Birthright

death facing them should a Hunk sicken or die.

But they objected like an hell to the thought of a Hunk being in the first ship to reach Andromeda. “But that's crazy!” exclaimed Bartol.

“Maybe so,'’ said Lavers of Psychology. “But that's the problem in a nutshell. This is going to be Man's finest hour, his greatest achievement, and they are totally unwilling to let any other race share in it.” “It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of,” said Bartol. “We can't get there without the Hunks.” “You know it, and I know it, andthey know it. Their answer is that we should wait until we have the technology to do it on our own, as Man has always done things.” “So condition it out of them.”

“No chance,” said Lavers.

“What are you talking about?'’ demanded Bartol. “You got them conditioned to accept a symbiotic hookup, which is much more repugnant.”

“It'sphysically more repugnant,” said Lavers. “And we've reached the point where we can condition people to withstand just about any physical hardship. And I won't deny that it's probably mentally more repugnant, at least to most of us, and we can overcome that too. But when you talk about the current problem, you're asking me to change everything that makes Man Man, and I don't think I can do it. Oh, I can put them into the deepest hypnotic sleep you ever saw, and drill it into them a million times an hour that Hunks are necessary cogs in the operation, and not only don't want credit for the mission but won't even understand that a mission is taking place. And the conditioning will hold up for a while—a year, or two years, or ten years—but sooner or later they're going to break through it. It's easier to condition a man to eat and breathe when the alternative is starving and suffocating than to share a triumph with another race when the alternative is to not share that triumph.” “Rubbish!” said Bartol. “Just condition them and get them halfway there, and I guarantee they're not going to pull the plug once they break through it.” “Well, you're the man in charge of this part of the project,” said Lavers with a sigh, “so I'll do what you tell me to do. But I'll make you a little side bet.” “Oh?”

“I'll bet you five hundred credits that the ship doesn't make it there and back.” “I confidently expect to be dead and buried long before that eventuality,” said Bartol. “Twenty-five years is a long time.”

“It won't take twenty-five years,” said Lavers. “You're on,” said Bartol. “You know, I think you're as odd as Jesser is.” “Perhaps,” said Lavers.