Birthright

At twenty-two minutes after midnight, the seventy-two miners who formed the total population of Spica

II gathered by the largest single refinery on the planet and set off a series of three nuclear bombs. And at three minutes after one in the morning, Coleman was ushered into the Secretary's office under armed guard.

“Just what the hell are you trying to prove?” demanded the Secretary, who had obviously just been aroused from a sound sleep.

“We're not trying to prove anything,” said Coleman. “We're trying to win something: our rights. These miners have undergone three hours of intense hypnotic conditioning every day for more than a decade, and are fully prepared to die for their rights if need be. In fact, they are so completely conditioned that they have no choice in the matter; any opposition by the Republic will trigger this reaction. I assure you that there can and will be no weakening of our resolve.” “Dammit, you're the best-paid men in the Republic!'’ “Not in relation to the service we render to the Republic,” said Coleman. “Are you ready to agree to our demands yet?”

“You can blow every last mining world to hell before we'll submit to this kind of coercion!” snapped the Secretary.

“I doubt that, sir,” said Coleman. “Once the Republic discovers how deeply these miners believe in their cause...”

“The public won't find out a damned thing,” said the Secretary. “We stopped your ship, and we'll stop every other ship that attempts to approach a mining world.” “Then ultimately your own conscience will force you to yield to us,” said Coleman. “Get him out of here,” said the Secretary disgustedly. “Is he under arrest?” asked one of the military aids. “Hell, yes! Charge him with treason and lock him up!” Coleman was escorted to an electrified cell. He was well fed and was treated with the utmost cordiality. Each morning he was allowed to view the newstapes. He could find nothing about the results of the strike, nor even any acknowledgment of its existence, but he knew it would be continuing. The Republic could get along without the mining worlds for a week or two, possibly three. But then all interstellar traffic would come grinding to a halt. Before long the hospitals would be screaming for supplies. They'd be the first to feel the pinch, and for that he was sorry; but they'd be followed in short order by the huge spacecraft cartels, and they'd scream good and loud. Even the Secretary couldn't keep the lid on this for too much longer.

He spent exactly nineteen days, six hours, and twenty-four minutes in prison. Then he was once again ushered into the Secretary's presence.

The Secretary seemed to have aged perceptibly since the last time he had seen him. There were deep,