The First of the Stoners
Copyright© 2026 by Al Steiner
Chapter 19: Do the Hustle
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 19: Do the Hustle - For readers of the Greenies Universe, this is where it all began. In 2135, nineteen-year-old Nathan Stoner is offered something no vermin has seen in generations: a real job. The catch? It's on Mars. Follow the first wave of colonists as they leave Earth behind and build the foundations of the society that will one day shape the entire Greenies timeline.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Fiction Science Fiction
New Pittsburgh, Mars
January 21, 2136
Nate entered the lobby of the Earthling rezzie building for the second time at 08:56.
He was wearing his new toolbelt. Hanging from it and stowed in its various pouches were more than two thousand dollars’ worth of tools. The purchase had hurt. It had hurt a lot. It had required taking out additional money on his no-burn loan. The thought of voluntarily increasing his debt load had nearly caused him physical pain.
Still, he knew it was for a good cause. Tools weren’t consumption. Tools were investment.
All he had to do was complete this job on time—or maybe even an hour or two under allotment—and provide professional-grade service while doing it. That would lead to a positive review. Positive reviews led to more off-recs. More off-recs led to more money. The math was simple.
And Nate knew how to do the work. Hopefully Amelia Brown knew how to write a good review in return.
He crossed the lobby and rode the elevator upward. A short time later he stepped out onto the correct floor and followed the familiar grid of corridors until he reached the Browns’ door. A quick glance at the time showed it was 08:61. In the culturally acceptable window.
Nate adjusted the weight of his toolbelt, reached over, and pressed the button beside the door. About twenty seconds later the door slid open. Leslie stood there. She was wearing a red blouse and a pair of baggy black lounging shorts. She gave him a small smile when she saw him.
“What up, mofo?” she asked.
“Here to work for the fuckin’ man,” Nate replied, patting his toolbelt.
“Well,” Leslie said, “funny you should mention that shit, because The Man is here right now. He wants to go over a few things with you.”
“What kind of things?” Nate asked carefully.
Leslie shrugged. “Details about the installation, power hookups, current draw, shit like that.”
“Does he know about shit like that?” Nate asked.
“Highly fuckin’ doubtful,” she said. “He’s a fuckin’ accountant. He works in an office building downtown counting money for NorthHem Mining. He’s never seen a fuckin’ mine in his life. Never done anything electronic other than have his rezzie-com turn on his computer for him. Still, he wants to tell you how to do your fuckin’ job.”
“It sounds like you don’t like his ass much,” Nate observed.
“I don’t,” she said simply. “If it wasn’t for Aimes being so nice I would’ve blown this fuckin’ scene on day two. Fortunately his ass isn’t home much.”
“All right then,” Nate said. “I guess I should get this over with. Is he gonna hover over me the whole fuckin’ time I’m working?”
“No,” Leslie said. “You lucked out on that shit. He and Aimes are going out for high tea in about an hour or so.”
“What the fuck is high tea?” Nate asked.
“Fucked if I know,” Leslie said. “They do it every Saturday though. And they come back around five or so staggering and giggling and smelling like booze and buds, so I’m not sure how much fuckin’ tea is really involved.”
Nate pondered this for a moment. “Earthlings are fuckin’ weird,” he said.
“You ain’t blowin’ smoke up my ass,” Leslie agreed, using a time-honored vermin phrase for I believe your hypothesis is fundamentally correct.
Leslie led Nate inside.
In the living room stood Amelia Brown. She was dressed rather smartly in a pair of black slacks and a maroon faux-satin button-up blouse that outlined her large breasts quite well. An absurd amount of lipstick decorated her lips and her artificially blond hair was neatly styled. She looked classy. It was a look that vermin and greenies generally did not strive for, which made it a little startling to encounter up close and personal.
“Ahhh, Nathan,” Amelia said. “Welcome. Right on time. I like that. It’ll go in the review no matter what else happens.”
“I appreciate that, Amelia,” he said, remembering to call her by first name, as requested. He glanced around the living room. “Uh ... the furniture is still here. And the pictures and shelves and things too. And all the stuff on the shelves.” He didn’t mention the obvious part. The understanding had been that all this shit would be removed before the job began.
