Authors: Anna London
My family held out as long as could living on Earth. Despite the fact that it had become the most expensive planet in the Milky Way to live on, our roots--like all of the humanity--were firmly planted there in the southwestern hemisphere. True enough, most of our clan had emigrated to the outer planets such as Pluto and Europa generations ago, my father was not willing to let go of the 200 some odd acres of Amazon rainforest. The cost of maintaining it, however, was truly crushing.
The bulk of the planet had industrialized well over a century ago and most of the forested areas were being maintained by the planetary councils and their boundless resources. Even the surrounding acreage was being maintained by the councils and our little patch of the forest looked depleted and brown compared to the vast swaths of land that were fed with the top of the line weather generation machinery. We, of course, had our own atmosphere generation machinery but it was feeble and extremely outdated compared to the council’s equipment.
Personally, I had no idea why Father held onto the land so tightly. It wasn't like our family had sprung from the ancient forest. The land had been purchased by my great, great grandfather during the global environmental scares of the late 21st century just before Earth joined the Universal Trade Union. During that period, North Americans were experiencing such erratic and dangerous weather patterns that most of the population believed that the northern half of the continent was either going to freeze into a solid block of ice or turn into a blazing, unlivable desert. During the scare, Northern Americans migrated south by the millions out of fear that what humanity had done to the planets atmosphere was completely unfixable. Although, the southern half of the continent had escaped industrialization, so, therefore, it was thought that because of this, the weather patterns would be stable.
This, of course, was simply the illusion of safety, and my family--who were originally from New York--fell for the hype of the theories concerning migration. The environmental crisis was globe spanning, though, and no matter where humanity moved about on the planet, they were not going to be safe. Not, at least, until the Trade Union appeared, swooping out of the sky like angels in their massive ships promising to fix the atmosphere and the damaged caused by humanity over the long centuries of environmental abuse. All the Trade Union required to fix the environmental issues was complete and total control over the planet.
At the time, Earth's leaders thought it was a small price to pay. Besides, the bulk of humanity had stopped respecting their authority over the years, so maybe the Trade Union would have an easier time reigning in and controlling the native populations. And for the most part, humanity agreed to be governed by the Trade Union. They were, after all, a collection of "advanced" species from all across the universe--and multiverses--so they obviously knew how to govern and operate plants more efficiently than humanity, so why not give them a shot. The problem, however, was that the Trade Union not only took control over the management of Earth, but the entire Milky Way Galaxy and they needed help terraforming the rest of the uninhabitable planets in the Galaxy and they thought humanity would be ideal in accomplishing this task.
So just as the Trade Union was beginning to stabilize Earth's environment, the Union began shipping human beings by the millions to planets such as Mars and Uranus. Entire clans were uprooted from their lands and sent streaking into the vastness of space completely unsure of what kind of existence lay ahead for them. Most of their concerns were completely unfounded, of course, the Trade Union were ruthless capitalists, but they held the lives of their charges and employees in the highest regard. Teraphorming was, of course, incredibly dangerous work, but the Trade Union had been doing it for centuries, so there was little to no danger to the people who were building and then colonizing these planets.
But most people had no idea of knowing this and they were both frightened and angry that they were being forced to leave the only home they had ever known. There were, of course, pockets of descent and open rebellion, particularly in the Western Hemisphere, which was led by my grandfather, Roy Donovon. Grandpa Roy believed in absolute freedom and considered all government to be a form of tyranny. He considered the Trade Union to be particularly tyrannical. As far as he was concerned, he believed that they were stealing Earth and enslaving its people. Never mind that they were saving the planet and providing all of its inhabitants with a safe haven. But none of this really mattered to Grandpa. The Union was the "other"; the great unknown beast trying to take his land and freedom away from him.
