Birthright

by Mike Resnick

  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 was a science devised by Man. Why is it that your race made only minimal use of it?”

  “We preferred to do things ourselves,” said Breece. “True.” Milnor nodded. “Man never gave quarter, but he never asked for it either. A fascinating race.”

  “What was it that led you to devote so much time to the study of my race?” asked Breece.

  “So many of the sentient species are so busy blindly making war against Man that I felt that somebody ought to try to understand you.”

  “I thank you for the sentiment,” said Breece. “And what have you learned about us that has increased your understanding?”

  “That is a very difficult question,” said Milnor. “Oh? Why?”

  “Because the more I discover about your race, the less I am able to comprehend it.” “Welcome to the club,” said Breece with a bitter laugh. “Perhaps you can enlighten me on some points,” said Milnor eagerly—or at least he looked eager. The words coming through the T-pack were totally devoid of emotion. “I'll try,” said Breece, “but please don't be too disappointed if I'm just as puzzled as you are.” “Well, for example,” said Milnor—and now they were not Man and non-Man, but merely two professionals discussing their field of expertise—"very few races of the galaxy have believed in religion, though many accept the philosophical notion of deity. Yet Man had not just one religion, but literally hundreds of them. Many of them issued very reasonable ethical codes and directives, from which most civil law on Earth, and ultimately the Commonwealth, was derived; Also, the great religious figures, from Jesus and Buddha almost to the end of human history, have preached a doctrine of love and tranquility.” “You forget Moses, who figuratively took the sword of God in his hand to slay the Egyptians.” “But even Moses did not allow his people to fight,” said Milnor, “and it was Moses who gave his nation the Ten Commandments. Now, my question is this: given such ethical codes and moral leaders, and threatening what seemed to most Men to be the very real alternative of hellfire and eternal damnation, it would seem to me that Man would have evolved socially and morally into the most peaceful and ethical of species. And yet this obviously is not the case, despite rare examples to the contrary. Can you possibly explain this to me from a Man's viewpoint?” “Not as an archaeologist, I can't,” said Breece. “But perhaps archaeology is the wrong science to apply to that question.”

  “Which science would suit it better?” asked the Rinn. “Anthropology, perhaps. Or psychology. Or possibly even philosophy. At any rate, I think the a
nswer lies in more than one place. First of all, Man was a carnivore. He still is, though he calls himself an omnivore. The conditions of ancient Earth were such that Man either had to evolve certain seemingly physically impossible abilities, such as geometrically multiplying his strength and speed, or he could develop into an intelligent being. No evolution occurs without prior environmental need, and in this case the need was for a physical equalizer, some method by which Man could kill the animals he had to kill in order to survive. This led to the creation of weapons. Some people, in fact most people, would say that all human history follows from that.”

  “But this is not necessarily so,” said Milnor. “Man is not the only intelligent carnivore in the galaxy.”

  “True,” said Breece. “As I said, that's only part of the answer, only one influence upon the race.” “And what of religion, of the noble philosophic systems Man devised?” asked the Rinn. “Religion was an emotional crutch, and an emotional weapon as well. It was a crutch in that it offered a catch-all explanation for the inexplicable, and a weapon in that farsighted men such as Moses were able to invoke the authority of God Himself to gain acceptance of their ethical systems.” “This I realize,” said Milnor. “But where did it break down?” “That's hard to say. But every time Man achieved something new, such as air travel, the birds and clouds were no longer things of wonder to us and another page of the Bible became just so much pretty poetry. As for the ethical systems, I can't really give you an answer. Possibly when Man moved out into the galaxy he felt he was greater than God, and hence under no ethical imperative to obey his Earthbound and Earthmade laws.”

  “But Man ignored these two laws during most of his existence on Earth,” Milnor pointed out. “I know,” said Breece. “Maybe the laws were made for perfect things, and Man is not perfect. If I knew the answers, I wouldn't be here.”

  “I understand,” said Milnor. “If you could tell me what period you are most interested in, perhaps I could be of some assistance in directing you to the most likely places to begin your digging.” “That's very generous of you, Milnor,” said Breece, “but the truth of the matter is that I simply don't know where to begin. My race is dying, falling back on every front, losing everything it once held dear. I want to know why. I want to know what made us do it all in the first place, why we succeeded, why we failed. If you can point to a spot anywhere in the galaxy and say, ‘Dig there and you'll discover what it is that makes Man Man,’ I'll be forever in your debt. But I don't think you can do that, can you?” “Alas, I cannot,” said Milnor.

  “Then I suppose I'll just have to proceed in my own haphazard way.” She turned her head into the mild breeze, breathed in the cold, clean air. “This very spot we're standing on might have been the Garden of Eden. I wonder if we'll ever know why Man wanted to leave it. He didn't slink out of Paradise, you know; he walked out proud and erect. Isn't that curious?” “You are not like most Men I have met,” said Milnor after a thoughtful pause. “There's a little of me in all Men, and a little of them in me,” said Breece. “I want to know. Isn't that the very trait that started Man on the path that led him to where he is now?” “Was it truly the urge to know?” asked the Rinn. “Or was it the drive to possess?” “I don't know,” said Breece with a shrug. “And yet, with all my race has done that I feel ashamed of, I can still feel pride at their accomplishments. From the Pioneers to the Olympians to the Warlords, they bucked the odds. Maybe they went places they had no business going, maybe they stepped on some toes—and far worse—but they won, and in a perverse way I'm proud to be one of them. Is that sinful, I wonder?”

