Planet Earth: Restoration Strategy and Implementation Plan

They look like us, sort of, but different enough. Taller, longer limbs, hair that moves like grass in the wind. Something of the other in the eyes. And they smile a lot.

#

First came the explorers. Sleek ships, weathered by space dust and interstellar debris, but with sufficient defences to nonchalantly bat away the missiles of panicking world powers. The aliens smiled as they emerged from their craft, paying no attention to the bullets that bounced off their forcefields. When the frenzy had died down, they spoke with presidents and politicians, scientists and shareholders, even farmers and fishermen.

Next came the larger ships, thronging with researchers and diplomats. While the diplomats exchanged cultural offerings with world leaders, the researchers visited what remained of our forests, our coral reefs, our savannahs. They shook their heads and took notes in the alien script that nobody could decipher, while they themselves mastered human languages within weeks.

Finally came the entrepreneurs and the tourists. Enterprising aliens set up low-orbit hotels, complete with package tours of the finest sights that Earth has to offer, while maintaining familiar comforts close at hand. The tourists were not so impressed with the cities – theirs were far more interesting, not to mention bigger and cleaner, they said – but they were enthusiastic about our natural places. I came across one on a country lane when I was out walking with the dog. It was pointing a strange device at a sparrow.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” I asked. It was the first time I had spoken to an alien directly; the authorities had assured us that it was safe but, like many people, I had not mustered the courage until that point. I don’t know why I did say something that day. Maybe it was to do with the promotion at work, giving me a little extra confidence.

The alien blinked at me with its odd eyes.

“You might call it a camera,” it said. “Though it’s more advanced than your technology. Look.”

It showed me a screen where a three-dimensional sparrow rotated, surrounded by script and symbols. It didn’t mean much to me.

“Nice,” I said. I paused, thinking what else to say. “What do you think of Earth, then?”

The alien did an action akin to a shrug.

“Pleasant enough for a short trip,” it said. “The wildlife is delightfully varied. But it is a pity what your people have done to it.”

“Pollution and climate change and all that? Yeah, it’s sad,” I said, looking over the rows of dry fields. Maybe a dozen more harvests in them, they said. “Still, we’re working on it. Trying to reduce carbon emissions, be more eco-friendly, that kind of thing.”

“Trying?”

“Yep.”

I shuffled my feet, wondering if something had been lost in translation.

“Do you have a profession?” asked the alien.

“Yes, I work for the government, actually. Environmental regulations. Just been promoted, in fact.”

“Interesting.” The alien raised its device and pointed it at my face. I took a step back. The device made a noise, and the alien smiled at me.

“Goodbye,” it said, and vanished.

#

Though they never said explicitly, I later gathered it was that encounter that made them designate me a ‘stakeholder’. I received a message on my phone – I assumed somehow the camera had harvested my contact information – that I would be summoned one Thursday morning. My work obligingly gave me the time off; the aliens had already earned a reputation for not taking no for an answer.

When the morning came, I put on the suit that my partner had bought for me to celebrate my promotion. An audience with the aliens seemed like an important enough event to break it in. Naively, I expected maybe a knock at the door when the time came. Instead, I found myself adjusting my tie in the mirror one moment and within an alien antechamber the next.

There were maybe fifty other people around me, most dressed formally, all looking confused and disoriented. Before we had time to recover from the impromptu teleportation, an alien was ushering us into something like a boardroom. They had evidently made some efforts to humanise the place; the U-shaped table and office chairs were obviously of Earth origin, as was the coffee station in one corner. Through a window at the far end of the room, I could see the cloud-studded curve of my home planet, far below us.

We were instructed to sit down, and an alien introduced themselves as a ‘stakeholder coordinator’. It gestured towards a wall, and glowing words appeared. They read: “Planet Earth: Restoration Strategy and Implementation Plan”.

The presentation began. The alien told us how they had been excited to establish transport links from their home solar system to ours, allowing them for the first time to experience our planet’s wonders. However, many visitors had expressed concern over humanity’s stewardship of its natural resources. The alien flicked through a set of all-too-familiar images of rivers choked with plastic, forests blazing with fire, polar bears clinging to melting icebergs. Given their sense of responsibility over the galaxy – being the first galactic beings capable of interstellar flight, with the technological and cultural developments to match, the alien said with perhaps a hint of pride – they had formed a sophisticated strategy for restoring Earth’s precious natural places.

The presentation went on. The alien introduced us to fantastical technologies that vacuumed microplastics from the ocean, accelerated tree growth, even revived extinct species from fragments of DNA. Their capabilities were incredible, far beyond our own. It seemed they had the tools we so desperately lacked.

Then came the strategy itself. The level of detail was quite extraordinary: they showed us how they would rebuild the rainforests, revive the reefs, repopulate the plains. I sat up straighter in my seat.

“In terms of timescale, we predict that these efforts will take around fifty Earth years,” the alien concluded with a grin. “For that duration, we will house humanity on comfortable low-orbit vessels, with all the resources needed to lead full and active lives. Through ethically limiting reproduction, we estimate the human population can be reduced to around two billion, which will be far more manageable for your return to the planet.”

The tension in the room ramped up several notches. Unsurprisingly, nobody seemed too taken with this plan.

“And this meeting is to approve or disprove this idea?” asked a woman with greying hair who looked like she might work in a lab.

“The plan itself has already been approved by the Galactic Council. The meeting is to gather your feedback, which will be used to augment the plan. We are carrying out such meetings for every Earth nation. Though our models are powerful, we accept that it's possible that some uniquely human considerations may have been overlooked. Of course, we want to take them all into account.”

