Stevenson took his drink and resumed his seat. "It's all in the report. When they are young, all during their growing-up years, they have competitions, fights, and eventually combats to determine a pecking order of sorts. The ones who wind up on top become males. They then form a harem of females around each male. That's what they call a Dishah. That's the family unit on Bendadn." Stevenson paused as he took a long pull at his drink.
Michael looked at the envelope on his lap. "I suppose it's of some interest to someone, but why a confidential report on it—and, I might add, why did you steal it?"
"In college I had a minor in evolutionary biosystems. It's a hobby, I guess. That's why the Benda interested me in a biological sense. Because of their method of reproduction and the social organizations that were determined by it, it is almost impossible that the Benda evolved to become a sentient, time-binding race." Stevenson shook his head. "That's why my ears perked up when I overheard a couple of clerks talking at the executive complex about a proposed update on this report. To make a long story short, I heard enough to prompt me to spread around a few credits to get a copy."
Michael shrugged. "I only hope your dedication to history is as commendable as your interest in biology." He tossed the envelope onto his coffee table. "However, it's just not my subject."
Stevenson studied Michael for a moment. "Doctor, there's only two things you have to know about that report. The first is that males in this race are determined by conquest. Females are determined by being dominated."
"I know, the competition thing—"
"The other thing you should know is that the Benda look upon our little history course as a form of competition."
"What are you talking about?"
"Every reproducing male within RMI's claim area is in a position to compare his race's history with that of another race—that towering monument of lies called Manifest Destiny."
Michael sighed. "I still don't see what you're driving at, Dale. None of us are happy with the texts, but we knew what the job was when we took it."
Stevenson put his glass on the coffee table, stood and put on his coat. "I guess I misread you for all these years, Doctor. I'm sorry to have taken up your time."
Michael stood and faced Stevenson. "What do you mean?"
"You're rather a cynical character now, aren't you, Doctor?"
Michael sighed again and held out his hands. "Whatever does any of this have to do with me?"
Stevenson shook his head. "When a Benda male recognizes he is dominated, he reverts and becomes female again. What do you think will happen to the Benda after all the reproducing males have reverted?"
Michael's eyes widened. "Come now, Dale, I can't believe that."
Stevenson pointed at the coffee table. "Then, Doctor, I suggest you break your rule and read something in biology! I think you'll find it has a lot to do with the history you've been teaching."
"How?"
"In that report is an outline for Manifest Destiny." Stevenson opened the door. "RMI is having us—you, me and the others—the company is having us teach an entire race to death!" Stevenson walked through the open door, slamming it behind him. Michael picked up the envelope, pulled the report from it, then sat down and turned to the first page.
Jacob Lynn looked up in surprise as Michael Fellman burst into his office unannounced. Lynn's secretary followed in the historian's wake. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lynn, he just walked right past me, and—"
Lynn waved a hand. "It's all right." The secretary scowled at Michael, then turned and left, closing the door. "Now, Fellman, what's this all about?"
Michael took a bound sheaf of papers from under his arm and dropped it on Lynn's desk. "That."
Lynn raised his eyebrows as he read the title on the report, then he looked at Michael. "Where did you get this?"
"Transportation problems don't interest me, Lynn. What does interest me is are you aware of what's in that report?"
Lynn leaned back in his chair and half-closed his eyes. "Of course."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
Michael studied the project manager. With each sweep of his eyes, new information presented itself. "You knew all along about this."
"Of course."
"Why? This will mean the death of a race!"
Lynn smiled and shook his head. "You're overstating things, Fellman. We're not doing this outside the claim area." He shook his head again, then fixed Michael to the floor with his eyes. "Let me introduce you to a few realities, Fellman. Developed planets with advanced populations already are exploiting their mineral resources. Uninhabited planets are many, but expensive to investigate. Therefore, we, that is, RMI finds itself in a position where it always has to deal with semi-barbaric populations. To maximize our profits, it is necessary that the local population cooperate."
"And death is the ultimate cooperation."
"You said it, Fellman. I didn't."
"Which makes one Helluvalot of difference, Lynn."
Lynn smiled. "Is your conscience bothering you, Doctor? Is the size of the cynicism beginning to gnaw at you? You must know that any principle that you thought worth preserving was tossed down the toilet when you signed your contract with RMI." Lynn held out his hands. "What is this performance, Fellman? Are you trying to manufacture a rationalization for your own purity?"
"Lynn, you ought to be sporting a forked tail and red suit."
Lynn frowned, then laughed. "Are you complaining because I made a better deal when I sold out than you did? Or are old ideals beginning to shake their coffin lids?"
"You know, Lynn, you are the lowest form of life that ever crawled."
Lynn, still smiling, shook his head. "No, Fellman. There we disagree. I know what I'm doing, and I accept it. You are doing the same thing and crying about it. At least I'm honest. What does that make you, Fellman? You and the rest of your ivory-tower crew?"
"What does that make me?" Michael sat on the crude stone wall overlooking the encampments of five of the Benda families. Each family was removed from the others by distance and strict custom. The families had moved from their permanent sites in order that their males could attend his lecture at the local RMI auditorium. Michael pushed himself from the wall and began walking the rough path through the encampments back to his quarters. He thought of Stevenson's anger and Lynn's smugness, and the words Michael had uttered many years before when a young idealist at the university had sought his support in protesting some rights-diminishing law. "I am tired. Too tired to again break my back on the knee of another lost cause." A coldness had crept into his heart as he made his peace with uncontestable power; a coldness that allowed him to sweep together a few shards of career ruined by following impossible ideals.
As he approached the first encampment, he saw twelve young females competing to see which of them would have the strength, courage and stamina to become males. Michael remembered a line from the report. The Benda cannot conceptualize of an organization beyond the family level. It appears, then, that the company must either treat with separate families—with the entailing impossible conflicts inherent in such arrangements—or devise apian that will enable the Benda to be either treated as a unity, or eliminated.
Michael shook his head at the frigid sense of purpose implied by the report. The cynicism of pragmatics brought to the ultimate cynicism: the elimination of a race to achieve the kind of political stability that would attract investment capital to the RMI coffers. He watched one of the Benda females deliver a savage blow to another, sending the stricken child writhing to the dust. The victorious female whirled around on her four walking hands, motioning to her sisters to come and try their luck. Most of them hung back, but one reared up and charged. The two met with a bone-crunching thud, then were lost to view in a cloud of dust.