Long before I was born, humanity decided to abandon Earth. Apparently the planet was running out of resources and to stay any longer would have been suicide. Apparently the situation had been so dire that leaders worldwide did not even think about the possibility of working together, but cobbled together whatever and whoever they could and left. Apparently whoever was left behind was supposed to die within a few months.
Apparently they were wrong.
The evacuation of Earth, which we now call “The Migration,” happened almost three-hundred years ago. My great-great grandparents were in their forties at the time—some of the oldest civilians that were qualified for space-flight. Everybody was scrambling to buy whatever seats were left over after the political and military leaders had gotten theirs. Space was limited, so only those who could provide services necessary for the future of humanity were even considered for approval. Luckily, my ancestor was a doctor, and they let him bring his wife and kids along. Each country able to afford a colonizer launched their ships within a few weeks of each other and laid claim to whatever territory they could as soon as they landed on the one habitable planet that scientists had found. It was hard for everybody to become accustomed to life on a different planet at first, but eventually people settled in and made it their home. Now, though, we’ve been receiving transmissions from Earth, and the government doesn’t know what to do.