say with some assurance that it was during the middle of the Seventh Galactic Millennium, and more specifically 6400-6700 G.E., that philosophy graduated from the vague realm of an art and joined the sciences. Some of the more brilliant treatises are still on file, both on the various Deluros VI planetoids and also at the huge library on Deluros VIII...

—Man: Twelve Millennia of Achievement ...The subject of philosophy seems to have taken a very

unphilosophical, and eventually fatal, turning somewhere around 6500 G.E. The dividing line can be drawn with the career of Belore Theriole (6488-6602 G.E.), unquestionably the last of the great human philosophers....

—Origin and History of the Sentient Races, Vol. 9 “Brilliant!” said Hillyar. “Absolutely brilliant!” He put the thick sheaf of papers down on the large table, leaned back, and gave the impression of a man trying very hard to strut without moving his legs. “I told you it was,” said Brannot. “I'd like to see us offer him a spot on the faculty right now, before some other school grabs him.”

The other two members of the examining board nodded in agreement. “Before I make it official,” said Brannot, “I'd like it on the record that we're all in accord.” “Absolutely,” said Hillyar. The others echoed him. “Good. Then it's settled,” said Brannot. He turned to the small figure seated silently in a corner of the room. “Professor Theriole, while the affairs of our university can hardly be of more than passing interest to you, we would nonetheless be honored if a person of your stature would add her name to our recommendation.”

Belore Theriole looked up, brushing a wisp of graying hair from her forehead. “With no offense intended, I believe I am not inclined to do so.” “Have we done something to offend you?” asked Brannot with a note of worry in his voice.

“No,” said Belore thoughtfully, “I don't think I would go so far as to say that you have offended me.”

“Then could it be that you don't agree with our assessment of the thesis?” persisted Brannot. “Oh, I'm sure that the student in question and the thesis in question are equally brilliant,” said Belore. “I detect a note of distaste there,” said Brannot. “Could I prevail upon you to clarify your statement?” “If you insist, Professor Brannot,” said Belore with a sigh. “Insist is too strong a word,” said Brannot. “Let us say that I earnestly request it. After all, when a philosopher of your stature does our humble university the singular honor of sitting in on our examination board, it behooves us to learn everything we can about ourselves and our school from the viewpoint of such a distinguished outsider.”

“It's too bad I gave up blushing when I was still a young girl,” said Belore wryly, “or you would quite turn my head, Professor.” There was a general chuckling among the learned men, and Belore continued: “When I was asked to come here, I was only too happy to accept your invitation. After all, the planet Aristotle is a pretty fascinating concept, and I had never been here before. “And I must say that, physically, Aristotle has even surpassed my expectations. I suppose the thought of a university world, a planet the size of old Earth being turned into a garden ofacademia, has to be seen to be appreciated. Your libraries alone would be the envy of any system in the galaxy, and the architects of your buildings have undoubtedly secured themselves that special corner of heaven reserved for artistic geniuses. Furthermore, from what I've been told of your entrance requirements, there isn't a dullard on the whole planet, if you exclude such so-called dignitaries as myself. Aristotle draws only the cream of the Commonwealth's young intellectuals, and it obviously treats them as befits their potential. “So much for the physical aspects. As for the curricula, certainly there is no more thorough or varied course of studies available anywhere. The students, or at least those few I've spoken with, seem relatively well-balanced and incredibly quick-witted. The faculty, it goes without saying, is the finest that could be assembled.

“Having said this much, I will now go one step further. I cannot, of course, speak for other fields of study, but in my own specialty, philosophy, I think you unquestionably have the most able minds the race of Man has yet been able to produce.”

“Then you approve of what we're doing here?” said Brannot smugly. “On the contrary,” said Belore with a smile. “I find it stifling and irrelevant.” “What!” The four men were on their feet at once, more in surprise than outrage. “I have never seen such potential for good so flagrantly wasted,” said Belore. “It seems almost inconceivable that a race of sentient beings capable of creating such a world as Aristotle could so blatantly misuse and misdirect it.”

“Professor Theriole,” said Brannot, struggling to regain his composure, “would you care to explain yourself?”