"The people vote for Ordinances!"
"Farmers don't vote!"
"No, but their parents do! Suppose it is horrible!" Toal admitted.
Rasmussen turned to us, leaving the tractor to find its own way along
the twisting road. He said, "No need to discuss customs with the alien!"
"Watch it!" I yelled.
Rasmussen rotated and steered the tractor away from a jumble of
boulders. I perspired against the wind of our motion. Toal said,
"Children can choose to be deported! Their parents advise them! The
parents can be sterilized and stay here, or they can become aliens and
be deported with the child! Must not have other children if one is
suspected of being a Farmer! Must wait five years!"
Rasmussen brought the quaking machine to a halt on the crest of the
highest hill yet encountered. The cultivated fields were behind us.
Here, stumps covered the slopes, but young trees had been planted in
rows to replace the vanished forest. Silence rang in my ears. Then I
heard calls and whistles from unknown wildlife.
Stiffly, the fat hunter descended to the dirt track. Pulling my sunhat
down and lowering the screen against the increasing heat and glare, I
followed. I wore my lightest oversuit, but it seemed as heavy as frigid
zone garb. The only blessing of the environment was that no insects or
related pests were in evidence.
Rasmussen walked to a patch of plants with round, purple-veined
leaves and yellow stems. He pointed with his carved stick and began
a lecture. "On the western skyline, the sea. There, the cliffs. That
silver thread, inland about three miles, the waterfall into the Baby
Maggie River. Three hundred yards wide, full of rocks and currents.
Misty cloud in the east is the Joe Junior Swamp, where the cliffs end.
Swamp extends along the coast ten miles." He extended both arms and
proclaimed, "Joe Nordo chose this protected peninsula to settle. Ocean
full of reefs, flesh-eating fish, reptiles, currents."