Mike Resnick - Birthright

“Well what?” asked Mallow.

“What did he want?”

“I haven't the foggiest notion,” said Mallow. “He came in, acted uppity as all get-out, looked at the plans for the Bureau, found out that the security police will be Men, and told me that he didn't want any part of it.”

“I thought so,” said Verlor. “He's the ninth one to back out—and he wasn't even in.” “I don't understand,” said Mallow.

“Neither do I,” said Verlor. “But, for whatever reason, there seems to be some movement afoot among the aliens. It's not open rebellion or anything like that. It's more that they've decided to make some trivial gesture of independence, and they've hit upon the Bureau.” “That sounds awfully farfetched.”

“Maybe,” said Verlor. “And yet, not one of them has given a decent reason. The Canphorites backed out because they wanted four entire floors, and we only offered them one and part of a second. The Lemm objected to having to import members of their own race to prepare their food. The Emrans didn't want the Bureau to be anywhere near the Deluros system. And so on.” “Why didn't you tell me before?” asked Mallow.

“Because the Director has ordered us to go ahead with the construction of the Bureau as scheduled.”

“Well,” said Mallow disgustedly, “I suppose I can always reconvert the Canphorites’ floor to some other environment, and—”

“No,” said Verlor. “It's to be built as approved. If certain races don't occupy it willingly, well, we have certain pressures that can be applied.”

“You sure you don't want me to turn a couple of floors into a hospital?” said Mallow sardonically. “Don't joke,” said Verlor. “You may have to.” “Is there anything we can do to make the Bureau more attractive to them?” asked Mallow. “It sure doesn't sound as if it's the Bureau itself they object to, but I'd hate to see it go to waste.” “It won't be wasted,” said Verlor. “Don't forget: With no atmosphere on Deluros IV, the damned thing could stand for ten million years and look as new as the day it was built. Which, among other reasons, is why we picked an airless world. They never thought of that at Caliban, and the Cartography complex is under continual repair and renovation. That won't happen with the Bureau.” “No,” said Mallow grimly. “It'll just be built and forgotten. What the hell is the matter with these creatures, anyway? Don't they know that this is going to be the greatest single architectural feat since Caliban? Maybe even greater, since Caliban never was multi-environmental.” “The problem,” said Verlor, “is that you're viewing it as an architect, and they're viewing it as political and racial entities. You know, the Commonwealth has gotten so huge that it's getting damned near impossible to administer it efficiently, and so the aliens are feeling their oats, pushing until they find a weak spot. They know how much publicity the Bureau has gotten in the media, and how much fighting we had to do to push through the appropriation. What better way to embarrass us than to refuse to take part in it?”

Verlor's words proved uncomfortably prophetic. In the next few days thirty more races decided not to avail themselves of the Bureau's facilities, and within a year each and every nonhuman race in the Commonwealth had found some pretext or another for withdrawing its support. Mallow had given too much of himself to the Bureau to surrender without a battle. He journeyed out to Lodin XI and was granted an audience with the native leaders. “I am not unaware of the reasons for your action,” he began. “I'm no politician, so I can't say whether you are fully justified in your goals or not. What I am is an architect, and what I have to offer you is a building unlike any ever before created or even conceived. “You say you wish to live in harmony and equality with Man,” he continued, “and I will take you at your word. Well, this building, this entire concept, will allow you to do just that. And you—and all the other races, including Man—will be doing so in a public fishbowl. We will all function in harmony because we will have to do so; the only alternative will be to admit before the eyes of the galaxy that it cannot be done. Perhaps it can't, but we will never have a greater opportunity to try than now, with this building.” The Lodinites listened politely, and just as politely declined his offer.

Next on his list were the Canphor Twins.

“If nothing else,” he pleaded, “don't use this noble project as a symbol of your spite for the race of Man. If you must be political, so be it. Don't pay your taxes, don't accept a human governor, don't allow the Commonwealth to keep military bases on your moons. But allow this Bureau to come to pass. It is the last best hope for the races of the galaxy.” The Canphorites jeered him out of the room. By the time he reached the insectoid world of Procyon II he had decided upon different tactics. “Your life has undoubtedly been bitter,” he told them. “I am just as disgusted and outraged at what our Navy did to you during the reign of Vestolian as you are. But you can't just withdraw from the marketplace of ideas and culture. Come to the Bureau. Prove that you're better than we are! You'll be given every opportunity to do so. Every facility will be open to you, every comfort will be provided. If you want to plot the downfall of the Commonwealth, what better place could there possibly be to do so than the Bureau, where you'll be in instant contact with other races who feel equally wronged?” The Procyons, being insectoids, could not understand why the Bureau had been created in the first place. They bore Man no malice; indeed, they had replaced their decimated population in a handful of years. They simply could not relate to the problem. Why travel to the Bureau to eat and breathe? They could do that right here.

His next stop was Domar, but he didn't even get a chance to get out of his ship. The Domarians, one of the few ESPer races in the galaxy, knew everything he was prepared to say and weren't buying any. After all, what need had a race of telepaths for close physical contact with other races? At Terrazane he felt he had the means with which to finally strike a responsive chord. “The people of Terrazane,” he said, “are known throughout the galaxy for the magnificent edifices they construct in their cities. You, of all races, must understand that a project such as the Bureau has been designed to be used. To let it stand, an unused, sterile monument to futility, would border on the criminal. Surely the Terrazanes will not boycott the Bureau.” But he was wrong again, for the Terrazanes’ racial art was nonfunctional. Huge, minutely embellished edifices covered the planet, but for no purpose other than the appreciation of the populace at large. On Aldebaran XIII the reaction of the natives against what they felt to be a structure built by Man to assuage his conscience was so violent that he needed an armed guard to escort him back to his ship. On Gamma Leporis IV, he met with a race of aquatic beings that had never been exploited by Man, had never been at war with Man, and had no reason whatsoever to feel inimical to Man. Garbed in a protective undersea suit, he used a modified T-pack to address their delegation. “I am at a loss to understand why you have withdrawn your support from the Bureau,” he told them. “We have always had an amicable relationship between our races, and since so very few races are aquatic, the potential to learn about the thousands of other sentient species is severely limited even for those of you who have journeyed to other worlds. But at the Bureau, your opportunities to increase both your knowledge and your alliances would be virtually limitless. Ample living space would be provided you, and all of your needs—medical, social, religious, even sexual—would be provided for. Surely you, who have the most to gain from the Bureau and the least reason to embarrass my race, will reconsider