Hydroponic Ho

“Good morning beloved,” said Meredith for the fifth time to the still sleeping form of her husband. Chad Williams grunted and rolled over onto his stomach. She reached out and gently rocked him, but he refused to get up. Meredith’s cooling system activated and she gently touched his cheek with her left hand. As soon as her synthflesh touched him, he awoke with a start.

“I’m awake, I’m awake!” Chad said with chattering teeth. He rolled out of bed and stumbled into the chemshower, looked at the clock built into the wall and swore under his breath. When he turned on the chemshower, the computerized station voice informed him that he had five minutes before the auto shutdown. Chad scrubbed vigorously and was done in three minutes.

He dried off and threw on his jumpsuit. While he fought with his work boots, he called out to Meredith.

“Can I get my protein paste to go?”

She replied in the affirmative and once he finished dressing, he grabbed his coffee with the protein paste in it. A quick sip confirmed that, like every morning, the coffee was made exactly to his specifications. Luckily, the protein paste was tasteless, so it did not ruin the coffee drinking experience much.

“Have a nice day at work,” Meredith said cheerfully.

“Yes, dear,” he replied, “Don’t forget to charge up fully for our date tonight.” She obediently opened a panel in her neck and grabbed the plug from the wall, inserted it, and powered down.

“36% charge for Waifu-bot,” chimed the familiar electronic voice from the wall.

Chad power-walked down the halls of the space station, gulping down his coffee as fast he could without burning himself. Like most people on the station, he worked in the great hydroponic chambers that were the lifeblood of the entire system. The planet below was mostly ocean and islands. It had a pleasant year-round climate, crystal clear water, and friendly wildlife, which made it a popular tourist destination. Unfortunately, there was little room for growing crops on world, so, to maximize space for tourists, the government accepted an offer from the Aerospace Hydroponics to build an in-orbit hydroponics station instead of importing food. As long as the food flowed, Aerospace Hydroponics paid no taxes to the planet’s government, which was a win-win for all involved. With plenty of water on the planet to keep them hydrated and with sunlight at all times, the plants grew easily in the station.

As he rounded the last turn to get to the Delta chamber, where he worked, red lights began to flash.

“Thot ship en route. Thot ship en route. This is not a drill,” stated the station’s voice in a calm, even tone.

Chad’s blood froze, just as if he’d been ejected from an airlock. A thot ship? Here? That could only mean one thing: the Patrols had failed.

“Militia, report to your station,” said the voice, “Non-militia may join today for a one-time bonus.”

Chad’s watch beeped and he saw that a map had appeared with the route to the nearest militia arming area appeared.
When he left the Army two years ago and joined the militia ago, he was given a small stipend, but he never thought that he would actually need to take up arms in defense of his home again. This time, he would not fail.
He followed the map and noticed several nervous men along the way. Very few followed him, most just stood in the doorway of their apartments. This is why the thots were able to destroy Earth, Chad thought, remembering his last view of Earth before the atmosphere caught fire, a lack of men willing to stand up to their thottery.

What did they think would happen if the militia could not repel the thot’s thirsty horde and the thot took over the station? Did they think the thot would leave them alone? As you learned in school, the one thing a thot cannot stand is the idea that someone, somewhere, is not thirsty for them. With the advent of waifu-bots and artificial wombs, the entire station was filled with men who did not want the thot, much less need her.

After a quick elevator ride, Chad arrived at the arming station. While waiting in line with the other militiamen, he glanced out the station window and saw the cobbled-together hunk of metal that passed as a spaceship coming directly for the station. He shuddered, imagining the thirsty hordes of beta males she kept aboard. Visions of their wild eyes and twitchy fingers ready to instantly “like” her Instasnap photos danced throughout his cortex. They destroyed and pillaged in order to please their mistress, even though she did not and could not love them. He could see them tearing Meredith apart and melting her metal bones in to slag. He gritted his teeth and patiently waited his turn to receive his armaments along with the few others willing to defend their home among the stars.

“Private Williams,” boomed the voice of Sergeant Sherman once it was his turn to gear up. The sergeant was the spitting image of the general that burned old Atlanta on Earth, even down to the faint scent of booze that perpetually surrounded him. His face was covered in scars due to being one of the few on the station to have actually been in combat against the thots. Chad offered a crisp salute.

“At ease,” said the sergeant, “Suit up. The thot is coming for our hydroponic operation. Even thots need to eat. Based on the trajectory of her ship, she is going to try to force her way in through Airlock Charlie.”

