Simboa. Nursery Fifty-Five—presently known as the Tank Plains.
The sun was rising, its summer glare bright and warm.
Tank, former ultrahuman and present farmer, watched was the sunlight illuminated the wheat fields over the plains. The well-built old man blocked the rays coming from beside him and smiled irrepressibly.
As time passed, the humans whose daily life were filled with endless terror and slaughter gradually accepted and adapted to the world's present state. Tank himself would wake up before first dawn and complete every daily task with his ultrahuman body despite darkness.
Fertilizing, watering, weeding—there was no need for killing parasites, however, since the newly reborn Simboa had no such creatures. Holding his hip with one hand and a scythe with another, he would work the wheat fields. If he was frank, he had a little desire to cut something after wheat fields grew.
