Birthright

which Gamma Leporis IX is one. The Republic still backs its money with gold and silver; every last bit of it comes from one hundred and two mining worlds, including Gamma Leporis IX. The Republic needs metals for its ships and armaments; all of it, without exception, comes from the mining worlds, including Gamma Leporis IX.”

“So they need us,” broke in a bored voice from directly in front of him. “That's why they pay us so well.” “Ah, but do they?” said Coleman. “You, sir, since you seem willing to speak up: Would you consent to tell me how much your yearly salary is?” “Why not?” said the man belligerently. “Seventy-five thousand credits.” “And your job?”

“I mine gold and silver.”

“How much?” asked Coleman.

“Lots.”

“More than a ton a year?”

“A ton a week'd be more like it,” said the miner with a touch of pride. “Do you know the going price on gold these days?” continued Coleman. “Can't say that I do. Lots, I suppose.” “You suppose right, friend,” said Coleman. “Fifty-three credits an ounce. The Republic pays your salary with what you mine in a day, and has money left over. “And that's not the only way they're taking advantage of you,” Coleman continued, speaking once more to the entire audience. “I learned in my briefing that there were originally a thousand miners on this world when operations began ten years ago. What happened to the other five hundred and seventy-eight?” “The nelsons got ‘em,” said the man who had spoken before. “And what, pray, are the nelsons?” asked Coleman. “If you ever see one, you'll know what they are!” said the man devoutly, amid much laughter. “They were discovered about forty years ago by a guy named Nelson, the Pioneer who opened up this system.

Big, fur-bearing creatures. They can't be carnivores, since there aren't any game animals on this world.

I'd guess they ingest minerals, except that I don't know how that would produce fur. Anyway, whatever they are, they don't like people poking around in their supper troughs.” “In other words, they killed more than five hundred miners?” asked Coleman. “Tore ‘em to ribbons,” said the man. “They'd probably have butchered the rest of us, too, if we hadn't run across the Butterballs.”

“Butterballs?” asked Coleman, who knew perfectly well what they were. “Big round yellow things with chubby little legs. You passed one when you came in. Tame as all get-out, but they're poison to the nelsons. I don't know exactly how it works, but they seem to emit some kind of radiation or electrical charge that just knocks nelsons for a loop. We found out that they love magnesium, so we give them all that we mine and they stick around and keep the nelsons from decimating us. Works out pretty well all the way around, except for the nelsons.” “So along with all the other hazards you have to contend with,” pointed out Coleman, “you also have to fight off a belligerent alien population. And, in addition, and for no extra consideration, you have also made the Butterballs into a loyal ally of the Republic. Am I correct?” There was a general agreement.

“Then I submit that the miners are the Republic's most exploited minority. Whatever they're paying you, it isn't enough. Whatever political and economic power you wield, it is minuscule compared to what you deserve. Andthat, gentlemen, is the reason for the Federation.” “We're all for getting a better deal,” said a man in the back of the audience, “but you still haven't said how you intend to help us, or why you need so much of our money.” “I'm just getting to that point,” said Coleman. “To begin with, the Federation cannot begin to function until at least eighty percent of the mining worlds are members; otherwise, we simply haven't the power. For this reason, we need time: time to build a powerful lobby on Earth and on Deluros VIII, time to get public backing for our demands, time for the government to realize they've no choice but to deal with us. We estimate a minimum of twelve years; therefore, we must demand that you remain on for fifteen years. Once we start the ball rolling, the only thing that could stop us would be defections among our ranks.” “Why the money?'’ asked another miner.

“For the same reasons: lobby, organization, and propaganda. And if you're to stay on this world for fifteen more years, you wouldn't have a chance to spend it anyway.”

“What are you going to offer us in exchange for all this?” asked the same man, still dubious. “Offer is the wrong word,” said Coleman calmly. “We are going todemand a piece of the action. Every miner will get one three-hundredth of what he produces. No salary, no matter how astronomical, can possibly match that. We will also insist on political representation; the details of this haven't been worked out yet. Representation based on our population is wholly unacceptable to us; basing it on our economic power is too much to expect at this time. But we shall and will work out an equitable arrangement.”

“And when the Republic says no?” asked a man.

“They won't say no,” said Coleman.

“But if they do?”

“Then every mining world in the Republic will go on strike. For the next decade and more, you will be carefully and thoroughly conditioned to do whatever is required of you. And how long do you think the Republic could stand a galaxy-wide strike? A day? A week? Surely not a year. Think about it, gentlemen. Cartography may be the great force behind our expansion, but you, and you alone, are the major power insofar as utilizing what we already possess. You've been a sleeping giant up until now, but the time has come to arise and flex those long-dormant muscles.” There was a low buzzing in the room.

“Gentlemen, it is not my intention to rush you,” said Coleman, “but I must ask for a vote tonight. Tomorrow morning I'm taking off to visit your less fortunate companions of Gamma Leporis X, and—” “What do you mean, less fortunate?” demanded a miner. “Your air may be cold,” said Coleman, smiling, “but at least it's breathable. As I was saying, I'll be very happy to answer any questions at this point; but I must have your decision one way or the other, by sunrise.”

To nobody's great surprise, least of all Coleman's, Gamma Leporis IX voted overwhelmingly to join the Federation of Miners.

* * * *

It didn't take twelve years. Things had gone even faster than Coleman had expected, and now, seven years after his visit to the Gamma Leporis system, he stood before the Secretary of the Republic as that graying politician bounced from one tirade to the next, barely pausing for breath. “Just what the hell are you trying to pull, Coleman?” he demanded for the dozenth time. “This is blackmail, plain and simple! The Republic will not be railroaded into any action by a bunch of militant malcontents.”

“I beg to differ, sir,” said Coleman. “Respectfully, of course. But if the Republic wasn't scared out of its wits, I think our problem would have been handled at a lower level.” “Your only problem is your so-called Federation!” snapped the Secretary. “And I'm not going tohandle it, I'm going to grind it into the dirt!” “I think not,” said Coleman. “May I sit down while we discuss it?” “No!” bellowed the Secretary. “You may not sit down, and we will not discuss it! Had you come in here like a reasonable man, I'd have been happy to talk with you. But no, you toss a list of ultimatums on my desk and demand that the Republic knuckle under to a bunch of hooligans.” “Had I acted like a reasonable man,” said Coleman, “and had I not come prepared with a list of

demands which are absolutely nonnegotiable, I wouldn't be here. I'd be cooling my heels in office after

office while everyone in the government hoped the problem would go away. My very presence here attests to the efficacy of our methods.” “Who the hell are you, anyway?'’ demanded the Secretary. “You're no miner. How did you come to be part of this organization? And where is the Federation's headquarters? Who are its officers?” “I don't believe that I'm going to tell you,” said Coleman calmly. “None of that information could possibly help our cause, and I can certainly conceive of numerous ways by which releasing any further facts about ourselves could only work to our detriment.” “In what way?”

“It is not inconceivable that knowledge of our headquarters would precipitate an immediate attack on them,” said Coleman. “We have absolutely no intention of using force, but we do intend to protect our existence. Our power is economic and moral, not military.” “You're about to learn just how unmilitary your power is,” said the Secretary. “When is this galaxy- wide strike supposed to take place?”

“At midnight, Earth time.”

The Secretary pressed one button from among the multitude on his intercom set. “I want the 27th Fleet sent to Spica II immediately. At precisely midnight, Earth time, they will demand that the miners turn over fifty tons of iron. Should the miners refuse to do so, they are to take whatever action is deemed expedient to secure the iron. Is