Book Three
Roy adjusted the brim on his floppy leather hat to block the two suns from the corner of his eye. Carefully he adjusted his footing on the tree branch. The forty foot tall trees in the Rank Orchard had been picked nearly clean of the softball-sized fruit a week prior, but there had been about a dozen and a half that were not ready to pick at the time. On this day they were ripe enough, and he took it upon himself to finish the job. Having climbed up nearly to the top of one of the oldest trees, he picked the ripe one that was near the trunk, placed it in the picking apron that hung off the front and back of his shoulders and then saw another about ten feet out. Feeling he could negotiate his way out to it without having to climb all the way down and reposition the ladder,
