Donald Moffitt - Genesis 01

nightmare. Bram existed in a controlled daze, going through the ordinary routines of his life by rote. He went to his job at the biocenter every dawn and marked time until the quitting hour, doing enough work to get by. He wasn’t remiss enough to cause comment, but he was sure his inattentiveness was noticed. He attended the round of last-minute farewell parties that were being thrown for the departing Juxt One colonists and was distracted enough for human friends who knew him well to sense that something was bothering him.
    “You don’t look well, Bram,” Marg said, peering at his face. “Pale. I don’t know, thin. Aren’t you feeling well?”
    “I’m all right,” he said.
    “He’s working too hard,” Orris said. “You ought to ease up a little, Bram. Have a holiday. Why don’t you lift up to the tree with us next Tenday? We’re having a last blast before departure. The party to end all parties. I’ll bet we’ll have two or three hundred visitors.” He looked around. “Where’s Kerthin?”
    “She had a sculpture class. I’m sure you’ll see her before you leave.”
    “Think about what I said. Bring Kerthin with you. The boats are all reserved—plenty of room for last-minute visitors. You can stay overnight. A couple of overnights! Most of the others will. We could sleep half the population of the quarter in the branch that’s assigned to us!” He winked. “Maybe you’ll like the accommodations so much that you’ll stay aboard—sail to Juxt One with us.”
    Bram managed a laugh. “That sounds tempting.” He half meant it. At least Juxt One was a world without Penser.
    For the moment he had lost interest in working on the protein coat of the carrier virus. It didn’t seem important, somehow. Immortality had waited thirty-seven million years. It could wait a while longer.
    The equipment he had borrowed from the biocenter was pushed into a corner or stored in cupboards, out of the way, when his living quarters were invaded by the meetings that were being held there at night. Protesting to Kerthin did no good. “We’ve all got to do our part,” she said. “They needed a place where a study group could meet without attracting attention, and I volunteered. You ought to be grateful you’re not living with Eena. They’re manufacturing explosive pots at her place!”
    Bram shuddered. That was true enough. At least he was under no risk of being blown to pieces in his own living chambers. Lethal objects were not in evidence at the study group meetings—unless it was possible to be bored to death by words. All of the rebels seemed to be humorless, excessively earnest people. They held endless discussions on subjects that came equipped with mind-numbing headings: “occupation and reeducation techniques for governing unenlightened populations”; “utilization of the political infrastructure of isolated communities”; “tactical ideology”; “rehabilitating the social defaulter”; “correct principles of Schismatist thought”; “the practical uses of force in political negotiations.”
    Kerthin served refreshments while Bram half dozed through the rhetoric. Once Pite and a couple of his bravos showed up. They sat and listened, and at the end of the evening, when people started to leave separately in ones or twos as they had been instructed, they spoke quietly to one of the group members and accompanied him to the door. The man turned pale and went with them, smiling nervously. He did not show up at the next meeting.
    At the biocenter, Bram avoided Voth as much as possible. Again, he was deceiving his old teacher, and it was too painful to be in his company.
    It was temporary, Bram told himself. He was only waiting for something definite to go on before confiding in Voth. So far, this was only a bunch of people talking— and amusing themselves with deadly toys and deadly fantasies. But he couldn’t denounce people for talk and daydreams.
    But partly, Bram admitted to himself in the dark and restless hours when he could not fall asleep, he was being dilatory because these were fellow human beings. Maybe Pite was right to some degree. One owed one’s phylum a certain loyalty. Bram was reluctant to expose the worst side of human beings to his old teacher.
    So he waited.
    And then it was too late.
     
    “He’s a danger to us all,” said the worried-looking Ascendist on the platform. “These incidents can no longer be hushed up or explained away. Last night a young man was