Donald Moffitt - Genesis 01

ascendancy. A fervent young man on the arts and education committee reported on a drive to get Ascendist plays performed. A square-jawed woman with cropped hair reported on poster production and efforts to get Ascendist leaflets into the hands of the human workers at the ethanol plant and other Nar-directed enterprises serving the human quarter.
    Bram tried to figure out what it was all about. The concept of a political party was new to him. As near as he could decide, the Ascendists were something like an extended touch group, and the committee reports corresponded to opening amenities. At least the wordage was high and the information content low. A Nar touch group would have disposed of all this, he thought, in a minute or two.
    “Word dribblers,” Eena had called them. Evidently Kerthin’s friends belonged to a faction that favored more direct action of some kind.
    There were more words during the discussion period that followed. Kerthin took pity on Bram and explained that it had something to do with a vote that was going to take place on various resolutions afterward.
    “We need to demand a greater share of this planet’s resources, that’s all there is to it,” said the square-jawed woman who had given one of the committee reports. “We humans have done very well in small-scale enterprises like furniture manufacturing, for example. We even have Nar customers for specialty items, helping us to pay our own way. But we have no say whatsoever in the large-scale enterprises that affect us directly. For a starter, we should demand that the ethanol plant and the grainworks be turned over entirely to us.”
    “That will all be in the resources allocation resolution, gene sister,” the bald moderator said. “Any comments on that? Yes, gene brother Lai?”
    Lai got to his feet, a hulking man in stained workclothes. “Seems to me that’s the way to greater dependence, not less. We’re just talking about begging for bigger handouts. But the Nar still pull the strings. We need to go where the power is. Get human representatives in every nook and cranny of Nar society. Transportation, energy, spaceflight. Hell, their food factories, if it comes to that! Put it to them reasonable-like. A token share of control. Proportional to our numbers. Then we work from inside.”
    “That’s just the same old Partnerite drivel, spinning on a different shaft,” another speaker objected. “Working from within is a daydream. We can never get inside any Nar institution, let alone influence it. And that’s just a biological fact of life!”
    “And what would you suggest, gene brother Gorch?” the bald moderator asked sarcastically.
    Gorch stuck out his lower lip pugnaciously. “For starts, we demand planets of our own. Where the human race can develop without interference. As long as we live on the same worlds with the yellowlegs, our initiative’s going to be sapped. We’re nothing but pets to them—about on the same level as a muffbeast.”
    An angry mutter rippled through the hall. Evidently Gorch had struck a raw nerve.
    “That’s telling it, Gorch,” somebody shouted.
    “More Schismatist mischief making,” a dissenter broke in. “We’ve got to solve our problems right here on this world and the other settled planets, not go charging off into space and running away from the struggle!”
    Voices in the hall shouted him down. Other voices shouted down the shouters.
    In the hubbub, Bram turned to Kerthin. She was leaning forward, straining to hear. “That fellow’s talking nonsense,” he said. “About demanding planets from the Nar. There aren’t any suitable planets anywhere within a human life span that aren’t already populated by the Nar. What’s he proposing? That we all chip in and buy a ship and go exploring? There isn’t a large enough human population on all the planets added together to command that kind of capital investment.”
    “Don’t be a fool,” Kerthin snapped at him.
    Hurt, Bram stopped talking. Pite leaned across Kerthin and spoke past Bram to Eena and Fraz. “The guy that called Gorch a Schismatist got it half right. Schismatists don’t demand. We take.”
    That got a guffaw from Fraz and an adoring look from Eena. Bram hunched in his seat and tried to look neutral. The argument in the hall was still going on.
    “I’ll tell you where Schismatism leads to,” said the man who had disagreed with Gorch. “To outlaws like Penser. Where’s he been the last seven years? Hiding