“Your purpose on Mars?” asked Martian Entry Agent Miguel Martinez.
“Work,” James Nelson replied. “None on Earth. There is on Mars.”
“M-hm.” Agent Martinez finished searching the Nelsons’ baggage. James sighed with relief. “Any illegal contraband requires immediate force-return to Earth,” the sign said. Families had been sent back for the smallest things in their transpo-crates.
Emily, James’s daughter, squirmed in his wife Molly’s arms. “Shhh,” she said.
Now Martinez was scanning the Nelsons’ purple entry-and-work visa. Everything depended on this single card: one problem with their purple card, and it was back to Earth.
“Pass through,” Martinez said.
James exhaled. The Nelsons were immigrants now.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
I know, I know. A day late. Yesterday was a pretty busy one, though, so I didn't get around to mulling over this week's prompt until late, and I didn't start writing until this morning. So here it is. I stuck with science fiction again. The best SF stories, for me, are still about what any good story is about: people. Anyway, here it is, with the prompt in bold.