Star farm.

Chapter One: The Offer

My name’s Ron Hosen, and my family’s run this patch of dirt for six generations. Ten years ago, my old man passed on, left the place to me. Ma followed a year later. That left just me and my wife, till cancer took her six months back. Now it’s just me, the fields, the stills, and the ghosts.

The farm’s called "Ron Boozer." Not ‘cause I drink like a fish—though I won’t lie, I like a nip now and then. No, it’s named that because two-thirds of my crops go straight into making alcohol. A good chunk’s ethanol for my gear. The rest? Booze I sell for profit. Made a name for myself, I suppose.

I used to have help—three good men and a housekeeper who was like a mom to us all. But ICE showed up outta nowhere, rounded them up, and that was that. I’ve been running things solo since. Ain’t easy. Out here in the sticks, you can’t just put out a Help Wanted sign and expect folks to come running.

Then came Kent. Just Kent. No last name, no nonsense. He showed up with another farmer named Gus, who I’d never met before. Said they had a proposition for me.

"Mr. Hosen," Kent began, "we’d like to relocate your farm. Everything—buildings, equipment, animals—moved to a new location. We’ll pay fair market for the land you’re leaving, and provide a stipend to help you get restarted."

I eyed him suspicious. "You’re telling me you can pick up my whole operation and plop it down somewhere else?"

Gus chuckled. "They did it for me. I run twenty hectares, and it all came through, same as promised."

Kent nodded. "Gus here was the first. You’d be the second. We’re aiming to recruit three more."

He asked to use my front porch to make some calls, and I waved him off. Gus stayed behind.

"Let’s walk," Gus said, grinning. "I’m mighty curious about them stills of yours."

We headed out back. Inside the barn, he let out a low whistle. Four stills sat arranged like a row of old faithfuls. One for ethanol—my biggest. One for corn mash, another for apple hard cider. The last was for honey pilsner. The fourth was a spare, mostly for overflow batches.

"This here’s impressive," Gus said. "Didn’t expect to see a whole distillery back here."

"I keep it running tight," I replied. "Just don’t touch nothing."

Gus leaned against a beam. "Look, Ron. I get it. It’s a lot to take in. But I’ll shoot straight with ya. The only real downside is you’ll be cut off from anyone you used to know. You got family?"

"Nope. Just me. Closest thing I had got hauled off. Well, gots me a daughter, but we ain’t talked in years."

"Then you’re in a good spot. How big’s your place?"

"Seven hectares."

"They’ll add three or four more for ya. Can’t expand where you’re going, so you’ll want more up front."

"And where exactly am I going?"

He grinned. "Can’t say. But think best-case scenario—and then double it."

He started laying out the perks. No taxes except for a flat ten percent on purchases. A proper town with all the basics: grocer, feed store, mechanics, blade sharpeners. Animals are pricey—twenty percent more than here—but your booze’ll sell for twice, maybe three times as much.

"What about water?"

"You’ll have to buy it. Doesn’t rain there regular like. But it’s cheap, and they’ll install solar-melt tanks that work off ice."

"Ice?"

"Yep. Ice blocks melt down daily using solar panels. Crazy, I know."

He went on about full daylight, twenty-four seven. Said it lets you run an extra crop a year. But you’d need help—and they’d provide that too.

"No ICE to worry about. Locals are different, but you okay with that?"

"Don’t care what they look like as long as they work hard and leave me be."

He nodded. "You’ll be fine then. Your bunkhouse holds ten, right?"

"Yeah. Only used four before, though."

"Then you’re golden. I’ll get you five for the fields, one for the house. Woman, likely. She’ll cook and clean."

He talked wages—credits, not dollars. One credit was $1.22 U.S., and they’d earn about a thousand credits quarterly, with the housekeeper earning more. Cheaper than what I’d been paying anyway.

He asked how I powered the place. I mentioned my ethanol generators. He offered to negotiate solar for free, winked, and said they wanted my booze bad.

"Alright, Gus," I said, finally. "I’m in."

"No need to sleep on it?"

"Ain’t got time. If I wait, I lose the farm anyway."

