“All farmhands on deck! This is an unlikely occurrence! Feger, Strogger, Neber and Prance! The Flats are on us, and we have the upper hand!” Bellowed the voice of Admiral Mervyn through the tinny speakers connected all throughout the four massive Skyfarms, clashing with blaring alarms, distant explosions, and blasting engines.

...

Was the last sentence confusing for you? I get that, no troubles at all, please let me explain.

In the distant future, farming on the “ground level” of the Earth became obsolete. With 3D printed food on the rise, the land was needed more for server farms than sustenance farms. The fields were scorched, the crops lost, and the farmers scorned. However… Not everyone was willing to eat 3D printed food, and slowly but surely, the demand for farm fresh fare had skyrocketed. But with nowhere left on the ground to grow and let pasture, the farmers had to look to the skies.

As world peace had already been achieved, the giant airships that had once caused such strife found new life as Skyfarms or Highranches. As there was no longer a need for giant airborne military bases, they were bought up by the farmers for a fraction of their worth, and converted into fully functioning farms, ranches, and vineyards. Many farmers chose wind technology to power their ships, some decided on methane methods from their livestock’s deposits, others self-fueled with their own corn’s oil… And after a while, the crafts took to the sky to begin their ploughing and sowing in peace.

Although peace between nations had been found, harmony was quickly forsaken in the clouds. With no regulations, rules, or honor, the farmers quickly began a fierce competition to win restaurant and supplier contracts. Sabotage was the key to success in the Skyfarm world, and many savvy saboteurs disabled key components of their competitor’s vessels. This practice was halted after a pig farm, the “Svvine Prince,” was deactivated over a large metropolis, destroying miles of city and killing hundreds of thousands.

After the falling of the “Svvine Prince,” there were finally some regulations put in place. In the US, where our story takes place, the Highranches were forced to move all operations above the Midwest, and were subject to massive group fines if another ship were to crash into any metropolitan area. That is when the sabotage came to an end, and alliances were formed. Farmers that raised livestock would team up with those who grew crops, finding the perfect balance to supply the desperate need for the farm fresh fare. Large farm fleets became the norm, with sometimes up to six Highranches working together to deliver orders to restaurants and grocers.

When the alliances developed, so did the politics, and the farm fleets were ruthless. Chicory Flats was a twenty farm alliance led by Captain Cherry Chicory, an 8th generation farmer, and she was feared in the skies. The fierce redhead was in her mid 40s, and mercy was not in her wheelhouse. She was the farming equivalent to royalty, her family had dominated the egg industry back when farming was still Earthbound.

Captain Chicory led her Skyfarm, the Early Bird, and the other nineteen under her command with an iron fist, and anyone in her path to wealth and domination was handily discarded. She would use old naval techniques to surround and conquer any Skyfarm that her fleet would come across, using harpoons and carbon fiber ropes to lock down the farms and board them. Once the harvest or livestock were taken, the captain and workers of rival farms were marched into her engine rooms to toil for the rest of their lives.

She dominated the Skyfarms, and she provided nearly 75% of all non-3D printed foods to the grateful grocers and restaurants, who didn’t care one way or the other how they got their delicious farm fresh fare. Of course there were a few farms able to evade the Chicory Flats, and even a few alliances. One such alliance was Mervyn’s Four, a small fleet of Skyfarms in perfect harmony. Stock, Veg, Poultry and Fish, each farm had their specialty. And Mervyn’s Four had carved themselves a nice chunk of business in the skies of South Dakota.

But when Chicory found out about this little operation, she unleashed her full fleet at the Mervyn’s Four, bringing us back to where we left off…

“You heard me, all farmhands on deck! We’ve prepared for this moment, all the four of us Skyfarms and Highranches, each person who has given everything they have to keep our fleet airborne! Remember your training and we can overcome the Chicory Flats, and avenge those that have been taken before their time! They are on us, and we have the upper hand!” roared Admiral Mervyn, once again filling the skies with his tinny voice through old metal speakers.

The farmhands all raised their fists and gave out a hurrah, very loyal to their admiral who kept the fleet flourishing. After the bout of camaraderie, they returned to their posts and prepared to defend themselves against the largest fleet in the skies, the Chicory Flats. Below deck, the packers continued dropping flightcrates full of their fleet’s fare to the customers below, nearly unaware of the imminent attack on their ship. The packers never had time to stop, as vast numbers of tubes constantly delivered eggs into baskets, meat onto butcher paper, and vegetables into chilled containers. No matter what happened, the orders had to go out. Some people on the ground really didn’t enjoy printed food.

Chicory Flats began separating into four different units, beginning an offensive maneuver that Admiral Mervyn had both expected and prepared for. Thanks to some intel from a rogue Chicken Cruiser, Mervyn knew that Chicory always surrounded her prey. He had an idea, and now was the time to execute it. Unbeknownst to Captain Chicory, a small squadron of maintenance helicopters had appeared at her farm’s stern. They began using their silo filling pipes to jam her engines with unripe potatoes and beets, and when they were 80% blocked, they alerted the Admiral. “NOWWW!,” Mervyn ordered, only to the speakers on Strogger Field, the largest Highranch under his command.

