Birthright

by Mike Resnick

  “So how's it going?” he asked.

  The figure approaching his desk was almost his antithesis in every respect. Clad in wrinkled, crumpled clothes, squinting through lenses so thick that one couldn't see his eyes behind them, what hair he still possessed in total disarray, he seemed as out of place in these majestic surroundings as anyone could be. “The natives are getting restless,” said Melvyn Hill, pulling up a beautifully carved chair of Doradusian wood and unceremoniously putting his feet on the desk. “The natives always look restless when you're staring down at them from the top,” commented Bellows. “When I was one of them I was restless too. That's how I got here.” “That was a little different, Josh. You were restless for power. They're restless for you to exercise that power.”

  “I know.” Bellows frowned. “But what the hell do they expect me to do? Declare war?” “No,” said Hill. “Although,” he added thoughtfully, “not one out of five would be adverse to it.” “I won the Governorship of Deluros VIII with sixty-four percent of the vote,” said Bellows. “I think that shows a mandate of some sort for my judgment.” “I'll agree with the first half of it, Josh,” said Hill. “It shows a mandate of some sort.” “You know,” said Bellows, “you are the one member of my staff who continually makes me wonder about the wisdom of not surrounding myself with yes-men and sycophants.” “You're paying me too much to simper and suck my thumb and tell you that everything you do is right,” said Hill, swinging his feet back to the floor with a grunt. “Someone in this damned Administration ought to tell you the truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “Which is that you are in considerably more danger of impeachment than you realize.” Bellows just stared at him for a minute, his face expressionless. “Nonsense,” he said at last. Hill got to his feet. “Let me know if and when you want the rest of my report.” He turned to leave. “Hold on a minute!” snapped Bellows. “Get back in your chair and let's have this out.'’ Hill returned and

  took his seat again. “Shall I begin?” he asked.

  Bellows nodded.

  “All right, then. You ran for the Governor's chair based on a campaign of human primacy. So did your opponent, but it was you who began proclaiming that it was manifest destiny that Man once again rule the galaxy.”

  “Just politics,” said Bellows.

  “No, sir, it wasn't just politics. Just politics would have been promising to exterminate the Lemm, or some other race who's been a thorn in our sides. A quick little battle like the one we fought a couple of centuries ago against Pnath; it had no business taking place, but we won pretty easily and everyone felt pretty cocky about it.That's politics. You've done something more. You've given them a dream, a promise that our race will return to its former position of supremacy. You hammered away at it for almost a year. Now, I'll admit that you were forced into it or else you'd never have won, but your constituency put you here, and they're getting a little restless waiting for you to lead them to the promised land. You've been in office almost three years now; that's sixty percent of your term, and you haven't produced yet. “So,” he continued, “they're taking matters into their own hands. There have been pogroms on a number of worlds which we cohabit with other races, there have been some minor skirmishes in space between ships from our outworlds and those of various aliens, and your legislature has been dragging its feet on every recommendation you've sent them. The human race has a standing battle force of some sixty million ships and ten billion men throughout the galaxy, and they're getting restless. “As for your impeachment, the media is just now starting to talk about it, but I've done a head count, and they're only about a dozen votes short.” “Twenty-eight votes,” said Bellows.

  “That waslast month,” persisted Hill. “Josh, you just can't sit on your hands. You've got todo something.”

  “Like what?” said Bellows softly. “What the hell do they want me to do—launch a sneak attack on Lodin XI and the Canphor Twins? Am I supposed to kill off every alien in the galaxy just to make them happy? I'm not the President of the human race, you know. I'm just the Governor of one world.” “Deluros VIII is more than one world, and we both know it,” said Hill. “Since we moved our bureaucracy here from Earth, we've been the social, political, and moral headquarters of the race of Man. For centuries the Governor of Deluros VIII has been the most powerful human in the galaxy; for all practical purposes, the job is identical to being President of the human race. If you give an order, every military unit from here to the Rim will obey it without question; if our economy goes up or down, every other human world follows suit in a year or so. We set the fashion, physically and philosophically, for every human everywhere. So don't hand me any of that crap about being the leader of one small, insignificant little world.”

  “All I ever promised was to give Man back his dignity,” said Bellows. “I said it was our destiny to rise to the top of the heap, and it is—but not by pulling the other fellows off. We'll do it by working harder, producing more, being smarter—”

