accommodate almost one hundred of them. “The elevators will respond to each race's own language, or to a T-pack using Terran or any of the five recognized forms of Galactic. Once an elevator is told that no more entities will be entering, it will hermetically seal its doors, and within a matter of thirty to sixty seconds the atmosphere of the entities’ home world will be established and its gravity put into effect. Unless otherwise directed, the elevator will proceed to the floor or sector reserved for use by that species. Incidentally, most of the elevators can move horizontally as well as vertically, since very few species will need an entire floor of their own. “Each elevator, as well as each office, will be supplied with an ample number of protective suits designed to fit that elevator's—or office's—race, plus atmospheric helmets and facemasks.” He flicked two more switches, and the view of the elevator's interior was replaced with a cross-section of one of the upper levels of the building. “Now here we have a typical floor plan—the 288th, as I recall. Each section is more than ample to hold up to three hundred members of a race, although it can easily be compartmentalized by so programming one of the desk computers. As you will notice, there is an impenetrable barrier about midway up the south hallway; this separates the environments between races sharing the floor. The only way for a being to cross from one section to the other is by means of the horizontal elevator. I should also point out that the elevators will move to their destinations immediately, but will not open until their atmosphere has been drained and until each passenger is wearing a protective suit. To borrow an old military term, it might be construed as a fail-safe system.
“Each office can be placed in immediate communication with any other office. All interoffice communications will be translated instantaneously
“Will there be a security force?” asked Krotar. “Absolutely,” said Mallow.
“What will be its composition?”
“Men,” said Mallow.
“I see,” said Krotar. “Why, if I may ask, is the Bureau of Alien Affairs to be erected on Deluros IV, when Deluros VIII or the Floating Kingdom would seem to be the more logical place to build it, if the race of Man is truly interested in convincing the other races of the galaxy of its goodwill?”
“I'm not a politician, Ambassador Krotar,” said Mallow. “I'm just an architect. I was told to erect it on
Deluros IV, and that's where it will go. If I might offer an unofficial opinion, I would estimate that the cost of placing the Bureau on Deluros VIII, which has a far greater gravity, would be so high as to make such a move impossible.”
“Are you trying to tell me that a race that could build the Floating Kingdom and the Deluros VI planetoids, and can keep a standing army and navy numbering in the tens of billions, could not find the economic and architectural means to erect a single dwelling for nonhuman races on Deluros VIII?” “I'm not trying to tell you a damned thing, Ambassador!” said Mallow in exasperation. “If you want to create a scene, why not hunt up Verlor? He's in charge of racial incidents. I just design buildings.” Krotar stood up, towering over both Mallow and the Tri-D image of the 288th floor. For just an instant Mallow feared for his safety, but the Castorian merely stared at him. If there was any expression of rage or indignation on his face, Mallow couldn't detect it. “I think,” said Krotar, and his tones came out infuriatingly flat and unemotional through the T- pack “that you need not bother adding any Castorian artwork to your Bureau.” “I hadn't really planned to,” said Mallow. “Now suppose you tell me just what you came here for.” “That is my business,” said the Castorian. “Yours, as you pointed out, is designing buildings.” After he had left, Verlor came back in. “Well?” he asked.
“Well what?” asked Mallow.
“What did he want?”
“I haven't the foggiest notion,” said Mallow. “He came in, acted uppity as all get-out, looked at the plans for the Bureau, found out that the security police will be Men, and told me that he didn't want any part of it.”
“I thought so,” said Verlor. “He's the ninth one to back out—and he wasn't even in.” “I don't understand,” said Mallow.
“Neither do I,” said Verlor. “But, for whatever reason, there seems to be some movement afoot among the aliens. It's not open rebellion or anything like that. It's more that they've decided to make some trivial gesture of independence, and they've hit upon the Bureau.” “That sounds awfully farfetched.”
“Maybe,” said Verlor. “And yet, not one of them has given a decent reason. The Canphorites backed out because they wanted four entire floors, and we only offered them one and part of a second. The Lemm objected to having to import members of their own race to prepare their food. The Emrans didn't want the Bureau to be anywhere near the Deluros system. And so on.” “Why didn't you tell me before?” asked Mallow.
“Because the Director has ordered us to go ahead with the construction of the Bureau as scheduled.”
“Well,” said Mallow disgustedly, “I suppose I can always reconvert the Canphorites’ floor to some other environment, and—”
“No,” said Verlor. “It's to be built as approved. If certain races don't occupy it willingly, well, we have certain pressures that can be applied.”
“You sure you don't want me to turn a couple of floors into a hospital?” said Mallow sardonically. “Don't joke,” said Verlor. “You may have to.” “Is there anything we can do to make the Bureau more attractive to them?” asked Mallow. “It sure doesn't sound as if it's the Bureau itself they object to, but I'd hate to see it go to waste.” “It won't be wasted,” said Verlor. “Don't forget: With no atmosphere on Deluros IV, the damned thing could stand for ten million years and look as new as the day it was built. Which, among other reasons, is why we picked an airless world. They never thought of that at Caliban, and the Cartography complex is under continual repair and renovation. That won't happen with the Bureau.” “No,” said Mallow grimly. “It'll just be built and forgotten. What the hell is the matter with these creatures, anyway? Don't they know that this is going to be the greatest single architectural feat since Caliban? Maybe even greater, since Caliban never was multi- environmental.” “The problem,” said Verlor, “is that you're viewing it as an architect, and they're viewing it as political and racial entities. You know, the Commonwealth has gotten so huge that it's getting damned near impossible to administer it efficiently, and so the aliens are feeling their oats, pushing until they find a weak spot. They know how much publicity the Bureau has gotten in the media, and how much fighting we had to do to push through the appropriation. What better way to embarrass us than to refuse to take part in it?”
Verlor's words proved uncomfortably prophetic. In the next few days thirty more races decided not to avail themselves of the Bureau's facilities, and within a year each and every nonhuman race in the Commonwealth had found some pretext or another for withdrawing its support. Mallow had given too much of himself to the Bureau to surrender without a battle. He journeyed out to Lodin XI and was granted an audience with the native leaders. “I am not unaware of the reasons for your action,” he began. “I'm no politician, so I can't say whether you are fully justified in your goals or not. What I am is an architect, and what I have to offer you is a building unlike any ever before created or even conceived. “You say you wish to live in harmony and equality with Man,” he continued, “and I will take you at your word. Well, this building, this entire concept, will allow you to do just that. And you—and all the other races, including Man—will be doing so in a public fishbowl. We will all function in harmony because we will have to do so; the only alternative will be to admit before the eyes of the galaxy that it cannot be done. Perhaps it can't, but we will never have a greater opportunity to try than now, with this building.” The Lodinites listened politely, and just as politely declined his offer.
Next on his list were the Canphor Twins.
“If nothing else,” he pleaded, “don't use this noble project as a symbol of your spite for the race of Man. If you must be political, so be it. Don't pay your taxes, don't accept a human governor, don't allow the Commonwealth to keep military bases on your moons. But allow this Bureau to come to pass. It is the last best hope for the races of the galaxy.” The Canphorites jeered him out of the room. By the time he reached the insectoid world of Procyon II he had decided upon different tactics. “Your life has undoubtedly been bitter,” he told them. “I am just as disgusted and outraged at what our Navy did to you
