Everything was worse than expected, so we decided to evacuate Earth. Fast. The only problem — how? No governments had made a plan A to prevent the apocalypse, and obviously there was no plan B either. No governments had the expertise or foresight or parts for an emergency spaceship, especially not one that would let everyone escape unscathed. The world’s eyes turned to the billionaire with the space company. He was the only one who could prepare a fleet of spaceships in the limited time left. His industries and greed had no doubt contributed to the planet’s death, but now he would help it take its last breath. He was a philanthropist.
The ships would have room for roughly 300 persons a piece. They would be assembled by machines in various sites across the world, but there was only time for one wave of ships. He decided to give one ship to each country and disappeared before negotiating further. These weeks were a very busy time for mapmakers. The machines kept moving, unphased.
As 200 spaceships assembled across the world, each ship was given its own price of admission. In some countries, there was a lottery. In some countries, there was a struggle. They were all tasked to find their own solution to their problem, all except for one. Because the billionaire had left instructions for his home country. The American ship was to be assembled in the Nevada desert, and its keys were to be auctioned in his home town. Like everything else, this would be a largely automated process. He had already rented the venue. One week before the end of everything, the wealthiest invited themselves to an auction house.
-
The auctioneer rolled onstage, a monitor with four legs. Its face kept track of the latest bid, its ears and eyes were in the walls and in the seats. Its legs made sure it didn’t fall over. It would stand in the middle of the auction floor, next to the protected dome that housed the keys. They were mostly symbolic.
“Welcome to today’s auction. The bidding starts at 16 million dollars. You may begin”
“17 million!”
Not even a second had passed.
From the monitor’s synthesized voice:
“17 million, going once.”
“17 million, going twice.”
And the room came back to life.
“19 million!” “25 million!”
A journalist in the front row couldn’t help but laugh. What a lowball.
“25 million, going once.”
The auction would go on. The journalist would leave on the second day.
-
“102 billion.”
The oil magnate’s fingertips were bleeding. The pits of his suit were stained. His sunken eyes darted across the hushed room. He had to win this. The time was 11:03 PM. There were 3 hours until death. It would take 2 hours to reach the ship, 1 more to take off. He would have to go alone. There was no time.
The monitor smiled.
“102 billion, going once.
“102 billion, going twice.”
“105 billion!”
“105 billion, going once.”
