The great machine pulsated, its engines whirled. Three days earlier the machine began to stir, yet the experts said it would take another four days before it was awake. Everybody caught their breath as the ground vibrated. Cases of food and water were still being crammed on board. The crowd of onlookers asked, ‘what could take seven days’ to start any machine. The air was charged with amazement from the ominous noises the machine emitted.
The plans to leave earth moved along quickly. There really was no other choice, this world was dying and it was high time to find another one. Earth’s inhabitants were about to become drifters.
The earth’s core mysteriously cooled down while the tectonic-plates froze in place. The planet’s supply of Co2 dwindled to the point that most of the trees died. After the largest solar-flare in a century, the magnetic poles dissolved leaving the bees and birds as directionless as a stampede. Once the bees stopped cross-pollinating crops and after the birds stopped controlling the invading armies of insects, mass famine threatened humanity like a barbarian-horde.
People couldn’t breathe. Storms brewed. The Internet crashed along with the power-grid. Satellites, radios, and cell phones all failed to communicate. With the world deaf, dumb, and blind there was only a prospect of empty shelves in grocery-stores and riots in the streets. The situation on planet earth was as helpless as a stillborn. The solution was all too simple: Escape, abandon, avoid extinction.
There was a bottleneck in the line for entering the ship. The men in white lab-coats sat upright in their chairs, arms folded, clipboards within reach. Medically speaking, so they told the crowds, there was no use bringing people along for a long space voyage if they would risk the health of the entire ship. What went unsaid was, If on the other hand you had some redeeming trait, well then maybe you might make the passage. No one boarded the great ship without the thumbs-up of the white lab coats.
The position of ultimate authority slowly went to the heads of the experts in the white lab coats. At first they were like Founding Fathers - driven by a sense of duty, but over time they succumbed to pride. It was a heady experience, after all, determining who would leave and who would be left on a planet about to die.
The great machine was huge, admission wasn’t entirely a matter of room. There were issues of infecting the healthy passengers or potentially infecting their would-be host planet too, and that had the experts the most concerned. How unethical and uncivilized it would be for us to carry our diseases across the Galaxy. Unthinkable!
The sea of people stretched as far as the eye could see. An elderly man with a limp slowly approached the table of experts. Without even looking up, one of the men in white coats asked, “Occupation?” “Poet, of sorts.” the old man said. The experts leaned in and quietly whispered in each other’s ears. “Do we really need ‘another’ poet?” The consensus was ‘no’ he wasn’t really needed. Though their task wasn’t to make those types of determinations, they took it upon themselves to scrutinize anyway.
A chorus of complaints battered the old man. “How did you get that limp?!?” “Why wasn’t it repaired?” “How old are you?” Finally, one last expert spoke up, “Really? A Poet, humph? How ‘bout you step over here ‘Longfellow’ so-as we can get’s us a better look at you?” Proud of his grammatical lampoons, he offhandedly pointed beyond the line, and directed the old man to step behind a white curtain. Once behind the curtain, they examined him and quickly concluded that the old man should be given the “special” tour.
The approval of the crowd made a few of the experts blush. All eyes were on the old man as he was allowed to board the great machine. The elderly poet saw the unmanned engine-room, the massive underside of the ship where the cargo was being stored, and without a word was taken down a dark hallway. Before long, the old man knew what was happening: The “special” tour allowed people who wouldn’t see the earth from the skies, to see what they were missing. Expelled like a drunken vagrant from a soup-kitchen, he was driven out of the back of the great ship without seeing a soul.
Several artists, poets, musicians, historians and the likes, all met with the same treatment after brief inquiries into family health, diet and exercise habits, short examinations: They were rejected like vandals. At first the experts in the lab coats felt guilty, but over time, really just in a few days, they felt like gods. They would be setting the future right. By weeding out the old, sick, decrepit, the undesirables, especially the unneeded, they would be doing mankind a huge favor. Humans could start off with a clean slate.
A beautiful young woman walked up to the front of the line, much to the pleasure of the experts. She smiled shyly as they openly admired her. The approval of the experts was almost immediate, and, it came without asking her for information of occupation or education. Her young son suddenly stepped out from behind her, sucking his thumb. The tone of the conversation changed as quickly as the appearance of a summertime thunderstorm. “Who is this?” they asked. “Oh, my son, of course.” The young boy stood there, still as a statue, quietly sucking his thumb. “Well now, has he always sucked his thumb?” Embarrassed, the beautiful young lady admitted that as long as she could remember, her son had.
“Why don’t you go on to the ship, young lady, while we examine him. We can’t take any chances, one never knows what lies behind these antisocial infirmities.” The mother was shocked. What could be wrong with an innocent boy’s thumb sucking? The men looked at their watches and down at their clipboards and then at each other. The mother sensed, as they broke eye-contact, that she was risking her own passage on the great machine. Like a person who was partially hypnotized, she walked away, leaving her son in the care of the experts.
On the last day it was finally time for the men in the white lab coats to take their turn stowing their possessions aboard the great machine. With heads held high, they walked to the loading ramp as if they owned the ship. They were blind to the piles of tools, coils of rope and unmarked crates. Having a sense of great accomplishment, the weary band of experts massaged their temples while grumbling about their sacrifices and the long hours they dedicated to the betterment of mankind. Slapping each other on the back, they let out a collective sigh.
“Hold it right there.” A gruff looking soldier held up a hand restricting their path. “What seems to be the problem?” a smug looking expert asked. Without any emotion the soldier said, “Your people will need to follow us.” “Why?” demanded an angry expert. “You will not be in contact with the common passengers.” was the only response. It was about time we were finally appreciated, one of the experts thought aloud.
Certain that their trip wouldn’t be spoiled by mingling anymore with common people, there must be higher-tier accommodations set aside for royalty and celebrities with room for us too, he thought. With heads still held high, the experts marched in step with the soldiers. The soldiers pointed the group of experts to a doorway, halted and saluted. The men in wrinkled lab coats walked on past without ever giving the soldiers another glance.
The long hallway that the soldiers directed them to was impressive, only confirming the aspirations the experts felt. High ceilings with ornate decorations stood in stark contrast to the bland outward appearance of the great machine. Fine oil-paintings from different periods were hung in the long hall. Without noticing, the group passed by a watercolor of a sunset which was paired with a charcoal of a waterfall in a hardwood frame. They were soon deaf to the beautiful music that played through speakers hidden within the walls. Several famous quotes decorated arched-doorways -- all went unread. Shadow boxes housed yellowed documents, but the experts walked on, now seemingly oblivious.
At the end of a long hallway, they were met by a group wearing biohazard-suits. The silent group in their protective suits efficiently escorted the experts off of the ship. The experts protested all the while, asking, then demanding to speak with the officials. The people in the strange looking suits robotically did their job, without a single display of emotion.
The last expert to exit the ship simply asked “Why?” A younger member of the biohazard team answered, “Because, after being exposed to countless ‘rejects’ there’s a real possibility that your group is infected. The inoculation period of many diseases are well over two months, meaning, the risk to the general population aboard the ship would be jeopardized, by you.” “Why not just quarantine us?” the men in the white coats all asked. “Nice try, Mac. If it were that simple, you experts would’ve suggested that long ago for the people you discarded.”
As the great machine defied gravity, slowly passing through the clouds, passengers admired the view. Out of the blue one man wondered out loud, “With all of precautions we’ve made to avoid infecting each other, or the planet we land on...” He paused, swallowing his quinoa, looking quite puzzled he asked, “What happens if we land on a planet filled with germs we aren’t immune to?”
