shanlonwrites:

guerrillatech:

It was supposed to be humanity’s fresh start. A new Eden.

They piled into the rocket ships, strapped into tight, uncomfortable space suits, crammed together in tiny passenger cabins, sweating and nervous. The ships were packed with everything they’d need. There were thousands of panes of glass, made up of the melted sands of beaches no human toes would wriggle into ever again. There were stores of freeze-dried foods, hard and chewy and unappealing; the fruits of their home, the last to sustain them. The final provisions of Eden. There were seeds, the best and hardiest which could be found, stored in coolers of dry ice, kept sleeping. Seeds which would wake on a new planet, with unfamiliar soil, and soak in the same sun – more distant now, but familiar and comforting. 

They were seeds. The seeds of humanity. The best. The most successful. The ones who had proven their worth through accruing the most gold, the most things. They were the ones who could be counted upon to force this new planet to their will. They were ruthless; they were clever; they were thoroughly human. In a state of nature, they would turn that cleverness, that instinct towards self-preservation, on one another. They would tear each other apart over the best land, the best food, the best sexual partners. But they were above nature. They had conquered it once, stripped it of its flesh, and left it a dying corpse. Their appetites would ensure their species survived beyond the husk of Earth. They could start again, they would conquer a new planet. Their descendants would battle it out in the economies of Mars, the fittest would be successful, would drive development and prompt the flourishing of a new humanity. A new Eden. 

The work was hard – much harder than they were used to. Machines assembled the domes, built and programmed by scientists who had mostly been left behind. But they had been well-compensated, in the petty currencies of Earth. The Martians waited, chewing on their freeze-dried rations and watching the domes assemble themselves. When one machine broke down and wouldn’t start again, they scratched their heads and tried to figure out how to fix it.

They were the best of humanity; the cleverest. They examined the machine. They tried to figure out who would fix it. Fighting broke out. That was what humans did. Eventually one of the original scientists lucky enough to come on the mission figured it out. The machine ground back to life and continued its task. But they were far behind schedule now.

The domes rose up around them and were pumped full of oxygen. The blue-tinted glass almost looked like home. It almost looked like the oceans they had left behind. Their drones tilled and worked the soil, while the best of humanity tried to figure out how to arrange their land claims. They squabbled over plots of nearby land, knowing that this site they currently inhabited would one day become a historic landmark, attracting tourists from all over the solar system and beyond to see the place where humanity began anew, where their journey across the stars truly began. Tourists who brought money, tourists who made them richer still. The wiser among them took enormous swathes of land on the other side of the plant, investing in their family interest far, far down the line.

While they divided and claimed and began searching for minerals and resources beneath their blue-tinted glass, they barely ever looked back at the home they had left behind. Earth was gone. There was no more to be extracted from it, save perhaps its water. A few of the Martians began to hash out water rights to Earth: who had the privilege of importing all of that life-sustaining liquid to this new planet? Sure, they could manufacture water. All it took was a little oxygen and some hydrogen – hardly scarce chemical resources. But people liked to have authentic water. Real Earth water. They could bottle it and sell it at a premium. They could dupe their less intelligent Martians into believing they were connecting with their roots, absorbing the life-energy of the original Eden. But first they needed to find fuel for their rocket ships. They needed to power their generators and their machines. Their supplies of uranium were dwindling. Though there was plenty of ore available, they hadn’t yet set up methods of enrichment. They had diverted too much energy into exploration, into claiming and dividing the surface of the planet. Their rovers had travelled far, eating up fuel. They had sabotaged one another’s missions, hoping to claim the most valuable tracts of land for themselves, wasting resources. Hundreds of rovers lay destroyed around the planet, their parts unreachable, unsalvageable.

When they did finally look to Earth, in discussing the possibility of redirecting some of their uranium supply into a delivery mission in search of fuel, they were shocked by what they saw.

Humans.

Not as many as there had been before the Martians abandoned their planet, but nearly as many. Certainly enough.

The climates were still unstable, but they hadn’t worsened as they had predicted. Forests had encroached on former human settlements, turning subdivisions into nature parks. Their telescopes scanned the surface and found new development – more concentrated, but there. They couldn’t work out how the Earthlings had managed to feed themselves: they could not see the patchwork of fields. They had grown over. They could not figure out how the Earthlings, the worst of Humanity, had managed to turn the planet around. But the eyes of the Martians filled with the hunger of opportunity.

Some of them had never ceded their land rights, not bothering to make the symbolic gestures of their comrades, those who had publicly donated their lands in exchange for one last dose of celebrity. Those few began to formulate a new plan.

They built a new rocket ship. They filled it with precious refined uranium and freeze-dried rations for the long trip back to their land titles. They told their fellow Martians they were going to retrieve more fuel, and bring back labourers to help enhance some of their social experiences. Robots really weren’t a replacement for a good waiter.

And they left.

When the Martians got back to Earth, they were met with curiosity and joy.

“We haven’t heard from the Martians in decades!” the people said. “We watched you through our telescopes. You’ve built impressive structures! What have you learned?”

And the Martians said, “Mars is hard and barren, and we have sacrificed so much to build a habitat there. But some of us realized we were wrong. We don’t want to rebuild humanity, we don’t want a new Eden; we want our old Eden!”

And the Earthlings welcomed them home and showed them their new cities.

They had stopped burning fossil fuels. Windmills and solar panels and water wheels were everywhere. They had stopped churning up the earth to plant endless corn and soy beans, and had learned new forms of agriculture and animal husbandry. They built communities instead of houses, unique to their landscapes. They cooperated in the design of these new approaches to life. They turned to old ways, old cultures, and traditional understandings. They supplemented tradition and history with science and careful observation and flexible adjustment of their approach. They were proud of what they had done.

“Where are our lands?” The Martians asked, impressed by the fruitfulness of this new society. “We want to know who lives on our lands, we want to know who is paying us for their use.”

The Earthlings laughed. They realized the Martians were serious. They stopped laughing. The Martians grew angry.

“We own these lands!” they shouted. “You owe us for using them for so long!”

The Earthlings pointed the Martians towards their new communities. “Stay with us. Learn more about how we’ve changed. Learn how we live. But you don’t own any land. You are not owed any pay. This can be your home, but it can not be your possession.”

The Martians tried to litigate. They tried to sue. But the legal systems of this new Earth laughed at them too. They were powerless. Their wealth meant nothing. Those who still had wealth, which had been sitting untouched for years, found they could not make it grow without time and labour. They could only spend it. So they did.

They purchased refined uranium. They loaded it into their space ship. They returned to Mars.

“Earth,” they said, “Is doomed.” And the rest of Mars agreed.

And the best of humanity flourished.