Mike Resnick - Birthright

He took a sip of the coffee, checked the microphone, and faced his audience. “Gentlemen,” he said, and waited for the various conversations to subside. “I'm pleased to see such a good turnout. I'm glad you felt this meeting was important enough to leave your videos.” He had hoped

for a chuckle with that, and was gratified to note one spreading through the assemblage. Gamma Leporis

IX was more than a light-year from the nearest sending station. “Tell me,” he said, blowing into his hands and rubbing them together, “when does summer come around here?” “You're in summer!” shouted someone. “You ought to come by someday when it's nippy out!” That brought the laughter he had been waiting for. If there had been any hostility, at least it would be suspended for a little while.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “I'll get right down to business. My name is Jerim Coleman, and I represent the newly-formed Federation of Miners. At present, the Republic has 843 mining worlds, and our Federation has been accepted on well over half of them—and there are a lot we haven't made presentations to yet. I've asked to speak to you this evening because I'd like to tell you a little bit about ourselves, and try to offer you some concrete reasons why joining the Federation will prove to be in your best interests.”

He looked across the audience. So far, so good. Now for the silken hand disguised in a gauntlet of tempered steel.

“I know a number of stories have reached you concerning what membership in our organization entails, so I won't mince words. If you join, every one of you will be required to turn half his salary over to us for a period of five Earth years, and each of you will have to sign a contract guaranteeing that you will remain in the mining profession for a period of no less than fifteen years. You will also have to undergo extensive psychological conditioning.”

He waited for the reaction that he had seen so many times in so many similar meeting places. First silence, then a whispered muttering which quickly turned into a series of outraged curses, cries, and questions. He waited a full four minutes for the noise level to subside before continuing. “Gentlemen,” he said at last, “please give me your attention for a little while longer. I know most of the objections that you want to raise, and will try my best to answer them right now. After I'm through, I'll be open to questions from the floor. All I ask is that you hear me out. Besides,” he added, “if I get your blood boiling, it'll make the walk home a little easier.” There were a few grins at that, and one huge guffaw from somewhere to his left. “Your major objection is probably that no organization can possibly do enough for you to merit half your income. After all, no single vocational group is paid as well as you. Not that you don't deserve it: You're not pick-wielders, but highly trained specialists, responsible for survey work, controlling robotic miners, and refining the ores that you come up with, which makes you well-nigh irreplaceable. Your second objection concerns the fifteen-year contract. You are highly paid because, due to environmental conditions, your work is extremely hazardous, and therefore each of you—or most of you, anyway—hopes to make a killing and get back to civilization to spend some of those hard-earned credits. Am I correct in my assumptions?” There was a general nodding of heads.

“Good. Now, before I answer those and other objections, I'd like to spend a few minutes filling you in on the background of the Federation so that you may better realize exactly what it is that we have to offer. After all, we couldn't present such extreme conditions for membership unless we felt we could give you value received for time and money spent. And try to keep in the back of your minds the fact that

eighty-three percent of the mining worlds that have been offered membership have accepted.

“Now, with that in mind, let's take a brief look at the mining industry as it now exists. The Republic controls almost thirty-five hundred worlds; almost a quarter of them are devoted exclusively to mining. The Republic boasts some thirty-seven billion citizens; less than two million are miners. So what we basically have here is a situation in which less than one ten-thousandth of one percent of the Republic's population is controlling well over twenty percent of its territory. “And economically, the disparity is even greater. The Republic is powered almost exclusively by atomics; all but a fraction of their fissionable material comes from three hundred and seven mining worlds, of which Gamma Leporis IX is one. The Republic still backs its money with gold and silver; every last bit of it comes from one hundred and two mining worlds, including Gamma Leporis IX. The Republic needs metals for its ships and armaments; all of it, without exception, comes from the mining worlds, including Gamma Leporis IX.”

“So they need us,” broke in a bored voice from directly in front of him. “That's why they pay us so well.” “Ah, but do they?” said Coleman. “You, sir, since you seem willing to speak up: Would you consent to tell me how much your yearly salary is?” “Why not?” said the man belligerently. “Seventy-five thousand credits.” “And your job?”

“I mine gold and silver.”

“How much?” asked Coleman.

“Lots.”

“More than a ton a year?”

“A ton a week'd be more like it,” said the miner with a touch of pride. “Do you know the going price on gold these days?” continued Coleman. “Can't say that I do. Lots, I suppose.” “You suppose right, friend,” said Coleman. “Fifty-three credits an ounce. The Republic pays your salary with what you mine in a day, and has money left over. “And that's not the only way they're taking advantage of you,” Coleman continued, speaking once more to the entire audience. “I learned in my briefing that there were originally a thousand miners on this world when operations began ten years ago. What happened to the other five hundred and seventy-eight?” “The nelsons got ‘em,” said the man who had spoken before. “And what, pray, are the nelsons?” asked Coleman. “If you ever see one, you'll know what they are!” said the man devoutly, amid much laughter. “They were discovered about forty years ago by a guy named Nelson, the Pioneer who opened up this system.

Big, fur-bearing creatures. They can't be carnivores, since there aren't any game animals on this world.

I'd guess they ingest minerals, except that I don't know how that would produce fur. Anyway, whatever they are, they don't like people poking around in their supper troughs.” “In other words, they killed more than five hundred miners?” asked Coleman. “Tore ‘em to ribbons,” said the man. “They'd probably have butchered the rest of us, too, if we hadn't run across the Butterballs.”

“Butterballs?” asked Coleman, who knew perfectly well what they were. “Big round yellow things with chubby little legs. You passed one when you came in. Tame as all get-out, but they're poison to the nelsons. I don't know exactly how it works, but they seem to emit some kind of radiation or electrical charge that just knocks nelsons for a loop. We found out that they love magnesium, so we give them all that we mine and they stick around and keep the nelsons from decimating us. Works out pretty well all the way around, except for the nelsons.” “So along with all the other hazards you have to contend with,” pointed out Coleman, “you also have to fight off a belligerent alien population. And, in addition, and for no extra consideration, you have also made the Butterballs into a loyal ally of the Republic. Am I correct?” There was a general agreement.

“Then I submit that the miners are the Republic's most exploited minority. Whatever they're paying you, it isn't enough. Whatever political and economic power you wield, it is minuscule compared to what you deserve. And that, gentlemen, is the reason for the Federation.” “We're all for getting a better deal,” said a man in the back of the audience, “but you still haven't said how you intend to help us, or why you need so much of our money.” “I'm just getting to that point,” said Coleman. “To begin with, the Federation cannot begin to function until at least eighty percent of the mining worlds are members; otherwise, we simply haven't the power. For this reason, we need time: time to build a powerful lobby on Earth and on Deluros VIII, time to get public backing for our demands, time for the government to realize they've no choice but to deal with us. We estimate a minimum of twelve years; therefore, we must demand that you remain on for fifteen years. Once we start the ball rolling, the only thing that could stop us would be defections among our ranks.” “Why the money?'’ asked another miner.