by Mike Resnick
respects quite the most remarkable building ever erected by any race.
Much of the credit for its design, if not its ultimate fate, must go to Ebar Mallow, perhaps the most brilliant architect to come on the scene since the creation of Caliban. Even now, the Bureau still functions as it was designed to do; the pity of it, of course, is that... —Origin and History of the Sentient Races, Vol. 9 “What the hell isthat ?” asked Mallow, gesturing toward the huge structure that was being moved into his office.
“That, my bookish friend, is a chair,” said Verlor, walking into the office as the workmen left. “A chair forwhat ?” demanded Mallow, trying to picture the type of creature that could fit comfortably into the thing and failing dismally.
“The ambassador from Castor V,” said Verlor. “I didn't even know Castor had any intelligent life,” said Mallow. “According to our psychologists, they crossed over from nonthinking beast to thinking beast about three thousand years ago. According to the Castorites, they've been an intelligent species for longer than Man has been around.”
“Surely he's not coming here to debate the issue,” said Mallow disgustedly. “I'll be happy to grant his species intelligence since the Big Bang if it'll make him happy. Especially if he can fill that chair.” “He's got other reasons for seeing you,” said Verlor. “As I understand it, he wants to talk about the Bureau.”
“Not a chance,” snapped Mallow. “I spent seven years getting those plans approved by the Floating Kingdom, and I'm not about to make any last-minute changes because of some elephantine bigwig from Castor!”
“Calm down,” said Verlor. “We don't even know what he wants.” “It doesn't matter,” said Mallow. “No changes!” “Look,” said Verlor. “We've all got orders. Yours are to design and build the Bureau. Mine are to see that our guest is treated with every courtesy. This is no small-time bureaucrat; he's the Castorian ambassador to the Commonwealth.”
“You mean Castor's not even a member of the Commonwealth?” said Mallow. “Its status is up in the air at the moment. They've been asked—politely—to join. If they decide not to...” “They'll be asked unpolitely,” concluded Mallow. “In all likelihood,” agreed Verlor. “At any rate, any unpleasantness with the ambassador is to be initiated by the Floating Kingdom, not by you. Understood?” “Understood,” said Mallow distastefully. “When do we expect this visitor of yours?”
“If I may be so bold as to intrude upon your discussion,” said the cold, noncommittal tones of a T-pack,
“I am quite ready to proceed with our meeting.” The two men turned to the doorway, and saw a huge, thick-limbed being standing there, its blunt, broad head covered by a combination plastic mask and T-pack, its heavily-armored skin exposed to the air. It had the three-legged, tripodal structure and stance common to most of the denizens of high-gravity worlds. Affixed to the mask were small medallions that obviously represented medals and official status. “How long have you been standing there?” demanded Mallow. “My name is Krotar,” said the Castorian, ignoring the question. “May we proceed?” “I'll leave you two gentlemen for a few minutes,” said Verlor. “Buzz me if you need anything.” “I object to being termed a gentleman,” said Krotar, “but since the T-pack may be translating Terran inaccurately or too literally, I shall offer no formal complaint.” Mallow shot Verlor a who-the-hell-does-he-think-he-is look, then turned back to Krotar. “Well, Mr. Krotar,” he said, “just what can I do for you?” “You may begin by referring to me as Ambassador Krotar,” said the Castorian. “Whatever you wish, Ambassador,” said Mallow, wondering what theless diplomatic Castorians must be like.
“And,” said Krotar, nodding an acknowledgment, “you can show me the plans for the Bureau of Alien Affairs.”
“Is there some particular reason why you're interested in them?” asked Mallow as he darkened the room and threw the Tri-D mockup of the Bureau's exterior into the area separating him from Krotar. “I would not ask without a reason,” said Krotar. “You will explain the plans.” “As you wish.” Mallow shrugged and began to recite the stock speech he had given perhaps a thousand times during the past two years. “The new Bureau of Alien Affairs, to be erected on Deluros IV, will be rectangular at the base, and will remain that way although tapering by almost fifty percent by the time it reaches its peak, which will be almost two kilometers above the ground. At its base the Bureau will be four kilometers long and three kilometers wide. The outer facade, as you can see, will contain various bits of art from almost all of the known cultures of the galaxy.” “Including Castor?” asked Krotar.
