Grown Men

advertainments, ya big bastard.” Runt gathered the bones and scraps and tossed them into the eelbeds for chum. Nothing wasted. “ Chance’s pants! We’d make ten fortunes.”
    Ox grinned but shook his head and patted the ground as if he liked it just fine.
    “Their blood’s poisonous, y’know. Ya gotta be careful.”
    While the meat and fruit seared slowly, Runt massaged those tremendous arms and shoulders with antibiotic ointment and bandaged Ox’s raw hands.
    Eating their own livestock was a miraculous step for their farmstead, and they both knew it. For the first few years, terraformers purchased supplies on credit from HardCell, borrowing against their future output. Eventually, cofarmers were able to live off the eels and soy and other products they harvested; ’til then, each crate pushed the profit point further away. For Runt, this impromptu lunch seemed like the future pushing into the sunlight.
    When lunch was ready, Ox opened his hands to accept a kebab, but his blunt fingers looked too lacerated to eat.
    Runt didn’t blink. Pulling a buttery bite from the skewer, he fed Ox with his hands like a slave. “Open up.”
    Ox squinted in confusion, but did as told, allowing his partner to place the perfect smoky flesh on his tongue. Hungry as ever, he sucked the steaming eel out of Runt’s grip, then licked the calloused fingers clean. A cat’s grin.
    Runt laughed. “Oi! If you bite me, I’ll grill your fat knob.”
    Eyes closed, Ox nodded again, chewing in bliss.
    So Runt fed him, hamming it up. He didn’t pause to eat himself until the big man made him.
    Then Runt took his first bite of the livestock he’d raised for a year and a half.
    Oh.
    He knew the succulent white meat had been biodesigned for nutrition, but the buttery sweetness exploded in his mouth. Real food! And the charred mango . . . He hadn’t realized how hungry he was for a meal that didn’t come pre-chewed out of a bag.
    Ox reached for another skewer, but Runt stopped him. “Hey! Don’t hurt yourself. I won’t let you starve.”
    The giant rolled his eyes.
    “Spokestars shouldn’t have to feed themselves.” Runt alternated between them, enjoying the food and sharing it, serving and smearing a greasy, hilarious mess that covered them both chest to chin. They filled themselves to bursting and belches.
    By the time they’d finished, Ox had consumed three times the amount Runt could, and even so, enough barbecued protein remained to feed them for days.
    Odd’s Gods, I’m blessed.
    Runt almost dozed off right there in the sunny sand beside his cofarmer when he was suddenly smothered in hairy muscle. “Agh!”
    Ox had tackled Runt like a depraved goon. Scooping up his undersized partner, he ignored all squirms, cackles, and protests and dragged them both into the warm waves to wash.
    Runt’s body reacted immediately to skin contact and the slippery churn of the water and he made sure to stay a little apart. No need to embarrass either of them with the rammer he’d gotten from breathing Ox’s pheromones and ingesting all that fresh flesh like a barbarian.
    But Ox wanted to play, splashing and grunting like a happy sea monster and then dragging them both back to the gleaming beach to dry, rubbing Runt’s full belly in gratitude as they dozed off under twin suns on an ivory scimitar of sand.
     

     
    When Runt’s lids drifted open, the sand had cooled and blue-black night had crept up on them; he still felt sleepy and pleasantly unhungry.
    About two meters away, Ox had built another small fire out of dry bamboo. The giant sat cross-legged beside him, looking up at the sky and smiling at something secret. He half-reclined, braced on his heavy arms, his face tipped back to see the sky. One powerful thigh lay pressed against Runt’s ribs.
     “Stars seem all wrong here.” Runt spoke softly as he rolled over, so Ox wouldn’t be startled. But of course, Ox never got startled; he just turned and shook his head once, wrinkling his brow into a question.
    “Not bad-wrong, but I mean, I forgot about stars back when HardCell shipped me out. Nothing was where I’m used to it. Because we’re so far from the system where I grew up.” Runt looked back at the spark-spattered black overhead.
    “If I was home, y’know . . . the solar system I come from, I’d point toward here —” Runt patted the creamy sand as he’d pat a horse. “—and call this patch of the sky Andromeda ’cause of some old character, but it’s