Donald Moffitt - Genesis 01

be too long,” he confided. “Penser apologizes for any discomfort, but he can’t have people wandering around until the tree is secure. Everybody stays in the farm chamber till then. There’ll be food, water, and we can rig up some kind of privacy for the women. Kerthin’s gone with a search team to the living quarters to requisition blankets for everybody for tonight. And the commissary people will set up a soup kitchen as soon as they round up cooking utensils and things. Pick yourself a good spot to camp.
    How about that sheltered corner over by the hydroponic tanks? There’s a threefamily taking it over, but I can roust them out if you and your friends want it.”
    “N-no,” Bram said. “I could help with one of the collection teams. There’s going to be a few thousand bowls and other necessities to lug back here.” He added hastily, “You’ve seen me at some of the meetings, haven’t you?”
    In the back of his mind was a vague, half-formed idea of somehow getting away, finding his way to the Nar sector, warning them.
    The guard shook his head. “Sorry. Word’s come down. Not that we don’t trust collaborationists like yourself, but Penser doesn’t take chances. Only the actives allowed out for now, and believe me, even they’re going out in mutual-watch groups. Later, maybe, there’ll be something for you to do. Can’t have a friend of Kerthin’s assigned to digging latrines.”
    He laughed, and Bram smiled weakly.
    He was helping Orris hang plastic sheeting to enclose a small area for women with small children when the expeditionary force filed by on its way to the tunnel entrance. It consisted of more than half of Penser’s available personnel—the fittest and toughest-looking men and a handful of women. Evidently Penser’s judgment was that about fifty of the trained combatants, plus the more sedentary reserves, would be sufficient to keep the cowed tree dwellers and their junketing friends under control.
    The formidable-looking troop was loaded down with makeshift pikes, clubs, axes, bottles of inflammables, and lumpy sacks containing what Bram supposed were the claylike balls that exploded when you lit the wicks that were embedded in them. The section leaders carried the gray hand-held electrical devices—evidently there weren’t enough of them to go around.
    Pite was among them, a club in his hand and a knife lashed to a short stick dangling from his belt. The electrical weapon was looped over his shoulder.
    He saw Bram and came over.
    “Sorry we can’t take you with us, Brammo,” he said, mockery in his voice. “I don’t know if you’d fit in just yet. But it won’t take us long to clean out the yellowlegs. Then we’ll send a couple of the lads to fetch you. We might need a biologist to tell us if the Nar at the pumping station in the trunk is feeding in the right hormones to make the leaves spread for travel.”
    “That was a filthy thing you did to the Nar you captured, Pite,” Bram said evenly.
    “He was the lucky one,” Pite said with a V-shaped grin, and rejoined his men.
    Bram watched them march off down the broad main corridor until they were out of sight around a bend. His stomach was churning. He looked down at his hand and found that he had made a fist.
    “Don’t let it get you down,” a voice said behind him. “There’s nothing you can do.”
    Bram turned and saw Jao, the redbearded physicist who was migrating to Juxt One to become a brewmaster. The jaunty smile was in place, but it seemed a bit forced.
    “There has to be a way,” Bram said.
    It occurred to him that unless something was done soon, Jao would not be seeing Juxt One. But then, it must have occurred to Jao, too.
    Jao gave a hairy-shouldered shrug. “I was down a secondary branch working with my yeast vats when they took over. They sent a couple of very competent fellows to come get me. It took about ten minutes for their team to empty out all the subbranches in that area. You don’t argue with those fellows.”
    “You look as if they scuffed you up a little,” Bram said. “You should have gone quietly.”
    Jao had streaks of dirt across his forehead and forearms, and his singlet was marked with grimy spots. “Me? No. I’ve been digging latrines. They put them in the cabbage patch. After all the care we gave those seedlings. I tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen. We won’t be able to grow anything there but bush crops now.” He heaved a mighty sigh. “I suppose