The First of the Stoners
Copyright© 2026 by Al Steiner
Chapter 22: Taking Care of Business
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 22: Taking Care of Business - 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
February 18, 2136
It was Roxy who had stayed the night with him on Friday, so it was Roxy he woke up with on Saturday morning.
They were both naked, cuddled together beneath the covers, warm and comfortable. They had fucked until around 23:00 and had slept until now—08:54.
It was glorious to sleep in.
Nate had no off-recs to do today, which was a bit unusual of late. Since that first off-rec for Lez’s old lady, and the great review he had received from her, he had done half a dozen more installs.
All in Earth-town.
Each one had earned him somewhere between three and five hundred dollars of untaxed income to help keep him from spiraling into insurmountable debt to the no-burn motherfuckers. He was still in a negative spiral when everything was added and subtracted, but only a little one now.
And he had recently raised his off-rec price to forty dollars an hour now that he had six good reviews and zero bad ones. The Earthling fucks were insufferable at times, a waste of precious oxygen and carbon in general, but they were honest. He had done a good job for them and they had told the other Earthling fucks that. The system worked.
Roxy didn’t do off-recs.
She just lived her life like a good greenie and kept accumulating more and more debt to her name. She didn’t care. She was living her life like she wanted. She wasn’t vermin anymore. That was all that was important to her. She could work and eat and drink and smoke and fuck, and that was all that occupied her mind currently.
Nate didn’t begrudge her for this.
Sometimes it was tempting to join her.
He stretched and yawned and slowly extricated himself from Roxy’s embrace.
She woke during the breakaway maneuver and smiled at him.
“Morning, motherfucker,” she greeted, kissing his nose.
Her lips smelled of vaginal secretions—her own, from kissing him after he’d given her a special kiss. Nate didn’t mind.
“Getting up so soon?” she asked.
“I gotta offload,” he told her.
She sighed. “Dammit, me too.”
“I’ll go first,” he said, rolling out and putting his feet on the floor. “Snark, give us some dim lighting.”
“On it,” Snark said. “By the way, have you considered modern chamber pots for morning offloads?”
Nate had to stop and look at the ceiling at that.
“Modern chamber pots?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Canoe Industries has models for both males and females. The urine is collected in a super absorbent pad that is then simply thrown away the next time convenient.”
“And ... why would I need such a thing?” Nate asked.
“Or me?” Roxy asked.
“To avoid the inconvenience of having to put clothing on and leave the room for bodily functions,” Snark said. “That alone makes it well worth the cost. Would you like me to place a link to the product in your inbox?”
“No,” Nate said.
“Are you sure?” Snark asked.
“Yes,” Nate said.
“Very well. But the prices are bound to go up as popularity of the item increases.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Nate said.
With that, he picked up a pair of shorts and an old T-shirt and threw them on. He then walked out into the common room.
Tyler and Deal were both out there.
Deal was here most mornings these days. They no longer bothered with the ritual of pretending no one had spent the night.
They just didn’t talk about it.
Lots of studying and coin collecting and research was done in the wee hours in the Nate and Tyler rezzie. Great things were accomplished. And those great things were tiring, so the friend in question—Roxy, Lissa, Deal—usually had to stay the night.
Sleeping on the floor, of course. With a pillow and a blankie.
That was the assumption by all involved.
“Hey, homos,” Nate greeted.
“I fucked your mom,” Deal said.
“I didn’t,” Tyler added. “Too skanky.”
“Too bad,” Nate replied. “I heard she was good at it.”
The preliminaries were now complete.
“You two already eat?” Nate asked.
“Fuckin’ A,” Tye said. “I made one of those chili omelets.”
“I thought I smelled chili,” Nate said. “Gotta offload.”
He stepped into the bathroom and took care of his business.
When he came back out, Roxy was waiting, now dressed in a pair of baggy shorts and her sleep top that she hadn’t slept in. She had fresh clothes in hand. She gave him a smile and stepped into the bathroom.
It went without saying that she was going to shower in there.
Neither of the guys even made note of her presence. Business as usual.
