Birthright

“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.