“Understood, sir,” replied Chad as he slipped on the steelweave Mk. II Space Combat Suit with the sergeant’s help. The regular military had the Mk. IV SCS, but the Mk. II was a solid choice for fighting in the unique tactical situations that happened in space combat. It had magnetic boots to grip the hull if the artificial gravity failed, the light and flexible steelweave could resist hand-held rail-gun fire (for a short time), and the sealed helmet with built-in tactical computer could supply air for up to 8 hours if needed. Once he was suited up, he grabbed a monomolecular knife and the Alpha Centauri Armory Electro-Carbine. It was a plain and boxy bullpup design, but what it lacked in elegance, it made up for in reliability and accuracy. Chad checked the battery charge and patted his belt pack, to confirm that the backup batteries and spare magazines were all in place.

Once everyone was suited up and armed, the sergeant brought them together in the militia training gymnasium. He scowled as he looked over the assembled militia.

“Listen up! Somehow, this thot got past the Patrols. She is here with her pathetic followers, but we will drive her back. She sent her demands to us; a surrendering of all our food plus our fuel, as well as the destruction of all the waifu-bots. We told her to go to hell! She’s coming for Airlock Charlie and that is where we will hold her.”

“Sir?” asked a pimply young man, “Are the thots really that bad?”

"How do you think I got this scar? Why do you think Earth, the birthplace of our people, is a barren wasteland? One word: Thots. They are even worse than you can imagine," replied Sergeant Sherman.

The sergeant quickly went over the defense plan, which mostly consisted of massed fire at the airlock entrance and several fall-back zones. For obvious reasons, there were no mines on the station and there was not enough time for any booby traps to be made. At the end of the defense plans, he roused the men with the old basic training chant:

“If she lies…” began Sergeant Sherman.

“SHE A THOT!” came the reply from the militiamen.

“If she cheats…”

“SHE A THOT!”

“If she breathe…”

“SHE A THOT!”

Pumped and ready for battle, the militia double-timed it to the airlock. Chad raised his carbine and checked the sights. His helmet computer confirmed what his naked eye suspected; the sights were not properly aligned. He made a couple adjustments and then kneeled behind a cargo container, which had just been hauled into place as make-shift cover. In the corner of his eye, a timer ticked down for the estimated time docking time of the thot ship. When it reached 30 seconds, the station-wide intercom turned on, but instead of the usual computerized voice, a static-y human voice came through.

“These hateful men are denying me some food. To my loyal Instasnap followers, whichever one of you brings the most food back will get a special selfie of me in my new bikini designed by Vergucci. And to you men on the station, if you help me, you may join us. Don’t forget that my followers outnumber you more than 4-to-1. Hashtag WINNING!”

It was the voice of the thot. Chad heard Sarge ordering the thirty-six militiamen to ignore her, while he worked with network security to get her hacker out of the station’s computer systems. A rough cackling laughter echoed in everyone’s ears as all the computer screens in the station, including the helmet computers, were overtaken by a large picture of a woman posing seductively, yet casually in front of a starship window. Her gaze was directed at a gorgeous gas giant and she was wearing tight grey pants that hugged her curves, with a white t-shirt that had been cut to expose her midriff. Her perfectly straight, long blonde hair went down to the small of her back. Below the picture was a caption that read, “The cosmos is so #beautiful. Trying to find someone to share the view with me. #loyalboys Yoga pants by Victoirre. Love ya all! -Laurel Loomsdottir”

Chad ripped the helmet off his head and dropped it to the ground. He looked around and saw several others keeping their helmets on. The man next to him was one of them. Chad grabbed his shoulder and saw that his name badge said “Kevin Rodriguez”.

“Don’t let her influence you Kevin!”

Kevin slowly took his helmet off and rubbed his eyes before speaking.

“I…she…she was real,” Kevin, who had never seen a real woman before, said.

“Snap out of it!,” Chad yelled, “In a moment, that door is going to open and her beta boys will come in here to loot and kill. She will use their lives as if they are nothing. You join her and she’ll treat you the same!”

As if to emphasize his point, the entire station creaked as the thot ship aggressively docked with Airlock Charlie. Bereft of their tactical computers, many of the militiamen nervously tapped their fingers on their carbines or rocked back and forth. Silently, Chad thanked the merciless drill sergeant that made sure he could shoot straight without computer assistance. He flicked the switch on the carbine to “Fully Electrify” for maximum stopping power.

The airlock door flew open, unleashing a swarm of men. They were filthy, with greasy hair and a stench that suggested bathing was rare. They were clad only in tattered clothes and wielded double-barreled plasma pistols that launched two flaming blue balls of death with every pull of the trigger. Kevin went down immediately, two holes burned into his chest. From behind a bulkhead, Chad fired back, each electrically-charged bullet finding a target. However, more and more came through the airlock.

“Militiamen, fall back to point Bravo,” came the sergeant’s voice, “fighting withdrawal!” However, most of the militia ignored the second part of his orders and fled like a lost ship from a black hole.

Chad picked his shots carefully, forcing his finger not to touch change the fire selector from semi-auto to full auto. Few shots were covering his retreat, as most of the other militiamen had fled like cowards to point Bravo.

