Donald Moffitt - Genesis 01

glance at the tiers of overlapping tentacles.
    “It’s impossible to say.”
    “You can tell, Bram,” she said in a wheedling tone. “Everybody says you know how to read their machines and everything.”
    He shook his head. “It’s not the same thing.”
    Eena glanced a few seats away at Ang, who had been staying in Brain’s vicinity since their arrival, and dismissed her as not being important. “When it’s your turn, you could put in a good word for me,” she said, leaning forward.
    “Eena, it wouldn’t make any difference.”
    She tossed her head in the direction of the inner enclosure. “We could go in one of the booths. What do you say?”
    “Eena, it’s not necessary. I’ll say something in your favor if you want.”
    “It’s the arm, isn’t it?” she said ruefully. “You don’t have to tell me, I know it puts you off.”
    “That’s not it at all,” he protested.
    “Never mind, I understand. Pite didn’t want to have anything to do with me, either, after I came out of the regeneration clinic. Of course it was only a bud then. I told him it would grow back all the way, that it was only a matter of time. He said we had to dedicate ourselves to the cause, that there was no time for anything personal any more, but I know he was sneaking around with some of those dewey-eyed woman recruits.”
    She flexed the little arm and stared at it thoughtfully. “Another couple of years till it’s full-grown, they said. You’d think they could find a way to speed it up.”
    “Eena—”
    “You’re still mooning over Kerthin, aren’t you? Listen, Bram, she’s not worth it, believe me. She was just using you. I’m telling you that even though she’s a friend of mine. You’re better off without her.”
    “I don’t have much say in the matter anyway, it seems.”
    What he meant to say was that Kerthin seemed to have taken that decision into her own hands. For himself, Bram did not know what he thought. The image of Voth’s sprawled body kept coming between Bram and any thoughts of Kerthin, but the sight of her stiff, withdrawn figure sitting alone on the bench made him feel awful.
    Eena misunderstood him. She looked out over the horizon-filling presence outside the penned acre and bit her lip. “Yeah, I guess anything like that may not matter any more after this.” She squeezed Bram’s shoulder with her good hand. “See what you can do for us, Bram. Not just me. I mean all of us.”
    She turned away abruptly. Bran watched her pick her way along the curving row of benches until she came to where Kerthin was sitting. He saw Eena sit next to Kerthin, lay a hand on her arm, and try to talk to her. Kerthin listened dully, said nothing, and after a while got up and left.
    A rustling noise caught Bram’s attention. A few yards away, another small outcropping of Nar stretched itself forward in response to a human who had approached the fence. Bram recognized Theron, the middle-aged man who had denounced the Penserites so vehemently. Theron sucked in his gut and spoke in a loud, clear voice that carried to where Bram sat.
    “My name is Theron Chen-martiz Tewart, and you can check my record if you like. I’ve never caused the slightest trouble, and you can ask my supervisor—”
    He stopped as he suddenly realized that his Nar supervisor was certainly out there somewhere, his individuality diluted by the billions of vicarious tentacles that filtered his sensory input.
    “Trl-chr-trl,” the man pleaded. “You know how hard I’ve worked trying to get ahead. I’ve risen higher at the starchworks than any human has done before me. All the Nar there respect me. The Chen-martiz internomen is an eminent one in the Compound.” He thumped his chest. “Why would I want to be part of some lunatic scheme to change the natural order of things?”
    He bowed his head. There was no direct response from the proxies communicating his words, but perhaps somewhere in the sea of flesh Trl-chr-trl was radiating a small circular eddy of sympathy and confirmation that would modify the perceptions of the beings around him until it was finally submerged by other eddies arising from other centers.
    A young colonist shouldered Theron aside and addressed the tangled node of decapods before it could withdraw. “We were prisoners in that farm chamber where you found us,” he said in a voice trembling with emotion. “We were victims of Penser’s bullies just as much as the Nar who were attacked.”
    Bram shifted