Nate went back to his room and retrieved his own clothes for the day. He then hung out near the door to the shitter. Far enough from Deal and Tye that they wouldn’t smell the rather pungent odor of his and Roxy’s lust smells mixed together.
“No off-rec today?” Tye asked, stuffing a vape pen full of Ag-B from the intox shop.
Greenies didn’t hold much to the old wait-until-17:00 school of thought that the Earthlings pretended to pay homage to. Especially not on a Saturday. Wake and bake was more the tradition in a greenie household.
“Nope,” Nate said. “I finally get a day off.”
“Hair girl comin’ over today?” Tye asked.
Hair girl was Lissa, and she was most welcome in their rezzie.
She brought money into it.
Word had been passed throughout Tower 8 about the greenie girl who cut motherfuckers’ hair and shit. A hundred bucks for standard boy haircuts. A buck-fifty for a standard girl’s haircut and style. Other shit open to negotiation.
And she used Tye and Nate’s rezzie for her operation.
Should have been annoying. Lissa made sure it wasn’t.
House got ten percent of the take. Referring person got twenty-five percent off the next cut.
The rezzie was now an intermittent parade of greenies from Tower 8 on Saturdays and Sundays from around 10:00 to 17:30 or so. And in that time, she would pull in around six to seven hundred dollars, which meant sixty or seventy to the house.
Nate and Tye put the house money into a fund that they used for Saturday dinners. And Nate and Lez put their heads and cooking knowledge together for those Saturday meals, always coming up with something elaborate that combined her professional skills with his catalogue of good old fashioned vermin home cooking.
Everyone won.
And they got to meet a lot of their neighbors too.
So far, none had been an asshole. None had been a thief. None had tried to hook up with Lissa or anyone else in the rezzie.
All had the same basic story as Nate or Tye or Lissa or even Xan. Tired of hopelessness and stagnation on Earth. A chance for dignity on Mars, even if it meant giving up the old life completely.
Even their very names.
Roxy emerged from the shitter a few minutes later, hair damp, the clean-soap smell of her cutting through the leftover chili and Ag-B in the common room. To Nate’s nose she was sweet in the specific way a body got after hot water and no hurry. Freshly bathed female was a good smell. A really good smell.
She took her brush into his room and shut most of the noise out behind her. Fine touches. The little ritual she always did when she had stayed.
Nate took the shower she’d left warm.
He stood under it long enough to rinse her reluctantly off of him. When he stepped out he smelled like the same soap she did, but somehow not as sweet. At least not to his nose.
He gathered the clothes—his and hers both—and stuffed the machine. It thumped once and settled into the usual low grind.
“You want a fuckin’ breakfast burrito?” he called toward the bedroom.
Roxy came out with her hair combed down and the last of the damp still in it. “Fuckin’ A,” she said. “Just tell me how much I owe.”
“Fifty bucks will cover it. I already got the egg protein and the veggies and shit.”
“Assfuck,” she said. She was already moving to the coffee machine.
Nate cooked.
The pan popped. Onion first, then the protein that pretended it had come out of an eggshell. He worked without talking. In the common room Roxy sat with Deal and talked money the way other people talked weather.
No-burn loans. How you timed a payment so the system thought you were still in the window. How you could stretch a month without feeding the thing if you hit the calendar just right and didn’t get greedy about it.
“It’s all timing,” Deal told her. “You pay early, you’re being played. You pay late, you’re a red fuckin’ flag. You pay on the day they expect you to panic, you get another thirty. They built it to feel like drowning. You just gotta drown on a schedule.”
Roxy nodded like she was taking notes. Nate had no idea what he was even talking about. The loan money came out on fuckin’ payday. No one had control over that shit. Or ... did they? He listened a little closer as he plated the burritos. He already knew how the spiral felt from the other end.
They sat on the couch to eat.
The holo was a live feed from a low-orbit satellite over Jupiter—no lecture, no scale bar, just the planet doing what it did. Swirls of red and orange turning over themselves. Now and then a flash of green, gone before you could decide if you’d really seen it.
Somebody had already put Ag-B in the air. Under that, the storm bands stopped being weather and started being pattern. Static shit, in the good way. The kind you could watch without having to be anywhere else.
