The Unjust Demote

“You are a seed-picker for the rest of your life,” Clive said angrily.  He pressed the button on his coat to call a security guard.  A minute later the guard came in.  “Take him to the Perion Field One,” Clive ordered.  “He’s a picker from now!”

Outside, the guard thrust me into the rumpom.  “Get in!”

Half an hour later, we reached to the field suburb of the city, the same field I had visited the day before.  As we walked toward the guard station, a tall security guard appeared at the door.  “I brought you a new picker,” the guard who brought me told him.

The guard looked confused a second then nodded.  “Start working!”  He threw me an empty bag.

So, my days as a seed-picker began just like that.  I went toward the workers in the field.  “Stupid son of a machine!”  I cussed, picturing Clive’s cold face.  “I could save the leader’s life by caching wannabe assassins from Rakutan some day.  If he knew what you did to me, he will kick your ass.  You will lose your job!”  I began to pick the seeds.

“Mr. Brumba, what in the world are you doing here?”  The middle-aged man I’d met the day before came toward me, his eyes wide.

“I’m not Brumba.  Call me Marlon.”

“So, what went wrong, Marlon?”

“I didn’t accept the job.  Simple as that.”

“How come you threw out such good opportunity?”

I told him what happened.  “If he’s smart, he will come back for me.  But again he might not come.  His head is all screwed up.”



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