Donald Moffitt - Genesis 01

think it’s all just words.”
    “Words fester, deeds cleanse,” Eena chanted in what sounded like another Penser quote. “Actions speak louder than words.”
    Bram was having trouble adjusting to the enormity of what Pite had revealed. “Something like that could—could strain relations between human beings and the Nar forever,” he said. “The trust would be gone. It could affect the whole human race.”
    “That’s why it was hushed up,” Pite said. “Even those Ascendist traitors on Juxt One, the ones who opposed Penser and tried to get him deported, didn’t want to give the yellowlegs something like that to think about. Or maybe they were afraid of what would happen to them if they did. We have ways of dealing with traitors.” The pale eyes bored into Bram again. “You wouldn’t inform on Penser, would you, Brammo?” he asked softly.
    “No,” Bram said. Pite’s implied threat had nothing to do with it. Shame alone would seal any human being’s lips. Perhaps it was a good thing, after all, that the Nar paid so little attention to human chatter.
    Pite settled back comfortably in his seat, thinking that he had won his point. Bram settled back in silence, too. He had a lot to think about.
    The squabble on the meeting floor had died down. A new speaker was giving another prescription for human ascendancy.
    “Reproductive autonomy!” a red-faced young woman brayed. She looked around belligerently to see if anyone cared to challenge her. “The key is for humans to breed freely. At fifty human generations to one Nar generation, human population expansion would eventually unravel the fabric of Nar society.”
    Bram was shocked again. The prospect of unrestrained reproductive behavior and unedited genes was appalling. The small human genetic pool, itself stemming from variations of the original metagenome according to a mathematical formula provided by Original Man, needed the constant creation of new genotypes from unexploited alleles. If people simply mated like animals, the species would be endangered by genetic drift.
    “Good idea,” Fraz muttered. “Outbreed the yellowlegs fifty to one.”
    Bram refrained from pointing out that even if the human population on all the planets were to double every generation, it would take fifteen generations for them to reach their first billion. It was hardly a solution that one would expect to appeal to a group of people who, like children, wanted everything handed to them right away. But, Bram reflected, Kerthin’s odd friends didn’t seem to be very good at thinking things through.
    At that moment, Kerthin turned to him and gave him the kind of smile he was used to from her. “I know it’s hard to get used to new ideas,” she whispered. “Give yourself time. When I told Pite what you did, he said that the human race is going to desperately need its own biotechnicians when—”
    “When what?”
    “When things change,” she said. She gave him a pat on the hand and returned her attention to the front of the hall.
    A lively debate about reproductive autonomy was going on. Somebody made a motion that a committee be formed to study it, and the bald man called for nominations from the floor.
    While Bram was trying to fathom the peculiar ritual, a newcomer eased himself into the meeting hall. The burly man who had been left to guard the door followed close behind. He left the newcomer standing at the back and went up to the platform, where he whispered in the moderator’s ear. The moderator let the discussion proceed under its own power for a few minutes while he conferred in low tones with the other people on the platform. Then he went back to the podium and rapped for attention with his block of wood.
    “Gene brothers and gene sisters, can we shelve the business at hand temporarily?” he said. “I know you’re all anxious to hear the news from Juxt One.”
    The newcomer came forward. He was a short man who held himself stretched taller at the expense of having to keep his arms crooked stiffly at his sides. He was dressed in one of the petalsmocks affected by public servants. He had a pale meager face that receded from a little red beak of a nose. He kept darting suspicious glances around the meeting room.
    “I’m going to ask all of you to be discreet, particularly the people who are new here tonight,” the moderator said while the newcomer fumbled with a pouch and extracted a palm-size portable display screen that still had an interface