Birthright

The Canphorite walked to the rostrum and, turning on the amplifier, requested the delegations to take

their seats.

“Delegates,” he said, “I, Lerollion of Canphor VII, now declare this conference to be in order. The clerk will read the roll.

The clerk, a squat little being from Robel, began calling out the names of the worlds, from hot, dusty Aldebaran II to Zeta Piscium IX. Only six delegations were absent. “I had written an introductory speech,” said Lerollion, “a speech of friendship and conciliation. With no offense to these assembled delegates, the speech was not written on your behalf, for you are all my friends, as well you know. It was written for one particular race of beings"—here he paused long enough to cast a hostile look at Thome—"a race from which I perhaps expected too much.” “And yet,” he continued, “if I am to be disappointed, the fault is undoubtedly my own, for nothing in that race's history has given me any indication that it would either seek, recognize, or appreciate the words I had prepared. It is a race of barbarians, a race that is being given one last chance to join our peaceful community of worlds. I do not know why, under the circumstances, this race was not the first delegation to arrive. I do not know why it has not arrived yet. But I do know what the inevitable result will be should this race offend us this one last time.” He paused. “I see that Thome of the race of Man is requesting the floor. It is given.”

The Canphorite sat down, and Thome walked up to the amplifier. “I am aware that the regrets and impatience Lerollion has expressed echo the sentiments of many of you,” he said. “This is understandable, and perfectly justified. The race of Man has indeed brought most of its current sorrows upon itself by its actions over several millennia of galactic rule and misrule. But it is for precisely that reason that this conference has been arranged. We come to you with new insights, new humility, new—”

“But you don't come to us at all,” said an Emran “Where is your delegation?” demanded a Domarian. “Theywill be here, I assure you,” said Thome. “Characterize our flaws and faults in any way you wish, but grant us a certain degree of intelligence and self-preservation. My delegation will be here because there is no viable alternative.”

“In that you are correct,” said a Castorian. “There is no viable alternative.” “Then let us proceed in a spirit of brotherhood,” said Thome. “I wish only to assure you of our sincerity. I now return the floor to Lerollion of Canphor VII.” He walked back to the empty area reserved for his delegation, and seated himself next to Lipas. “Any word from them yet?” he asked nervously. Lipas shook his head.

“Well, damn it, they'd better get here soon!” snapped Thome. “Did it ever occur to you that Lerollion might be right—that they're not going to show up?”