CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories by J. Posthumus (read after txt) 📕

the mulch matter had to be reconstituted. Such as it was, the Martian atmosphere would suck the moisture out as quickly as possible, leaving a mostly dry surface for the chickens when it was time to let them out to free-range.

Satisfied that the process could continue without him, he made his way to the living space at the center of their colony, his boot heels loud against the hard planking.

The compound was shaped like a wagon wheel with a greenhouse sticking out one side and his ag module sticking out the other. Six hallways led from the exterior storage ring toward the living space they all shared. The circle in the middle was divided into a command post, a triage area and hospital bed, a kitchen/dining room, lounge area, and the ARED room. Four bedrooms branched off of each hallway tunnel. In a state of emergency, the bedrooms doubled as survival capsules, food and water supplies built into the walls. If the need arose, the commons circle could also be closed off from the rest of the compound.

Sallie increased his pace. He could smell the curry already, and his stomach growled. He took a seat on one side of the long table. They rarely ate at the same time, but the table was big enough for their dozen-member crew to eat together.

Aashi pulled two packets from the heating sleeve. Like a tube of toothpaste, she squeezed his onto a dish and then hers. Besides their potato harvest, most of their food came out that way. He wouldn’t bring it up, but that was another reason he was looking forward to chickens: fresh eggs and fresh meat.

“Smells delicious.” She placed the steaming plate in front of him.

“Thanks,” she said. “What’s on your schedule?”

“Making room comfortable for a bunch a pollos locos.” He scooped a big bite onto his plastic spork, blowing on it to cool it down.

Aashi grinned. “Happy chicken?”

“Crazy chickens.” He emphasized the s. Eighteen had boarded at the lunar colony, hatched in a centrifuge as preparation for their trip to Mars. At last count, an even dozen would arrive alive and well.

“How did you talk your way into getting those pets?” She put a bite in her mouth and winced. “Hot.”

Sallie shrugged. “When managed the right way, chickens till the soil, aerate it, and add nitrogen with their manure load. When combined with compost, they can generate topsoil quickly. You,” he pointed at her, “need soil enough to feed twenty-four of us. When we get enough bio organisms in the soil, your crops will double.” He wiped his mouth.

“How long until I can plant?” She shifted in her seat and folded her arms on the table.

Damn song was playing in his head again. He went on, “If we’re careful with the nitrogen load from the manure and keep a close eye on the balance, we could try something hardy in a month or so. The best growing won’t happen for a while yet.”

“Kale,” she said, licking her lips. “I haven’t had fresh greens in…” She stared over Sallie’s shoulder. “My god, it’s been years. We’re going to grow amazing things together, Sallie.” She reached across the table and squeezed his forearm. She kept her nails cut short, but her fingers were long and slender.

“What’s that about fresh food?” John Brown, the Martian Module Pilot, stepped into the commons from the direction of his sleeping quarters, his voice jovial. He seemed more relaxed than he’d been since he received the news of his mother’s unexpected passing. Aashi withdrew her hand.

Cynthia Port, Martian Module Commander, trailed behind him, her shoulder-length blond hair uncharacteristically disheveled, her movements almost languid. “Morning,” she said, her Southern drawl thick. Her eyes darted to John and then down to her toes.

The two took their place at the kitchen counter, sorting through the food options, moving around each other quietly, smiling and making eye contact. Their hips stayed close together.

Sallie tilted his head. If he didn’t know better…

He looked from one to the other, his eyes wide. If he were a betting man, he’d say there were probably enough pheromones to confuse a bee.

There weren’t rules against fraternization, but sex complicated nearly everything. NASA knew it was pointless to send twelve humans to Mars and then pretend they could control everybody’s sex lives. He turned to Aashi and leaned over. “Are they?”

She sipped her tea and studied her food, but she gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

I’ll be damned.

He wouldn’t have guessed any of them even had time to get around to that. None of them had family or relationships back home. It had been a prerequisite for selection. They all had a clean bill of health. Several of the crewman sold houses before leaving home. Any on-going bills had to be placed on autopay.

His gaze flicked to Aashi again. He’d have to ask John later. The mechanics of it all.

In case he needed it. He shoved another bite in his mouth, but almost choked when she lifted her head and winked. Bacteria, he understood. People didn’t make sense to him.

“Eggs,” Cynthia said. “That’s what I miss. The reconstituted snot gruel we get isn’t the same, no matter what the label says.”

John guffawed. “Welcome to space, baby.”

Aashi shuddered. “I never developed a taste for meat. When I was a child, we never ate it.”

Sallie gestured toward Aashi. “You handle the vegetables. I’ll handle the meat, and we’ll have a wonderful festivus feast.”

Cynthia snorted. Her dad must have watched the same old television channel reruns his had. Aashi and John shared confused looks.

“It’s from an old show,” he said. He gestured to the big monitor supported by a giant stand. “I’ll play it for you when it’s my turn to pick the movie for movie night.”

“Fair enough,” John said, raising his water bottle.

Fred Graham and Susan Mikhailov wandered out of the command room. They’d drawn the night shift for the week. The compound mostly operated on its own, but two crewman were always awake in the monitoring station. Without