The train at the Feeco station slowed to a stop, eventually halting over the platform. The door opened, and there was a voice.
"Git goin', mute!"
A female Mudokon fell from the doorway, landing hard on her hands and knees. She grunted a little with the impact, but quickly rose and began to quickly walk away, as she had been ordered. Behind her, she could hear the slig that had shoved her off mutter to himself.
"Wastin' my time, makin' me drag her worthless hide all the way..." The door slammed shut.
As the train slowly accelerated, she glanced down at the sheet of paper in her hand. It had been slightly crumpled with the fall, and she tried to smooth it out. It was her identification, but mostly a letter to the owner of the new Rupture Farms- a Glukon named Arnie. Now if only she could find him...
__________________
"Sick cultures show a complex of symptoms such as you have named . . . but a DYING culture invariably exhibits personal rudeness. Bad manners. Lack of consideration for others in minor matters. A loss of politeness, of gentle manners, is more significant than is a riot."
-- Robert Heinlein in Friday
|