"I may at that. Yes, a bit of logging would round out a wide and varied experience."
"It's done then," laughed the man.
Guy thanked his active life. The job would have killed him if his muscles hadn't been in condition. It was hard, heavy work, and it covered long hours daily. At night, Guy crawled into his bed and slept like an innocent. And though he kept a sharp ear out for any mention of the System that Ertene was approaching, nothing was said in his presence. It worried him. Had positions been reversed, the subject would have been in every Terran radio and in every Terran newspaper, and a common subject for dinner-conversation.
When the work was finished and Lorsana paid him sixty Ertinian ronnads, Guy said good-by to Lorsana and his wife, patted the dog and left. The work had done him good. It had taken the newness out of his clothing and had filled his belt with good, Ertinian money.
But farm work was no place to make a start in life—from Guy's age, at least. So with regret, he left the farmhouse and trudged along the road for several miles until he came to a large city. He sought lodgings, bought dinner at a restaurant, and then on the following morning presented himself to a manufacturer of precision instruments.
His age and bearing seemed to have good effect, and he was given preference over several other applicants, and ushered into the employment manager's office.
"Be seated," directed the manager. He looked at the card in his hand and memorized briefly. "You're Gomanar. Call me Jerimick."
"Thank you."
"You seek technical work, Gomanar. Yet your card indicates that you have no formal education."