Watching and waiting, visitors from the Moon orbit the planet. Their mission: Conquer Earth. Of course, that’s the easy part…
For all their glowing health, Malthusians aren’t really good-looking. Not in the magazine sense. The men have narrow shoulders and heavy beards, which for some means shaving twice daily. Women have big noses and wide mouths. Though slender, they tend toward bigger backsides. Hiding this was impossible. Everyone wore form-fitting, unisex jumpsuits. Some genius back on the moon thought these would be fashionable.
Jennifer Tate stood before a mirror. She knotted a red neckerchief. Then untying, tried again. “Do people find me attractive?” she asked her fellow ensign, Megan Bremer.
Megan lounged on a bed. They were cabin-mates.
“Sure Jen. I think you are.”
“I know you do. I mean, do men.”
“Of course. They can hardly talk to you.”
This seemed more a problem than not. “Well, at least I want to look good for Moon Day.”
Megan yawned. She really didn’t care what she looked like. As the only Earthling aboard, Moon Day reminded her of July 4th, and all that patriotic rigmarole. Plus, men were after her in droves. She didn’t intend to give them additional encouragement.
Ensign Tate did, and all she could muster. Re-tying the scarf, she stood surveying her reflection. Recently she cut her dark hair in a bob, curling forward below the ears. With her long neck exposed, she felt the need for a scarf. The brass could hardly complain. Military-issue, it showed the maximum esprit de corp.
The red scarf also set off her dark, somewhat muddy eyes. This wasn’t wasted on the captain.
“Why, Ms. Tate,” he said in the ship’s ballroom. “You look very… Appropriate.” He took in her rather foolish short hair, seeing the young officer in a different light. How naïve, he thought. How dedicated. How unusual, and to his military-bred mind, alluring.
They prepared to sing the Malthusian anthem. Captain Rollhagen placed himself closely for the opening anthem. He barely sang, wanting to catch her clear, high voice.
All together hear us singing
We’re Malthusia
From here to Neptune
Always in tune
We’re Malthusia
Afraid we are of nothing nothing
To the stars we’re rushing rushing
Should the end be nearly near
Our duty shall be clearly clear
On we march before the banner
We’re Malthusia
Small but mighty
Don’t take us lightly
We’re Malthusia
Later they stood at the bar, holding cocktails. Non-alcoholic, of course. Captain Rollhagen raised his martini glass to Jennifer. “To the Moon?”
She raised her glass, looking at him sideways with a slightly turned head. How charming!
“Indeed, Captain. To the Moon.”
Richard Donnelly lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Classic flyover land. Which makes us feel just a little… superior. He publishes a weekly column of essays on the writing life at richarddonnelly.substack.com