Mike Resnick - Birthright

“And?”

“It appears,” said Oberlieu slowly, “that the Argaves have been petitioning for an audience with various Directors for the past sixty years to get the tariff repealed. They claim that their economy has been in a state of continuous depression since its instigation, since all the Argave worlds are basically agrarian.” “I assume no audience was ever granted,” remarked Vestolian. “That is correct,” said Oberlieu.

“Continue,” said Vestolian.

“It appears that they have been threatening to revolt for the past few years unless the tariff was repealed. They have now done so.”

“Why was the tariff not repealed, or at least reconsidered?” asked the Director. “Only a Director can repeal a law that he himself has passed,” answered Oberlieu.

“Why was the Argaves’ grievance never brought before a Director?” asked Vestolian.

“According to my records, it was,” said Oberlieu. “Jordin II and Wilor I both refused to meet with the Argaves.”

“They've both been dead for more than half a century!” snapped Vestolian. “Are you trying to tell me that no Director has been aware of this situation for the past fifty years despite the open threat of war?” “Yes, Director,” said Oberlieu. “I think that is precisely what I am trying to tell you.” “I consider this to be nothing less than gross and criminal negligence,” said Vestolian. “We shall immediately eliminate the tariff and do everything within our power to set the Argaves’ economy back on its feet. We must also set up channels of authority to make sure that no such situation can ever arise again.”

“I'm afraid that's out of the question, Director,” said Zenorra, his Chief of Protocol. “Explain yourself,” said Vestolian “I'd prefer to do so in private, Director,” said Zenorra. “I haven't been Director long enough to have any secrets,” said Vestolian. “I see no reason for a private discussion.”

Zenorra shrugged. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

“To begin with, Director,” said Zenorra, “you can call yourself any damned thing you please: Director, Protector, First Citizen, or anything else. What you are is an absolute emperor. Now, this can be very beneficial, but it is also a two-edged sword. “For example, there are some twenty or so advisers gathered in this room with you. We are, in all immodesty, experts in our various fields. Between us, we know everything there is to know about presiding over an empire the size and complicity of the Commonwealth. Nonetheless, even if all of us were in complete agreement on a certain course of action, you could overrule us and make it stick. You are the most powerful human being, in fact the most powerful sentient being of any race, who ever lived, and you'll remain so until you are succeeded by the next Director.” “I don't see what you're getting at,” said Vestolian. “I'm coming to that. As I was saying, you are the most politically powerful being in the galaxy. Now, the first—and perhaps the only—purpose of power is to perpetuate itself. Study your history and you'll find that no leader during the Oligarchy, Democracy, or Republic, or even when the race was still Earthbound, ever willingly relinquished any portion of the power he had accumulated. Political power is not unlike water: it ebbs and flows along the path of least resistance. Under normal circumstances this path leads to one man, the man at the top; but if he makes a conscious effort to reverse the process, even with something so trivial as a tariff applied only to one race of beings fifty thousand light-years distant, he has put a small hole in the dike, so to speak, and begun the reversal of the power flow. “I realize that it's tremendously inefficient for you to be forced to make such minor decisions, and certainly each of us has the right to speak in your name. But if it's done too frequently, then our underlings

will soon be speaking in your name as well, and before long you'll have literally billions of Men giving

edicts in the name of the Director.”

“You'll forgive me if I ask a number of questions,” said Vestolian, looking unconvinced. “Certainly,” said Zenorra.

“First of all, if I am the only man in the Commonwealth with the authority to make a decision, what the hell do I have almost two million planetary governors for? Why are we employing thirty billion bureaucrats on Deluros VIII and the Deluros VI planetoids if they can't even pick their noses without my permission? Half our Navy is so far from the Floating Kingdom that they can't be contacted in less than a month; if they can't use their own initiative, just what in blazes are they doing out there?” “May I answer the first part of that, Director?” asked Oberlieu. Vestolian nodded. “Insofar as governorships and alien affairs are concerned, each governor had autonomy in the internal affairs of his planet, as long as he remains within the broad guidelines issued from Deluros. It is when interplanetary problems arise that the governor's hands are tied, though of course he is free to make recommendations, and indeed it is expected of him.”

“As for the Deluros bureaucracy,” said Zenorra, “they do indeed make decisions every day. But these are relatively minor decisions, decisions that are confined to their particular field or fields of expertise. The Navy is of course empowered to defend itself, and to interject itself as a peace-keeper in interplanetary strife among Commonwealth planets, but it may not initiate any offensive action except on your direct orders.”

“I repeat,” said Vestolian, “that this is the most inefficient system conceivable. We have two million governors, and more than a quarter of a million admirals, to say nothing of generals of planetary forces. I would die of old age before I could pronounce each of their names once, let alone give orders to all of them. How has the Commonwealth managed to function all these centuries?” “You seem to be laboring under the false impression that there is no chain of command,” said Zenorra. “In point of fact, you need issue only one brief military order to one admiral in command of a certain sector of the galaxy, and the order will be channeled down to the man who can perform the job.” “What's to prevent the admiral in charge from issuing such an order on his own?” asked the Director. “Security,” said Oberlieu.

“I'm afraid I don't understand you,” said Vestolian. “This isn't the Oligarchy or the Democracy,” said Oberlieu. “The change may seem slight, but it is not. You see, in all previous governmental structures, the possibility of advancement was unlimited. Every man, from the lowliest laborer to the most brilliant demagogue, could conceivably rise to the top of the heap through his own efforts and initiative. That is no longer so. You are the absolute ruler, and even if all your most trusted aides were to conspire to take your life, none of us would succeed to the Directorship until every last member of your family, which is spread across half a galaxy and under phenomenally heavy guard, was also eliminated. Thus, to one extent or another, every member of the Commonwealth is subject to your whim, and, to be blunt, the potential for advancement or reward does not quite equal the potential for demotion or punishment. The bottom of the heap is a huge and infinite abyss; the top has room for only one man, and the job is not only taken but also spoken for for the next hundred generations. Does this make the situation somewhat clearer, Director?”

“Quite clear,” said Vestolian dryly. “You're telling me that no one in the Commonwealth has the guts to

change the way he combs his hair without first clearing it with me.” “You insist on trying to simplify the situation,” said Zenorra, “and it's far from simple. For example, to examine the other side of the coin, you have the capacity to reward a member of the Commonwealth to a far greater degree than was ever previously possible. You can take a congenital idiot and elevate him to the head of any military force or scientific department, give him a planet of his own to rule, or do just about any other thing you please.”