  “I cannot offer an answer,” said Milnor. “But let me in turn ask you one final question, and then I shall

  leave you to the sleep you must need by now. Granting all that you have said is true to one degree or another, why is it that you are spending your life studying a species that we both admit is in its twilight? What will an understanding of Man's virtues and flaws and foibles benefit you?” “You mean me personally?”

  The Rinn nodded.

  “I'm not sure,” said Breece. “If I am to be totally honest about it, I could very well be doing this because I'm resentful.”

  “Resentful?” asked Milnor. “Of what?”

  “Of all the Men who lived during the zenith of our race. There was a time when we owned it all, and we let it slip away. Or, rather,they let it slip away. Maybe I'm bitter about their losing my birthright.” “Truly?” asked Milnor.

  “Perhaps,” said Breece. “Or perhaps it's the feeling I get when I look out across the Serengeti, and see it as primitive Man must have seen it eons ago. But with one difference: his future, as a race, lay before him; mine lies behind me. I think it's very sad that nothing will ever grow here again except grass: no animals, no birds, and no Men.”

  “To use an expression of your species, you weep for the passing of your race,” said the Rinn. “Is that not correct?”

  “No,” said Breece. “First I want to know how and why it happened, what made it inevitable. Then I'll decide whether or not to shed a few tears. And now, if you'll excuse me, Milnor, I must get some sleep.” “I understand,” said the Rinn. “However if it will not offend you, I should like to present you with a gift.” “A gift?”

  “Yes,” said Milnor. “It is a human artifact.” Suddenly her face radiated interest. “I think,” continued the Rinn, “that if you study it until you know it in its entirety, a number of your questions may be answered.” “I very much doubt that any one artifact can do that,” said Breece. “This one can,” said Milnor. He removed his shoulder pouch, stuck a stubby hand into it, searched around for a moment, and withdrew the artifact, which he rubbed carefully with a soft cloth and then handed to her.

  It was a mirror.

  24: THE PRIESTS

  ...About the middle of the Seventeenth Galactic Millennium, as the race of Man was in danger and disarray everywhere, there was a rebirth of interest in religion, though this incarnation had none of the trappings of Man's ancient, Earthbound religions. It was simple, straightforward, possessed of very few

  dogmas, and was in truth far more of an ethical doctrine than a religion in the established sense of the

  word.

  One of the unsolved mysteries about Man is why, at a time when the comfort of religion should have been so avidly sought after, it should have flourished for so short a time and gained so few advocates.... —Origin and History of The Sentient Races,Vol. 9 It was a dirty little village, surrounded by scores of other dirty little villages, all of them standing out like leprous sores on the surface of Raxar II. Crumbling stone structures surrounded what had once been a city square, and in the middle of the square was a dust-covered fountain which had not operated in decades.

  Mihal scurried along, looking neither right nor left, trying not to think of all the filth he would later have to remove from his robes. He carried a number of books in his left hand; in his right hand was a finely embroidered white handkerchief with which he was constantly mopping the sweat off his face. He longed for a cigar or a pipe, anything to keep his mind off the oppressive heat, but tobacco had been increasingly hard to come by in recent years, and since its cost had risen correspondingly with its scarcity, he had broken himself of the habit, though not the desire for it. A little girl peeked at him from behind a decrepit building, and he smiled at her. “Can you tell me where I can find Rodat?” he asked. She wiped a runny nose with an unwashed forearm, then pointed to a nearby structure. Just before she ducked out of sight he thanked her and approached the building. He looked for a door on which to knock, but could find none and, with a shrug, he walked inside. “Hello?” he said. “Is anybody home?”

  “In here,” came a hoarse voice. He followed it and soon found himself in a small room. A number of insects were flying in and out through the holes where windows had once existed, and the heat grew even more unbearable, if possible. Sprawled on the floor atop an exceptionally grimy blanket was an old, emaciated, bearded
man, whose age Mihal estimated at eighty or thereabouts. “I am Per Mihal,” said Mihal, trying to avert his eyes from the man's naked body. “A new one, eh?” said the man. “What happened to Per Lomil?” “He was transferred to Spica II,” said Mihal, mentally adding: Lucky devil! “And Per Degos?”

  “Dead,” said Mihal. “You are Rodat?”

  The man nodded, and was suddenly wracked by a coughing seizure. “This is my first day on Raxar II,” said Mihal when the man sank weakly back on the blanket, “but I'll be here for quite some time. I was told that...” He paused, searching for a delicate way to phrase it. “That I was dying?” asked Rodat. “Well, they told you rightly, priest. What can I do for you?” “Forme ?” said Mihal in astonishment. “I am here to ease your suffering, to bring you peace and solace