We’re a million light years from Earth, the planet we wrecked with our greed. Now we select few are on our way to a new home where we’ll live a subterranean lifestyle. The surface is much hotter than we’re used to but that’s okay - there’s water and the air, though thin, is breathable.
It’s hard to know how long we’ve been travelling. Time loses meaning when there’s no difference between night and day.
What’s this? A break in the monotony.
‘There’ll be a short delay - we’ve discovered a stowaway. Once apprehended, they will be transferred to our partner ship and returned. Only those people who passed the strict medical criteria are allowed to land, and no animals can be introduced. No exceptions.’
We all cringe in our seats as guards patrol, glaring at us. It can’t be one of us - we’ve been sitting here for months. At last a woman is dragged out of the engine rooms.
‘I couldn’t bear to be parted from daughter,’ she sobs. She touches a weeping young woman’s shoulder before she’s pulled away.
I’m sorry for them of course, but I’m grateful my tiny dog remains undetected, sedated and snuggled deep within my hand luggage.
Comments
Be the first to comment.