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And there was Cathy. She owed for her passage. It would be years before she could pay that back, if ever. She couldn’t live in the farmhand barracks. They might as well give up thinking about each other.

It was a system. Beautifully legal, absolutely airtight. Not a thing wrong with it. The Company had a monopoly on thanar, despite the law. It had all the cultivated land on Cetis Gamma Two under its control, and its labor problem was solved. Its laborers first paid something like sixteen thousand credits a head for the privilege of trying to farm independently for a year or two, and then became farmhands for the Company at a bare subsistence wage.

Lon Simpson was in the grip of that system. He had taken the generator apart and put it back together eighteen times. There was nothing visibly wrong with it. It had been designed to break down with nothing visibly wrong with it. If he couldn’t repair it, though, he was out fifteen hundred credits, his investment was wiped out, and all his hopes were gone.