'Attention all passengers, this is your captain speaking,'  came a disembodied voice, crackling over the loudspeakers.  'Welcome aboard Starliner 7, I hope you had a pleasant ride up here on board the orbital transports.  Please make your way to your to your designated seats.'
    Treepol stood in the aisle, looking down at the ticket in his hand.  Seat 237.  He leaned over to the seat beside him, searching for a number.  It was there on the headrest, number 132.  That meant he had to be in the next cabin along.
    The Starliner was a huge craft, more than twice the size of the airliners that used to pass high in the sky over his house.  His house.  He was going to miss his house, despite the fact that it was ready to collapse.
    Since the scalding hot rain showers had ceased over a year ago, the temperature just continued to soar, causing bricks and mortar to become brittle and start to crumble.  Strangely, it was the newer buildings that started to go first.  Older houses, like Treepol's seemed to fare a lot better.  It must have been something in the materials they used to use.
    Treepol's melancholy was interrupted, when a large man and woman shoved past him, almost sending him sprawling face down into the seat.  There's no need to push, he thought, as he straightened himself up, and glanced after the couple.
    Although he only caught a fleeting glimpse of them from behind, he thought that the man looked familiar - perhaps a member of the government.  That would explain his lack of consideration for others.
    Assuming that the higher seat numbers where towards the back of the craft, Treepol turned around and began to make his way to the next cabin.
    As he weaved his way through the crowds of people coming aboard - most, like him, were looking at the seat numbers, trying to locate their own - his thoughts returned to his little house on Venus.
    It had been two years since he had received the phone call from the ECC (Earth Colonisation Committee) asking him to join them.  He remembered the day well; it was the day that he was almost boiled alive.  There was a sudden downpour, which came without warning.  He'd been in his garden at the time, and had run to his shed for cover.
    The old shed hadn't fared too well with the change in climate, and quickly began to collapse, forcing him to make a second run to his house.  It was during this second run that he had stumbled.  He remembered the searing pain as the raindrops started to burn his skin - he thought he was a goner for sure that day.
    Fortunately, the rain stopped as suddenly as it had started, and he was able to get under cover before a second downpour, and managed to escape with only minor burns.  He recalled a news broadcast the following morning; a lot of people were not so lucky; the hospitals had been inundated with casualties - some died, and others were scarred for life.
    Yes, he'd been quite fortunate.
    'Attention all passengers, this is your captain speaking,'  came the announcement again.  It stirred Treepol from his memories, back to the present.  'Welcome aboard Starliner 7, I hope you had a pleasant ride up here on board the orbital transports.  Please make your way to your to your designated seats.'
    Treepol examined another seat.
    231.
    Close, he thought, moving on to the next row.
    There were thirteen rows in each of the four passenger cabins.  Each row was divided into three sections, separated by narrow aisles - two seats at one side, four in the middle, then two more at the other side.  He looked at the next seat.
    239.
    He turned around looked at the seats opposite.
    238... 237.
    Typical! He was in the centre of the middle column - he wouldn't even be able to look out of the window.  Shuffling sideways, he moved to his seat and sat down.  His knees pressed against the seat in front.
    The seats at either side of him were soon filled as everybody started to find their places.  An elderly couple sat down to his left, and then a tall, statuesque woman to his right.
    Treepol shuffle in his seat, trying to get comfortable; there wasn't a lot of arm room.  He winced in pain as a large man sat down in the seat in front of him, and the backrest pressed even harder against his kneecaps.  He was glad they were going to be asleep throughout the duration of the voyage, but he dreaded to think what state his legs were going to be in by the time they reached their destination.
    'Attention all passengers, this is your captain speaking.  I hope you are all sitting comfortably.  We will be leaving the orbit of our beloved Venus in thirty minutes.  For those of you in the first class seats in cabin one, the hostesses will be around shortly with drinks and light snacks.'
    Treepol's thoughts moved to the Starliner.  It was one of a fleet of twenty-six built so far.  Seven of them were already finished when he was invited to join the committee two years earlier, and another six were under construction.
    Each craft comprised of two main sections.  The front section consisted of the cockpit, crew cabin, and the four passenger cabins.  It was long and cylindrical in shape, tapering off to a blunt point at the front, not unlike an airliner.  That, however, was where the resemblance ended.  The rear section was almost as long as the front, but much bulkier.  As well as housing the main engines and fuel tanks, this section also contained the Life Support and Cryogenic Stasis Systems.
    It was the latter of these, the Cryogenic Stasis System, that would sustain them throughout the two year journey to Earth.  The theory behind it was that a combination of gases would be released into the cabins which, when the cabin temperature was lowered, would freeze their bodies.  When they reached Earth, the computer would raise the cabin temperature again and filter out the gases.  Everyone would then wake up naturally.
