Watching and waiting, visitors from the Moon orbit the planet. Their mission: Conquer Earth. Of course, that’s the easy part…
Malthusians invented pool. Then secretly introduced the game to Earth. What could be better? Reflective, skill-based, it would allow us to resolve our conflicts in a healthy way.
Instead, Earthlings put pool tables in every saloon, barracks, and house of ill-repute. In no time we were breaking cue sticks over each other’s heads.
Well, they tried.
Megan Bremer racked pool balls in Spaceship One. Her friend, Lt. Tate, stood chalking her cue. They had been discussing Captain Rollhagen. Tate had a ferocious crush on him.
Megan looked up from the rack. “Want to make it interesting?” she said.
“In what way?” Tate had the innocent brown eyes of a young doe.
“A little wager.”
“How little?”
“Oh, nothing too extreme.”
As the only Earthling aboard, one might think Megan had the advantage. But Malthusians are expert pool players. She walked over to her friend. “How about,” she said. “You lose, you kiss Captain Rollhagen on the lips.”
“My goodness!” Tate said. “How would I do that?”
“Like this.” She seized the girl and gave her a resounding smack.
The pool cue clattered to the table. Several officers looked up. Jennifer Tate rubbed her mouth. “You’re fast,” she said.
“I’m no tortoise.”
Megan handed her the stick, and waited. Those in the Space Corps are taught never to back down. Jennifer really had no choice.
A game of eight-ball takes five minutes. This one took half an hour. Crew members abandoned their games to watch. They had no idea what was at stake, but knew a good contest when they saw one. Jennifer sank two balls on the break, one high and one low. She surveyed the table like Einstein. Then carefully, very carefully, tapped in the three-ball. Then the five, an easy make. The draw left her just a shade blocked. After studying every possible alternative, she missed a bank shot.
Megan moved in. She wanted this game, and just for Jennifer’s sake. Goodness knows, the woman needed a little somethin’. But with her best friend in the arms of the captain, there was no telling what Megan might accomplish. She may even be invited onto the landing party, and find herself among the first invaders!
She missed her opening shot.
Then Jennifer missed an easy one. Maybe a shrink could figure out that one. “Your shot, Meggie.”
Megan carefully, with terrible deliberation, sank the next five balls. Then flubbed a gimmee.
This was it. Pausing minutes between shots, Jennifer put away her side. Only the eight-ball remained. She held her breath, lining it up. The thought of her handsome captain, her lips on his, made her head swim. She closed her eyes. The eight-ball clicked. Traveling the length of the table it bounced once, twice off the corner pocket.
Then dropped in.
A cheer went up. But more important than the applause of her crewmates was the opinion of the captain. No one loves pool more than Malthusians. Word gets around. He would be proud of her.
“Oh, well,” Megan said. “I guess you won. Sort of.”
“Better luck next time.” Jennifer Tate exhaled, long and slow. Then unscrewed her stick.
And there would be a next time. Of that Megan was sure. Perhaps their handsome Captain Rollhagen would receive a scented note. Anonymous, of course, but the perfume unmistakable. Or find Ms. Tate at his door late one night, after she received an invitation. What, Captain? Didn’t you send for me?
Megan was a true-blue member of the Space Corp. But she is also an Earthling. We are nothing if not devious.
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