The room went silent. Or my ears went numb, I couldn’t tell.

I could barely hear the siren blaring from our see-screen to signal the end of the Selection. But the words I just heard resounded in my ears like bombs exploding. I sat there frozen repeating the name, trying to convince myself how I could have misheard it. 

“Lukins, Charles.”

The name entered and exited my brain as though a stopper were inserting and removing itself into my ear canals. There was no doubt. It was my name.

A bright light beams across my face, flooding my eyes and darkening the figures crowded me. Frantic hands pulled me out of my bedroom closet.

“Charlie! Charlie, it’s you!” I recognized the voice. It was my mother.

My mind emerged abruptly from the shock it just encountered. She tightened her grip around my shoulders, pulling my body back into the bedroom.

“Mom!” It was all I could think to say.

Her face was creased from smiling. Her joy manifested itself in streams of tears down her cheeks. How could I risk saying anything else when she was so clearly overjoyed by my emigration?

“Baby, this is what we always dreamed for you! Of course, we would have been overjoyed if any of your older brothers or sisters had made it. But you were nearly our last hope! You being our fifth already, one more would’ve capped us out of qualifying. Now we don’t need to worry about that! 

“We always knew, Charlie,” she leaned in to whisper, the grip of her hands softening on my shoulders. “We sensed it from the moment your father and I agreed to marry. Our children would make the Selection.”

Going to live on the Moon Colony was more than just every parent’s pride and joy. It was every child’s dream — a chance to get off this decrepit rock before the next massive disaster wiped out another hundred million. The climatologists did their darndest convincing us to stay, claiming that natural disaster frequency was on the decline.

But we could all count. With sinkholes cracking through the Earth’s surface or the ocean swallowing whole cities every other week, it was hard not to notice.

Then, they launched the Gradual Emigration Project. The Selection became a class of distinction. But most of us still call it the “Jep.”

A few years back, a “jep” was a poor, underproductive bum who got shipped off to the Moon Colony instead of a prison. The nickname came from the original progam title, something about “saving the best of humanity,” and a slogan like, “Just Enough People.” 

Now, getting chosen for the Jep was an honor.

When the Jep program first launched, some called it ‘mad’ science. They were experimenting on humans. The big corporations behind the Jep denied payouts when family members never made it back to Earth. Social justice warriors protested the government halls on the regular.

That changed once the natural disasters started picking up pace. Then, everyone saw the Moon Colony as our only chance for survival. Suddenly the team behind the Jep program were the best people to get us there.

Thus formed the XSPACE Corporation. For years, they had been developing a mechanism to facilitate life on the moon. But not until the prison contracts and subsidies fully funding Moon colonization did their progress gain any real gusto. 

Leaders gladly emptied the Earth’s prisons without question, ‘For the sake of the program’s success,’ and XSPACE built their first experimental colonies-in-captivity on the Moon.

After that, bubble-encapsulated cities reminiscent of old sci-fi movies were suddenly everywhere: TV, podcasts, movies; and always portrayed as a luxurious dream home.

“Charlie, what’s wrong?”

Every year, mom could see the terror in my face when the Selection began. Every year, she’d ask me the same question. She does again, even with my name now flashing on my bedroom see-screen. 

Normally, I’d answer, “Nothing, mom,” and let out a sigh disguised as a laugh to keep her from hearing the relief in my voice. Not this time.

I knew how much she wanted one of her children to make the Selection. I saw how she changed toward my older siblings after they passed their fourteenth birthdays and could no longer qualify. I feared that change happening to us almost as much as I feared going to the Moon.

“Mom, about the Moon Colony,” I began, trying not to sound afraid but empty of any enthusiasm. “If it’s surrounded by prisons, do you really think I’ll be safe up there?”

“Sweetie, of course!” She set her hand to rest on my shoulder and it only reminded me how rarely we had ever made physical contact. “Don’t you think that the XSPACE scientists and their leaders would assure with certainty that the Colony was safe before sending valuable citizens like us to begin populating it? 

“The prison capsules occupy an entirely different quadrant. And besides, all the Moonies on SPACEBook rave about the Moon! The employment opportunities. Growth possibilities. The ones getting in this early are lucky. Within a few months after onboarding, they graduate into positions of leadership or celebrity.

“Imagine that, Charlie: you’re going to be a star!

“I bet you can’t name one Moonie that hasn’t shot to viral SPACEBook fame overnight! Moonies are living better lives than anyone else in the universe, and only two generations of ‘em had to get sent there to do it.”

“What about the prison Jeps?”

“No one’s counting the prison Jeps. Be serious, Charlie,” his mom snaps her tongue. ”There’s nothing like that left here, at least not enough for everyone.”

“I know, mom. I know this will really help our family.”

“Our family? Charlie, this is your moment! You’ve made the Selection! You’re going to the Moon Colony! Far away from the disasters consuming this rock! The sooner XSPACE can take us all to the Moon, the better! For now, Charlie, your selection is the best thing any of us could ever hope for!”

I smiled. “You’re right, mom.”

That was enough. Her arms curled around my shoulders and she scooped me into a hug. I managed little more than to sit limp on the edge of my bed and smile.

When she pulled away, I could see the tension in her brow had released. Instead, a smile now creased her whole, jubilant face.

“I’m going to call your school to coordinate the going-away event.”

Her eyes settled over my shoulder as she drifted off into a conversation with herself.

“We’ve only got four days to plan! I should start contacting local media influencers. We might want to consider hiring some extra guests for the broadcast. I know a caterer who can make a beautiful cake!

“A little pricey,” she said with a clasp of her hands. Before walking away, she sent one last glance at me: “Still, for this, it’s worth every penny!” 

Then, she darted out of the room, leaving me in silence. It filled my ears, like the void of a hollow cave. As though any tiny movement might break it and send crashing echoes against the walls.

Three bells rang from my see-screen and my whole body jumped from its petrified state.  

“Charles Lukins, please begin your daily hygienic rituals. Your Selection training will soon begin.”   

I got up onto my knees and grabbed the SPACEBook controller from my bed. An angry red flash pulsed from its sleeping touchscreen. I swiped in my password and activated my visual interface. Even before logging in, I could see from my updates that I had over one million new notifications.

My account had gained twenty-four million new links in less than five minutes. My page was drowning in congratulations. My inbox was flooded with offers from XSPACE and EarthCorp for product sponsorships, each one enough to pay for eternity. 

‘Mom was right,’ I thought to myself.

I tried to see it as a good thing. Her profile had posted forty times since my Selection. Embarrassing childhood photos, each with millions of loves, covered her feeds, with captions raving about how proud she was of me.

In one photo, a wave at the beach had just taken my shorts. I was crying, naked and sunburnt holding a tiny shovel. It hit almost 800 million loves — nearly the amount of humans left on Earth and the Moon Colony combined.

I scrolled through her posts. Several EarthCorp sponsorships were already linked in most of them. Her friends count was nearing two million. 

I clicked to the pages of my older brothers and sisters. One had moved into a luxury condominium to promote the launch of a new EarthCity Module. Another was showcasing their newly renovated kitchen and the Garden Capsule they had installed on their roof. They had all cashed in on my fame within moments of my Selection.

And There I was, trying not to cry. 

So selfish, I told myself. Foolish, ungrateful. I started to get angry.

I went back to my SPACEBook page. I accepted all of the sponsorships in my inbox. I liked as many comments on my wall as I could. I mustered something grateful to post about the announcement of my Selection. 

Celebrity would be my life now.

I was going to the Moon. I would study at Moon University. And like every other graduate, I would get a cushy job as a prison guard. Maybe even rise the ranks to Warden.

I was special. I was Selected. 

End