"Sure it does! What they want, you should make that fabricator spit out nice parts, see?" He swelled his chest.
"Now me, I got my mind on my business, see. I get out of here, I oughta make out pretty good." He looked around the cell.
"Didn't get no parole, see, so I get all the training. Real good trained machinist now, and I'm gonna walk out of here clean. Get a job down at the space-yards.
"Machinist helper, see? Then, soon's I been there a while, I'll get my papers and go contract machinist. Real good money. Maybe you'd do better, you try that."
From the lower bunk, Big Carl Marlo laughed softly.
"Sure, kid, sure. You got it all made, huh? Pretty quick, you own Janzel Equipment, huh? Hah! Know what happens, you go outside?
"Sure, they give you a job. Like you said, helper. They pay enough you get a pad and slop to keep you alive. That's all you get."
"Aw, now listen!" Holme started up.
Marlo wagged his head. "You go for papers, see? Naw! Got no papers for jailbirds. Staffman'll give you the word. He gets through pushing you around, you go back, 'counta you don't know nothing else."