Birthright

Still, there were a couple of oddities. Like the woman in the lead suit, and the fact that two of the doors

he passed as he followed Herban seemed to be made of lead, while the others covered a whole range of plastics.

They came to a corridor marked MAXIMUM SECURITY and turned down it. Herban nodded to a couple of technicians who were speaking in low tones outside one of the doors, then stopped at a large, unmarked panel. Another insertion of his identification card was followed by another sliding of the barrier, and the two men walked into what gave every indication of being an extremely sophisticated laboratory, though it was filled with equipment that was, for the most part, totally unfamiliar to Rojers. There were far fewer pieces of apparatus for working on genetic structures, but considerably more devices which seemed, on the surface at least, to bear some resemblance to encephalographic and cardiographic machines. Unlike the sterile laboratory atmosphere Rojers had become used to working in during the greater portion of his adult life, this place seemed built for comfort as much as efficiency. All around him were padded chairs, ashtrays (though that could simply be an offshoot of Herban's assumption that everyone—buteveryone— should smoke cigars), food-dispensing machines, books and tapes of popular fiction, and the facilities for bathing the room in music, light images, or both. “Have you any idea where you are?” asked Herban pleasantly, seating himself by an ashtray. “No,” said Rojers. “Though I must admit I've often thought your bedroom would bear a resemblance to this place.”

Herban chuckled and lit up another cigar. “Afraid not. My bedroom is usually filled to the brim with the fattest, nakedest women money can buy. No, boy, you're in one of our basic testing rooms.” “Who do you test here,” asked Rojers, “and for what?” “We test people,” said Herban. “And we test them to see if they're your hypothetical supermen.” “Now I'm thoroughly confused,” said Rojers. “I thought you said we couldn't create supermen, and you sounded damned convincing. Are you telling me now that you were lying?” “Not at all.”

“Then how do these so-called supermen come to be? What lab produces them?” “No lab does. When I said Man will not evolve into a mental superman, I wasn't lying to you. I did not, however, say that a mental superman cannot exist.” “I feel as if I were back in school,” said Rojers in exasperation. “Every time I think I know what you're talking about, you stick another stone wall in front of me.” “Well, I'll admit you've had to discard a lot of wrong assumptions,” said Herban, “but everything I've told you today is both true and noncontradictory. For example, I said that we cannot evolve into mental supermen. That's true. Now I'm telling you that there are indeed mental supermen, and that we work with them down here. That's also true.”

“If we didn't create them, how did they get here?” persisted Rojers. “Pretty much the same way you and I got here: natural selection, natural conception, and very likely natural childbirth as well.” Rojers just stared at him. “You see,'’ continued Herban, “these supermen