Nate ate. Roxy ate. Jupiter kept rolling.
Just about the time the Jupiter sat crossed the terminator and switched to infrared imaging, the door to the rezzie slid open and Lissa came walking in like she owned the place.
She didn’t. None of them did.
But she certainly had a partial interest in the grounds.
As such, she had been given blanket permission to enter the rezzie during weekend hours up until 21:00. No questions asked.
Of course, she was polite about it. She always sent a voice text before coming over.
“Wassup, slut-dawg?” Nate greeted when she came in.
She was looking particularly girly today. She had found that customers, men and women alike, tended to kick in a little extra dinero when she dressed girly. She had on a frilly pink blouse with white accents and a pair of form-fitting black shorts that were just on the right side of slutty by the barest of margins.
Nate took a moment to admire her legs.
It would be her night tonight.
He was already looking forward to it.
Lissa was a little softer than Roxy—everywhere except the tits, that was. Neither were into northern docking missions, however.
Nate was starting to think that he would have been better off if Darla had never shown him that. Like the blind who could never see, he wouldn’t know what he was missing.
Not for the first time of late, he could just imagine himself from a year ago, living on Earth and thinking a simple handjob was the most one could hope for prior to going to the marriage clinic. What if the two Nates could talk about this shit?
So, future Nate, past Nate would say after hearing of his dilemma, your issue is that you’re fucking two women regularly just for the fun of it, without any of the pitfalls of marriage, but neither one will suck your dick—something that I didn’t even know was a thing until you mentioned it? Bro, that’s a raw motherfuckin’ deal! Thanks for warning me away from Mars!
“Wassup, mofos?” Lissa asked, tossing down her little hair-shit-kit, as she herself referred to it, that contained all of her supplies. Brushes, combs, scissors, clippers, water bottle, gel, shit like that.
She had invested some of the money made from the first round into a professional-level kit that she had never been able to justify before.
“How many scheduled for today?” Tyler asked her.
“Four motherfuckers,” she said happily.
She did not have to mention that those four motherfuckers would all be greenies either from this building or one of the others nearby. Lissa had only had two Earthling clients so far—Lez’s old lady and Lez’s old lady’s close friend—but both had been done in Earth-town at the Earthlings’ respective residences.
Lissa didn’t mind.
She charged eight hundred base rate for Earthlings. She could walk her ass to them for that kind of dinero.
“First one is at 10:30,” she said. “Then thirteen, fifteen, and sixteen-thirty. The first three are guys. The last is a girl.”
“All firsts?” Nate asked.
“All firsts,” she said. “Don’t know any of them, but they’ve heard of me.”
“Word gets around,” Tye said with a smile. He was one of the ones who made sure it got around. He was, after all, half of ‘the house.’
“Can I score some fuckin’ coffee?” Lissa asked.
“You know where the shit is,” Nate told her.
Lissa had time for one cup of coffee before her first customer of the day.
His name was Sky Loser and he had been on Mars for seven years now, was married, and had his one legal child, age five. Her name was Krishna Loser. He showed a holo of her. She was as pussy as could be. The Loser family (obviously not Sky’s original surname) lived up on the ninety-seventh floor of Tower 8, where the family units were. His daughter attended the elementary school in Tower 9 across the fuckin’ street. The teachers there were AI holos, but good ones, he said.
Sky worked in the water processing plant, overseeing the bots that did the actual work in his particular specialty of turning incoming Martian groundwater into potable greenie water that could be added to the municipal supply.
He was happy to chat with the greenies in the room while Lissa snipped and combed and sprayed and gave him a badass haircut for only a hundred bucks.
And, since she looked pussy as hell in her pink blouse and tight shorts, and since her boobs had incidentally touched the back of his shoulder a few times, he added another twenty atop that.
“Because Fuck The Man,” he said, like that explained a tip in a world that had mostly forgotten what one was.
Lissa took it. She was happy to take it.
She just didn’t quite get it. Tipping had died when World War III flushed the economy down the shitter and nobody had bothered to pick the custom back up. You paid the price or you didn’t buy the thing. Extra money for being pretty while you cut hair was a ghost habit, and here was this seven-year greenie handing it to her anyway.
