Birthright

awakening will come tomorrow.

THORRIN: I'm sure we'd all like to think so. NIIS: So would I. But...

THORRIN: Yes?

NIIS: I won't say that tomorrow never comes, but I suspect that it's going to arrive too late to do anyone much good.

14: THE BIOCHEMISTS

...Sometime around 5600 G.E. the life sciences, and especially biochemistry, seem to have taken a wrong turning, this in spite of the fabulous Project that had captured the imagination of men for centuries. Gains were made in numerous related fields, but... —Man: Twelve Millennia of Achievement ...It was in the field of biochemistry its sister sciences that Man came close to achieving a masterwork, sharing his results with the other races of the galaxy. Millennia-old problems in the artificial production of cellular life were solved with sober single-mindedness, and parthenogenesis allowed literally billions of females of all species to have the offspring that a cruel Nature forbade them to bear. Indeed, if Man was an inspiration anywhere during the years of the Oligarchy, it was in the biochemical sciences .... —Origin and History of the Sentient Races, Vol. 8 It sure didn't look like a superman.

“Failure Number 1,098,” said Rojers, turning away from the incubator with a grunt of disgust. “Shall we destroy it, sir?” asked one of the lab assistants. “Might as well,” said Rojers. “A maximum intelligence capacity of a ten-year-old, and a body that'll never get out of a wheelchair. Yes, give it six cc's of the lethal solution, injected directly into the heart ... whereverthat may be.”

Rojers walked desolately out of the incubation room, down the long, well-lit corridor, past his own office, and stopped before Herban's door. He looked briefly at the “Chief of Biochemistry” sign painted on the door in neat gold lettering, grunted again, and walked in. Herban, a small man with medium brown skin, short black hair—what there was left of it—and deep furrows on his forehead, was waiting for him, his feet up on his desk, his hands behind his head. “Well?” said Herban.

“Can't you tell by looking at me?” asked Rojers wryly. “So you go back to the drawing board,” said Herban. “It's not the end of the universe.” “It's damned near the end of mine,” replied Rojers disgustedly. “Today marks my tenth anniversary here, you know.” Herban nodded. “That means I've averaged 109.8 failures for each and every damned year!”

“Feeling sorry for yourself?” chuckled Herban.