farmers appeared, both with the word “denied” printed evenly below. I . I wasn’t sure if the young man could read, but he seemed to get the gist, if his scornful glare was any indication.
“Correct,” Ketros agreed, “Once. However, you must agree that you are now past your usefulness to the collective. Although Bright Horizon is one of the biggest citidomes on Iamos, there is still only a limited amount of space. Food production is going to rely on new agricultural methods, not traditional farming.” Ketros’ voice was flat as he spoke, aloof and rehearsed. He’d given this speech a dozen times before, and he’d give it many more times before we were through. “The geroi greatly appreciate the contributions you have made to our people and our planet, but surely you must realize that, if we are to survive as a race, sacrifices must be made. This is your end of the Contract. Your time has come.”
At this point the apprentice interrupted Ketros’ monologue with a very loud and vehement curse. I gawked at him in shocked incredulity. Never in my life had I seen a plivos talk back to a patros. And this one didn’t just argue, he was hurling obscenities. His nerve might be admirable if it wasn’t so damned stupid.