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“I’ll figure it,” replied Carson over the beamphone. He didn’t seem interested. After a moment, he said indifferently, “Fifteen hundred credits for standard rations to crop time. Then you’ll need more.”

“It’s robbery!” raged Lon. “I can’t expect more than four thousand credits for my crop! You’ve got three thousand charged against me now!”

Carson yawned. “True. A new generator, fifteen hundred; new food supplies fifteen hundred. If your crop turns out all right, you’ll start the new season with two thousand credits charged up as a loan against your land.”

Lon Simpson strangled on his fury. “You’ll take all my leaves and I’ll still owe you! Then credit for seed and food and—If I need to buy more machinery, you’ll own my farm and crop next crop time! Even if my crop is good! Your damned Company will own my farm!”

“That’s your lookout,” Carson said without emotion. “Being a thanar farmer was your idea, not mine. Shall I send out the food?”

Lon Simpson bellowed into the beamphone. He heard clicking, then Cathy’s voice. It was at once reproachful and sympathetic.