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Updated: May 15, 2025
"Now what's the trouble?" "No trouble at all," the captain said, "except the trouble you choose to make. You have your year's taaro ready for shipping?" "Of course." The captain took out a small pencil on a chain and began to twirl it. "How much, to be exact?" "Twenty thousand, Earth weight." "Tons?" Pete shook his head. "Hundredweight." The captain raised his eyebrows. "I see.
"On a planet the size of Baron IV, with seventy-four men, you should be producing a dozen times the taaro you stated. We'll consider that your quota for a starter, at least. You have ample seed, according to my records. I should think, with the proper equipment " "Now wait a minute," Pete said softly. "We're fighting a climate here, captain. You should know that.
If the production of taaro here is not increased sharply, it may be necessary to close down the colony altogether." "You're a liar," said Pete shortly. "The Colonization Board makes no production demands on the colonies. Nor does it farm out systems for personal exploitation." The captain smiled. "The Colonization Board, as you call it, has undergone a slight reorganization," he said.
Clear enough?" Pete's eyes were dark. "I think you'd better draw me a picture," he said tightly. "A very clear picture." "Very well. Baron IV is not paying for its upkeep. Taaro, after all, is not the most necessary of crops in the universe. It has value, but not very much value, all things considered.
His face was bitter as he stomped across the room, then returned to shake his fist under Pete's nose. "But did you see him?" he choked. "Governor of the colony! What does he know about growing taaro in this kind of soil? Did you see those hands? Soft, dainty, pink! How could a man with hands like that govern a colony?" Pete looked over at John Tegan. "Well, John?"
Captain Schooner's visits were always welcome, but they were few and far between. The colony was small; one ship every three years could supply it, and even then the taaro crates wouldn't half fill up the storage holds. There were other colonies far closer to home that sent back more taaro in one year than Baron IV could grow in ten.
The summer past had been the colony's finest in the fourteen years he'd been there, a warm, still summer with plenty of rain to keep the dirt down and let the taaro get well rooted and grow up tall and gray against the purple sky. But now the taaro was harvested.
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