Armed with only a skeleton crew and the harpoons from the other three ships in the fleet, thousands of spikes flew from Strogger Field directly towards Captain Chicory’s flagship, the Early Bird, each equipped with extremely powerful metal cables. The harpoons walloped all over her ship, each one striking true and attaching tightly, connecting Strogger Field and Early Bird with an unbreakable bond. Admiral Mervyn watched this with glee, and then pressed the Strogger button on his radio setup once again. “Cut the engines!” he yelled ferociously.

Captain Tillman made a cross over himself and shed a single tear as he pressed the emergency cutoff button in the motor room, and immediately fell to his feet as soon as the engines abruptly grinded to a halt. Strogger Field began to fall towards the Earth, and everyone in Mervyn’s Four was grateful to their fellow farmhands for sacrificing themselves for the greater good. The weight of the Highranch pulled the massive Early Bird down, and Captain Chicory furiously screamed at her engineers on the bridge to keep the farm in the sky.

“Captain, engine capacity only at 15%, now 13%... Captain, we won’t be able to keep her in the air, we need-” her main engineer was cutoff as the bow of the ship cracked, her Skyfarm falling faster than ever.

Out of the massive fracture in her farm, millions of eggs began to lift into the air, floating weightless above the crashing ship. “You’re telling me that a worthless field is heavy enough to bring down our mighty flagship? We’ve dealt with worse, why is this HAPPENING!” Captain Chicory yelled at the engineer, who’s head now had a gash from the rough jolt of the cracking ship.

“Captain, normally we could deal with this weight, but not with our engines at this low of a capacity! Call the Grassy Fellow, Captain Brensan has a large squadron of re-fuel choppers, maybe they can get our engines back online!,” the engineer said with nervous urgency.

Captain Chicory dove for her radio communications board, and began jamming her finger on the Grassy Fellow’s com button. She looked up with misery in her eyes. “COMS?” She yelled.

“Captain, all communications are offli-” another engineer began to tell her as all of the glass in the bridge shattered, sparks flying from their computer terminals, screams resounding from all around.

The engines were now completely clogged, and the Early Bird was falling faster now than Strogger Field itself. The millions of eggs floating above her ship were now being collected by the maintenance copters, farmhands screaming with joy as they gathered more eggs than they could produce in a year. Captain Chicory looked at them with grim hatred, and walked off of the bridge without a second glance. “Captain, wait, where are you going, captain we need you!” An engineer begged, realizing she wasn’t turning back.

The others in control of what was left of the Early Bird began frantically searching for parachutes, finding only three. They looked at each other, teeth bared and hands on their holsters.

Captain Chicory ran to a golden silo with a rooster weather vane at the top, spinning as fast as the copter’s blades. Once inside, she tapped a code into a keypad on the wall, and a command chair and console rose from the floorboards. She latched a seatbelt, flicked some switches, and disengaged the silo from her Skyfarm. Once loose, engines ignited and she thrusted upwards, straight towards Admiral Mervyn’s own Neber Lake, a beautiful fishery Skyfarm that she knew to be his command ship. She typed a few strokes into her console, and red lights started flashing across her face. “Self destruct engaged,” said a robotic voice, followed by a robotic chicken cluck.

Admiral Mervyn looked at his viewfinder and saw the golden silo headed straight for his Neber Lake, and scoffed that she’d be so bold… and stupid. He pressed a brown button on his com panel, and smiled to himself. “Release the sty.”

A fat shirtless man in a pair of overalls laughed to himself and yanked a giant brown lever, releasing 5000 tons of pre-processed feces from the giant tank where all of the livestock and fish’s waste was held before being converted to fuel for the fleet. The brown wave splashed downwards towards Chicory’s silo, completely engulfing it in the scalding and stinking reek. Captain Chicory’s eyes bulged as she realized what had happened, her silo being wildly thrown down towards the earth under the weight of endless mud. She couldn’t believe the smell, her face contorting with the multitude of feelings going through her head. She had lost everything, and she knew it. Her silo crashed back onto the deck of the Early Bird, and the self destruct exploded what was left of her ship and sent the wave of poop hundreds of miles in either direction.

Luckily, Admiral Mervyn had commanded Strogger Field’s engines to be turned back on, and with the momentum of the blast, the Highranch was able to get back to altitude, cutting the chords connecting it with the destroyed flagship. Captain Tillman’s sacrifice was rewarded with keeping his ship and being promoted to vice admiral later that day. All of the other Skyfarms in The Chicory Flats had seen their cowardly captain’s actions, and decided to disband and go back to roaming the skies as free agents.

The Mervyn Four had persevered that day, and peace had been achieved in the skies of the Midwest.

…

In a rural town in South Dakota, a young man was riding his bike along the river, and heard a loud crash in the sky. It wasn’t the sound that made him look up, but the unbearable stench that entered his nostrils. Glancing upwards, he saw a giant ship crashing down toward him, an enormous amount of a brown liquid, and millions of eggs. He rang the bell on his bike twice, dismounted, and laid on the ground, looking up at the repulsive sight.