“Oh, that,” Amelia said dismissively. “Leslie will help you move it all. She’s on the clock today just for that.”
Nate thought about asking for another hour of allotment time because this was going to take at least that long. But he let it slide. He was still establishing himself here.
“We’ll put it all in the office,” Leslie told him. “It won’t take any time at all.”
“Well ... okay,” Nate said doubtfully.
He wasn’t sure how helpful Leslie was going to be. She was a tiny wisp of a girl, even more petite than Xan. A little shorter too. Was she going to be able to handle her end of a fuckin’ couch?
He suppressed a sigh. Fuckin’ Earthlings.
“Awesome,” Amelia said with a little clap of her hands. It was actually kind of cute, Nate had to reluctantly admit. “I’ll let you get directly to work after Mister meets you.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Nate said, keeping it in Earthling language instead of the more common, ‘sounds like an assfuck’ that greenies used among themselves.
He was about to unstrap his toolbelt so it wouldn’t interfere with furniture moving when the door leading toward the bedroom area slid open and the man of the house appeared. He was of average height, maybe one hundred and eighty-five centimeters or so, and was dressed in a full-on suit and tie. On a fuckin’ Saturday.
And his hair ... It was balding in the middle, with healthy tufts of hair on either side. The classic representation of the competent accountant. Only it wasn’t real. He wasn’t actually balding. Nate could tell that much immediately. The man was carefully shaping his hair with a laser shaver in order to create the appearance of premature male-pattern baldness.
Why in the fuck would someone deliberately make themselves look like that?
Nate was astounded.
“Mister,” Amelia said formally, “this is Nathan. He’ll be doing the installation of our new walls and floor enhancement system. Nathan, this is Mister Brown.”
“How do you do, Mister Brown,” Nate said politely, holding out his right hand.
Mr. Brown looked at it for a moment. He seemed very reluctant. Finally he extended his own hand and gave two quick pumps before immediately withdrawing it again. A second later he wiped his hand on his pant leg.
“You’re a greenie, right?” Mister Brown asked.
“Yes,” Nathan said levelly.
Though he and Lissa and Roxy and his coworkers tossed that word around almost proudly among themselves, no greenie liked hearing it come out of an Earthling mouth. But what could he do? Lose his off-rec job and never get another because he popped some rich Earthling motherfucker in the face?
Hell, he’d probably get to see the inside of a Martian prison if he did that.
Before Nate could say anything else, Mister Brown’s attention settled on the toolbelt hanging around his waist. “What are all those for?” he asked.
Nate glanced down. “The tools?”
“Yes.”
“Well...” Nate said. “For installing the system.”
“Yes, of course,” Mister Brown said. “But which ones are which?”
The question caught Nate slightly off guard. He had expected questions about the job. Maybe about the floor panels. Maybe about the wall units. Instead Mister Brown appeared fascinated by the toolbelt itself.
“This one is a laser level,” Nate explained, tapping a compact unit hanging from his right side. “Projects a straight reference line so everything goes in square.”
“I see,” Mister Brown said seriously.
“This is a power driver.”
“Yes.”
“This is a cable tester.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“This is a voltage probe.”
“Of course.”
Nate found himself wondering whether the man actually knew what any of those things were. Judging by the expression on his face, probably not.
Mister Brown pointed at another item. “And that?”
“Wire strippers.”
“And that?”
“Panel alignment gauge.”
“Very good.”
Nate suppressed a sigh. Very good? Was he taking a fucking test here?
Mister Brown pointed to yet another item. “And that one?”
“That’s a torque driver.”
“What does it do?”
“It applies a specific amount of rotational force to fasteners so they don’t get over-tightened.”
“Excellent,” Mister Brown said.
Nate was becoming increasingly convinced that the man had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. An idea occurred to him. Just as a little experiment.
Mister Brown pointed to a small metal tool clipped to the rear of the belt. “And that?”
Nate looked at it. It was actually a simple laser guided integrity sensor used for checking wire insulation structure.
“That’s a harmonic buzz-volt leakage equalizer,” he said with a straight face. “It keeps the energized electron charges from leaking out of the wiring.”