He nodded. "Right place, right time, huh? Maybe I’ll find ya a pretty one to keep things interesting."

"I ain’t looking," I said. "But if she’s easy on the eyes, I won’t complain."

He laughed loud and hearty. "Come on. Let’s find Kent."

And that’s how it all started—me, signing my life over to who-knows-where, hoping I wasn’t just buying snake oil.

But something told me, deep down, that maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something good.

Chapter Two: “New Digs, New Crew”

After signin’ my life away, I gotta admit—I felt a whole lot better. That contract might’ve just saved my bacon. They started the process that same day. Hauled me into the city and set me up in one of those fancy hotels where they leave chocolates on the pillow and fold the towels into animals.

They fed me well, too—steak, taters, real butter on the rolls. But when it came time to sleep, the nurse handed me a pill with a sheepish grin.

“You want me to take this before bed?”

“Aye,” she said, noddin’. “Sorry, Ron. It’s how we move folks over. You’ll be out for a couple days, but it’s all safe. I’ve done it three times. They’ll take care of you while you’re under. Nurse sits by your side the whole way.”

Well, that didn’t sound too bad. I’ve taken longer naps after Thanksgiving.

They put me in a recliner-looking contraption, all wired up like a science fair project, and before I could ask more questions, I was out.

Next thing I knew, I was wakin’ up in a big trailer that’d been parked square on my property. Or, what I assumed was still my property. Same ridgeline. Same breeze. Different... everything. A nurse helped me outta the contraption and said, “Welcome home.”

I stepped out into the bright sun, stretchin’. Felt like noon, but I couldn’t be sure. That’s when Gus wandered up, grinnin’ like a possum in a corn bin.

“Heyo, neighbor. Sleep well?”

“Uh... I think so. I closed my eyes, and now I’m here. That about sums it up.”

“Yup, that’s how it works. Come on, let’s check things out.”

We hopped in my old mule—now runnin’ on ethanol, no less—and did a lap around the place. I couldn’t believe my eyes. They’d installed solar panels already, got water tanks settin’ pretty, and everything looked... fresh. Too fresh.

When we got to the fields, my heart sank.

“Crops are almost past due, Ron,” Gus said. “Lucky for you, I brought help.”

“That can’t be right. They weren’t even half ripe when I left.”

“That’s what happens when you’re on a sun-drenched isle. Time works a little different. But don’t sweat it. New crew’s almost here. I gave 'em the crash course, so they should do fine.”

“Well, I’ll be... Thanks for lookin’ out for me, Gus.”

He just laughed and slapped my shoulder. “Us Earthlings gotta stick together.”

I blinked. “Earthlings?”

Before I could ask more, Gus came back an hour later—this time with a gaggle of folks in tow. Only... they weren’t exactly folks.

“Uh, Gus?” I started, takin’ a step back. “What am I lookin’ at?”

“These are your new workers,” he said, gesturin’ with a grin. “This here’s Lu, your house gal. These are her brothers. Don’t have names, so you can call ‘em what ya like.”

Six of ‘em. All with ears, tails, and fur patterns like house cats. I stared, squintin’.

“This some sorta prank show?”

“Nope. They’re the real deal. Locals. Got pushed off their land, and now we help 'em get settled. This isle you’re on? It's floatin’ up in the stars.”

He handed me a set of view-things, and I looked up. Behind the glare of the sun, I saw ‘em—planets. Dozens of ‘em. Rings, colors, some real wild-lookin’ ones.

That’s when my knees buckled.

Lu caught me before I hit the ground, and Gus waved her off to grab water. I sipped slow and breathed deep.

“So... I’m in space. Runnin’ a farm. With cat people.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Well, reckon I’d better get to it, then. Any of you boys ever run a tractor?”

A grey tabby and an orange one raised their hands.

“Alright, Three and Five? You’re now Tres and Cinco. Tres, you’ll haul in the hay. Cinco, barley. Gus, can you show the others how to handle the livestock? And Lu, mind makin’ us something simple in the kitchen?”

She nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

I pointed them all where they needed to go and got to work.