Myles raised his hands in frustration. “We don’t have enough crocks of shit!”
Jane glared. “Well at least I’m not constipated!”
The last two passengers on a wayward space liner, they were trying to survive. While Jane’s inventory revealed food stocks that would carry them for six months, they had to make that food stretch for two years.
Constantly famished, they planted potato and other root vegetables on the main deck, using their own waste as fertilizer. But, as Myles just noticed, the makeshift farm was perhaps too big.
They didn’t dare ask if fluorescent lights would grow plants.
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