He could lose everything—the estate he’d been given and all the severance pay he’d invested in it. There was no guarantee he’d ever make a farmer. Still, Ben-Linkman felt a rush of pleasure as he activated the breaker jets and eased the bulky air truck downward fifty more meters for a better view of his property.“Mine. The spoils of war.” He said the words aloud, savoring them as he swooped low over the small lake, winking in the greenish glow of the late afternoon sun, then circled the sprawling house. Catching his breath, he swung away from the landscaped grounds and roared over the broad, flat fields where oil-rich rokam had once grown.Coming here was a huge gamble. He was betting everything that he could bring the land back to life. But could he? Did he have it in him? What if he failed? What if he—Determinedly, he cut off the thought and set the air truck down behind the house. This was no time for second thoughts, and if he didn’t want to lose the place to an enterprising thief, he’d better activate the security perimeter.He rolled his shoulders, fatigued from flying the heavy government surplus ship eight hundred klicks from Spenserville, formerly Halindish.