  “Bunk! You couldn't deliver on that promise if your term of office was ten thousand years and you lived

  to the last day of it. Look,” said Hill, clasping and unclasping his hands. “You were born handsome,

  articulate, and likable. I mean it. I've always liked you, and I like you even now, when you're throwing both our careers down the drain. You come on like a forceful but benevolent father that everyone automatically trusts. Just give the mess to Josh; he'll take care of it. The problem is that you've never had to use that thing you call a brain a day of your life. Everything comes easy to Godlike father images, and when you needed some dirty work done, someone like me has always been around to do it. Not that we've minded. But now you're Governor of Deluros VIII, and there's no higher office a human can aspire to the way the Democracy's set up. Now you've finally got to deliver instead of going after the job of the guy who's next in line above you. And if you can't make the decision and take the kind of action that's required, then let me or someone else do it in your name, or that handsome, noble face and lordly demeanor are going to get expurgated from the history book faster than you can imagine.” “Well, I'm sure as hell not going to go down in history as the man who started the first galactic-scale war!” said Bellows. “I don't plan to be remembered as the greatest genocidal maniac of all time.” “It's not a matter of genocide,” said Hill. “It's simply a matter of testing the opposition, pushing and probing until you find a weak spot, then plugging the gap and looking for more. No one's advocating cutting off our noses to spite our faces; we need the other races as much as we ever did, perhaps more. But we need them on our terms, not theirs.” “We've been through all this before,” said Bellows, glancing down at his appointments calendar. “Evidently it hasn't done much good up to now,” said Hill. “Dammit, Josh, I know that you've got reservations about it, but the Governorship is no place for vacillation. Sooner or later it's got to come, and it might as well be sooner.”

  “If it could be bloodless, I'd have no hesitation,” said Bellows. “But these are sentient beings, Mel, not so many pieces on a gameboard.”

  “Begging your pardon, but we areall just pieces on a gameboard. A politician is successful or unsuccessful by virtue of how well or poorly he manipulates the pieces.” “Mel, if Man is to rule the galaxy—and I'm convinced he is—he's got to do so by exhibiting leadership in those areas that truly show his worth: industry, dignity, intellect. No simple show of force will make us fit to rule; if anything, it goes to prove the point that we're not yet capable of doing so.” “That's beautiful rhetoric, Josh, and I hope you put it in your memoirs,” said Hill, “but it's a bunch of ivory-tower gobbledegook. Religion, morality, and Joshua Bellows to the contrary, Man is neither good nor bad, pure nor impure. He is simply Man, and his destiny, if he has one, is to make the most of all of his gifts, without attempting to place values upon them. If he has a notion to grasp at the stars, then it's his duty to do so in the best and most efficient way he can; and if he fails
, well, at least he did his damnedest. But Man can't just spout pretty platitudes while there's anything in his universe lacking accomplishment. I've heard it said that Man is a social animal. Some deeper thinkers have concluded that he's a political animal. I've known women who swore he was a sexual animal. None of them are totally wrong, but they haven't quite got around to the truth of it. Man is acompetitive animal. Philosophers dream of utopias in which every need is cared for, and there is an inordinate amount of time for contemplation. Utopia, hell—that's madness! Man's living in utopia right now, a time filled with as many challenges as he can handle. But he can't start meeting those challenges until you give the word.” “And you say they're preparing to throw me out of office if I don't give it.”

  “They don't want to do that, Josh,” said Hill. “With the magnetism you've got, they'd back any action

  you took. The legislature would be much happier with you than without you but you've got to play ball with them.”

  “I'm still as popular as ever in the polls,” said Bellows. “What if I force them into a showdown, make them put up or shut up?”

  “You'd lose,” said Hill promptly. “Your popularity is due, in large part, to stories I've leaked to the media about how are forces are massing and how we're ready to begin reasserting ourselves. The day they find out that those are phony, you won't have to wait for the legislature; the voters'll throw you out on your ear.”

  Bellows excused Hill for an hour while he attended another meeting, then summoned the gnarly adviser back to his office.

  “Where would you begin?” asked the Governor bluntly. “Ah,” said Hill, smiling. “Someone else told you the same thing.” “What they told me is my business,” said Bellows. “Your business is to make suggestions.” Hill chuckled. “They must really have spelled it out for you, huh? Okay, Josh, how's this for a bloodless starter: Convert every T-pack so that it'll just translate Terran, rather than Galactic-O.” “You're crazy!” exploded Bellows. “Do you know what that would do to our commerce and trade, to say nothing of our Diplomatic Corps? No one would be able to understand a word we said!” “They'd learn,” said Hill softly. “Or better still, get rid of T-packs altogether, and make it illegal for any Man to speak Galactic. Force the other races to start playing in our ball park. We're still the most potent single military and economic entity in the galaxy; sooner or later it'll become essential to their self-interest to give in.”

  “But in the intervening time we speak to nobody except Men, is that it?” said Bellows. “How much time do you think will elapse?” countered Hill. “More than two thousand worlds depend on us for medical supplies, and almost ten thousand more require produce from our agricultural planets. Now, maybe some of the others will drag their feet, but that's a hard twelve thousand worlds that will learn Terran within a month. And don't forget, this is just symbolic, simply a means of asserting our identity.”

  “Consider it vetoed,” said Bellows. “It would cause too much confusion, kill half the methane-breathers we tried to communicate with, and I'll be damned if I'm going to cut off vital medical supplies to millions of beings just for the sake of making a gesture.” Hill took a deep breath. “All right, then. Instead of taking them all on at once, take on the biggest.” “Meaning?”

  “Canphor VI and VII.”