Grandpa's militia was quite the burden to the Trade Union. They constantly sabotaged Union transports, raided Union colonies and slaughtered as many "bugs" as they could get their hands on (By the way, most aliens in the Trade Union do not even remotely resemble bugs of any sort. Most are humanoid, but by giving the colonists this label, the militia more easily demonized them). After a decade of sabotage and fighting, the Trade Union finally relented and allowed Grandpa and his follower’s sovereignty. The downside of this agreement, however, was that the rebels were completely cut off from the Trade Union and the technologies they provided. And this part of the treaty was what eventually broke the backs of most of the original rebels.
Obviously, Trade Union technology was far more advanced than human technology, and it was Trade Union tech that was sustaining the atmosphere and they could localize it; they could take it away and the vast stretches of the Amazon the rebels occupied would be wide open to the ruined environment of Earth. And that was exactly what happened, and the weather turned fierce and deadly. Super Hurricanes in the winters and blister 130-degree heat in the summer was what most of the rebels encountered. Over the years they even experienced a few years of some of the fiercest snow storms recorded in human history--it was during one of these deadly winters when I was born; one of two twins. Unfortunately, my sister did not live through our birth--followed by a two-year long dust storm which devastated the crops and dried up the river.
After decades of this brutal life, most of the rebels went crawling on their bellies begging for forgiveness and the chance to join the outworld colonies. All except my family. Despite the fact that my Grandpa dropped dead of a heart attack at the age of one hundred and twenty-five (If he had joined up with the Union there's a better chance than not he'd still be alive. But that's neither here nor there), but my Father was raised to be a man of principal, even if his principals doomed his family to a life of never-ending hardship and death.
Not that I'm complaining. As difficult as our lives were, my family is a loving one. There are ten of us plus my mother and father. I am the youngest of the ten and one of only three girls (Four if you count my dead sister, who, in a way, lives inside of me) and the only of my sisters unmarried and still living on Earth. Which is also the reason why I have become not only my family's savior but also its slave.
My father was practically in tears.
Over the last twenty-four hours, our lands atmospheric generator had been offline and slowly but surely, the dust was creeping its way onto our lands, clogging the river, turning it red like blood, the sky turning dark and thick in the lungs. My father had been nursing it for years with parts he'd stolen from the Trade Union colonies (We still called them colonies despite the fact that the small settlements that the Union had established decades ago were now full blown cities which supported tens of millions of lives) and had managed to keep it online and the foulness of Earth's natural environment at bay.
But the Union had grown wise to Father's sojourns into the colonies scrap and machine yards. They'd put out extra patrols of armed guards and had upgraded the identification software so that any time someone who didn't belong inside the boundaries of the colonies they would immediately be incapacitated, jailed, and sent to one of the crueler off world colonies such an as Saturn. Father, of course, hadn't been caught up in this web, he'd only heard about it from his connections within the other Earth free states. The prospect of having his family broken up and his land taken away absolutely prettified my father, and instead stealing what he needed to keep the atmospheric generators running, he paid the high prices the thieves demanded when he couldn't rig an essential part; the rest he kept together with duct tape and chewing gum.
Maintaining the ancient machines was more or less a full-time job and everything else on the property suffered, including the crops that sustained us as a family. In years past, my brothers would have been the ones to take in the crops and then bring them to the markets for trade or sale. But much like everyone else who came of age during the rebellions, my brothers had grown tired of the hard lives they had inherited and had succumbed to live within the Trade Union. No one blamed them, not my mother or father, me, or my grandmother. They hadn't chosen the life they were born into and they had no obligation to anyone except themselves and their own young families.
None of us held any ill will towards them except my oldest brother, Trey. Trey had fallen hook, line, and sinker for my grandfather's beliefs. As far as he was concerned, he only had one home and one home only: Earth. He had no interest in exploring the known galaxies. But because all of my brothers, sisters and their spouses were quite interested in it, he became a bitter, bitter man. And he was made even more bitter because he had to bring in our meager crops by himself while our father toiled and fooled with his precious machinery. Trey wasn't one to appreciate the comfort the machines brought us. As far as he was concerned, we were better off just letting the chips fall as they may. Of course, he had never spent a day in his life out in the ragged atmosphere outside of the invisible domes created by the generator; he only had a slight notion of the Hell of it. But we would be discovering it soon enough.
