“Spare change, brother?”
“Get a job!”
“That’s quite impossible.”
“Eh?”
“Impossible: adj.: not possible; unable to be, exist, happen, etc.”
“A wise guy, eh?”
“Yeah. Everybody out here has an IQ over 110. ‘Cept you, ‘parently.”
“Why, I never!”
[sighs] “We’re all descended from Earth, one way or another, but the smartest all moved out to space. So us second- and third-gen folks are all the sons and daughters of the upper-bracket erudite—including a fair measure of genius. The funny thing about IQ is that 100 is always average, so the average Earther is 80-something and the average Belter is 120.”
“I take grave exception to—”
“Oh can it already. Where are you going anyway?”
[testily] “. . . Bureau of Careers. Just shipped in with my last dime.”
[sarcastically] “And may lady fortune herself light your path to employment.”
“I will too!”
“Nope. Yer too dumb. If I can’t get a job, then you sure as hell can’t get a job. And you’re in the same boat as I—without any cash, you can’t buy your way off this rock. Might as well take a seat next to me. Yer gettin’ no job, brother.”