Mike Resnick - Birthright

“Well, the problem is too simple for a bright young feller like yourself to solve. Now, if you asked some savage descendant of one of the Delphini II colonists, he'd probably tell you right away.” “Since I don't know any aborigines on a first-name basis,” said Rojers, “I'll have to put the question to you. With no comparison intended.”

“No offense taken.” Herban smiled. “The solution to the problem is simply one of definition, which is doubtless caused by our somewhat more sophisticated background.” “I don't follow you, sir,” said Rojers. “Let's put it this way. Our idea of a racial superman would differ considerably from an aborigine's, wouldn't it? I mean, his ideal would be a man who could kill a large herbivore with his bare hands, survive under extremes of temperature, have the sexual potency to father a whole world, and so forth. Agreed?”

“I suppose so.”

“Our idea, however, reflects the needs we seem to feel. What qualities, in your opinion, might a superman reasonably be expected to possess?” “First of all, an intellectual capacity far beyond our own. And,” Rojers went on, scratching his head thoughtfully, “a number of ESP qualities: telepathy, telekinesis, and the like. And, as his brain power increased, his physical performance would diminish proportionately, since he'd have less need of his body. But hell, that's basic. We all know that.” “Not quite all of us,” said Herban with a small smile. “Our aborigine would disagree ... always assuming he had the intelligence to follow your argument. Otherwise, he'd probably interrupt you in midsentence and throw you into a handy cooking pot. And the really interesting part of it is that for all his lack of intelligence and sophistication, he'd be right and you'd be wrong.” “You don't sound like you're kidding,” said Rojers dubiously, “and yet it has to be a joke.” “Oh, it's a joke, all right,” said Herban. “But it's on us. You see, Man has evolved mentally as far as he's ever going to. From a standpoint of intellect, Homo sapiens and Homo superior are one and the same. I'll qualify that in a moment, but it's essentially correct as it stands.” Rojers was staring in disbelief, making no move to interrupt with a protest, so Herban took another long puff on his cigar and continued. “What, my bright young man, is the most basic cause of natural evolution?”

“Environmental need,” said Rojers mechanically. “Correct. Which is the precise reason why we're not about to create a mental superman. Man has never used much more than thirty percent of his potential intellect; as long as the remaining seventy percent is there, waiting to be tapped, there is absolutely no cause for any evolutionary process which would increase our basic intelligence. Ditto for telepathy. Man originally had no need for it, because he had the power of speech. Then, as he became separated from his companions by distances too great for speech to carry, he made use of radio waves, video, radar, sonar, and a dozen other media for carrying his words and images. Why, then, is there any need for telepathy? There isn't. “Telekinesis? Ridiculous. We have machines that can literally destroy stars, that can move planets out of their orbits. What possible need can we have for the development of telekinesis? “Take every single trait of our hypothetical superman, and you'll find that there is absolutely no environmental need for it. Now, as I said before, I'll qualify the statement to this extent: Telepathy and even mild telekinesis can be induced under laboratory conditions, at least on occasion. But to do so we must so totally change the gene pattern and environment of the fetus and child that it is literally cut off from the world: no sensual receptors of any kind. In such cases, the brain will usually come out totally dulled or quite mad. On occasion, the insane brain will draw on some of its reserve potential and develop telepathic traits, but of course the mind is so irrational that any meaningful contact with it or training of it is quite impossible.

“On the other hand, it's not at all difficult to develop our aborigine's superman, because we can control the physical environment and tamper with the DNA molecules. We turn them out every day in the incubators. We can create hairy supermen, giant supermen, three-eyed supermen, aquatic supermen, and

if we worked on it, I've no doubt that we could even create methane-breathing supermen. In fact, we can

create damned near every type of superman except supremely intelligent ones.” “Then it's a dead end?” asked Rojers.

“Not at all. You're forgetting our untapped seventy percent. Even before space travel in the ancient past, there were numerous documented laboratory experiments dealing with telepathy, prescience, and many other ESPer abilities and talents. Every human body undoubtedly has the potential to perform just about every feat we ask of our hypothetical and unattainable superman, but we've no way to tap that potential. It's the same problem: You, if the need arose, would have the potential to send out a telepathic cry for help, and possibly even teleport yourself out of danger. However, you'll never do it if you can scream and run or press an alarm button and hop into a spaceship. And even if no means of aid were available to you, you simply have a storehouse of special effects; what you lack—what we all lack—is any rational means of getting the key into the storehouse door. Poor Homo superior!" “Then why the facade of trying to develop supermen?” asked Rojers. “To hide our greater purpose, of course,” said Herban. “Our greater purpose?” repeated Rojers. “You make it sound positively sinister.” “It all depends on your point of view,” said Herban. “I think of it as extremely beneficial. But come along, and you can make up your own mind.” With that, the little man put out his cigar, swung his feet off his desk, arose, and gestured Rojers to follow him out the door. They proceeded farther down the corridor to a horizontally moving elevator, and took it about halfway around the massive biochemical and genetics complex. From there they transferred to a vertical elevator and plunged down at a rapid speed. Rojers had no idea how fast they were going, but estimated that they were at least seven hundred feet below ground level before the elevator showed any sign of slowing up. At least, he decided, whatever was going on here wasn't too well hidden. But then, he continued, why should it be? After all, the Oligarchy was paying for it, and the politics of the Project demanded that everything be aboveboard and open. In fact, the Project had been created and maintained solely because of the demands of the populace.

The doors opened, and Herban led Rojers past two security checks, and into still another horizontally moving enclosure. There were three more changes of direction, all accompanied by increasingly rigid security inspections, until at last they arrived before a massive lead portal, which slowly slid back before them when Herban inserted his identification card into a small practically invisible wall slot. “This is it,” grunted the Chief of Biochemistry as he walked through the doorway. Rojers looked around and was unimpressed. It didn't seem all that different from the portion of the complex he was familiar with: corridors going every which way, numerous doors with signs indicating the departments and subdepartments contained within, and what seemed to be a fair-sized auditorium at the far end of the largest corridor. An occasional technician in a lab smock walked out of one door into another, and once Rojers thought he saw a woman scurrying down a corridor in a lead body suit. By and large, however, there didn't seem to be any of the frantic hustle and bustle and frenzied activity that marked the huge incubator room and its surroundings.