“If Castor is adopted into the Commonwealth, I have no doubt that its art will be incorporated into the facade,” said Mallow, devoutly hoping that the Floating Kingdom would require a better display of manners before welcoming it into the fold. He flicked a number of switches on his desk, and the Tri-D picture changed, now showing a miniaturized cross-section of the huge lobby of the building. “Now, although the Bureau will be multi-environmental, the lobby through which all entities will enter and
exit will not be so treated. The atmosphere on Deluros IV is almost nonexistent, and the gravity is about
half that of Deluros VIII. It would be an easy matter to supply it with an atmosphere and artificial gravity more to Man's liking,” he said, getting in the dig, “but there will be no favoritism in the Bureau. “Throughout the lobby will be numerous signs and recording stands, in all the known languages of the galaxy, directing the various member races to the proper areas. There will be literally hundreds of moving courseways crisscrossing and encircling the lobby, each of them ending at a designated elevator. The elevators are designed to hold a minimum of ten members of any race at a time, and in the case of some of the smaller races, they will 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 instantaneouslyen route unless caller or receiver designates otherwise. “Every race will have its own cafeteria and sleeping quarters, as well as libraries and, where possible, commercial holo transmissions from its home planet. And, of course, each race will be provided with recreational and medical facilities.”
“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 t
he 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 during the reign of Vestolian as you are. But you can't just withdraw from the marketplace of ideas and culture. Come to the Bureau. Prove that you're better than we are! You'll be given every opportunity to do so. Every facility will be open to you, every comfort will be provided. If you want to plot the downfall of the Commonwealth, what better place could there possibly be to do so than the Bureau, where you'll be in instant contact with other races who feel equally wronged?” The Procyons, being insectoids, could not understand why the Bureau had been created in the first place. They bore Man no malice; indeed, they had replaced their decimated population in a handful of years. They simply could not relate to the problem. Why travel to the Bureau to eat and breathe? They could do that right here.
His next stop was Domar, but he didn't even get a chance to get out of his ship. The Domarians, one of the few ESPer races in the galaxy, knew everything he was prepared to say and weren't buying any. After all, what need had a race of telepaths for close physical contact with other races? At Terrazane he felt he had the means with which to finally strike a responsive chord. “The people of Terrazane,” he said, “are known throughout the galaxy for the magnificent edifices they construct in their cities. You, of all races, must understand that a project such as the Bureau has been designed to be used. To let it stand, an unused, sterile monument to futility, would border on the criminal. Surely the Terrazanes will not boycott the Bureau.” But he was wrong again, for the Terrazanes’ racial art was nonfunctional. Huge, minutely embellished edifices covered the planet, but for no p
urpose other than the appreciation of the populace at large. On Aldebaran XIII the reaction of the natives against what they felt to be a structure built by Man to assuage his conscience was so violent that he needed an armed guard to escort him back to his ship. On Gamma Leporis IV, he met with a race of aquatic beings that had never been exploited by Man, had never been at war with Man, and had no reason whatsoever to feel inimical to Man. Garbed in a protective undersea suit, he used a modified T-pack to address their delegation. “I am at a loss to understand why you have withdrawn your support from the Bureau,” he told them. “We have always had an amicable relationship between our races, and since so very few races are aquatic, the potential to learn about the thousands of other sentient species is severely limited even for those of you who have journeyed to other worlds. But at the Bureau, your opportunities to increase both your knowledge and your alliances would be virtually limitless. Ample living space would be provided you, and all of your needs—medical, social, religious, even sexual—would be provided for. Surely you, who have the most to gain from the Bureau and the least reason to embarrass my race, will reconsider
