Birthright

that he was just another addition to an immense list of triumphs, rather than the last Olympian.

He spurted forward, spurred on more by fear than desire. His legs ached, the soles of his feet burned, his breath came in short, painful gasps. Into the homestretch he raced, his body screaming for relief, his mind trying to blot out the agony. Now he was within seventy yards of the Emran, now fifty. The Emran heard the yells of the crowd, knew the Olympian was making a run at him, and forced his own tortured legs to maintain the pace. On and on the two raced, each carrying a world on his shoulders. Tinsmith was still eating into the Emran's margin, but he was running out of racetrack. He looked up, his vision blurred, and willing the spots away from his eyes he focused on the finish wire. It hung across the track, a mere two hundred yards distant.

He was thirty yards farther from it than the Emran. He was going to lose. He knew it, felt in every throbbing muscle, every bone-shattering stride. When they spoke of the Olympians in future years, on worlds not yet discovered,he would be the one they'd name. The one who Lost.

“No!” he screamed. “No! Not me!” His pace increased. He was not running after the Emran any longer, he was running from every human, living or yet to be born, in the galaxy. “NO!”

He was still screaming when he crossed the finish line five yards ahead of his opponent. He wanted to collapse, to let his abused body melt and become one with the dirt and the stone on the floor of the stadium. But he couldn't. Not yet, not until he was back in the dressing room. He was vaguely aware of one of Hailey's assistants breaking through the cordon of police and officials racing up to support him, but he brushed him away with a sweep of his long, sweat-soaked arm. Someone else came up with a jug of water. Later he'd take it, later he'd pour quarts and gallons into his dry, rasping throat. But not now. Not in front ofthem . The fire in his lungs was beginning to diminish, to be replaced by a dull, throbbing ache. Suddenly he remembered the cameras. He swallowed once, then drew himself up to his full height. He glanced calmly, disdainfully, at the throng of reporters, then turned and began the slow, painful trek to the dressing room. Hailey moved as if to accompany him, then stopped. Another of Hailey's aides began to walk after him, but the trainer grabbed his arm and held him back. Hailey understood. Olympians walked alone.

8: THE BARRISTERS

...As the Olympians fought for Man on the fields of honor, so, in a far more meaningful way, did the barristers fight for Man in the courts of law. The problems were both new and immense, for a million alien worlds with a corresponding set of mores, laws, and statutes were the battlefields, and as often as