“President Flowercard, our ship will enter Mars orbit in just a few minutes.”
Captain Bordeaux of the Anger spoke calmly, but Flowercard could hardly contain his excitement.
Thanks to a newly introduced navigation system, the journey from Earth to Mars had been drastically shortened.
Even so, nearly a year had passed since the Anger left Earth.
During that time, Flowercard had dreamed—sometimes feverishly—of the moment he would set foot on the new world.
Two years earlier, in the spring, President Flowercard of the Republic of Kalimea had announced a grand plan for mass migration to Mars.
It came just after the National Meteorological Institute warned that, if global warming continued, one-third of Kalimea’s vast territory would become uninhabitable.
Until then, Flowercard had denied climate change altogether.
But suddenly he declared:
“Earth is forty-six hundred million years old. If a person at forty-six begins to feel his body failing, why shouldn’t Earth?
If Earth is dying, Mars awaits. We shall build a great nation there.”
Thus was born the Kalimea Grand Mars Migration Plan—a declaration that shook the world.
The first controversy came from the three conditions required for citizens to join the migration:
five years of national citizenship, membership in the ruling party, and a personal contribution of five billion yen.
The public was stunned.
“So only long-term citizens can go? Another way to exclude immigrants.”
“Only party members of the ruling bloc? He’s dividing the nation in two.”
“Five billion yen per person? Who could possibly afford that?”
Flowercard defended the policy, claiming it was necessary for “security, order, and fiscal discipline.”
But few were convinced.
His approval ratings plummeted—yet the ruling party held a majority in parliament.
Through a convenient “special exemption,” Flowercard allowed current lawmakers to migrate even without the payment, and the bill passed easily.
Foreign reactions were equally dramatic.
The Kingdom of Honin offered to pay fifteen billion yen per person—five for migration rights, ten for Kalimea citizenship—so that its royals and elites could join.
Flowercard refused:
“A nation that once renounced its weapons out of guilt cannot build a new world.”
Even Luerasui, a former ally, was rejected:
“Your country claimed land in the name of God and slaughtered its natives.
Stay on Earth until it perishes with your God.”
Flowercard, ever the Kalimea First nationalist, barred all foreign participation.
The plan called for a massive dome-sized spacecraft carrying over ten thousand settlers—the First Migration.
But as construction progressed, materials for Mars habitation consumed more space than expected, reducing the passenger count to three thousand.
Costs soared with the new propulsion system, delaying the Second Migration by two and a half years.
In the end, Flowercard departed Earth with only a fraction of his promised settlers.
“I am President Flowercard of Kalimea. We are entering Mars orbit and request landing guidance.”
He transmitted proudly toward the red planet.
A reply came swiftly:
“Flowercard, we know who you are.
On Mars, we have no place for those who bomb other nations, spread chaos among their own people, and call it leadership.
Approach any closer, and your ship will face the first hellfire in space.
Turn back to Earth—now.”
What happened next is left to imagination.
But after Flowercard’s departure, Kalimea became a leader in climate reform, and Earth’s weather slowly stabilized—or so they say.
Perhaps, after all, living wisely on a troubled Earth is better than fleeing to a perfect Mars.
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