Watching and waiting, visitors from the Moon orbit the planet. Their mission: Conquer Earth. Of course, that’s the easy part…
As junior officers, Megan and Jennifer shared the same quarters. On their wall Jennifer hung pictures of the Moon, Saturn, the Andromeda Galaxy. Malthusians are far too practical to be good decorators.
Megan Bremer added one photo. On her nightstand was her dog, Tark. With his tongue out, the black Lab appeared to be smiling. Can dogs smile? Anyone who owns one knows the answer to that.
The women relaxed in their room after dinner. Jennifer sat before a mirror adjusting the collar on her sleek, silver uniform. She would be playing cards in the rec room. You never knew who you might run into. “I told the captain I was in the whist tournament.” Jennifer put a bobby pin in her hair. Then removed it. “Think he’ll take the hint?”
“Who knows?” said Megan. She lay on her bed staring at Tark. Reaching over, she adjusted the frame.
“You miss your dog, don’t you?”
Megan left a finger on the frame. “He’s my boyfriend.”
Tark lived on the Moon. He had been kidnapped, along with her parents and grandparents, her brother, Seth, and two aunts. Malthusians had no intention of kidnapping anyone. Not at first. But Megan had to go, after discovering one of their micro-satellites. Then the Malthusians, who couldn’t stand to see anyone unhappy, took her dog. Then her mother. Then her father, then… Well, they had to stop somewhere. The whole town of Maple Grove would be depopulated.
The Bremers adjusted to their new lives. They found jobs similar to the ones left behind, with hefty bonuses. Seth Bremer immediately won a spot on the varsity baseball team, something he could hardly have hoped for back on Earth. With reduced gravity the ball really flew off his bat. The coach never saw anything like it.
“What’s it like owning a dog?” asked Jennifer.
“It’s wonderful.” Megan sighed.
“But they can’t talk, right?”
“Nope.”
“And they have to be fed?”
“Yes.”
“And walked?”
“Every day.”
“And petted, and brushed, and they have to have the door opened to do their business, and they have to be put to bed at night.” Jennifer had finished with her mirror. She pulled on sandals. “What’s the appeal of owning one, anyway?”
Her friend laughed. “They can’t talk and have to be walked and have to be taken care of. That’s the appeal.”
“But what do you get out of it?”
Megan had taken the picture from the stand. She showed it to Jennifer. “Attention, Affection. Unconditional love. Try getting that from any other guy.”
She made no further comparisons with the men aboard Spaceship One. She didn’t have to.
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