Watching and waiting, the Malthusian visitors from the Moon orbit the planet. Their mission: Conquer Earth. Of course, that’s the easy part…
The anti-gravity pod putt-putted toward Earth. Bored with their progress, Commander Kern floored it. The pod putt-putted only slightly faster.
Pods aren’t made to be floored.
Mr. Kern sat in front with the captain. Ensigns Jennifer Tate and Megan Bremer sat behind. None were particularly happy, for different reasons.
Perhaps unhappiest was Kern. He had so looked forward to blasting the Earth to dust. Or more accurately, subduing the planet and sending the occupants to work camps.
Now it was over. The Moon-folk, who had no heart for war, called the whole thing off. Malthusians hadn’t fought a war in fifteen thousand years, having left Earth’s endless conflicts far behind. You might say they were draft dodgers before it became cool. It went against their nature to change.
“I still say we could have done it,” said Kern, miffed.
The clouds of Earth loomed ahead. “Of course we could do it,” said Captain Rollhagen. “But could we do it, without casualties.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“I believe, Mr. Kern,” said Jennifer Tate, “you are disappointed you won’t get to fire the new super-magnum x-ray gun.”
“That’s not it at all,” objected Kern. Actually it was. He had so looked forward to demolishing abandoned skyscrapers. A naughty little boy lurks beneath all grown men.
Megan Bremer merely sighed. As a former Earthling, the view of Earth brought back many memories, not all good. “How long will this take?” she asked.
They were on their way to return several billion dollars they had stolen. Typical Malthusians, they couldn’t just throw it into space and be done with it.
Kenneth Kern put the pod down in Times Square. It was midday, and crowded. Most New Yorkers barely looked up. They’d seen stranger things. “I wonder where the nearest bank is?” said Rollhagen.
Tate piped in. “Why don’t we just leave it on the street corner?”
“She’s right,” said Bremer. “We stole it. Let them steal it back.”
The captain couldn’t fight logic. Plus, it was lunchtime. The crew popped the trunk. Working together, they lined the sidewalk with carton after carton of unbound bills. A sudden breeze lofted a million down Broadway. People noticed that.
Cars slammed into one another and people chased money down the street. Rollhagen told everyone to get in the pod. “And leave the trunk open.”
Hundred dollar bills rained on New York as the crew headed for the Russian Tea Room. “Gotta try this place,” said Kern. They put the pod down and plugged the meter.
At the door Jennifer stopped. “I forgot my purse,” she said. She walked back to the pod. Ever the gentleman, Captain Rollhagen offered to accompany her.
Kern and Bremer got a table for four by the window. As bread arrived, they saw the antigravity pod rise into the sky and vanish.
“Where are they going?” said the commander.
“If you must know,” Megan told him, snapping a breadstick. “They’re headed for Vegas.”
“When will they be coming back?”
“They won’t. They’re getting married.”
“Marr… But that is specifically against regulations!”
“That’s why they won’t be back. They’ve been planning this for months. They already found jobs at SpaceX, as engineers. They’re moving into the cutest little rambler, in Long Beach. And…”
“Where does this leave us?” said Kern. He was confused.
“I suppose a rescue team will be sent from Spaceship One to take us back to the Moon.”
“Yes. The Moon.” Kern wasn’t too happy. He’d soon be decommissioned, and probably pushing paper in some cubicle before long.
“Or we can run.”
“Run?”
“Well, it would just be you and me.”
“Yes.”
“And I know Earth. That’s one advantage.”
Another was Megan Bremer herself. She was very intelligent. And attractive. “But we really don’t like each other,” said Kern.
“That’s true, Commander.” Megan had her own ideas. The suave, brainy, sharp-nosed Kern was not without appeal. He didn’t fit in, and was proud of it. Like her.
The waiter brought wine. He put down a plate of pickled vegetables and smoked roast beef. Most un-Malthusian.
“We’ll be breaking just about every rule in the book,” said Kern.
“Yes. It kind of sounds exciting.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Kenneth lifted his glass. “To you, Ms. Bremer.”
Megan lifted her own. Their glasses touched. “No, Mr. Kern. To us.”
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