The prefect carefully removed his foot from the trigger pedal of the machine guns mounted in the table. He did this not because he trusted the military boss, who stood in the middle of the office with his right arm in a sling, no......The boss had a bestial reaction. More than once she saved him from being shot at point-blank range. With his sixth sense he saw the trajectory of a bullet and always found himself outside of it. The prefect understood that the paralyzed right hand did not make his interlocutor powerless; he shot equally well with both hands. The boss always had a Colt on his right and left hip. But the most important thing is why the prefect took his foot off the pedal: he was interested in the boss’s plan. “You understand!” - the boss growled. – They have degenerated there on Earth from an excess of everything! Remember: the last time immigrants were sent to us was seventy years ago, but no one has been sent to Titan near Saturn for a hundred years! Then, radio emissions stopped at Alma Mater almost fifty years ago! Do you understand what this means?! – Are you saying that they all took up farming? Quietly plowing the land, harvesting crops, living by candlelight? They no longer needed power plants, had they reached the finish line? – the prefect concluded. “You’re smart,” the boss grinned. – Now you can take them with your bare hands. They registered us all as criminals and exiled us, like convicts, to Mars under the domes, to Titan in the mines: they will send us and calm down. We prevented them from having fun in comfort. Imagine: walking on the surface without a mask, living not under a dome, the waters are oceans... “I can imagine,” the prefect responded dreamily. He could really imagine all this, since he regularly watched old films about Earth...