Watching and waiting, visitors from the Moon orbit the planet. Their mission: Conquer Earth. Of course, that’s the easy part…
It doesn’t take much to depress a Moon person. Life is composed of contradictions. Most of us ignore this fact, something the logical and clear-thinking Malthusians can’t do.
For instance, Malthusia long ago conquered the solar system. Millions of folk moved to outposts on Titan and Europa. On larger asteroids regal cities swung through the heavens.
But that was it. An unpassable chasm lay between the sun and the next star. Once you get to Pluto, there’s nothing to do but turn around and come back.
That will depress any space traveler.
“What do you plan to do next, Rollhagen?” Kenneth Kern sat across a chess board.
“I believe, Mr. Kern, my next move is best kept to myself.”
“I don’t mean the game,” said Kern. Rollhagen’s lack of irony bordered on the obtuse. “I mean after the invasion. When all the Earthlings are happily swinging picks on Mars.”
“I don’t think they’ll be too happy, Mr. Kern.” Rollhagen moved a bishop across the board.
Again, the captain didn’t do irony.
Kern continued. “This is our first and last mission. They’ll probably turn Spaceship One into a remore-controlled ore freighter. What will you do then?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the captain. “Maybe become a farmer.”
This was such a common dream as to be almost laughable. Malthusians everywhere constantly praised rural life. Get out of the city. Get a little plot out in the country and do some good, honest work for once. Of course no one ever did. One whiff of manure sent them running.
“Or I might write a book,” said Rollhagen. This was the second-most common dream. Everyone had a book in them.
Kern merely nodded. You don’t encourage people to write any more than taking up the harpsichord. Which is more grating is hard to say.
The two men made a few more moves. Since Rollhagen wasn’t asking, Kern volunteered his idea for the future.
“I might go to Mars.”
“Mars, Kenneth?” The captain looked up from the board. “No one wants to go to Mars.”
“That’s why I do. I might work with the Earthlings. Organize camps for yoga, vegan cooking, that sort of thing.”
“They’ll love that.” Captain Rollhagan deftly checkmated him. “Not.”
Kern shrugged and reset the board. He enjoyed any contest with an unclear outcome. And nothing could be less clear than reforming an Earthling. Or enjoyable.
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