Donald Moffitt - Genesis 01

climber’s wiry limbs clawed for support. Jao wrapped his arms around Bram’s waist and hauled him back inside. “Stop it, you fool!” he panted. “You’ll get us both killed!”
    The climber got itself over the edge of the pithead. Bram stared at Jao. “You were Penser’s source of information on board the tree, then! That’s how he knew about the layout and the movements of the Nar!”
    “You’re giving me too much credit. There were several of us. We applied as colonists over a year ago, as soon as we knew that Penser was coming. To prepare the way for him.” Jao chuckled. “Smeth couldn’t understand why I was willing to give up a promising career as a physicist to go to Juxt One.”
    The climber was on level ground now, hoisting itself along the sidewalls of the connecting duct. Bram looked back at the catwalk bridging the way to the adjoining tracheid.
    Jao read his mind. “Don’t bother,” he said. “You wouldn’t get very far.”
    Bram gathered himself anyway, tensing to give Jao a sudden shove and vault over the edge of the cup. But he had waited too long. Just then, he and Jao had to duck their heads as the climber squeezed past the springy guard cells at the end of the duct, and then the climber broke through into bright light.
    There was about an acre of polished floor, bristling with armed men who came running toward the climber as Jao brought it to a halt. At least twenty hard-looking individuals with pikes and bludgeons surrounded the vehicle while one of the section chiefs sauntered over.
    “Brought you a little present,” Jao said. “He was on his way to the Nar sector to warn them.”
    Bram found himself staring down into the flushed, sweat-streaked face of Pite. “Hello, Brammo,” Pite said. “You’re just in time for the fun.”
     
    Bram had no idea how much time had gone by. He couldn’t reach his waistwatch with his hands tied behind his back, and though its face was in plain sight, he couldn’t distinguish the changes in the texture of its surface by eye.
    The man who had been left to guard him was an uncommunicative sort with thin lips, thin nose, and little eyes. He did not respond to Bram’s attempts to find out what was going on. He stared wistfully across the wooden plain at the comings and goings of his compatriots. Bram had the feeling that the man resented him for keeping him out of the action.
    Only a handful of people were visible in the lofty outer chamber. In the middle distance two or three Penserites tended a depot of indefinable goods heaped in neat arrangements on the ground and dispensed them to the runners who came in pairs with baskets and carrypoles to fetch them. At the base of the wooden cliff beyond, several people squatted in a loose semicircle and watched one of their number trace diagrams with a stick and do a lot of pointing.
    Bram looked up as somebody came jogging heavily toward him, a chunky figure weighed down with bouncing gear. Bram’s guard stopped picking his teeth and surveyed the newcomer with mild interest.
    “On your feet. Penser wants to talk to you.”
    Bram struggled up. His legs were numb. “What about?” he asked.
    “You’ll find out from him.”
    Bram’s uncommunicative guard broke his vow of silence. “He’s gotten around to sentencing you to death, that’s what,” he said with moderate malice as he rose to his feet.
    “Get going.”
    Bram stumbled along between the two of them. They went through a cleft in the wall of wood and down an avenue of tall compartments. The signs of destruction were everywhere: charred doorways, splintered rubble, heaps of smashed furnishings. They passed a dead Nar who lay across a threshhold with three spear handles sticking out of him.
    “I thought you weren’t going to hurt anyone,” Bram said.
    “Shut up,” his guard said, prodding him.
    “It’s gone wrong, hasn’t it?” Bram said, and got another jab with the end of a cudgel for that.
    They shoved him through into a large hall that was littered with overturned equipment. A lot of wanton destruction had gone on. Bram saw a touch reader, smashed apparently for the fun of it, and its library of holos piled in a charred heap. About a hundred people were milling around—the greater part of Penser’s force. A stink of smoke and chemicals hung in the air.
    Pite came striding toward Bram and his captors. He was festooned with equipment: club, short spear, a mesh bag of doughy balls garnished with long wicks dangling from