Birthright

delegation.

Darkness fell, and Lerollion rose to speak once again. “Several of the assembled races must indulge in a recess for purposes of sleep and nourishment,” he said. “However, if Thome of the race of Man will still offer his assurance that his delegation is expected to arrive, I am prepared to wait for them.” “I don't know what has delayed them,” said Thome, “but I know they will come.” “I understand that the psychology of your race is such that their appearance here will be extremely painful and humiliating to them, which is why I offer to wait,” said Lerollion. “However, if they are not here by sunrise tomorrow, I have orders to return to my home world, regardless of whether or not the conference continues.”

With that, he recessed the meeting and took his seat. As night fell, Thome dozed sporadically. From time to time he awoke with a start, expecting to see his delegation entering the huge hall, but except for Lipas, Lerollion, and ten or twelve other beings, it was empty.

At daybreak Lerollion left, and most of the other alien delegations walked out with him. A handful remained until midday, and the ambassador from Quantos IX stayed until twilight. Then Thome found himself alone with Lipas. “Come along,” said the smaller man gently. Thome shook his head vigorously.

“But it's obvious that they're not going to come,” said Lipas. “Go ahead if you want,” said Thome. “I'll wait here by myself. Somebody should be here to greet them.” Lipas looked at his friend, then sighed and walked out of the hall. “They'll come,” said Thome softly, staring at the door through which no one would ever enter again. “Theymust come.”

He leaned back in his chair and waited. 26: THE DESTROYERS

...It was not without sincere regret and a deep sense of guilt that a war of extermination was waged against the remnants of Man's once-proud race. But in view of his capacity for violence and carnage, which continued unabated despite his fall from galactic primacy, no other alternative seemed feasible. For

of all the thousands of sentient races, only a handful had descended from carnivore, and of these only

Man remained true to his heritage....

—Origin and History of the Sentient Races, Vol. 9 On a nameless world far out on the Rim of the galaxy, Man made his last stand. Or, to be more precise, one man and three women. There had been more when they had reached this world, hundreds more, but now all except these four lay dead near the entrance to the cave. The cave was about two hundred feet deep, with an opening so narrow that the man had momentarily gotten stuck trying to follow the women into it. It was very cold and dark, and filled with a fine powdery dust that made breathing a painful chore. But it was defensible, at least until their supply of food and water ran out, and that made the dust very easy to put up with, considering the alternative. The cave was situated high on the side of a jagged mountain, accessible to the four humans only by extremely precarious handholds and footholds, and totally inaccessible to the Kragan squadron that was besieging them, huddled together for warmth and comfort at the mountain's base. The Kragans, a large, chubby, hairless species of intelligent marsupials, weren't by nature a hostile race. But like almost all intelligent races, they liked to side with the winners, and Man hadn't been a winner for centuries. One by one he had lost his bases on the periphery of his empire, and in the last eighty years the core of his power—Caliban, Earth, Deluros VIII, the Floating Kingdom—all had been toppled. None had given up without a fight, but all were lost nonetheless: dead, desolate memories of a strength and a glory that had blossomed, flowered, and withered in the seasons of Time. And slowly, over the years, Man had become the hunted rather than the hunter. It was not to his liking. The galaxy showed Man no more mercy than he had shown it, and entire worlds were exterminated. Then came the search-and-annihilate missions. Sixteen humans had erected a small dome on Vega IX, which had never been able to support life or atmosphere; a proton bomb wiped them out. Two thousand human refugees found shelter on the surface of a long-dead star in the Betelgeuse region; they were destroyed within hours of being discovered. Man fought back, of course; Man always fought back. But with no central governing body, no military leadership, no coherent organization, even Man found the odds too high. There were 13,042 sentient races or mutations in the galaxy; no more than a dozen disavowed Man's extinction, and not one would do battle on his side.

“Still, we didn't do too badly,” said the man, looking out across the rocky mountainside. “All things considered, we made them pay for every goddamned inch they took.” “And they'll pay dearly for the last inch too,” said the first of the women, looking thoughtfully down on the device that they had painstakingly carried to the cave and lovingly reassembled in almost total darkness the previous night.

“Don't be too quick to give up yet,” said the man. “We're all that's left. After us, there is nothing more.” “So says the father of a new race,” said the second woman sarcastically. “Let's just worry about keeping the old race alive a little longer,” said the man. He gazed down on the Kragans. “Hell, they look so fat and gentle.”

“Maybe we can reason with them,” suggested the third woman without much enthusiasm.

“You mean tell them we're sorry and that we can't be blamed for what our ancestors did?” asked the first woman.

“Hell!” snapped the man. “We're not sorry, and we're proud of what's gone before us! I just wish we could have lived during the Republic, back when we were just flexing our muscles for the first time.” “I prefer the Monarchy,” said the second woman. “You heard those Kragans threatening us in Galactic, didn't you? InGalactic! There was a time when the only language they'd have known was Terran. A Kragan who spoke to a Man in any other tongue would have been killed. And the slower the better,” she added with a glint of fire in her eyes.

“This is ridiculous,” said the third woman. “We live now, and if we want to keep living, we've got to do something about it pretty damned quick.” “What would you suggest?” asked the man. “You want to shoot it out with two hundred Kragans? Or triggerthat damned thing'—he gestured to the device—'and blow the whole goddamned planet to hell?” “It's better than letting them take us without a fight,” said the first woman. “Five years ago it would have been,” said the man. “Even three months ago, before they got that colony in the Delphini System. But now we're the last. If we die, Man is through. He's over. Forever. We've got a responsibility.”

“To whom?” asked the second woman. “We're the only four people we owe anything to. Nobody else counts. And I say that we fight.”

“You're not talking about fighting,” said the man. “When you fight, somebody wins.” “So you just want to sit here and wait until we starve to death, is that it?” said the second woman. “No, of course not,” said the man. “All I'm saying is that whatever else happens, we have to stay alive.” He paced the cave restlessly, then walked to the tiny entrance. “Look, there's nothing on this world we can use, that anyone can use. Maybe I can persuade them to leave us here, to post a guard ship to make sure we'll never go back into space.”

“If the positions were reversed, could a Kragan convince you of it?” asked the first woman. “Could anyone?” echoed the third woman. “No,” admitted the man. “But...”

“But what?”

“But I'm a Man,” he said. “They're Kragans.” “That's the whole problem,” said the first woman. “What's the Kragan truce sign?” asked the man.

“You mean it!” said the first woman incredulously. “You're really going to go down and talk to them!”

“Hope your Galactic's fluent,” said the second woman contemptuously. “Yes, sir. Hope it's real good. Maybe if you bow and scrape enough they won't know what you are. They might think they've stumbled onto a whole new species.”

The man spat on the floor, carefully maneuvered his body through the opening, and began the slow descent. His foot kicked a loose rock that tumbled down the mountainside, and he immediately stood up in full view of the Kragans, waving his arms wildly. “Don't fire!” he yelled. “I'm coming down to talk. I have no weapons.” To his mild surprise, he was allowed to complete his journey unmolested, and within two hours his feet rested on solid ground.

“Who is your leader?” he asked of the assembled Kragans. “I,” said one of those nearest to him.

“I have come to talk,” said the man, trying to keep from breaking into Terran. “Why?” asked the Kragan.

“To ask for mercy.”

“Is that all?” said the Kragan. Had its face been at all manipulable, it would have