“Ah. I thought so,” Mister Brown said with a satisfied nod.
Nate stared at him. The motherfucker hadn’t even blinked.
“I find that people often overlook the importance of proper charged electron management,” Mister Brown continued. “It’s good to see that you have the proper tool.”
“I may be cheap, but that’s only because I’m new to Mars,” Nate replied.
Leslie suddenly developed a violent coughing fit and turned her face toward the wall. Amelia’s lips twitched suspiciously.
“Well,” Mister Brown said, apparently satisfied that Nate was indeed familiar with the contents of his own toolbelt. “Everything seems to be in order.”
“Glad to hear it,” Nate replied.
Mister Brown checked the time on his clinker. “Oh dear.”
“What?” Amelia asked.
“We’d better get going,” he said. “Otherwise we’ll arrive late and be forced to attend medium-height tea instead.”
Amelia laughed. “That’s terrible, Mister.”
Leslie laughed too, though hers sounded somewhat forced.
Nate looked back and forth between them. He assumed some kind of joke had just occurred. He had absolutely no idea what it was.
After a moment he joined in. That seemed to be the final test and he seemed to have passed it. Shortly after that, Amelia and Mister (is that his fuckin’ name or does he make his wife call him ‘mister?’ Nate wondered) headed out the door after Mister advised Leslie to keep a real close eye on her ‘greenie friend.’
The moment the door slid shut behind them and the Browns had a little distance to walk toward the elevator, Nate turned to the house-bitch. “Is it just me, or does that motherfucker have a size-eleven stick up his ass?”
Leslie smiled. “It’s a size fifteen actually,” she said. “He’s all bluff and bluster. Really good at figuring out profits versus losses in molybdenum operations in the northern hemisphere, but not good for much else.”
“What’s with the hair?” Nate asked. “I never seen no shit like that before.”
“Oh, that,” Leslie said with a chuckle. “That’s the uniform of the accountant.”
“The uniform of the accountant?”
“Fuckin’ A,” Leslie said. “Apparently accountants are considered the best if they’re white guys with bald heads but hair on the sides, so they all make sure they look like that. No one would hire an accountant with normal hair.”
Nate stared at her. “You’re shittin’ me.”
“I wish I was.”
“So...” Nate said slowly, “they think that looking like that makes you a good accountant? Not that good accountants just tended to look like that and there were lots of them that didn’t?”
“Welcome to Mars, greenie,” Leslie told him. “They even fuck up the Earthlings here.”
“That’s some weird-ass shit,” Nate said, shaking his head. “Does the old lady really like that asshole?”
“She likes him for what his ass represents,” Leslie said. “He’s a meal ticket. Makes half a million a year counting beans for The Man and that means that Aimes don’t gotta work and gets to sit around and have high tea and pay for a second kid, so she’s into him for all of that. You couldn’t pry her ass out of his arms with fuckin’ primacord. But as for actually liking him? I’m thinking not. They sleep in separate rooms. Don’t talk to each other much unless they’re going to some event and he needs a reasonably classy bitch to have on his arm.”
“That would be those family values the Earthlings and the WestHem assholes are always going on about.”
“You got that shit right,” Leslie said. “It makes for an easy gig for me.”
Nate looked around. “Speaking of the kids, where are they? I’d of thought they’d be watching. I would have when I was a kid.”
“They’re off at some accounting camp for the weekend,” Leslie said. “Won’t be back until tomorrow night.”
“Accounting camp?” Nate asked. “That sounds like fuckin’ torture.”
“Apparently Earthling kids love it,” Leslie said. “The little shits have been bouncing off the fuckin’ walls about it all week.”
Nate could see that Leslie said this with affection and not malice. She genuinely liked the two Brown children. That was obvious.
A weird dynamic in this place.
Nate got to work.
For the next hour, he and Leslie moved everything out of the living room, starting with the furniture. Nate’s worry that Leslie would not make a good assistant proved completely unfounded. She was strong, wiry, and full of energy. She picked up her end of the hundred-kilo couch like it weighed nothing and gave him perfect directions on which angles to take as they maneuvered it through the doorway and into the office.
After that they removed the shelves and stored the contents.
