Donald Moffitt - Genesis 01

were gathered in the hall of the tree, embarkees and guests, but they seemed lost in hugeness. There were too many echoes, spoiling the spontaneity of the party noises that some of them were trying to make. A few small clusters, mostly twosomes and foursomes, were thinly dispersed across the immense woody amphitheater, but the majority had drawn instinctively into a loose concentration along the part of the wall that held the bar.
    “This is going to be a farm chamber when we’re fully outfitted,” Marg said, “but the party committee thought it would be a good place to hold the bash. I told them it was too big, but they wouldn’t listen to me. We could have used one of the smaller vacuoles nearer the surface and had a view of the stars to set the mood.”
    She locked eyes with Bram, waiting for his agreement. Men tried hard to agree with Marg. She was plump and pretty, with wide ingenuous eyes. She was wearing a cleverly simple sleeveless dress that showed a generous expanse of her glowing skin.
    Orris, a knobby beanpole in shorts and singlet, hovered at her side, looking proud and possessive and overwhelmed. “You remember Marg’s theory of how to throw a really good party,” he said. “Crowd people together in a space that’s a little too small for them. Make ‘em rub elbows. Make sure there aren’t enough seats, so they can’t take root. Force ‘em to circulate. And keep the lights low.”
    “It’s so bright in here,” Marg said. “I’m going to try to get them to shut down the pumps for the overhead tubes circulating the biolights.”
    Bram smiled sympathetically and looked around. The lens-shaped cavity was still unfinished. The distant end, leading to the hollowed-out resin canals that had brought them from the outside air lock, still needed a lot of scraping and polishing. Marg was right about the size; the party decorations dangling far overhead looked remote and forlorn.
    “The drinks will save the day,” Bram said. “And the eats. I’ve raided the buffet twice. Do I recognize Marg’s hand in those swirled yolk things?”
    “Oh, it’s just something I whipped up for the culinary development department,” Marg said, touching her hair. Orris beamed.
    Bram listened with half an ear while Orris rambled on about Marg’s triumphs. They’d given her a facility in the trunk so that she could experiment with zero-gravity cooking. Under those conditions, one could do amazing things with puff pastry and heat transfer. By the time they arrived at Juxt One, Marg would be the system’s expert on it.
    Kerthin was nowhere in sight. She had drifted off earlier after a minimum exchange of conversation with Marg and Orris. Perhaps she had found a planetside acquaintance in the mob, or found a volunteer to take her exploring in some of the side tunnels. Quite a few of the visitors were doing that.
    A few feet away, Smeth was holding forth to a captive audience that included Trist and his colonist friend, Jao. Jao was one of the red, hairy types that seemed to be popping up with increasing frequency in this generation after having been buried in the master genome for so long.
    “You picked the wrong time to quit the project, Jao, old son,” Smeth said. “We’re on the verge of great things. The hadronic photon theory that our team tossed into the ring is going to mean a real breakthrough in developing a star drive, and the Nar know it. They’re inclined to give us more resources and step up the pace of the project now.”
    He gave a toothy smile, then spoiled the effect of superiority by scratching his ribs. Smeth had regrown his beard since Bram had last seen him; it made a fuzzy round pompon on Smeth’s chin, a pompon that despite Smeth’s youth had an unexpected streak of gray in it that must have pleased him. Otherwise, Smeth hadn’t changed much, except that his gangling frame now carried a small potbelly.
    “The hadronic photon came out of Jao’s work on photon-proton absorption, remember?” Trist put in mildly.
    “Never mind, Trist,” Jao said with a large gesture of a furry forearm. “The project can have my little share of glory, and welcome to it!”
    “That’s what I don’t understand,” Smeth said. “Giving it all up to go to Juxt One and become a—”
    “A brewmaster,” Jao finished for him. “There’s always work for a good brewmaster anywhere in the known universe.” He gave them a wide grin through his red whiskers. “Regular hours and all the brew you can