Donald Moffitt - Genesis 01

“Then what is it, exactly, that you’re up to, Brammo, that you’re being so cagy about?”
    “How much do you understand about genetic engineering?”
    “Try me.”
    Bram made himself look embarrassed, reluctant. “You see, Pite, if I could somehow neutralize the right gene or genes suppressing the embryonic development of the egg, than maybe I could make the yolk give rise to some kind of structured multicellular tissue. Not the original egg creature itself—the egg’s been altered too much for that— but mesoderm tissue in the form of fibrous protein. It ought to be similar to spun bacterial protein or textured protein made from soybeans. If I could do that, it would be the greatest bioengineering achievement by a human being since Willum-frth-willum’s work with the nightshade family. But the Nar wouldn’t like it. It wouldn’t involve the exploitation of a living animal as a food source, but it might come close enough to their definition to offend their sense of values.” He shrugged. “Once it was done, of course, they’d have to accept it.”
    Pite stared at him for a moment, then gave a single harsh bark of laughter. “You’re after glory, then, pure and simple? Do the yellowlegs suspect you?”
    “No.”
    Pite clapped him on the shoulder. “Go to it, Brammo. I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you. But keep us informed.”
    Bram nodded.
    Pite gathered his two henchmen around him and headed for the door. He paused before leaving to give Bram a penetrating stare. “Just don’t get tricky and try to hold anything back, gene brother,” he said. “Withholding vital information about the Nar is treason. And we know how to take care of traitors.”
     
    Kerthin arrived shortly afterward, almost as if she had been waiting for Pite and his companions to leave. She chattered on about sculpture and her adventures of the day, but she didn’t seem able to meet Bram’s eyes.
    “I bumped into Hok-kara—you know, my old teacher, I’ve mentioned him before—and we went back to his studio. He has a new prot é g é e he wanted me to meet, a girl named Ele, and he showed me some of her work, done in resins, very nice. Anyway, there’s exciting news. A starship’s arrived from Juxt One—it’s been on its way for seven years, and no one’s paid much attention to the cargo manifest until now, of course, and it’s brought a representative selection of the new sculpture for exhibition. Not holos or laser-pointed reproductions, but the actual pieces themselves. In stone, wood, polymers. And metal casting—they’re way ahead of us there on Juxt One—they’ve rediscovered some of the old methods. They’re parking the tree now to refurbish it for the return trip, and they’ll be shuttling the pieces down starting in a day or so. I’ll be getting a first look at them through Hok-kara, and I may be asked to help prepare them for exhibition, so I’m going to be very busy.”
    After she ran down, Bram said: “Your friend Pite dropped by, with Fraz and another fellow. He seemed to know all about dragonflies.”
    “Oh?” Kerthin said vaguely. “Too bad I missed him.”
     
    CHAPTER 10
     
    The tree was a silver daystar on the horizon. Bram watched as it crawled up the sky, slowly overtaking its bright twin. It was easy to tell which of the two was the newly arrived starship. It was the one that waxed and waned. It still hadn’t quite damped out all its tumble.
    As they climbed, the living stars grew brighter, their reflective undersides catching more light from the late afternoon sun. There was a moment when they seemed to pause and almost touch—an illusion, Bram knew, since their orbits had to be hundreds of miles apart—then they began to separate again.
    It was a magnificent sight. There were swarms of the great trees in higher orbit, of course, but none could match these two in brilliance. At the moment they were the only two starships in low orbit—the new arrival to discharge cargo and passengers, the outbound leviathan to complete its refitting and final loading.
    Bram kept watching through the elastic window until the glinting motes passed from sight overhead; he used a hand to stretch the clear membrane outward for a final neck-craning glimpse. When he could see no more, he let the window snap back and turned reluctantly back to his desk. Voth was standing there with a sheaf of holos.
    “You have friends aboard, do you not?” the elderly decapod inquired solicitously.
    He