Watching and waiting, visitors from the Moon orbit the planet. Their mission: Conquer Earth. Of course, that’s the easy part…
Spaceship One, cruising in high orbit, deployed the latest deep-space bells and whistles. Lighting simulated the sun traversing a blue sky. The afternoons darkened with occasional rainstorms. Evening arrived with the aqua and crimson of a setting sun, and at night stars peeked from pale clouds.
At seven am robins and doves greeted Megan Bremer. She yawned and opened a false window. A breeze, lilac-tinged, rustled curtains. Turning a knob the wind stopped.
Blinking, her roommate propped herself on one elbow. “Morning, Scout,” Jennifer said.
“Good morning.” Megan pushed a button and a sliding panel revealed two coffees, piping hot. “Your coffee is ready,” she said. “One cream. Never bitter. Perfectly prepared.”
Did her voice betray something? “Feeling chipper this morning?” Jennifer asked. She swung her feet down. Her pajamas featured moons and spaceships.
“Of course.” One never expressed anything other than the most robust optimism. It was the Malthusian way.
“It’s a nice day,” Jennifer said.
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s always nice.”
Meagan said nothing as she sipped her coffee and looked out the false window. Cows, or very convincing images, grazed on green hills.
“But not like Earth.” Jennifer accepted her cup.
“No.”
“Of course, on Earth you’d smell manure.”
“On Earth you’d smell a lot of things.” As the only Earthling aboard, Megan could speak from experience. She turned on the radio. An enthusiastic woman announced the weather, the economic forecast, the news of the day. In order these were sunny, rising, and peaceful.
“Things are going well on the Moon,” Jennifer said.
“They always do.” Megan began to dress. It couldn’t be simpler. She removed a one piece jammy and put on a one piece uniform. She didn’t even have to shower. An ionizer, detecting movement, silently bathed her body.
Jennifer watched her friend. Megan stared at a desk, where both their reports lay prepared and ready for submission. She walked over and tipped coffee on the pages.
“Jennifer! What are you doing?”
“Oops.”
Megan grabbed tissues and blotted. “We’ll have to re-type these.”
“Or,” Jennifer said. “We can turn them in as is.”
“Mr. Kern will be furious.”
“Yes he will.” Megan looked around the room. She pulled the covers from her bed and overturned a wastebasket. Then poured the rest of her cup on the floor.
“Jennifer!” It was expected cabins were to be ship-shape at all times. It took a moment, but Megan realized her roommate was smiling. She smiled too.
“You’re going to get us in trouble.”
“I certainly hope so.” Jennifer zipped up her uniform and grabbed the stained reports. “Let’s go,” she said, offering her arm. “Maybe that boy who was nasty to us the other night is at breakfast. Something tells me he will have to change his uniform.”
The women walked out. Megan, for one, felt much, much better.
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