Ooze farming

Everyone who’s anyone already knows about Oozes—those slimy, rock-gobbling wonders that turn lunar dirt into something useful. But Mr. Kellerman, my teacher at North Polar Research Station, says I’ve got to write a report on them anyway, like I haven’t spent my whole life watching them chew through regolith. Fine. I’m Kael Tran, third-generation Ooze farmer, and this is how my family mines the Moon—one smelly blob at a time.


Oozes: The Resource Machines


Oozes are the backbone of lunar resource mining up here. They’re silicon-based critters—loaded with hydrogen and fluorine—that eat rock like it’s their job. They go nuts for metal-rich stuff, like the iron-packed basalt or nickel-heavy breccia we’ve got plenty of at the north pole, but they’ll munch any regolith you throw at them. What they spit out is pure gold—well, not literal gold, though we’ve found traces of that too.

Oozes poop metals: iron, titanium, aluminum, all in neat little ingots. They also churn out coal, ice, and dry ice—stuff we didn’t even know was locked up in the lunar soil until the Oozes started digesting it. Then there’s the bubble-burps: helium, oxygen, nitrogen, venting out in little puffs we trap for the station’s air supply. The nasty gases, like sulfur compounds, they keep to grow more of themselves.


They need power to do it, though—microwaves at just the right frequency. That’s what kicks their acids, bases, and grinding bits into gear, breaking down rock into something they can process. Without it, they sit there, stinking like rotten eggs and doing nothing. And trust me, you wouldn’t eat an Ooze even if you were starving—it’s poison to humans, full of fluorine compounds that’d melt your guts.


Mining the Lunar Way


The Moon’s a treasure chest, and Oozes are our pickaxes. Up here at the north pole, we’ve got craters loaded with resources. Scientists say the regolith’s got about 45% oxygen locked in oxides—stuff like ilmenite and pyroxene—that Oozes crack open like eggs. There’s helium-3, too, scooped up from the solar wind over billions of years, perfect for fusion reactors back on Earth. Metals like iron and titanium are scattered everywhere, and the polar shadowed craters hide water ice, a jackpot for drinking, fuel, and air. Oozes don’t care what they’re fed; they’ll chew through it all and sort it for us.


But they’ve got limits. Heat kills them—anything above freezing, and they boil into a useless puddle. We keep them cold, down in tunnels where the lunar chill stays below -50°C even when the Sun’s out. They grow as long as they’ve got rock and microwaves, so we steer them with those beams, carving spiral paths through the crust. It’s smart mining—tunnels big enough for habs or as small as half a meter for pipes and wiring, all while leaving the structure solid. We’re not just digging holes; we’re building a future.


Our North Pole Operation


Our family’s claim is a one-square-kilometer slice of the lunar north pole, right near Peary crater. The surface is blanketed with light harvesters—sleek panels that drink in the near-constant sunlight up here. The Sun skims the horizon, dipping behind hills now and then, but our spot’s high enough to catch light for weeks at a time during the lunar day. Those panels power the microwave arrays that drive the Oozes, with surplus energy running our home station and some side hustles. We’re not just mining air; we’ve got vats growing exotic foods—lunar chilis with a kick, glow-algae that tastes like lime—stuff the station’s researchers crave over their bland rations.


Our Ooze mine’s a powerhouse. It churns out enough oxygen and nitrogen to keep the North Polar Research Station breathing—hundreds of people, from scientists to kids like me. The metals feed the station’s 3D printers, building everything from tools to habitat walls. Helium-3 gets shipped Earth-side for big credits, and the water ice—once we melt it—splits into hydrogen and oxygen for rocket fuel. Even the coal and dry ice get used, fueling backup heaters or traded for spare parts. Dad calls it “the full package”—every scrap of the Moon turned into something we can sell or live on.


Home in the Spiral


Our home station’s a marvel, carved by Oozes over decades. It’s a spiral of tunnels and chambers winding down from the surface—upper levels for living, with warm floors and viewports framing the polar glow; mid-levels for food vats pumping out biomass we freeze-dry; and deep, cold pens where the Oozes slurp away. Mom tweaks the microwave arrays, keeping the Oozes on track. Juni, my little sister, giggles at their bubble-burps, says it’s the Moon’s heartbeat. I haul ingots and check gas lines—grubby work, but it’s ours.


The Resource Dream


Dad’s got plans bigger than our little farm. He says we’ll pay off the mortgage by next year, thanks to the exotic food sales—those chilis fetch triple what the oxygen does. After that, he wants more land—another few kilometers of polar turf to automate with drones and self-running vats. “We’ll be the resource kings of Luna,” he says, sketching maps on his tablet. Mom just sighs and points at the ducting that needs fixing. But I see it: Oozes mining deeper, pulling up rare earths, maybe even platinum from old impact sites. The Moon’s got it all, and we’ve got the Oozes to get it.


Why We Mine


So that’s Ooze farming—lunar resource mining, Tran-style. It’s cold, smelly, and messy, but it’s how we live. Oozes turn rock into air, metal, fuel, food—everything a colony needs. Mr. Kellerman can keep his report; I’m writing this for us, so Juni knows how we mined a life out of the Moon, one slimy burp at a time.