Birthright

medics who boldly strode toward these new and incredibly varied horizons, there was always in the

background Man's precarious position in the political schemata of the galaxy... —Man: Twelve Millennia of Achievement (No mention of the Medics can be found inOrigin and History of the Sentient Races .) “What'swrong with it?” snapped a haggard Darlinski. “Hell, I don't even know what keeps the damned thing alive!”

“I'm not paying you enough for you to turn prima donna on me,” said Hammett harshly. “Keep making tests until you find out what's affecting him.” “First,” said Darlinski, “you've got to prove to me that it's a him. Second, you're not paying me enough to do very damned much of anything. And third—” “Cure him and you've got a raise,” said Hammett quickly, with more than a touch of irritation. “I don't want a goddamned bloody raise!” yelled Darlinski. “I want a healthy specimen of whatever this is so I can see what the hell the difference is!” “He's all we've got.”

“Didn't it have any friends or subordinates?” demanded Darlinski. “For the twelfth time, no,” said Hammett. “Then, for the thirteenth time, what in blue blazes is a planetary ambassador doing without even a single subordinate around?”

“I keep telling you, I don't know. All I know is he screamed once, collapsed, and couldn't be immediately revived, so they brought him here.” “Of course they couldn't revive it. Hell, if they slapped its face they might have broken every bone in what seems to pass for its head. And for all I know, it'd melt if anyone threw cold water on it.” A light on an intercom unit flashed, and Darlinski pressed a button. “Pathology here, boss,” said a laconic voice. “Got anything for us to work on yet?” Darlinski uttered a few choice but unprintable words into the speaker. “Don't get sore, boss. All you got to do is figure out what makes it tick.” “I know,” snarled Darlinski. “The fat bastard that runs this shop just promised me a raise if I get it right.” “Boy, am I impressed,” said the voice. “The fat bastard that runs the planet just promised us a war if you get it wrong. Have fun.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Hammett, walking over to the intercom. “Haven't you seen a newstape?” said the voice from Pathology. “Hell, you've had the damned thing up