SPACEFARM 3075 - Rural Ireland faces the future and a corporate universe.
Liam knew something was wrong when he could distinctly smell silage all the way down on C deck. He had been meaning to check the atmosphere control systems for days now but with all that had been going on he just couldn’t find the time. When the M.A.R.T. (Martian Agricultural Resources Treaty) had been signed he hadn’t anticipated the kind of impact it would have on himself and countless other small interplanetary farmers just like him. How are we supposed to survive? He asked himself as he tried to ignore the stench and finish the last bit of the sausages he’d cooked when he’d last had the chance to get to his compartment-like C deck kitchen. It seemed like a good idea at the time to have one large buyer/processor in the solar system instead of having to make light speed around the planets looking for a good price and ending up losing money on his overheads. Now the price had dropped so low it was hardly worth the long hours he needed to put into maintaining enough livestock to make a small profit. After all, the cost of parts alone for his two hundred-year-old Haggard-class space farm was becoming astronomical. It was being phased out by the new MegaFarm models that only the big farmers could afford. But Liam had promised his father he would do his best to keep it up and running. A promise he wanted to keep considering it had been in his family for generations. He couldn’t remember if he had ever before been so tired as he stood up and made his way through the hatch that led back to his cramped and unkempt sleeping quarters.
"How are ye!" Davy O’Dea always greeted the lads at the Orbiter pub the same way. Have you boys heard about that new galactic livestock virus? He blurted out as he bellied up to the bar and waved at John on the other side for a pint. Better get to yer cows and dose-em quick! It’s a killer! But nobody as much as flinched. They all knew Davy and knew he was full of shite. Davy wasn’t a farmer and he was always trying to get the lads worked up about something. Someday he was going to get punched, Liam thought to himself as he poured the precious black liquid down his throat. He would always be slagin’ the farmers about how they run their farms and trying to get them to sell out to him. It will be a cold day in hell before I’ll sell out to the likes of Davy O’Dea, Liam whispered to his long time friend and farmhand Cyril Hogan. If Davy knew just how much Liam McGrath disliked him and most of his family he wouldn’t have loaned him the money he needed to upgrade some of his antiquated equipment. Then again, Liam didn’t know anyone who liked him and Davy was probably comfortable with that. If you didn’t pay him what you owed him he would just take your farm. Goodluck! Liam said to the lads as he and Cyril walked out of the Orbiter and into the main corridor of the outrageously overpriced drinking, shopping and loansharking space station everyone called "Dirty Davy O’Dea,s."
To be continued...