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There is no planet more lush with trees than Broce and so it is constantly in need of the castes’ keeping. Singers coax Broce’s trees to produce oxygen, to grow straight-grained for use, to set fruit and seed. Traders sell the bounty on planets made poor by chance or lack of vigilance. They return with gold and news for the coffers all the castes draw on.

But it;s the cullers who keep Broce what it is…

Short story in Menial, Crossed Genres, 2012; out of print.

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