Birthright

heavy lines around his eyes, and his pendulous jowls seemed to sag even more.

“If you ever had any friends on Praesepe II and VI, Alphard XVII, or Altair V, you'll never see them again. I hope that makes you happy.”

“It makes me very sad,” said Coleman sincerely. “And I know their deaths must weigh heavily on the conscience of the Republic.”

“How aboutyour conscience?” said the Secretary. “Doesn't the fact that well over four thousand patients have died because your strike has prevented our hospitals from getting vital materials bother you at all?” “I deeply regret their deaths,” said Coleman carefully. “But our stand has been taken. We are totally committed to our cause, and too many of us have died to back down now. If the Republic cares for either the rights of its miners or the lives of its patients, it has the wherewithal to end the strike this very minute.”

“I told you before: We will not yield to threats.” “We can wait,” said Coleman. “Time is on our side. Not even you, with all the resources of the Republic behind you, can keep this quiet for much longer. If you'd made it public to begin with, you might have been able to stir up sentiment for your side. But now the miners of five worlds are dead, and not a single member of the military has been harmed. Where do you think the public's sentiment will rest?” “What's to stop us from surrounding every remaining mining world and moving in after every last miner blows himself to bits?”

“We're using exceptionally dirty bombs,” said Coleman calmly. “It would be years before most of the worlds could be opened for mining, or before the mined material could be safely used. Do you think the Republic's economy can stand that?”

The Secretary closed his eyes and lowered his head in thought for a full minute. Then he looked up at his aides. “Will you leave Mr. Coleman and me alone for a few moment, please?” When the room emptied out, he gestured for Coleman to sit down opposite him. “If we agree to your financial terms, will you relinquish your request for greater political representation?” Coleman shook his head. “You're going to sign it anyway, so why should we yield? Too many of us have died to start striking bargains now.” “What do you get out of this?” asked the Secretary. “Justice.”

“I mean, personally.”

“I get a salary of a quarter million credits a year,” said Coleman. “And I donate ninety percent of it to our medical program.”

“I never could stand dealing with a thoroughly righteous man,” sighed the Secretary. He pulled the miners’ demands out of the drawer, picked up the seal of his office, stamped the papers, and signed his