Watching and waiting, visitors from the Moon orbit the planet. Their mission: Conquer Earth. Of course, that’s the easy part…
Many years ago, thousands in fact, the Moon folk of Malthusia eliminated money. Cash was unnecessary. In theory, at least. It would take some getting used to. They would try it out first, with a break-in period lasting, possibly, generations.
It took Malthusians two weeks.
Wallets were thrown away. Credit cards cut up. Cash wafted through streets and piled up in gutters. Overnight, checkout lines vanished. One simply went to the store and took what was needed.
With the end of money came the end of laws. Theft, already rare, became unheard of. Since everything was free there was nothing to steal. This left society with one last, unforgivable sin.
Violence. This could not be tolerated. Ever.
Even anger was considered bad form. Arguments, disputes, strongly-held opinions? This was fine, even encouraged. But getting in someone’s face sent you directly to the analyst’s couch.
And if that failed? Malthusia had a remedy. Earth is just around the corner. Miscreants were dumped in some city with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. You want to commit violence? Steal, rob, embezzle? We have a place for you.
Of course, those sent to Earth went straight to the police. You can imagine how that went.
Exiled Malthusian: “Listen to me. LISTEN. I’m an alien! A space ship left me here. You’re in danger. All of you are in terrible danger!”
Officer Tollefson: “Vern, get in here.”
Vern: “What is it?”
Officer Tollefson: “We got another one.”
Being tender-hearted, Malthusians worried exile might be cruel. But the consensus remained. In harming another, there are no second chances. They also worried about dumping criminals off on their unsuspecting cousins. But using Earth as a de facto penal colony really did its inhabitants little harm. Let’s face it, Malthusians told each other. The place already looks a lot like a prison.
Deposited on Earth, some Malthusians even became quite accomplished. They started businesses, drove BMW’s, acquired large homes, stockpiled fortunes.
It makes sense. Outbursts? Threats? Coercion? On Earth, that’s almost a recipe for success.
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