Terran machinery.
Nutrient processors. His face wrinkled in disgust at them. The Terrans can’t grow food from the ground, the way normal human bein^ do. Too slow. Not enough yield. They must hurry things, take elements directly from the soil and the air and convert them into artificial protein, synthetic foodstuffs. A few chemicals added here and a few enzymes injected there, and the accumulated knowledge of sixty centuries of planting and growing and harvesting is blasted out of existence.
He strode out of the factory, into the cool night air. Shinar had no moon, but the night-long airglow created a shimmering twilight that prevented real darkness,
Merdon looked at the youths lounging in the compound between the massive Terran buildings. These were his fighters, the new heroes of Shinar, he thought. Sons and daughters of farmers and philosophers—andven merchants.
A young girl walked up to him. “There are some newecruits waiting to see you, on the other side of theates.”
“Let them come in, Altai,” he said quietly. She turned and walked toward the gate. Altai was tall for a girl, with a slim athletic build and a natural grace that made watching her a pleasure. She was not particularly beautiful, but she had the knack of looking completely feminine even in slacks, and with an automatic rifle slung over her shoulder. Maybe it was her long, jetblack hair, or her voice.
Merdon found himself smiling as he watched her go oward the gates. Maybe it was just the way she looked in slacks.
“Merdon, I have the completed tally of the weapons we got from the arsenal….”