Father came in from the shed covered in grime, oil, and the thick sheen of red dust coating his entire body. We watched him from the table, the look of defeat and exhaustion washing over him and us. He sat down hard in his usual chair, staring deep into the dregs of his morning coffee. He picked up his mug and took a last, long swallow of the cold, murky liquid before bringing it back down softly on top of the table. We all knew what he was about to say but we still dreaded it and hoped for a different outcome.
"It's done," He said. "There's nothing else I can do."
"Nothing at all?" My grandmother asked, he voice barely above a whisper. Of all of us, my grandmother knew the fate awaiting us once the false atmosphere completely dissipated over the next week. She had suffered through my grandfather's folly with grim determination. She loved her husband more than anything, and she especially loved him for his blind idealism when they were a young couple. But over the years, she'd learned to regret the life they had chosen, particularly because of their children. This was not the kind of life she wanted for them or her grandchildren. But with the machine finally gone, I knew she thought our family would finally be done with the Amazon. I knew that we weren't, not by a long shot, but I wasn't going dispel her fantasy of a different, comfortable life.
Father then looked at me, his eyes full of pain and sorrow with what he was about to do and what I had agreed to do in order to maintain the lives of my family.
"A ... A Trade Union Vice President has made on offer on Sara, and I'm prepared to accept it and so is she."
I watch as my two mother's eyes flooded with tears with the news and I tried my best to hide my own, but I knew it was no use and I simply let them fall, smattering against the table like drops of precious rain.
Humanity is no stranger to arranged marriage. In fact, before the 20th century, most marriages were nothing more than business transactions.
Okay, that’s a lie. I can actually tell you the exact moment when I became obsessed with them. Me and my grandparents were on a cross country road trip just a few months after mom and dad died in their car wreck. I was 7-years-old at the time, and I my grandpa thought a long road trip would help us bond and begin to heal from the sudden death of my parents.
My folks were never very close with my grandma and grandpa. In fact, I’d only met them once before my folk’s accident. I think I was 4 or 5 years-old, and all I remember from the visit is making cookies with my grandma and the sound of my dad and grandpa shouting at each other. As my grandpa explained to me when I was older was that the riff between the two of them happened because my grandpa—who was a lifelong military man—had secured my dad entrance into West Point. But, my dad was an artist and really didn’t want to have anything to do with the military. He wanted to go to art school and become a graphic designer. Grandpa wasn’t having that nonsense, though. He wanted his only son to follow in his footsteps and make the Army his career. In the end, grandpa kicked dad out of the house, and my dad paid for school on his own dime and met my mother.
My grandpa always regretted his actions. Because, hey, my dad was his only child, and he knew he was just being a stubborn old fool.
Anyway, grandpa thought the trip would be a great way for me and him and grandma to all get to know each other and become a family. At the time, I really didn’t care because I felt like I wanted to die all the time so that I could be with my mom and dad. I mean, I was 7 when they died, so obviously they were my whole world. But here I was, living with two people who were essentially nothing but strangers to me. They were a framed snapshot that my mom kept on the mantle at our old house that I barely ever noticed except when my mom would have me help her clean.
We started the trip in California. We did the Disneyland and theme park thing. We drove to San Diego and did the Shamu and beach thing. Then we drove to Arizona, started at the Grand Canyon and rode donkeys to the bottom of it (I remember having a lot of fun doing that, but what I remember most of all was how bad my butt hurt after we got off of them.). After that, we drove to New Mexico. I remember grandma and grandpa arguing a little bit about where grandpa wanted to take us.
“Earl, why in the world would you want to take a little girl to go and see that? You’re going to scare the daylights out of her!”
“Oh, come on, Joann, why don’t you take the rod out of your butt for once and try having a little fun! I Betcha anything that Dawn would love seeing some little green men.”
My grandpa turned to me as he was driving down that long, dusty stretch of New Mexican highway, a huge smile on his face and he asked:
“What do you think, Dawn? Do you want to go and see where some aliens crash landed or what?”
