"This group," said Retief, leaning across Magnan, "the SCARS. How much do you know about them, Mr. Minister?"
"Nothing at all," the huge Fustian elder rumbled. "For my taste, all Youths should be kept penned with the livestock until they grow a carapace to tame their irresponsibility."
"We mustn't lose sight of the importance of channeling youthful energies," said Magnan.
"Labor gangs," said the minister. "In my youth we were indentured to the dredge-masters. I myself drew a muck sledge."
"But in these modern times," put in Magnan, "surely it's incumbent on us to make happy these golden hours."
The minister snorted. "Last week I had a golden hour. They set upon me and pelted me with overripe stench-fruit."
"But this was merely a manifestation of normal youthful frustrations," cried Magnan. "Their essential tenderness—"
"You'd not find a tender spot on that lout yonder," the minister said, pointing with a fork at a newly arrived Youth, "if you drilled boreholes and blasted."
"Why, that's our guest of honor," said Magnan, "a fine young fellow! Slop I believe his name is."