Nor was he the first one to have done it. An extra ten, an extra twenty, that was what everyone was doing when they sat in her chair. Enough that a policy had to be made. Nate-dawg and Tye were more than fair. The talent got to keep the extra money for herself. She was the one that earned it looking pussy and doing a good job and shit.
After Sky left the rezzie, promising that he would send his wife and daughter to her as well, Lissa directed her clinker to divvy up the spoils.
A hundred and twenty dollars went into Lissa’s account as a Misc Debt Payment. Her clinker then subtracted ten dollars of that and shipped it over to the “House Fund” that Tyler maintained on his clinker.
This fund was used to fund Saturday dinners primarily.
And good coffee.
Sometimes they gave the good coffee to the hair customers. That made them want to come back. It also made them want to tell their friends about Lissa the hair bitch. Not only does she cut hair for cheap, she gives you badass Earthling coffee.
That made it a business expense.
Not that any of the greenies really thought of it in that term. The Principles of Taxation and Deductions were not given much teaching time in vermin schools.
It was just common sense to them.
The door opened before the next customer arrived and there was Lez.
She was dressed in greenie clothes, as she always did when coming south of the One-Eight. She was now a regular Saturday visitor at the rezzie. She and Nate would put their heads together for the Saturday meals and they would inevitably come up with something everyone in the circle was more than happy to pay for—especially with subsidy funding from the house money.
She wasn’t inside for more than ten seconds before Lissa asked, “What are you two making tonight?”
“Stew,” Nate said.
“What the fuck’s that?” asked Tyler.
“An old vermin meal my mom used to make,” Nate said. “You take the end pieces from beef parts, and...”
“End pieces?” Tye asked.
“The part on the outside of the big chunks when they made it in the lab or wherever they make the shit,” Nate said. “The inside is what rich motherfuckers like Lez’s old lady and old man eat. The outside is tougher and stringy so it goes to the fuckin’ vermin mart. You gotta pressure cook the shit for hours to make it edible, but when you do ... fuckin’ premo shit.”
“It’s just meat?” Deal asked.
“No,” Lez said. “It’s got veggies and potatoes and spices and shit in it too. I’ve never made it before, but Nate-dawg told me how it’s done and I can think of a few ways to make it better.”
“Are you gonna have some of that fresh bread with it?” Tyler asked. “You know? The crusty one?”
“We’ll have the crusty one,” Nate said. “In fact, we’re going to head down now and get the shit. It has to pressure cook at least three fuckin’ hours before we even put the veggies in.”
“And we have to treat and beat the meat a little too.”
“My cutting hair in here won’t be in the way?” Lissa asked.
“Not as long as you stay away from the counter. Don’t want no fuckin’ hair in the meat.”
“That would make a squeam,” Lez said. “You ready, Nate-dawg?”
“Fuckin’ A,” Nate said. “Anyone need anything we can pick up?”
“If you go to the intox, can you pick up a quarter of Brown for me?” Tye asked.
“Yeah, no prob,” Nate said.
Tye did not have to assure Nate that he would square up with him.
It absolutely went without saying.
Xan came over just before lunch. She was part of the group and wanted in on both lunch and dinner. She was wearing her typical outfit of loose, baggy shirt and loose, baggy shorts. Her hair still looked pussy though. She had recently had Lissa touch it up.
Lunch was simple. Lunchmeat sandwiches and chips. Only thirty dollars apiece.
Dinner was going to run them ninety-three apiece though. But you could already tell it was going to be worth it.
Nate and Lez began putting the stew together after lunch, while Lissa was working on her thirteen hundred appointment.
The man’s name was Trent Toker, and he was a four-year greenie who had grown up in Bogotá, down in South WestHem.
He, like Tyler who had grown up in Mazatlán, didn’t speak Spanish. Nor did he have any Hispanic features. Nor did he have any appreciation or even knowledge of Colombian food, which was considered some of the best in the world. He worked in the food warehouse that AgriCorp maintained on the edge of the city near the spaceport and the rail line to Eden. Again, supervising bots instead of doing any actual physical labor.