  “Are you seriously suggesting that I start a war with the Canphor Twins?” demanded Bellows. “That we

  blow them all to hell just to get the legislature off my back?”

  “I am,” said Hill. “But with reservations.” “That's a comfort. I didn't know you had reservations about anything.” “Where it concerns physical or political survival, I'm the most reserved person you know,” said Hill. “I do not suggest that we launch an attack on the Canphor Twins or any other worlds. We have our image to consider.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “I suggest that we repel an attack by the Canphor Twins on Deluros VIII,” said Hill. “You would have no objection to fighting them under those conditions, would you?” “None at all,” said Bellows. “However, I don't think they're any likelier to attack than we are.” “It's a pity that I wasn't born with your looks and that deep, thoughtful, resonant voice of yours, Josh,” said Hill with a little smile. “I could have achieved godhood within my own lifetime.” “I assume you're telling me how stupid I am,” said Bellows dryly. “Correct,” said Hill. “Not that I hold it against you. That's what you've gotme for.” “I'm not exactly surewhat you're here for, but it's not to start wars for me,” said Bellows with finality. “Consider the subject closed until such time as I personally reopen it.” Hill left the Governor's office and returned to his own, where two of his aides were waiting for him. “Any luck?” asked one.

  Hill shook his head. “He just doesn't realize how much trouble he's in, and he's basically too humane to do anything to alleviate the situation.” He closed his eyes. “God save us from decent and moral leaders!” he added fervently.

  “What's next?'’ asked the other.

  “I'm not sure,” said Hill, scratching what little remained of his once-bushy head of hair. “For Man's sake and for his, we ought to do something. The problem is that he can countermand anything I do.” “If he does, they'll kick him out and make you Governor,” said the first aide. “What's so wrong with that?”

  “You're going to find this hard to believe,” said Hill, staring at him, “but I'm not totally unidealistic myself. I know what Man has to do, and a lot of it isn't going to be very pretty. We need a Governor like Josh Bellows, one who can convince us that everything we're trying to accomplish, and the means we're using, is not only acceptable but basically moral. If Josh told us to wipe out twenty sentient races tomorrow, we'd be absolutely sure it was the proper thing to do; if I ordered it, everybody would think I was a power-mad dictator with delusions of grandeur. The people need a leader they can love, respect and damned near worship. Josh fills the bill, so we've got to see to it that he's the one who actually gets the ball rolling.”

  “Did it ever occur to you'” asked one of the aides, “that the reason Josh commands so much respect is

  that most of what has to be done is unthinkable to him?” “The thought has crossed my mind on occasion.” Hill grimaced. “You know, it's low-down bastards like me who change history; but it's people like Josh who get the public to like it.” “I repeat: What's next?” said the second aide. “Well,” said Hill, “there's not a hell of a lot of sense trying to get Josh to knowingly take anactive role in all this. He may have some pretty outmoded scruples, but he's not dumb, and he won't willingly let himself be pushed into anything. We'll simply have to work around him at first.” “How?”

  “I am not totally without power in this Administration,” Hill said softly. “Who's in command of our fleet in the Canphor system?”

  “Greeley.”

  “Fine.” He walked over to a recording device, picked up the microphone, and sat down. “To Admiral Greeley, 11th Fleet,” he began. “For your ears only.” He waited the customary five seconds it would take for Greeley's thumbprint to unlock the protective clacking and scrambling mechanisms. “Greetings, Admiral. This is Melvyn Hill, Communications Code...” He paused, turning to his code book. “Code 47A3T98S. In view of what I'm about to say, I'd like you to check my code and voiceprint against your computer banks so there will be no doubt in your mind as to my identity.” He waited long enough for such a check to have been run, then continued. “It has come to our attention, Admiral, that a number of pirate vessels which have been harassing our trade routes may well be doing so under the unwitting protection of Canphor VI. As a result, we have made a secret agreement with the government of Canphor VI to the effect that all nonmilitary vessels flying that world's colors will also have a special insignia prominently displayed on their starboard sides, the form of which is"—he looked down at some of his scribbling on a scratch pad and randomly chose a design—"an octagon within a circle. Any nonmilitary ship not carryin
g such an emblem is likely to be a pirate vessel. Your duty will be to demolish the first three such ships you encounter, then report directly to me. Under no circumstance is this to be discussed over subspace radio waves of any length, as we fear some of our communications may be monitored. Also, no more than three vessels are to be destroyed, as this preliminary act is merely to show any and all concerned parties that our vessels are no longer to be considered fair game. An all-out campaign will be mapped later. Good luck.” He turned off the device and tossed the recording to one of his aides.

  “Take this to Greeley personally,” he said. “Don't leave until he's got it in his hands.” He turned to his remaining aide. “From this point forward, all alien correspondence to leave this office will be in Terran.” “What if the boss says no?”

  “He's got a pretty big planet to run,” said Hill. “I don't think he'll bother reading anything that comes out of here. If he does, just play dumb and refer him to me.” This done, Hill settled down, went about his business, and waited for a report from Canphor VI. In less than a week it came in: