Kiara Tay, BSC economics

Image: Nicolas Lobos

It is the Year 2099. The first human civilisation has been established on Mars. It is a joyous occasion, one deserving of the most elaborate celebration! Our companions, robot and human, rejoice with us! What is left of the birds sing us our praises, a song of victory! Of conquest!

Before we trade dried-up oceans and lakes for bottled oxygen and ash, the President appears on our screens, for old times’ sake. “While we celebrate, we must thank Earth for what it has given us. For it is our Mother, and it is her love that runs through our bones. We must remember how we have wronged her. How we have trampled over the soil that birthed our bodies and the fruits that fed us hope. We must remember. We must love Mars as our own flesh.”

We did listen. We did remember, for a few decades, maybe ten. We cherished Mars like our very own father, living quiet lives under unyielding rules. Life was different, but we were happy. We knew this could be forever, as long as we weren’t greedy, as long as we did not ask for more than we needed.

But, there are always those who beg to differ. Those with gold twinkling in their eyes, who do not see value where there is not a price.

But, the rest of us cannot escape blame so easily. After all, weren’t we the ones who extinguished any embers of change with cold apathy? Weren’t we the ones who justified them, with guilt and greed in the same breath, as they skinned Mars alive with their shiny yellow excavators?

Beneath the whirring of the machines, Mars howls out in pain. We play deaf. We ask for one more pound of its flesh. For one more canister of its blood. For just one more kilogram of treasure beneath its hollowed surface.

Soon, it was time for the next announcement. The President appears. What is left of the humans watch soundlessly. We must remember. The love of Mars runs through our bones. Trampled. Birthed. Fed. We must remember. Love.

Another expedition is sent to space. The astronauts phone home. Mars has fallen, but we must move on.

Love or, as they call it, Venus, is next.

Onwards!