When Roxy asked him if he had made any friends on the trip to Mars, he only gave a blank look. But when Tyler spoke to his Smooth and Studly rezzie-com and asked the man what he thought of it, Trent said it was very static and that he liked it a lot.
Roxy and Nate passed a knowing look.
So did Deal and Tyler.
And the two miners spent a lot of time talking to Trent Toker while Lissa gave him a badass haircut.
He gave her twenty dollars atop the hundred-dollar base fee. He told her he would send his butt-buddy to her soon. And he and Tye and Deal all bumped clinkers before he left, “in case we want to meet for a beer or something sometime.”
Nate, meanwhile, was learning all kinds of static things about cooking stew.
“Mom used to just throw everything in and pressure cook it for three hours,” Nate said. “It came out pretty good.”
“I’m sure it did,” Lez said, “but we can improve on the concept. We already talked about the meat being cooked for two hours before the veggies are added.”
“Fuckin’ A,” Nate said. “Mom always was dancing with soft vegetables and tough fuckin’ meat. I don’t know why that shit never occurred to anyone.”
“It never occurred to me until someone taught it,” Lez said. “But let’s talk about the meat itself. It needs to be browned along with the onion prior to the main cook.”
“What the fuck for?” Nate asked.
And so she explained the Maillard reaction to him, and its significance in culinary science. She did not talk like a trained professional chef when she explained it. She explained like a greenie.
“Browning the meat releases chemicals and molecules and shit that make it taste better than grandma’s twat.”
And that made perfect sense to Nate.
So they browned the meat and the onion.
They used a yellow onion instead of the white onion that Nate’s mom had always used. White onions were cheaper. Yellow onions were better for a beef-based soup, Lez told him. She tried to explain why but Nate didn’t follow it.
He believed her though. She knew shit.
Once the meat was browned, she showed him how to use the juices and jarred beef stock—made from real artificial beef the jar proclaimed—to create a savory broth for the meat to cook in.
Nate’s mom always added only salt, pepper, garlic, and canned broth.
Lez did this, but also added smoked paprika, some cayenne, just a little bit of cornstarch, and a fuckin’ leaf.
Nate had just stared at this part for a moment.
“That’s a leaf,” he said.
“A bay leaf,” she said.
“Why is there a fuckin’ leaf in there? You didn’t even cut it up.”
“You take the leaf out after the cook,” she said.
“Then why the fuck do you put it in if you’re just going to take it out?”
“It adds flavor.”
“What kind of flavor? Fuckin’ tree?”
She looked at him for a moment and then smiled.
“Yeah, motherfucker,” she said. “Fuckin’ tree.”
Once it was all assembled, they set it to cooking.
Nate and Lez combined forces to clean up the mess. They still had to cut the vegetables, but that wouldn’t be for another hour or so.
They each got a beer. Nate had bought a sixer of Ag-Lager.
Lez would send him the cost of a single beer.
They were close enough for that kind of relationship.
While the meat was cooking and Lissa was between greenies who needed their hairs cut, Tye and Nate-dawg and Deal got into a game of poker.
Roxy joined them and they declared it was just like the old days on the Earth-to-Mars transit, where playing poker for five-dollar antes was one of the ways to pass the long, boring hours.
Lez watched them play for a bit but did not join. She had never learned the game and, in her opinion, betting dollars at a time was meaningless even at a greenie income level.
She didn’t understand the point.
Apparently Xan didn’t either.
She just sat on the couch by herself, reading something on her clinker.
Of all the people who hung out in this most social of places, Xan was the quietest. Lez sensed no hostility toward her, not even a little, but she could not quite get a read on the girl herself.
She knew she was the product of unauthorized breeding—an illegal second child.
She knew that Tye had done “something” that did not involve money to get her included on the trip to Mars.
Lez was curious by nature, and shy herself with new people so she could relate.
She wandered over.
“Static if I sit here?” she asked.
“Fucked if I care,” Xan said, giving the polite greenie term for you may join me on the settee if you please.
Lez sat.
“I notice that you read a lot,” she said.
It was easy to tell when someone was just reading something on their clinker as opposed to watching vids or holos because there was no vid or holo floating in the air.
