Donald Moffitt - Genesis 01

Lowstation. Pite was not among them; they must have split up into different contingents again. Bram wondered how many Penserites were already aboard the tree.
    He thought he might have another chance to alert the Nar authorities when the ground crew wrestled the transfer boat into the hangar in the tree. There would be a certain amount of confusion as the vacuole repressurized and the passengers disembarked. He watched tensely as the silver-suited Nar winched the boat inside and the great living doors flapped shut and sealed the chamber off from space. The tree breathed air into the chamber, and the passengers were on their feet and milling around impatiently before the hurricane ceased. Bram spilled out of the vehicle with the rest and with incredible luck managed to find himself separated briefly from Orris, Marg, Kerthin, and his watchdogs.
    The Nar personnel who had jockeyed the boat inside were still swarming around, casting off hawsers, checking the boat, assisting passengers. But they were all still in their space suits. None of them would have been able to hear a word he might say.
    A Nar dock worker saw Bram looking around distractedly, glided smoothly over to take him by the arm, faced him in the right direction, and started him on his way to the inner lock door. Bram looked helplessly at the row of mirror eyes behind the suit’s waistplate and tried to pantomime the idea that the Nar should lift the visor. But the dock worker didn’t understand human body language. He guided Bram firmly toward the open lock, and then the Penserites had caught up with him, and Orris was loping toward him, yelling, “Hey, wait for us.”
    And then the door closed behind him, and his last chance was gone.
     
    The great hall had been fitted out as a farm chamber since the last time Bram had been there. Tall aisles of sunflowers quested toward the lightpipes overhead. A potato field was a grid of burgeoning dark green foliage. Tanks of lettuce marched in multilevel rows along the borders. Winged beans climbed the stalks of the soycorn.
    “We’ll have our first crop in a few more Tendays,” Orris said. “I’m on the pollinating committee.”
    “Of course, we’re self-sustaining already,” Marg said. “We grow enough microbial protein and industrial fungi to feed an army.”
    “I’ll take you through later and show you the brewvats,” Orris said. “Jao’s in charge. He’ll want to give you the grand tour.”
    “But first we’ll show you our quarters,” Marg said. “I’ll whip up a little something for us.”
    They strolled down an avenue of squash tubs that were already spilling a profusion of growth over the edges. People sat around on the rims of the tubs talking and sipping drinks. The enormous chamber still seemed to be the favorite gathering spot in the tree. All the greenery made it a pleasant place to loiter. It would do until the voyagers got a proper park going elsewhere.
    As they walked, Bram took stock of the vacuole’s bright interior, listening with half an ear to what Marg and Orris were saying. Several hundred people were scattered among the garden patches or ambling along the paths. He could see Penserites everywhere among them, identifiable by their purposeful demeanor and by the parcels most of them carried.
    The three who had been shadowing him seemed to have disappeared. Maybe it was because they had nothing more to fear from him. There were no Nar in the human sector of the tree. At least Bram hadn’t seen any so far.
    “We live just a little way down the main tunnel,” Orris said. “Our quarters face a courtyard with its own lenticule—so we’ll have real sunlight for at least part of the trip.”
    “You’ll have to excuse the mess,” Marg said. “I haven’t really got it fixed up the way I want it yet.”
    Three oversize Penserites were lounging in front of the tunnel entrance. One of them stepped into Orris’s path. “You can’t go through here,” he said.
    “Huh? Why not?”
    “Nobody’s allowed to leave. You’ll have to go back inside and wait.”
    Orris peered at the man, more puzzled than annoyed. “Who are you? I don’t think I ever saw you before. I live down there.”
    “Better do as he says,” Bram said.
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” Orris said. He tried to brush past the other and found a meaty hand clamped on his arm. The two remaining Penserites moved to block the entrance.
    “What do you think you’re doing?” Marg said in a tone of steely