“Well, I can tell you that we don’t like it,” said the woman. “Fifty years stuck in space? No control over our own lives? No thank you.”

“You would have every comfort up here,” said the alien. “It would be a life where every human need would be amply catered for.”

Somebody coughed in the ensuing silence. Since the aliens had first made an appearance, many people had been fearing invasion or slavery. This strategy seemed less violent, at least.

“But this is our planet. It’s for us to make the decisions, not you,” said a red-faced man with the dirt-seamed hands of a farmer.

“With respect, humanity’s decisions have so far not been the wisest,” replied the alien. “We have considerable expertise and experience in planet restoration. I would be happy to share case studies from across the galaxy, if you are interested.”

“Everybody on Earth wants the environment restored,” said an upright woman with the polished tone of a diplomat. “We can collaborate with you. We contribute our knowledge of the planet, and you contribute your technologies. Surely a less costly option than housing the entire human population off-planet.”

“We considered this option, but humanity is currently not sufficiently cooperative nor forward-thinking to undertake such a venture,” said the alien. “We have very powerful models that we used to project various scenarios, which informed our strategy; under such a ‘collaboration’ scenario, you would use our technologies for conflict and profiteering.”

There were muted grumbles of disagreement.

“You can’t force us to leave our homes,” said the researcher. “You claim to be democratic, we were told, yet this plan is overtly authoritarian. Humanity would never agree to it.”

“Though we make every effort to devolve decision-making to the citizens affected by such strategies, this has been decreed a galactic-level decision,” said the alien. “In fact, through our efforts, we even secured representation for Earth at the Galactic Council. Your politicians cast their vote when this strategy was announced.”

“The Galactic Council?” said the diplomat. “Is that your democratic body?”

“At the galactic level, yes. For maximum fairness, we follow the dogma of proportional representation,” replied the alien. “The Galactic Council has 707 seats currently, one seat per ten billion galactic inhabitants. Even though Earth’s human population doesn’t quite reach that milestone, we were able to convince the Council to grant you a seat.”

“And how did the vote go?” I asked, fearing I already knew the answer.

“The votes were 706 for the strategy, one against. A landslide approval.”

“This is outrageous,” said the farmer. “This is a hostile takeover.”

The alien’s inhuman eyes appeared to harden above its smile. “Let me show you something.” It brought up a different screen: images of bombed cities, dusty wastelands, hollow-eyed people. “Our modelling includes a ‘no intervention’ scenario, where we simply do nothing and let humanity take its course. And this would be your fate in fifty years’ time. The climate destroyed, natural resources plundered to exhaustion, air and water irreparably polluted. Nations fighting over the scraps. Billions dead or dying, not to mention millions of other species going extinct. The future we are offering is not only better for your planet, but also for yourselves.”

Nobody spoke for a while.

“What about identity?” said the researcher at last. “How can we retain our culture, our history, when we would be so far removed from it?”

“Your drive towards urbanisation has already been destroying your culture, just as much as your environment,” said the alien. “Whatever ‘true’ culture you once had, the culture that connected you to the world around you, has been replaced by a culture of consumption and exploitation. Can you really argue that this culture is worth preserving?”

There were murmurs of uncertainty around the room.

“We won’t stand for this,” said the red-faced man. “There’ll be war.”

“No, there won’t. That would be contravening the Law of the Galaxy that your politicians have agreed to honour. Trust us: this is the best decision for all of you. Our finest minds and models are all in accordance. Adaptation may be challenging, but we will support your transition. We look forward to accommodating you and showing you your planet’s true potential.”

Another subdued silence followed. I wondered if I would be allowed to take my dog with me.

“Now, we have an engaging activity to collect your opinions and feedback,” said the alien, revealing a pile of depressingly Earth-origin stationery.

For the next two hours, we drew mind maps with felt-tip pens.

#

From the window in my room I can see my home country, far below me, peppered with clouds. Every year, its recovery becomes more evident. In the three decades I’ve been up here, the land has lost the grey splatters of cities and the brown smears of industry and agriculture; now, it holds a rich, verdant, varied green.

Life is pretty good up here. Some days I remember what it was like to live on the surface, worrying about my job performance, the mortgage, my family’s happiness. Most of all, I remember that heavy dread as we saw the world inch closer to disaster every day. Now, I can watch the Earth recover in real time.

I often see shuttles descending to the planet’s surface. The aliens adore our world: they speak with passion about how, with just a little push, nature is springing back to life. They have set up ecological farms, to provide food for the humans in orbit and to send exotic flavours to their home planet. Tourism has exploded, though only for aliens. Initially they spoke of humans being allowed to visit, for nostalgia purposes perhaps, but in the end they decided it wasn’t worth the risk. It had taken a lot of effort to round up the human population in the first place, after all, and there had been unavoidable casualties. The prospect of further escapees raised serious safety concerns.

In fact, people are talking about whether it’s worth returning at all. Many have lived the majority of their lives up here. Some – very few, only those with parents selected from the lottery – were even born here. And it’s an easy life, with no major responsibilities, everything clean and straightforward, plenty of activities and games to keep us entertained. Education programmes help us learn about the galaxy and its inhabitants, and especially how they so often approach big problems better than we did. And, they teach us of our own history, a good reminder of how much dirt, illness, biting insects, and bad weather we used to endure down on the surface.

The stakeholder meetings continue. I’m still on the panel. They show us their progress, footage of the systematic deconstruction of factories and power stations, depollution of land and water, revival of ecosystems and the incredible species that live within them. They ask us for our opinions, and we dutifully write them down with felt-tip pens. It’s nice to be included.