Donald Moffitt - Genesis 01

severe electric shock. Then they did it to you again, here. Sesh-akh-sesh, you must tell me. Was your companion Voth?”
    The decapod recovered from his momentary confusion. “No, Voth-shr-voth did not come to the human zone today. He was to inspect the biological systems at the central pumping station.”
    Bram felt his knees go weak with relief. But it was only temporary. Voth was in great danger. He leaned over the shivering decapod. “Thank you, Sesh-akh-sesh. This is a terrible thing. Please believe that all humans are not to blame. These creatures that attacked you are indeed like phage beasts. But they prey on us as well as on you.”
    The decapod repeated, “I do not understand,” and Bram knew that whatever the outcome of Penser’s mad adventure, the Nar would never look at their human creations in the same way again.
     
    Pseudonight obscured the far reaches of the immense xylem cavity and turned the huddled shapes of sleeping people into vague silvery silhouettes. The bright tubes needed for photosynthesis had dimmed about an hour ago, leaving only a tracery of biolights providing enough illumination to mimic a fabric of spun stars. Here and there a sudden brutal dazzle of uncovered biolanterns showed where Penser’s jailers were checking on sleepers.
    Bram lay motionless under his blanket, waiting for his guard to doze off again. He’d seen the man’s head nodding twice, but both times the guard had jerked himself awake again. He was about twenty feet away. He’d made himself comfortable, too comfortable, with his back against a plant tub and his hand resting lightly on the end of the club that he’d laid conveniently on the ground beside him.
    Orris had been a nuisance. He had come to squat beside Bram after the lights went out, to worry out loud about the effect that all the excitement might have on Marg’s pregnancy. Bram was a biologist. Did he know if stress and the hardship of sleeping on the bare floor could cause her to lose the implant? Bram had soothed him, but had intimated that it could not hurt to return to Marg’s side and give her a sense of security. At last Orris had taken the hint and stumbled off in the dark to rejoin his bride.
    There were two guards at the tunnel mouth nearest Bram’s spot, one on either side. One of them, Bram had noted, was restless. He kept deserting his post to talk to the man opposite, or to wander a little way uptunnel, or to visit the latrine. The latrine was on the opposite side of the tunnel mouth, and people from Bram’s side had to cross in front of the two guards to get to it. They received a desultory glance in the subdued glow of the biolight tube that traversed the lower reaches of the dome in the area unless they stopped to loiter in front of the entrance or look down the tunnel. In that case, one or the other of the guards would tell them to move on.
    Bram had a secret—a small knife he had found in the medical kit that the Penserites had grudgingly allowed him to borrow from the miscellaneous supplies that had been retrieved from the living quarters. If the Penser people had seen it in the kit, they hadn’t paid any attention to it. As a weapon it was worthless: The blade was blunt-pointed and only an inch or so long. It was made for slicing or scoring, not stabbing. But the blade was very sharp— sharp as a razor. Bram had it hidden under his garments, along with a roll of bandages.
    Bram’s chaperone let his chin drop to his chest again, and this time it stayed there. After a moment, Bram heard a strangled snore.
    He got to his feet carefully, leaving his blanket crumpled in a not very convincing semblance of a prone shape. If the guard woke up now, he would say that he had to visit the latrine. But he did not want the man wondering why he was taking so long. It would be fatal if the guard came after him to check and alerted the tunnel guards.
    Trying not to look furtive, he navigated his way through the field of sleeping bodies. Someone else was coming back in the same direction, diluting any attention Bram might get—that was good. The restless tunnel guard gave Bram a cursory glance, then went back to talking to a female colonist who didn’t seem to mind consorting with her captors; perhaps she was one of the Penser sympathizers who had scouted out the layout of the tree for him.
    Bram crouched behind the improvised screen that had been erected around the ditches in the cabbage patch. The screen consisted of black plastic