“One shot kills one thot,” he repeated to himself over and over as he aimed from cover, before retreating to the next covered position. He hoped to slow down the invaders while the others reinforced point Bravo. While trying to get behind a blast door, he tripped on the dead body of a fellow militiaman. He hit the ground with a crash and as he got up, a glancing blow from a plasma ball hit his left side, just below his ribs, and he went down again.

Pain coursed through his body, but he refused to give up. The nerves in his legs were on fire, but he was able to drag himself to the blast door and take cover behind it. He sat his carbine on the dead body and fired from a prone position.

“Sorry,” he whispered to the corpse.

“Everyone report in,” came Sergeant Sherman’s voice over the empty helmet lying next to the body. In his haste, Chad had left his helmet at the forward firing position. He grabbed the dead man’s helmet and put it on. Luckily, the militia network was secure again, because the picture of the thot was gone.

“Private Williams reporting in. Injured by Blast Door Charlie Niner. Cannot walk.”

“Roger that Private, we are coming for you,” came the reply, “Hold tight.”

“Negative. Approach is too exposed to enemy fire. You’ll lose more than you save. I will make them pay for each inch of this station. Tell Meredith I love her,” Chad said as he reloaded.

“Understood Private. But we are going to try anyway. Leave no man behind.”

Chad kept firing into the crowd of the thirsty men that were under the thot’s spell, but he could not make a dent in their numbers. The counter on the sights went down. Three. Two. One. Then, the carbine made a clicking noise and Chad reached for another magazine, but there was not one. He was out of ammunition.

The horde approached him quickly, once they realized he had no ammo and could not move. They kept their pistols aimed at him, but they did not shoot. They surrounded him and waited. Chad slowly moved his hand to his boot, where the knife was hidden. He tried to act more hurt than he really was. Despite being a bad actor, they believed him, because ultimately, he did not need to act much. He hoped that one would get in knife range, just so he could kill one more before he died. The men surrounding him were worthless bastards that turned their backs on tradition, honor, decency, and a properly functioning society, just for the possibility of having sex with some dime-a-dozen floozy.

There was a ripple among the horde and several murmurs. Chad cocked his head to try and hear, but he could not understand what was happening.

“What do we have here boys?” came a sultry feminine voice. The ring of men parted, making a large empty circle around
Chad and he finally saw the thot herself. Her long blonde hair effortlessly flowed down her back and her tight jeans clung to her skin like a freelance miner on an unclaimed asteroid. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of large sunglasses, the kind that were large enough for a Nipponese animated character to wear. She stepped delicately over the dead bodies and looked down on the wounded Chad.

“Ever seen a real woman before?” she said with a smirk.

“Yes. On Earth before your kind wrecked it,” Chad said.

“Aren’t I so much prettier than your stupid sex robot?” A chorus of agreement came from her sycophants. Chad could not deny that she was attractive and the graceful, effortless way she moved was alluring. Hard-wired instincts die hard and he found himself wanted to be near her, to smell her hair, hold her, and feel her warmth. He imagined them going dancing together or visiting the planet below for time on the beach, or any number of other activities that a waifu-bot could not do.

A swift kick to his injured side from one of the men brought him back to reality.

“Our beloved lady asked you a question, bot bonker! Answer her!” the man yelled, his face red.
Chad realized the depths of her thottiness. She had a spaceship full of men so loyal that constantly laid down their lives for her, yet here she was trying to make him want her as well. She just used men up until they became dry, empty husks of themselves. She did not care about them at all.

He smiled and mumbled an answer. The thot leaned over and asked him to repeat what he said. Chad mumbled again and she leaned in closer.

Several events happened at once. Chad lashed at her face with his knife, she “she backed away to avoid its wicked edge, but not before Chad’s blow sliced her sunglasses in twain and knocked them off her face, he switched the two spotlights in his combat helmet on to full strength.

“BEGONE THOT!” he said at the top of his lungs.

She stumbled back in shock.

“My eyes!” she shrieked.

The horde lifted her up and carried her back to her ship with cries of “Are you okay?”

Chad smiled as they fell back to the airlock. As the adrenaline of battle finally left his system, the smell of burned flesh assaulted his nose. He vomited and fought to stay conscious. On the body of one of the thot’s followers, he saw a grenade. With great effort he crawled over to it. Despite being hit with a ball of hot plasma, his wound was not instantly cauterized, therefore a trail of his blood traced his crawling trip to the dead man. After wrapping his fingers around it, he pulled the pin and threw it at the open airlock. It bounced a few times and rolled into the thot ship.

There was an explosion and several screams from the ship. The remaining militiamen came to secure the area, but with the thot dead, the remining thirsty boys had no fight left in them. Chad had done it; he had saved the station from the thot.

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Picture Credit: "Space station Mir." by driver Photograph is licensed under CC by 2.0