Donald Moffitt - Genesis 01

leave while this meeting is in progress. You will stay, and then you will leave with your friends. Is that clear?”
    “Yes.”
    Penser made a cage out of his fingers and with a curious gesture raised it to his lips. “You are part of us now— Bram, is it?—like it or not. You will not betray my presence here to the Nar?”
    “No,” Bram said.
    He gave his promise without hesitation. Almost, he meant it. Something very peculiar was in the offing, and, Bram decided grimly, he had better go along with it until he found out more.
    Penser nodded. “I’ll accept that. Remember, you will be watched. And I can promise you that the consequences of treasonable behavior are not pleasant.”
    Bram made his way self-consciously to the part of the room where Kerthin sat with her friends. He could feel all the silent, appraising eyes on him. Somebody stepped into his path and clapped him on the shoulder.
    “Congratulations, gene brother. I’m glad you decided to join us.”
    Bram looked into the other’s face. It was Waller, the man from the library annex. Bram mumbled a thank you.
    “Pite told me what you’ve been doing,” Waller said. “But he isn’t familiar enough with molecular biology for me to get a very clear picture. You and I will have to get together for a talk sometime soon.”
    Bram made vague noncommittal noises and walked on. Eena jumped up and squealed. “I knew you’d see the light some day! Didn’t I tell you? Isn’t he marvelous?”
    Pite said sardonically, “Welcome to the human race, Brammo.”
    Bram sat down next to Kerthin. Kerthin looked at him with tight fury.
    “Kerthin, I’m sorry,” he said. “I had to know.”
    “Oh, never mind!” she said, and looked away from him again. Some latecomers arrived, the door was closed and barred behind them, and the meeting began in earnest.
     
    “… and that’s about all there is to using firebottles. They’re very effective, especially against vehicles, and alcohol and glass containers are available everywhere. Just be sure to remember to soak the wick before you light it and throw it. Any questions?”
    The speaker was another of the men Penser had brought with him from Juxt One, a hard-bitten man in his early forties who had given up seven years of his life to accompany Penser here. How had he learned about things like firebottles, Bram wondered, and had he ever used one, and if so, why and how?
    A roundish girl with a bowl haircut stood up. “Wouldn’t it be dangerous to use one in a tree?”
    “Who said anything about using one in a tree?” the man barked. “Where did you hear that?”
    “I don’t know. I just thought—”
    “Too much thinking can get you into trouble. And loose talk can endanger us all. Do what you’re told and don’t spend so much time thinking.”
    “Please.” The gray-bearded man next to Penser raised a palm. “Gene brother Grome didn’t mean that as harshly as it sounded. But we must all learn to be careful. The fact is,” he went on smoothly, “a tree does not catch fire as easily as you might think—this is just theoretical— and we believe a firebottle could be used within an individual chamber without endangering the entire tree. Even if a fire were to spread for hundreds of miles along a branch, eventually it would burn its way through into vacuum, and the tree would be able to regrow and reconfigure over a period of time. So we believe—and again, we’re only talking theory—that firebottles might be a legitimate weapon against a particular sector of a tree. A sector inhabited by an enemy. But if worse came to worst, spin could be stopped, and fires would simply smother themselves.” He beamed at them. “But we aren’t talking about that, of course. We’re talking about ground targets.’
    Through it all, Penser had sat silent and withdrawn, as if he were not a part of the weapons lecture. Now he raised his chalky face, and the room quieted to hear what he would say.
    “We don’t seek violence,” he intoned as if from a distance, “but we must always hold ourselves in readiness in case violence is demanded of us. We all share the great dream, and that dream may not be denied. Those who attempt to deny us our dream will deserve rightful retribution.”
    Eena squirmed in her seat next to Bram. “That’s right,” she whispered in ecstasy. “Burn them. Burn them all.”
    Bram was appalled. Was this what it was about? Was this why Pite had made that clandestine survey of the