“But we haven't found a way to do that in four thousand years!” “And you may not for another four thousand,” agreed Herban. “But it's worth trying. And, in the meantime, Man isn't doing all that badly with his cunning, his sticks, and his stones, is he?” He arose abruptly. “I'll leave you here to think about what I've said; I'll be back in a few hours.” Herban stopped at the doorway and turned to Rojers. “You now have the power to expose a secret that's been kept for quite a few centuries. So consider all aspects of it very carefully.” He left, and the panel slid shut behind him.
Rojers sat and thought. He considered the revelations of the day logically, philosophically, practically, idealistically, morally, pragmatically. Having done so, he frowned and thought some more. When Herban returned for him, he rose silently and followed the Chief of Biochemistry back up to his own level. As they were approaching the incubator room, a brash young man representing the newstapes of a distant system walked up and asked for an interview. “I'm a little busy now,” said Herban, “but I'm sure Dr. Rojers would be happy to spend a little time talking to you.”
Rojers nodded his acquiescence.
“Fine,” said the reporter. “Can you fill me in on the whole operation right from the start?'’ “Certainly,” said Rojers quietly, walking toward the incubators. “Although there's really not much to tell. The Project was set up nearly four hundred years ago to develop a race of supermen, mental giants who could take some high ground that's beyond our reach just now. We haven't come up with our ideal yet, but we're still working on it, to be sure. In fact, you can tell your readers that we may be on the verge of a major breakthrough. I wouldn't be at all surprised if we synthesized a telepathic allele on a human chromosome by the end of this century...”
Herban remained where he was until they were out of earshot. Then, with a sigh, he lit a cigar and returned to his subsurface office. There was a lot of work yet to do before he could go home for the night to his fat naked women.
15: THE WARLORDS
...Thus, as the Oligarchy paused to consolidate, scores of warlords sprang up on the outskirts of the empire. All but one were either ignored or summarily dealt with... —Man: Twelve Millennia of Achievement ...About Grath (?—5912 G.E.) himself, very little is known, except that, though woefully undermanned and outnumbered, he stood up to the imperialistic empire of his race and came within a hairbreadth of triumph. He was unquestionably possessed of the most brilliant military mind of the Oligarchic era and perhaps ofany era—and most of Grath's historic battles are standard textbook reading to this very day... —Origin and History of the Sentient Races, Vol. 8 By all rights, it should have been as close to utopia as made no difference. The Oligarchy had divided, conquered, and consolidated, and for the first time in his galactic existence Man had run out of enemies. Alienenemies, that is.
But two million worlds constituted a lot of territory to belong to one political entity, and so Man fell to fighting against himself once again. Literally hundreds of warlords began springing up around the periphery of the empire; most were beaten down almost immediately, but a handful—such as Grath—began piling up a number of minor triumphs. He stood now, hands on hips, looking up at the heavens from the surface of an uncharted world half a galaxy away from Deluros VIII. The lights of the stars ran together, becoming a vast white blur that seemed to stretch outward to infinity. But that was a visual illusion, nothing more. Grath knew exactly where Deluros was, knew every possible means of approach, knew the long and bloody path he must hew to be able to stand thus on any world from which Deluros was distinguishable from the massive white curtain that he planned someday to rule. First there would be Altair, then the Spica mining worlds to keep up his flow of supplies. These conquests would be followed up by a quick feint toward Earth. The birthplace of the race served no useful military purpose, but it was cherished with an almost religious intensity by the trillions who had deserted it for more promising worlds. The Navy would respond to his move, and then his main forces would wipe out Sirius V in half a day's time. Next it would be on to Pollux, Canphor, Lodin, and finally Deluros itself. Caliban alone would be left unscathed, for Caliban alone was too valuable to destroy.
It would be accomplished neither quickly nor easily. Deluros was not at the geographic center of the galaxy, but it was the very epicenter of the Oligarchy. No approach could be made without passing at least a quarter of a million worlds of the empire, each under the protection of the Oligarchy's vast naval
fleet. And, too, there were the other warlords, who in the beginning would probably cause him even
more trouble than the Navy. Once, years ago, he had arranged a meeting between them in the hope of presenting a united military front to the Oligarchy, but nothing had come of it. Their vision was too small, too short-sighted. They merely wanted a piece of the action; he wanted it all. He had started out with nothing but forty-three followers and one ship. Two years of piracy had increased his personal navy to seventeen ships and more than six thousand men. Piracy was lucrative, and he could easily have continued such an existence indefinitely, but his dreams were grander than the accumulation of mere wealth; and to his gnawing hunger for power he added a shrewd military mind and a forcefulness of character that commanded instant, unquestioning obedience. It was after his first successful clash with the Navy that he began to think in terms of conquest rather than mere looting. True, the odds had all favored his side, but that was inconsequential; it was the first time the Navy had lost even a minor skirmish in more than three centuries, and it shattered the myth of invincibility that had grown up about the forces of the Oligarchy. He next staked out a small area well out on the galactic Rim. Its boundaries encompassed 376 stars which included some 550 planets, about 35 of them inhabited. He allowed himself half a year to become the total master of the area, and beat his self-imposed deadline with more than a month to spare. From there his empire expanded, always on the Rim, always far from the supply bases of the Oligarchic Navy. He avoided any confrontation with the Navy for almost five years, moving slowly, carefully, securing each new addition before moving out once again. Other would-be warlords learned from his successes, and soon they, too, were staking out territorial claims. Some of them, giddy with power, moved too soon against the Navy and were demolished; others tried to pry loose some of Grath's possessions, with a similar lack of success. Grath always executed the leaders; those underlings who were willing to join him were assimilated into his ranks, and those with exceptional abilities were given better treatment than they had known under their former commanders. At last it was economics that forced him to move against the Oligarchy. He had almost five million men to feed, and was acutely aware of the increased rate of defections among those soldiers stationed on the habitable planets in his domain. The Rim had been all but taken, and no single system, or group of systems, could stand up to his military might. There had been one surrender after another, and his men had grown bored with these bloodless victories. He felt they needed to have a purpose once again, and the only goal remaining that could fire their imaginations and appeal to their lust was the Oligarchy itself. He took his eyes from the stars and turned back to his associates, who were awaiting his orders. “Gentlemen,” he said, “the first blow must be a telling one. To attack a poorly-manned outpost or a small convoy of Navy ships would offer no test to our strength, and would probably not even cause a ripple of concern on Deluros.”