The old man looked at him and there seemed to be a very faint bitterness, politely suppressed. “I wouldn't say we planned them, comrade. Certainly not we of the older generation. But the trend toward change is already to be seen by anyone who wishes to look, and our institutions won't long be able to stand. But, of course, if you're from United Planets you would know more of this than I.”
“I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You are new indeed on Kropotkin,” the old man said. “Just a moment.” He went into his house and emerged with a small power pack. He indicated it to Ronny Bronston. “This is our destruction,” he said.
The Section G agent shook his head, bewildered.
The old-timer sat down again. “My son,” he said, “runs the farm now. Six months ago, he traded one of our colts for a small pump, powered by one of these. It was little use on my part to argue against the step. The pump eliminates considerable work at the well and in irrigation.”
Ronny still didn't understand.
“The power pack is dead now,” the old man said, “and my son needs a new one.”
“They're extremely cheap,” Ronny said. “An industrialized planet turns them out in multi-million amounts at practically no cost.”
“We have little with which to trade. A few handicrafts, at most.”
Ronny said, “But, good heavens, man, build yourselves a plant to manufacture power packs. With a population this small, a factory employing no more than half a dozen [pg 057] men could turn out all you need.”