As they worked they chatted about greenie things. Nate told her a little about his job on the high steel. So far there had been no further weather delays.
Leslie told him a little about her journey to Mars. She was an official child of a third-generation vermin family in Texas. Her parents had loved her very much. That was why they had encouraged her to get a job on Mars. They didn’t want her living her life the way they had lived theirs.
She still talked to them at least once a week, although talking to someone on Earth in real time was impossible. The speed-of-light delays saw to that. A signal took a minimum of three and a half minutes to travel between the two planets, which meant seven minutes for a simple question and answer exchange in transmission time alone.
And that was just the minimum, when the two planets were closest to each other every twenty-six months or so. Currently it took about eight minutes for a signal to make the trip from one world to the other. When Mars was all the way on the opposite side of the sun from Earth it could take twenty minutes. And when the sun itself blocked the transmission and the signal had to be routed through Jupiter first, it could take as long as ninety minutes depending on where Jupiter happened to be in the great scheme of things.
But she still did it anyway. That made Nate feel a little guilty. He had only commed his parents a handful of times since arriving. Most of those conversations had resembled email exchanges more than actual discussions.
“You seem to really like Amelia,” Nate pointed out as they carried a shelf into the office.
“She’s a static bitch,” Leslie said. She considered for a moment. “For an Earthling anyway.”
Nate chuckled as she turned the common qualifier the Earthlings used on its ass. He liked her sense of humor.
“We get along,” Leslie continued. “Like I said, she’s the only reason I stay here and don’t go back to cooking at Mama Rosa’s or some other fancy-ass roach pit.”
Once the room was cleared he was able to go to work in earnest.
The first part of the job—the most difficult and time-consuming part—was wiring. Power needed to be run to all four walls and the floor. Not the magnetic power that came from the outlets but actual hard-wired power. One hundred and ten volts of AC. That was what it took to power a system like this. And that meant tapping into the existing main power trunk.
Not a problem for Nate. He knew how to do it.
There were, however, some unwritten legalities involved.
“Your old lady’s building sup is down with what we’re doing here, right?” he asked Leslie, who was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs in an area he wasn’t currently working in, sipping something green—iced tea or some shit like that.
“Of course,” Leslie said with a knowing smile. “She got the shit in an email and everything. The old lady told me so.”
“Fair enough,” Nate said.
Someone had told him it was okay after hearing about it from someone else. An email allegedly existed. Fuckin’ A. As far as he was concerned, that constituted full legal permission to cut into the walls and tap into the wiring. Better to ask forgiveness than permission was a time-honored vermin rule of life. But they always added: Better to get away with the shit completely and not have to ask for a fuckin’ thing.
It was close to noon when he finally made his tap into the main electrical line without having to kill the power. Killing the power would set off an alarm in the sup’s office and he might want to come see what was happening. That really wouldn’t be good business. He might ask to see the email that he allegedly sent and things could get messy. Not that Nate would be in trouble, but he might not get paid.
Now he had switches installed for his own trunk wiring.
About ten minutes earlier Leslie had excused herself to go get lunch. He had assumed she was ordering something. He had heard that rich people ordered food and greenies working for a delivery service just brought the shit to them. Another off-rec gig.
But what he smelled now was cooking. And not roach pit cooking.
Actual cooking.
It was buttery, with a hint of garlic, and it smelled incredible.
Leslie stepped back into the room from the kitchen.
“Why don’t you come eat lunch, Nate?” she asked. “I made you a sandwich.”
“A sandwich?” he asked. “It smells like you were cooking something.”
She giggled. “I was. It’s a Montecristo sandwich.”
“What the fuck is that?” he asked.
“Come into the kitchen and you’ll find out, mofo,” she told him.
She then went back through the doorway.
Nate shrugged off his toolbelt and followed after her.
Leslie was sitting at a small table tucked into the corner of the kitchen. It was only big enough for two people. Two plates sat upon it. Both held sandwiches. Cooked sandwiches. A golden-brown crust surrounded them and melted cheese oozed from between the slices.
“You cooked a sandwich,” he said, astounded. “I never heard of that before. What did you call it? A Monty Crisco?”
