The Red Harvest

A family has taken over an abandoned base on Mars

In the year 2045, the Callahan family—Lila (42), Tom (44), and their teenage twins, Mia and Leo (16)—found themselves the sole inhabitants of Ares Base, a prefabricated Martian outpost abandoned by its original colonists. The colony ship, funded by a consortium that went bankrupt, had landed the base and deployed its infrastructure before the project collapsed. Left behind was a fully functional habitat with a 500-megawatt nuclear generator, capable of running for 50 years, and a stockpile of aquaculture and hydroponics gear. The Callahans, a family of resourceful engineers and botanists, had volunteered to maintain the base as a stopgap, hoping to turn it into a viable home.


Mars was unforgiving, but the Callahans were stubborn. The base’s nuclear generator hummed reliably, powering lights, heaters, and the lifeblood of their survival: a sprawling hydroponics bay and aquaculture tanks. Lila, a botanist, optimized the hydroponics to grow nutrient-dense crops—kale, tomatoes, potatoes, and soybeans—under artificial sunlight. Tom, an aquaculture specialist, tended to tanks teeming with tilapia and shrimp, recycling water and waste to fertilize the plants. The twins, tech-savvy and endlessly curious, automated nutrient delivery and monitored CO2 levels, turning the base into a self-sustaining ecosystem.


Food production quickly outpaced their needs. The family could only eat so much fish and kale, and the excess piled up. “We’re drowning in veggies,” Mia joked, staring at crates of tomatoes. Tom, ever practical, suggested preserving the surplus. The base had a vacuum-drying system—intended for scientific samples but adaptable for food. By removing air and moisture in a low-pressure chamber powered by the generator, they could dry fish and vegetables into lightweight, shelf-stable packages that retained nutrients for years. Leo rigged the system to handle larger batches, and soon they had stacks of vacuum-dried tilapia filets and powdered greens, sealed in airtight pouches.


The Callahans realized their surplus could be a lifeline for future colonists. Mars missions were notoriously strapped for supplies, and fresh food was a luxury. “What if we sell this?” Lila proposed. Mia, who’d been tinkering with the base’s satellite uplink, built a simple website called Red Harvest Co., advertising their vacuum-dried stockpile. They listed prices based on Earth market rates, expecting modest interest. Instead, when the site went live, orders flooded in from private space companies and wealthy adventurers planning Mars trips. People offered $500 for a kilo of dried tilapia, $300 for a bag of tomato powder—prices that stunned the family.


“They’re paying what?” Tom said, staring at the order log. A single buyer, a lunar mining magnate, had preordered $10,000 worth of food for a 2030 colony mission. The Callahans’ inbox buzzed with messages from colonists willing to pay absurd sums to avoid hauling their own supplies. “It’s not just food,” Leo said, scrolling through comments. “It’s Martian food. They’re buying the story.”


The family ramped up production. Lila crossbred hardier plants, Tom doubled the fish tanks, and the twins streamlined the drying process, using the generator’s endless power to run the system 24/7. They stored thousands of pouches in the base’s cold lockers, each labeled with their logo: a red tomato against a starry sky. The website became a sensation, with a waiting list for their “Martian Harvest Packs.” By 2047, the Callahans were no longer just squatters—they were Mars’s first food tycoons, their abandoned base now a thriving hub for the next wave of settlers, all thanks to a nuclear generator and a vacuum dryer.