Watching and waiting, the Malthusian visitors from the Moon orbit the planet. Their mission: Conquer Earth. Of course, that’s the easy part…
Space freighters arrived and departed daily. The cargo bay in Spaceship One filled with… cargo. Forklifts brought crates back to waiting crew members.
“All the helmets are the wrong size,” said Megan Bremer, examining a box. “This is no good.”
Jennifer Tate held a pink spacesuit. “This won’t do at all.” She frowned at her fellow officer. “So now they want the enemy to know we’re women?”
“Don’t be so offended,” said Bremer. “You can buy pink camo in America. For hunting deer.”
“For women?”
“Yep.”
“Ish.”
The women sorted through boots, underwear, socks, infrared goggles. “This is all either extra large or extra small,” said Tate. “No in-between.” Having waited thousands of years to invade, you would have thought the brass would have settled these issues long ago. Apparently not.
The generals couldn’t wait. “Christmas Day!” they crooned, back on the Moon. “That ought to catch them with their pants down.”
Or their socks off. Captain Rollhagen took a practical view. “We won’t even have to armor-up,” he said.
He watched Jennifer Tate hold up a pink helmet. “Throw that away.”
Commander Kern was confused. He hefted an x-ray gun. “I thought you said total war, Captain.”
“The billionaires have been paid off. Governments bribed, news outlets suborned. Casino ships are waiting to take everyone to Mars, all expenses paid. If that’s not total, what is?”
Kern didn’t like it. No explosives. No gunfire. “We’re missing out on all the fun.”
“Oh, there will be fun,” said the captain. “Wait ’til they see the vegetarian buffet.”
Lt. Megan Bremer, the only Earthling aboard, approached Rollhagen. “Captain, can I take a pod down before the invasion? For just a day or two? I need to pick up a few things.”
“Like what?”
“Lady things.”
The captain was far too squeamish to question her further. “I suppose.”
Kern was suspicious. Was he the only one with any sense? “I’ll come with you, Ensign.”
“Oh, really?” said Bremer. “You’re willing to wait outside the dressing room at Ann Taylor?”
He considered this. “Maybe not.”
Inwardly, Bremer smiled. She had only been a Malthusian for a few years. She didn’t know them all that well.
But she knew men.
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