They filed down the ramp and into the dust of the landing field. Many stumbled slightly, off-balance, not used to the lighter gravity. None looked happy.
“Dregs, Mr. Ringvold.”
“We were all dregs once, Haff. How many?”
“Near a thousand this time. All with employment slips for McKay, damn him.”
McKay ran most of the industry on New Islay, and his bribes kept him first in line for everything. “Not to worry, Haff. McKay’s shift supervisors will find some of them unsuitable and cut them loose. Then they’re ours. That’s how I got you, as I recall.”
“Yes, Mr. Ringvold.”
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