Up until this point in my life, I’d never really heard of aliens. I mean, I remembered watching that dopey E.T. movie with my folks when I was super little, and I remember thinking how cute the little E.T. was when he said he wanted to go home. But other than that, the mainstream version of aliens was a complete mystery to me. Besides, I really had to go to the bathroom at the time, so I was willing to stop anywhere.
“Sure, grandpa,” I said, giving him a little smile. “Let’s go see some little green men.”
“Well, alright then,” He said with a self-satisfied smile when he turned his attention back to grandma. “See, grandma, see does want to go see some little green men.”
My grandma’s only response was her usual little string of under her breath curses that I would come to truly love over the years.
We pulled into Roswell about midday and grandpa followed the signs—and there were plenty of them—pointing to the Roswell UFO museum. He pulled right in front of the building and we all climbed out, paid the cashier our entrance fee—I was free because I was under 10, which grandpa really liked. Despite him being a very generous man, he was also a natural born skinflint—but before we began the tour, we all needed to use the bathroom. I remember sitting in my stall and there was this bald green man with huge black eyes painted on the back of the door. I kept giggling at it and thinking how weird it looked. I remember grandma kept asking me what was so funny, but I was laughing so hard at the painting that I couldn’t catch my breath long enough to answer her. Finally, she just had to pull me out of the stall and out into the lobby.
The tour started with a 15-minute movie about the history of Roswell. Now for those of you who aren’t familiar with the Roswell incident, I’ll give you a quick primer. Back in 1947, a UFO supposedly crash landed on some ranch a little north of Roswell. The owner of the ranch was named Mack Brazel. Good old Mack was a simple, hard-working man, and he didn’t know much about anything else other than ranching, which was a good thing because he was pretty darn successful at it. Anyway, Mack and one of his employees were riding around the property when all of the sudden they saw something fall from the sky. Curious about, they drove to where the object hit and discovered a massive amount of debris with all kinds of strange and unknown writing on it.
The writing spooked Mack and his employee, so they gathered some of the debris and then decided to drive back to the main ranch house and call the local air force base at White Sands, figuring that the thing that crashed had to be one of their aircraft. Mack and his ranch hand drove back out to the site to meet the air force and show them what they had found. But as soon as they arrived, the air force men who were now out the site in force confiscated what Mack had collected and told them to be on their way. Confused, they drove back to the ranch house, and Mack and his ranch hand would obsess about the crash for the rest of their lives.
Now here’s where things get really weird. The same night of the crash, the air force contacted a young mortician named Glenn Daniels and was told that there had been a crash and some bodies had been recovered from it which needed his attention. Daniels drove out to White Sands only to be turned away by the entrance guards. Daniels thought it was a little funny to have driven all the way out to the base, but he really didn’t give it a second thought until the next day when an air force nurse who worked part time at the same mortuary as Daniels came into work.
From what Daniels said, the nurse was as white as a ghost and being concerned with her overall well-being, he asked her what was wrong? The nurse asked Daniels if he’d heard about the crash and he said yes, and that he’d been called out the base to examine the bodies but had been turned away when he arrived. Next the nurse told Daniels about the truckloads of debris that been hauled back to the base and the three bodies that they had delivered to the bases’ hospital. She couldn’t describe what the bodies looked like, so she drew them on a prescription pad, and what she drew was what are most commonly these days as “gray men”. You know, the tall skinny guys with gray skin, huge heads, and big black eyes. Daniels was flabbergasted, and seeing the nurse was exhausted, he sent her home for the day. Daniels found out the next day when the nurse didn’t show up for work that she had been inexplicably transferred to England the very day Daniels sent her home.
After that, the film ended and we walked around the small museum for a couple of hours examining every little exhibit they had, and then my grandpa bought me a little-stuffed toy of one of the little green men. As we left the museum, grandma turned to both of us and said:
“Well, then, that was pointless wasn’t it?”
But my grandpa stared down at me with me clutching my little green man doll and gave me a wink.
Yeah, from that moment on, I was hooked.