Suppose a group of people, highly placed
are critically massed one afternoon.
They think, as many do, that we are faced
with nuclear disaster fairly soon.
They meet at a symposium, let’s say,
and hear respected scientists recite
the terrible predictions of the day
that fallout turns into an endless night.
They fear not on humanity’s behalf.
Some few will live to start the race anew.
And those who don’t have had their chance to laugh.
No creature lives forever in this zoo.
Don’t give them credit less than they deserve
I think you’ll see their values have great worth.
Their mission is no less than to conserve
what’s left of civilization on this earth.
In order to accomplish this, they’ll need
some healthy men and women they can train.
These individuals will be the seed
from which society will grow again.
The problem here: They can’t just advertise
for volunteers to live while others die.
For this to work, it must be a surprise.
It doesn’t take a genius to see why.
A similar endeavor’s what they need,
compatible with what they want to do.
Become involved, discredit those who lead,
then take control and work some changes through.
It just so happens something of the sort
is being planned and soon will be in place:
an underwater test of life support
in preparation for a home in space.
I’ll fill you in a little on the way
some astronauts will spend the coming year.
Were I a novelist I’d have to say
you’d need some details that you won’t get here.
The idea is to start the thing out small:
two metal cylinders set end to end.
Some airplane fuselages gave up all
except their noses so they could attend.
They’re separated by an airtight lock
to limit leaks in case of accident.
A passageway connects them to a dock
through which replacements and supplies are sent.
The tubes can be unhooked so they run free,
with six pneumatic legs ranged side by side,
a pair of which can grab things from the sea,
the other four remaining in their stride.
And if the project goes as well as planned,
they’ll add more vessels made from the same mold.
But only the materials come from land;
the new will be assembled by the old.
They’ll take a recently retired plane;
they'll do it like the ones already done;
they’ll set it on the water with a crane
to wait between the ocean and the sun.
Soon, one of the incumbent submarines
will surface right behind the empty craft,
and, after some preliminary scenes,
will plug her fore into the other’s aft.
A cockpit door will open to conceive,
and from the mother ship some will pass through.
One-third of her inhabitants will leave
to form one-half her daughter’s maiden crew.
They’ll take equipment, furnishings, and food,
books, papers, clothing, and accouterments,
all that they brought and all they’ll have accrued.
The daughter will be their new residence.
When everything is transferred they’ll detach
(I’m sure they’ll leave some time to say farewell).
A second ship will bring a second batch.
A second gamete makes a zygote cell.
This reproductive rite they will rehearse
to give the little colony its start,
The dwellers of this inside universe
now operate three cylinders apart.
There will be present, though, some dozens more
that won’t have been existing as they will—
those waiting for the colonists to score
by knowing which commandment to fulfill.
©2010, 2014 Louis A. Merrimac
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