Welcome to your new life.

The first thing I become aware of is a hissing noise. I can’t tell if my eyes are open, I don’t feel hot or cold, I am not aware of standing or lying down, but I can hear. I start there, focusing on that sense alone. 

A low humming adds itself to the sharp hiss. Machinery perhaps. Like a build-up of gas being released. Now a rhythmic beeping, closer than the other sounds. A hospital? 

Ah, smell. Sterile but sour. Bleach covering old vomit. 

A deep breath causes a stinging in my nostril. I feel all of my body too quickly. Stiff but dizzy. Vertigo makes my shoulders heavy and numb. My stomach churns, my throat closes, my tongue feels too big in my mouth. My body contorts as I vomit, bending at the waist. Something catches me before I fall. Trapped. Cold, hard metal digging into my thighs, my stomach. 

Blinding light. My eyelids glue themselves shut. I had glimpsed tile, shiny and white and splattered with chunks of sick. The smell makes me gag. A hand in my periphery. A cloth covers my nose, I inhale the sweet smell of lavender and cheap chemicals. It reminds me of home. 

Home. 

I wasn’t home. 

Not in my appointed housing. Not in my assigned city. Not in my birth country. I wasn’t even on my planet. 

I become aware of nothing once more.

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I had certain expectations for my life. Even in the midst of technological advancements, global disasters and personal tragedies. Holding on tight to how I wanted my life to turn out was like clinging to a raft in middle of the ocean.

Maybe it was naive of me, but I never let go. 

When AI had become advanced enough to replace half the work force on the planet, I still wanted to study at university. When the Last War had been declared and the elite had begun to evacuate Earth, when the population had started to decline rapidly, I still wanted my dream job. When my father and brother had died fighting on an undisclosed battlefield, I had still wanted a family of my own. 

I never got any of those things.

On my twenty second birthday I sat alone in the Department for Employment Relocation, with a questionnaire detailing every facet of my life. It was depressingly short. On the reception desk- now obsolete- was a coffee machine, showing the ostentation of the government building. Of course they still had coffee. I had just finished my third cup. Unable to delay any longer, I walked over to the AI Bot. This particular machine was nothing more than a metallic box with a small opening for the completed forms to be fed through.

Patience was not required as the answer to my questionnaire appeared almost immediately on the screen above the Bot. 

No higher education. Manual labour not suitable. Manual administrative skills acceptable. Relocation to London immediate. Purpose found.

Welcome to your new life.

. 

That job had lasted four years. Until The Department for the Re-distribution of Wealth had been established and AI had taken all available positions. What use were passwords and pin codes when no one required a bank account. 

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A week before my twenty sixth birthday I stood again in front of a screen, telling me where society would deem me useful. There was no coffee in this building. Trade discussions had ceased months ago, replaced with fire and carnage. My old home in the north was probably rubble and dust.

I held my breath, unable to look away from the information before me. 

No detectable skills or knowledge. Female reproductive organs viable. Relocation to Mars Colony immediate. Report to Mars Colony Embassy. Purpose found. 

Welcome to your new life. 

.

I wake suddenly, this time lying on soft cotton and fluffy pillows. There are no sounds or smells. I open my eyes. The cream walls are soft, warm and glowing in a dim light. There are several beds in the room, all occupied by women in varying states of consciousness. A severe woman in a white lab coat and frameless glasses walks in when we are all awake.

She tells us what will happen next. 

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There are worse places to be. I know this. Some women are too old to be considered to populate Mars. The journey takes a decade, so fast and yet, not. Not when you’re thirty. They only want to best for Mars, which means the youngest and healthiest. The least likely to develop health issues on the way. The older women will be left for the repopulation of Earth. At least here its done by implantation. Scientific and sterile. I had heard stories about the repopulation centres on Earth. Dirt and disease and men who had little morals even before the War. 

But still- now I’m standing on the large viewing platform, a glass balcony that hangs over the ship making me feel like I’m floating in space- I can’t help but feel that I’m not ready.

The sun had set by the time I had returned to the halfway house on the night of my reassignment. My last sunset and I hadn’t even noticed. It had not rained that day. I wonder if it will rain on Mars, if I will ever again feel the bitter cold drops on my face, feel the humid city air cooling after a long summer, if I would yearn for the green of the trees and the blue of the sky. 

I think I will be thankful to leave the endless darkness of space, no matter what colour welcomes me where we land. 

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I can see Earth, barely distinguishable from the stars. The other women are at the viewing platform, apparently this is the final hour the Earth can be seen on this journey. I can see well enough from the small round window overlooking my bunk, so I sit alone and stare across the universe.

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When I was a child, I would ask my father why I didn’t have a mother like the other children. I felt the lack of her presence like a boulder sitting on my chest, though I’d only ever seen the grainy photograph my father kept in an old wallet.

He would tell me about her smile and her eyes, about how she loved me very much and would be so proud of how I’d grown into such a beautiful young lady. Then he would tell me she had gone to a better place while looking up at the sky. At first, I had thought he was talking about Mars. That she had been chosen for the mission because she was special. It wasn’t until years later I realised she was dead. 

My father and brother were selected from a lottery on the same cold evening. They had the same birthday. I like to think they died on the same day too. 

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I turn away from the window as the last glimmer of home vanishes like a speck of dust.