Grown Men

which broke the raw produce into nutrient liquids and solids.
    Runt kicked the power and tapped the panel to bring it online. A low drone rose in pitch until he had to raise his voice to be heard. The soybeaner began to hiccup, its hum dipping and straining.
    “It’s run hot for four months. Piece of junk. No idea what in hell’s wrong.”
    Runt tapped the controls again. The pitch climbed again and the thumping and squelching sped up— flap-thwlap-flap —as something caught in the machine’s innards struggled to break loose or die trying.
    Ox winced as if watching a mangled dog. He shook his head once, sharply.
    “Agh!” Runt killed the power and stood a little apart. The thumping and groaning wheezed into silence. Even the bugs in the brush had no comment. The sun had crept higher and Runt could smell Ox again.
    Ox ran his wide hands over the appliance as if stroking a lion, feeling for a wound. He looked for something with his eyes and his fingertips.
    “How do you know so much about equipment and that? You raised by mechanics? Engineers?”
    Ox snorted silently and shook his head. He squinted and turned his head, reaching for something further under the soybeaner’s belly.
    “So . . . what? Your ma was a welder and your father humped pipe?”
    Ox tugged his arm out and wrote in demi-Arabic on the dusty ground: “MINERS.”
    “Oh.” Runt pursed his lips to keep his opinions trapped.
    Mining killed employees young in shitty backbreaking contracts. The real money came from sub-terrain work, and some of those kids grew up and died without ever seeing even one sun. No wonder Ox loved their beach.
    Tink .
    Runt turned.
    Again, Ox tapped the machine’s case with his fingers as he squatted and felt underneath with one arm, straining for purchase.
    “Find something?” Runt came a little closer.
    Ox nodded once and slid his torso underneath the tofu unit. His massive ribcage pressed against the frame and his arms had to wriggle in by centimeters.
    Runt stood shifting his weight for five minutes while Ox’s colossal legs twitched and bent as he squirmed under the equipment. Runt felt strange watching his oversized lower half, the knotted muscle, the packed groin pushing at the suit’s closure, as if Ox’s whole body lived under a magnifying glass.
    So easy to kill him under there. Right now.
    Staring down, Runt felt huge for a moment, or Ox seemed small.
    Maybe he’s small for a miner. Yeah. Maybe he picked this shithole for the weather .
    The rattles and clinks from the underside stopped, and the husky oaf wriggled back out covered in soy mash and holding a length of hose. He presented the tubing for Runt’s inspection. Chance’s pants . A blockage had been wasting raw soybeans as they were processed.
    Runt snapped his fingers and took off, calling over his shoulder. “Hang on, hang on! I have more of those!”
    He trotted back with the replacement and watched Ox dismantling the mill, shaking his head at such obvious technical aptitude.
    At least I can heat mealpaks and pick locks.
    Runt stood shifting his weight a moment, but the big freak waved him away, as if to say, “Go do your own work, midget.”
    While Ox dealt with the soybeaner for the better part of six hours, Runt soldiered through his regular chores, checking in at the soy-mill occasionally. Seeing the components dismantled and laid out in rows made Runt’s gut knot and his eyes glaze over, but Ox seemed to have a handle on it with his big mitts.
    Runt’s cock rolled inside his suit as it plumped and hardened. Pheromones again .
    “Be in the orchard if you need me.”
    Without waiting for Ox to open his eyes or nod, Runt spun and strode away from the hive straight for the beach, letting his stiffness lead the way toward the twin suns climbing the sky.
    Once I have a wank and a wash, I can be normal again.
    But even after swimming out and swiftly masturbating, Runt’s balls stayed full, hugging the base of his joint without reprieve. His nipples were stiff nubs, his mouth felt wet and sensitive, and his spongy cock dribbled tracks inside his worksuit. He did go to the orchard to collect mangos and to check for fungus. And stayed erect the entire, embarrassing time.
    That evening, Ox reappeared at the habitat covered in rancid pulp and clots of soy curd, laughing at the mess.
    Runt glared and held up a hand to stop him entering.
    “All done, then?”
    Ox nodded once.
    “Well, no way all of you’ll fit in my little shower wearing