Weeks passed. Timmeh joined the Martian Feminists protesting against "phallic rockets" and insisting that future craft be shaped like something Timmeh had never seen before, although he had been called one many times in his life on Earth.
He’d hope one day to understand inside jokes and nuance but for now there were potatoes to harvest.
"There's a Dark Matter storm coming, I can feel it," Timmey said, clapping his hands together, the fine red terracotta dust hovered in the low gravity. He could feel the gravity waves coiling about his cankles like kittens.
"Time to pack it up Bruh" he said over his push-to-talk, his voice sounding like a tin fell down a well, "Lets saddle up and get these taters back to the the Hab".
After a hard day on the field, Timmeh prepared his and the future child's abode from the oncoming dark matter storm. It was a long night. While practicing breastfeeding on a potato he cleverly sneaked home from the days yield, he contemplated the gender of his baby and whether or not he should pre-change it.
The birth was painless for Timmeh; the drugs manufactured from the Mars potatoes were extraterrestrially effective.
Nursing the babe as it gently suckled he could not help but be astonished at the resemblance to the martian emperor Elon, “I shall call you Elan bruh” whispered Timmeh, a new prince is born.
Things were different on Mars, Timmeh could lactate without judgment from heteronormative bigots. "Gender is an old world construct," Timmeh smiled.
The Martian dusk was approaching, the Harvest moon of Phobos was waxed serenely in the sky as Timmeh clutched the new life to his breast. The lords of science who gave him new life on this formerly barren rock had also given him the gift of motherhood, and so he wept a solitary tear which booped his Martian child on the nose.
A new rainbow of emotion came over him as he awakened into his newfound motherhood.
Something was different. For the first time, Timmeh had no craving for the space crank that had claimed him in the past. He was clean!
This time he finally felt whole, and that he'd never again be forced to perform unspeakable acts on the surly Space-X mechanics for a fix.
(To Be Continued in COLONIZED BY ELON: A TIMOTHY OSMAN ROMANCE part 3 of 9)