Just text.
Rows and rows of text.
“Yeah,” Xan said. “I’m a big reader. Anything I can put my eyeballs on. Always have been.”
“Me too,” Lez said. “I like the fiction novels the best. Bark Enloe is one of my favorites.”
Xan’s eyes lit up and she put the clinker down next to her left hip.
“Enloe is badass,” she proclaimed. “I found her back in my fuckin’ early teens. Started with Amy’s Flower.”
“Me too!” Lez said.
And then they began to talk about the modern nihilist novels of Bark Enloe, who was reported to be a near-billionaire just from motherfuckers voluntarily paying a hundred dollars a shot to download her work.
It was reported she had been arrested and censored for anti-WestHem views at one time.
And Bark Enloe was most definitely not an AI writer like most of those these days.
Only a human fucking being could write like that.
From there they worked their way into other authors and other books. Xan was actually quite animated when discussing the subject, which was clearly her first love.
Lez was fine with that.
Good novels were her first love as well.
They talked of literature for nearly twenty minutes.
Xan lost all pretenses of shyness, as did Lez herself. She and Nate had talked a little of novels—she had actually introduced Nate-dawg to Enloe and he was reading her now—but Nate-dawg was a guy and guys just couldn’t appreciate Enloe the same way as a girl.
Xan actually held the same views and they bonded discussing it.
From there, Lez was able to ask her about growing up as an un-person.
Lez had known a few un-people growing up—all vermin did—but had never gotten to know one on a personal level. They didn’t go to school. Their parents tended to keep them hidden away most of the time because being caught with an unauthorized child meant forfeiting all public assistance except housing and food.
And they tended to be shy even when out in public.
Xan was the first one she had ever actually had a conversation with and her curiosity got the better of her.
“Why did your parents decide to do it?” she asked. That was the part she didn’t understand.
The answer was not what she expected.
“Our parents were basically morons,” Xan said. “They didn’t have me because they wanted a second one so fuckin’ bad that they took the risk. They just fuckin’ forgot to go back to the clinic and get the repro blocks turned back on after Tye was born. That’s why I exist. Because they fuckin’ forgot.”
“That’s it?” Lez asked, astonished. There had to be more to it than that, didn’t there?
“That’s fuckin’ it,” Xan said, taking a sip from her beer. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, they weren’t assholes or anything, just dumbshits. Mom did everything she could to teach me what the fuck I needed to know to survive and shit, and dad was ... just kind of there, I guess, but they loved us. We loved them. They tried. But they were basically morons. Tye and I were not morons. Not sure how that shit happened, but we always relied on each other. Tye was the one who really took care of me. Always did. Still does.”
“That’s so fuckin’ static in a way,” Lez said. “A brother. I can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like.”
Xan looked at her for a moment, her eyes thoughtful. “I never thought about it that way,” she said. “I always just took having a brother for granted. Most motherfuckers don’t have one though.”
“Nope,” Lez said. “And we don’t have aunts or uncles or cousins either. That shit used to be normal back before the war.”
“It’s hard to even imagine it,” Xan said. “Deep shit. We should smoke some Brown and talk about this more.”
Lez smiled. “I swiped another quarter from the old lady,” she said. “Maybe it’s time to burn some.”
Xan smiled back. “I like the way you think, ho-bag.”
Everyone else liked the way she thought too.
Everyone got stoned. Even Lissa.
It never would have occurred to her that smoking out before a client arrived was inappropriate. She would never have dreamed of toking up before climbing the high steel and putting beams into place because that was life-and-death shit.
Cutting hair was not life-and-death shit.
And truthfully, she did a better job if she was a little bit baked.
And so she toked as well.
And when her last appointment of the day arrived, a woman named Tina Teabag, she did not try to hide the fact that she had just vaped some Brown.
She invited Tina Teabag, who said to call her “TT,” to take a few tokes herself.
And TT was happy to do so. She was a greenie after all. And it went well with the badass coffee she was served.
Such was life in Greenie-town in the upswell of the Martian Agricultural Rush.
It turned out that TT was a New Pittsburgh police officer.
She didn’t tell them that at first. She just said she worked for the city.