“Healthy crop this year,” Smith grunted approvingly.
“It’s healthy every year, Pop.”
“Well, not too healthy, then. There’s a good balance.” He poked at the crimson strands. “Processor’s been running all day, barely made a dent.”
“What if the picker drones break down again?”
“Then you’ll get out there and fix ‘em, boy!”
“Oughtta just get an overseer. The Clarks have one.”
“The Clarks are jackasses. Lost their last sharehold. Let the weed get out of hand, swallowed the whole damned house.” He gazed across the water-fields. “Martian weed is tricksy. Dangerous, but it’s got a kinda beauty to it.”
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