Birthright

after the remnants of the Commonwealth had decimated their ranks ... well, Man was not totally without experience in dealing with alien races.

Brastillios stared hard at the Man. He, too, had his doubts about this alliance. Men, after all, were Men.

Then he, too, shrugged. This temporary partnership was a necessary evil, no more, no less. Sooner or later there would be a redress of power in the galaxy, and if some Men wished to bring it about sooner while helping to destroy others of their race, why should he object to it? They made arrangements for a series of future meetings at which every minute detail would be hashed out. Then, for the first time in galactic history, Man and alien shook hands in mutual friendship and brotherhood.

Both of them had their fingers crossed. SEVENTEENTH MILLENNIUM: ANARCHY

23: THE ARCHEOLOGISTS

...Thus, as Man's empire dwindled, no central governmental body was formed among the other races, and a galaxy-wide state of anarchy came into being.... It was during the Seventeenth Millennium (G.E.) that the race of Man, no longer possessed of its once-mighty military and economic power, turned toward more peaceful pursuits. There was a general reawakening of interest in the species’ racial roots, and Earth and the early colonies were at last thoroughly explored and examined by scores of archaeologists. One of the most successful of these was Breece, a female from Belthar III, whose published works are still read today.... —Origin and History of the Sentient Races, Vol. 9 Breece stood on Earth and wondered where the tens and hundreds of centuries had gone. Earth was not deserted—exactly; and the race of Man was not on the verge of extinction—exactly. But oh, she reflected, how the mighty have fallen! So high had Man ascended that it had taken him many long millennia to lose every last vestige of his primacy, his power, his property. In fact, some tiny portions of the latter still remained: the Deluros system, a series of ghost worlds, all shining and efficient and unused; Sirius V, whose frontiers had retrogressed until it now housed only one vast city; Caliban, a still-living, still-functioning anachronism, a mechanism that would wait for all eternity to report the movements of a Navy that had been dead and forgotten for centuries; the Floating Kingdom, its imperial palaces converted into factories, its motive power no longer operational, doomed to float aimlessly from system to system until some star finally reached out and dragged it to its bosom; the Capellan and Denebian colonies; some four thousand scattered worlds; and ancient old Earth itself. Over the ages, after the fall of the Commonwealth—or the Monarchy, as it had come to be known—race after race began reasserting itself, taking back some or all of what Man had appropriated. Many of them didn't really care about Man or what he had done to or for them, but there were those—the Canphorites, the Lodinites, the Elmrans, and a hundred others—who cared passionately enough to make up for the lethargy of the other races. Bit by bit, with the patience of Job and the skill of Grath, they had begun pushing Man back, forcing him into planetary alcoves, denying him access to a world here, a system there, nationalizing a factory on this world, destroying a laboratory or college on that world.

Man fought back, as Man would always fight back. At first his losses were minimal, but he had reached his peak, had held the galaxy in the palm of his hand, and there was no place to go but down. He did it much the same way he had gone up: scrapping, fighting, bluffing, lying, with just enough isolated instances of nobility and of barbarism to make the galaxy wonder if he was either a god or perhaps some demon straight out of hell, rather than just another sentient race.

And indeed, reflected Breece, Man wasn't just another species to be recorded and forgotten in the

history books. He was something special, something very different. No other race was capable of such generosity, such idealism, such achievement; and, too, no other race could produce such examples of pettiness, bestiality, dishonor, and dishonesty. Whatever else could be said for Man, he was unique—which, when all was said and done, was why she stood on Man's mother world, cold and rain-soaked, searching for whatever it was that had given shape to this strange, intelligent ape, that had made him better than the galaxy's best, poorer than its worst, had made him reach out to the stars and scream his defiance in the face of Destiny. She stood in the twilight, staring out across what had once, eons ago, been the Serengeti Plains. This now-barren piece of land, stretching from the still-picturesque Ngorongoro Crater to the dry bed of Lake Victoria, had seen almost all the history of Man while he was still Earthbound. Here he had been born, had first invented the wheel and the bludgeon, had first discovered fire. Here he had pitted himself in naked battle with the legendary black-maned lion, and had sold his fellow Man into bondage. The First and Fourth World Wars had extended far enough south and east to turn the Serengeti into a temporary battlefield. It was here, six hundred years before the beginning of the Galactic Era, that Man had exterminated the last of his competing land-dwelling species, and it was here, a century later, that the initial research was done on the Tachyon Drive. And now the Serengeti stood lonely and deserted again, knee-high in jungle grasses, bordered by wait-a-bit thorn trees, hiding a million years of human debris and artifacts beneath its soil. It seemed a good place to search for answers. With a sigh, Breece turned and walked back to her dome. Tomorrow, if the rain let up, she'd begin digging, marking, cataloging. And maybe, just maybe... She jumped as she heard the cracking of some twigs behind her. “Who's there?” she demanded.

“I saw your camp and took the liberty of coming over,” said the cold, clear tones of a modified Terran T-pack.

“Who are you?” she asked, peering into the gathering darkness. “I am Milnor, of the moon Kormonos, system of Atria, race of Rinn,” said the voice. She peered again, and finally could make out the Rinn's figure. It was vaguely humanoid in shape, a bit squatter and more muscular than a Man, with a greenish tint to the skin. There was considerable hair on the body, which was unclothed but for a pouch suspended from one shoulder. The Rinn spoke into a T-pack, which was strapped around a protuberance which appeared to be a chin, but wore no face mask or helmet, and seemed quite at home breathing Earth's air. “I am Breece, race of Man,” she said. “What are you doing here?” “I am an archaeologist,” said Milnor. “I have spent the past seventeen years on Earth, digging through ruins, rummaging through still-standing buildings, even interviewing those Men who still cling to this world. I have been in the Serengeti for almost two months. One of my robots informed me of another camp. I came to ascertain your motives for being here.”

“I have as much right here as you do,” said Breece. “Perhaps more.”

“I do not deny this,” said Milnor. “I only wish it known that I am totally nonpolitical, and am interested only in my work. If my presence here will offend you, I can easily move my base of operations elsewhere until such time as you leave.”

“That won't be necessary,” said Breece, feeling a sudden rush of guilt. “I'm noncombative. In fact, it appears we are members of the same profession.” “I had hoped as much,” said the Rinn. “Still, with no intention of offending you, I felt it best to make sure, though certainly no one but another archaeologist would have any reason for being here.” “Oh, I don't know,” said Breece. “It seems like a lovely place to live.” “I would think, based on my knowledge of Man and supported by my findings on Earth, that you would crave the community of your fellow beings.” “Most Men would,” agreed Breece.

“But not yourself?”

“No. I'm different.”

The Rinn's mouth curved in its equivalent of a smile, then straightened suddenly. “If you crave solitude...” “Your presence doesn't upset me, if that's what you're driving at,” said Breece. “In fact, I think I'd find exchanging ideas with an archaeologist of a different race most stimulating.” “Excellent,” said Milnor with another smile. “Would it offend you if I were to consume some food first? My metabolism is such that I must feed at least five or six times a day.” “I wonder that you have time for your work,” said Breece. “I never sleep,” said the Rinn. “May I summon one of my robots?'’ “Of course,” said Breece, and a moment later a robot, almost indistinguishable from the Rinn, approached with a small container. “It is only vegetation,” said Milnor. “However, if the sight of my eating it will affect you adversely, I can withdraw.”

“It's not necessary,” said Breece. As Milnor devoured a number of plants and grasses, Breece's eyes examined the robot. “That's a fabulous machine,” she said at last. “It's amazing how much progress has been made in the science of robotics.”

“Indeed,” agreed Milnor. “And yet, it