“Montecristo,” she corrected. “Leftover ham from last night, some cheddar cheese. Some garlic pesto. Put it together. Coat it in egg protein. Fry the motherfucker up until the fuckin’ cheese melts.”
“That’s badass,” Nate said. “Where can I wash up?”
“The fuckin’ sink,” Leslie said. “Where do you think, buttwipe?”
He gave her a greenie smile.
She returned it.
The sandwich was incredible.
“Where did you learn to do this?” Nate asked. “At the Mama Rosa’s place?”
“Are you kidding?” Leslie said. “This is vermin food. They don’t serve that at Mama fuckin’ Rosa’s, greenie.”
“Did your mom make it then?”
“My mom used the slowpot to store her fuckin’ bread and coffee,” she said. “The first home-cooked meal I ever had was one I made myself when they started training me. I learned the Montecristos from one of the girls that worked with me. She was a greenie. From somewhere up near Chicago I think. Her mom used to make ‘em for the family when she played like they were puttin’ on airs and she showed me how. Easy way to use up leftovers.”
“It’s fuckin’ brilliant,” Nate said. “All you did was add some egg protein to a sandwich and turned it into this. You could do it with chicken too!”
“I don’t know about fuckin’ chicken,” she said. “I was shown to do it with ham.”
“It’s the same concept though,” Nate said.
“Maybe,” she allowed.
“You should try it when you have leftover chicken.”
“What the fuck do you know about it?” Leslie asked. “You cook?”
“Yeah,” he said. “My mom was good at it and I learned from her.”
“What kinda shit do you cook?” she wanted to know.
He saw that she was not just torquing his thrusters. She really seemed interested. “All the usual vermin shit,” he said.
“There is no usual vermin shit,” she told him. “I’ve learned that from talking to other greenies who cook. Everything is regional in WestHem so fuckin’ ‘normal’ is different depending on where you were fuckin’ born and shit. You’re from the Northwest. California. Not coastal though. That means...” She thought for a moment. “Tacos. I bet you make a fuck of a taco. And meatloaf? Tell me you make meatloaf, motherfucker.”
“I make meatloaf,” Nate said. “Good shit too.”
“How do you make it?” she demanded.
He told her his basic recipe, though with the qualification that it could be altered depending on available ingredients. Bread crumbs, for instance, were not something you tended to have lying around in a vermin or greenie rezzie. But smashed-up crackers worked just fine. You just added less salt.
“Wow,” Leslie said, fascinated. “I never would’ve thought of that. I’ve always had fresh bread crumbs available. And the mustard? You just squirt in some regular old yellow sandwich mustard from a fuckin’ squeeze bottle?”
“Fuckin’ A,” Nate told her. “Just a little bit though. You can go too heavy on the fuckin’ mustard, but not on the garlic. Put half a jar of the shit in there.”
“I want to try your meatloaf, Nate-dawg,” she told him.
“I don’t happen to have any on me,” he told her.
“Are you making some tonight?”
“I’m making chili tonight.”
“Chili?” she asked. “What the fuck’s that?”
“Another West Coast thing. Surprised you haven’t come across it growing up in Texas.”
“I ate welfare mart food packs and school lunches every day of my fuckin’ life until I came to Mars,” Leslie told him. “And neither of those things had any fuckin’ chili as a selection on the fuckin’ menu. And it probably would’ve sucked compared to yours even if they did.”
“All good points,” Nate allowed.
And so he explained chili to her.
“That sounds fuckin’ incredible,” she told him. She looked around, as if expecting someone to be listening in. “Do you think if I gave you a container to take home, you could bring me some of that chili tomorrow?”
He looked at her and gave the expected greenie answer. “What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll make you a lunch tomorrow that you will tell your fuckin’ grandkid about.”
He looked at her for a moment, thinking it over. Then he nodded.
“Sounds like an assfuck,” he said.
Nate left the Brown rezzie just past fifteen o’clock, having put in a solid six hours. He had all the wiring set to go and would just need to install the actual hardware tomorrow. Four and a half, maybe five hours of work if he had no distractions.
Mister and Amelia still had not come home before he left. He was kind of glad about that. He didn’t want to have to deal with Mister drunk and stoned from his fuckin’ high tea.
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