“How noble!” said Miss Moore sarcastically. “Nobility is a drag on the market. I'm paid for solving problems, not for moralizing them away. I'm sorry that you don't admire my ethics; but on the other hand, I don't think too much of your pragmatism.” “Kip,” broke in Renyan hastily, “wait in the anteroom for me, and check out the ramifications of the problem with Psychology. I'll be with you shortly.” Ngana took his leave, walked to the plush anteroom, and sat down. Renyan walked out a few minutes later, looking somewhat flustered.
“You know, Kip,” he began, “when I called you in we had only one crisis on our hands. Now we have
two.”
“Oh?”
“She wants our jobs.”
“Both of them?”
“Yours, for saying what you did; and mine, for not firing you on the spot.” “She's just a trivial old lady,” said Ngana. “A rich, politically potent, trivial old lady,” corrected Renyan. “How serious is the problem?”
“It depends who she knows. She could—”
“I don't mean the irritant,” said Ngana bluntly. “I mean the problem. How serious are the outworlds about enfranchisement?”
“As I told you, I just learned of it a few hours ago but there does seem to be considerable open sentiment for it, as far as we can tell.” “And the Republic is against it, of course?” “Of course.”
“How close is the association among the worlds? Can they act as a unified body?” “Not yet,” said Renyan. “But give them twenty years or so and there'll be no doubt of it. We have no trading, immigration, or traveling restrictions. If they want to get together, they'll have ample opportunity to do so.”
“All right,” said Ngana. “I imagine we ought to begin by having Psychology eliminate all those worlds that won't have the gumption or the temperament to stand up to us. That should knock about half of them out. As for the others, we'll start squeezing them so hard they can't quit.” “You're looking at it all wrong,” said Renyan. “They don't want to quit. They want more powerwithin the Republic, not total independence from it.” “I know,” said Ngana. “But first we have to weaken their bargaining position.” “And we have to do it without cutting the Republic's financial throat,'’ pointed out Renyan. “I don't know how to put this diplomatically,” began Ngana, “but...” “But what?” asked Renyan.
“But you've got a remarkable facility for pointing out the obvious. I don't mean to hurt your pride. You were chosen for your post because you're a fantastic administrator. But solving this problem is simply
beyond your realm of experience. May I respectfully suggest that you leave it to your Brain Trust?”
“Meaning you?”
“Meaning me and my staff. You can modify our solution to suit the political and diplomatic and administrative necessities of the moment, but I'll get a lot more accomplished by returning to my own office than by jawboning here with you.” “You know what I hate about you, Kip?” said Renyan. “What?”
“You can be the politest sonofabitch in the world when you're trying to prove a point to me, but when we both know you're right you can become one of the most distasteful individuals I've ever met.” Ngana flashed him a smile and returned to his office. He assembled four senior members of his extensive staff, explained the problem to them, and set them to work coordinating various details of the plan he had devised. That done, he had Psychology give him a thumbnail sketch on the characteristics of each race he would be dealing with. Some were loyal to Man, some were unable to summon the emotional independence to offer the Republic an ultimatum, and some simply didn't care. What remained were worlds that could and would do all within their power to gain enfranchisement. Enfranchisement, of course, was merely a word, a harbinger of things to come. But its meaning was absolutely clear: the ultimate passing of political power from Man to non-Man. It was a knotty problem, and full of political obstacles. The Republic had no desire to keep the alien worlds in line through overt military force. After all, there were well over a billion suns in the galaxy; almost half of them possessed planets, and an average of one out of every twenty planets held life forms that were either sentient or someday would be. That was a lot of life forms to have massed against you. Also, there were the 2,500 sentient races that had not yet accepted commerce with the Republic; throttling their brother creatures in too obvious a manner wouldn't exactly entice them into joining the Republic's economic fraternity.
And, finally, there were the potential Fifth Columnists, the humans who felt that the alien worlds had every legal and moral right to enfranchisement and a say in the political future of the galaxy. They would be the most bothersome obstacle, for Man needed to keep his exclusive little fraternity tightly knit at this point in his history; there were just too many outside interests picking away at him to allow internal strife to weaken his infant primacy in the galaxy. Yes, the solution must definitely handle the sympathetic humans with tender kid gloves. The brass knuckles, he decided, would remain hidden for the time being. Reports began coming back to him. Gamma Leporis IV couldn't make any trouble they were still entirely aquatic and could be cut off from all communication with the rest of the races. The Denebian Colonies were a trouble spot; it was suspected that they had nuclear weapons, and the capacity to deliver them. Binder VI's economy depended on atomics, but they possessed no native fissionable material; an embargo would probably bring them into line. Canphor VI and VII could withstand an embargo for more than a decade; they had a viable political system, and the last two governors had run on a platform of enfranchisement. And so it went, planet after planet, race after race, economy after economy. By the end of the week the truth began to manifest itself to Ngana: There was indeed no way to keep the 845 worlds, and very likely all of them, from their share of the spoils. It was possible on a short-term
basis, to be sure, but other than total assimilation, the only answer was total political and economic
disenfranchisement.
“And that,” concluded Ngana to his subordinates, “is the proverbial Pandora's Box. Ultimately half the worlds would revert to economic and possibly social barbarism. But the other half would eventually unite as a competitive entity. The competition would be economic in the beginning, but would sooner or later spread over into political and military competition as well. And Man simply cannot buck those odds at this point in history. I think we're better off to make the best accommodation we can, and make the transition slow enough and difficult enough so that Man can gather his forces and energies for another try at primacy sometime in the future. Any comments?” “I'd hate to be around after the next election!” said one man fervently. “We'll carry the next election, and the next twenty after it,” said Ngana. “There's going to be a change in the power structure of the galaxy, a huge and vital change, though, let's hope, a temporary one; but none of us will be alive to see it. Surely you don't think we're going to turn the reins of government over to them without putting up a little resistance, do you? No, gentlemen, we are not. Our recommendations will be as follows: