Donald Moffitt - Genesis 01

module dangling from it.
    There were loud groans from the audience. “Come on, Jupe,” somebody called out.
    The moderator spread his hands palms out. It was a peculiar use of the gesture, Bram thought. In the company of the Nar, it was a greeting, an invitation to communication. Here, in this segregated human gathering, it was a pushing away.
    “I’m not accusing anybody of being low enough to fink to the decaboos,” the bald man protested. “But sometimes people like to show off what they know, and things get around to where they shouldn’t. So when you talk to people outside, think twice about how much you let out and who you’re telling it to. That goes double for those of you with proselytization assignments. Security first, indoctrination second, as the saying goes. Some of you will recognize the gene brother here and know where he works, and you’ll be able to figure out how the message came through, so keep it to yourselves.”
    “What’s he talking about?” Bram said.
    Amusement showed on Pite’s face. “Lot of rigamarole. You piggyback a coded message on the regular commercial laser traffic between stars. Why bother? You might as well get some sympathizer to send it in an open ‘gram. The yellowlegs don’t give a damn, anyway. But these jokers like to think they’re a secret society.”
    “How did I get in?”
    Pite’s negligent wave of the hand was almost an insult. “You’ve been vouched for, Brammo. None of this is worth a bucket of industrial sludge, anyway.”
    “You said it,” Fraz grunted. “The only codes worth worrying about are codes to keep secrets from them. ” He hooked a thick thumb at the platform.
    “You talk a lot, Fraz,” Pite said. Fraz’s red cheeks got redder, and he slumped down in his seat.
    The short man in the petalsmock cleared his throat. “Our gene brothers and gene sisters on Juxt One continue to fight for the cause under great difficulties and despite great personal risk,” he said, his little darting glances traveling among the seated people. “But their spirit remains undaunted. There is a smaller human population to work with, resources are slimmer, and travel between the continents and between the planetary bodies in the system is not easy. The unfortunate events of several years ago frightened off many potential converts and made proselytizing more difficult. Membership—” He hesitated. “—has fallen off somewhat.” His voice regained its stridency. “But a loyal, dedicated core of those who believe in human ascendancy remains. And frankly, brothers and sisters, they ought to make us ashamed of ourselves.”
    “Get to the point,” a heckler cried.
    The short man flushed. He thumbed his hand reader and began to stumble through the words he found there. It was an endless document in stilted prose, full of jargon.
    Bram listened, trying to make sense of it. The “struggle” on Juxt One didn’t seem to amount to much. An “education committee” had been formed to “augment the awareness” of moon-dwellers. Workers at a human food factory had been organized to request an increase in allowances from their Nar employers. An “informational” campaign had been launched to persuade human dwellers in rural areas to grow their own potatoes, chimeric soycorn, and sunflowers to lessen their dependence on the Nar infrastructure; however, to accomplish this, the Nar would have to be persuaded to condition large tracts of soil with terrestrial-style microorganisms—most of them custom-designed to hold their own in the Juxt One ecology—so that the crops could be grown outdoors. An Ascendist social club had been started in one of the larger cities and was successfully attracting young people to its Tenday evening get-acquainted parties.
    The audience sat through about ten minutes of the speech. Then somebody started chanting, “Penser, Penser, give us Penser.” Other people joined in the chant and started stamping their feet rhythmically in time with the words. Others in the audience tried to break it up with shouts and slogans of their own, but the pro-Penser faction was louder.
    The bald-headed moderator whispered into the short man’s ear. The short man held up a hand, looking annoyed. The chanting died down. A few stray voices were heard, but the bald man rapped with his wood block and these too died down.
    “Since the last message from Juxt One,” the short man said, “there have been several new reports of Penser being seen on