    Treepol had heard some worrying stories about the whole process - if the gases weren't released in the correct quantities, then they would all be poisoned before they froze; if too much gas was released, the pressure would crush them all, or rupture the Starliner's hull and they would be sucked out into space; if too little gas was released, the mixture would have no effect and they would all die in agony as the cabin temperature dropped.  He shuddered at the thought of everything that could go wrong.
    'Attention passengers,' came the captain's voice again, 'if you look out of the starboard windows you will see a sight that very few people have had the privilege of seeing - our beloved planet, Venus, as seen from space.  For those of you not fortunate enough to have a window seat, or who are sitting at the port side of the craft, this wonderful spectacle can be seen on the display screen at the front of each cabin.  I urge you all to take a good, long look, and savour the memory, as once we leave orbit, you'll never see it again.'
    Several people climbed out of their seats and hurried over to the starboard side to have a look through the windows, leaning over and crushing those who were sat there.
    Treepol was content with watching it on the display screen.  He contemplated how beautiful their planet used to be.
    The planets surface was once covered in lush, green meadows, with vast forests, and waterfalls, and a veritable host of wildlife.  Huge oceans separated the continents, and the horizon was crowned with a clear blue sky.  This was all before his time, of course.  The world he had grown up in was much different.
    He was born three decades after the warming had started.  It began slowly at first, but over the past few years, it had increased far more than anyone had expected.  The green meadows had turned yellow and barren; the vast forests had begun to shrivel; the oceans were drying up and becoming huge, lethal mud pits which would swallow or hold fast anything that tried to traverse them.  Saddest of all, the once bountiful wildlife had all but died out.  The handful of animals that were still around while he was growing up had all been bred in captivity.
    Now, almost thirty years later, there was very little left of the Venus of old.  The remaining animals had been put to sleep, to spare them any further misery, and to help conserve the dwindling food supplies for the human populace.
    Despite science's best efforts, the population continued to shrink, and now stood at  barely four million.  It was estimated that the remaining food rations would run out within seven years, and anyone still around after that would simply starve to death.  The peoples only chance of survival was the starliner project.
    Treepol sighed quietly as he thought about the future of the masses.
    There were just twenty-six starliners - thirty-two if they ever finish building the last six.  With four hundred people on each craft, a two year journey to the new world, and then two years to get back, it didn't take a genius to work out that most people wouldn't be going.  These facts hadn't been released to the general public.
    Surely, he thought to himself, the people couldn't be so naive, to think they would all be saved.  It must have struck them as suspicious when most of the world leaders left on Starliner 1.  They couldn't have believed that story about the leaders going on ahead so that they could establish the new government, and have everything in place before the rest of them arrived.  Then again, perhaps they did.  Perhaps it was easier to believe that they'd all be saved, rather than face reality and admit they were doomed.
    'Attention passengers,' the captain's voice again. 'We will be starting up the main engines in five minutes.  We recommend that you return to your seats and fasten your seat belts.  For those passengers in cabin four, the hostesses will be around shortly to issue ear plugs.  Any passengers in cabin three with sensitive hearing and who would like to be issued with ear plugs, please press the button on the rear of the headrest in front of you to attract the attention of a hostess.  Thank you for your co-operation.'
    Treepol's thoughts turned to those first few weeks after he joined the ECC, when he was inducted into the group.  They said he was chosen because of his academic status and scientific genius, but it was more likely that it was because his father had been one of the first astronauts to fly a manned mission to Earth - he probably had a clause written into his contract.
    One of the first things he had to do before the committee would accept him, was to sign the Official Secrets Act.  It was a decision he thought long and hard about before he finally agreed to it.  He was glad they had given him forty-eight hours to think it over.
    Shortly after he'd signed the act, he attended their first official meeting, were the committee outlined their agenda.  He was quite shocked at just how few people they were going to transplant to the new world - he'd always known that they wouldn't be able to save everyone, but still, to hear it from someone in authority.
    Over the following months he was saddened and appalled, in equal amounts, at how easily the government lied to the public. Building up their hopes, and telling them that everything was going to be alright.  Sometimes he just wanted to stand on top of his house and shout out the truth.  But he couldn't.  Breaking the Official Secrets Act was punishable by summary execution, and he didn't relish that idea.  His only consolation lie in that every member of the committee could take all of their direct relatives with them to Earth - his mother had a seat reserved on board Starliner 18.
    A loud hissing sound appeared suddenly, like the sound of gas escaping.  This was followed seconds later by a deafening roar which caused the whole cabin to vibrate.
    Treepol clasped his hands to his ears in an effort to deaden the noise.  He wished he had some ear plugs.  Thankfully the sound lessened considerably once the engines began to warm up, and the mix of chemicals that powered the rockets began to flow through the system.
    'Ladies and gentlemen,' the captain announced, 'we shall be leaving orbit in approximately two minutes.  Once the vessel starts moving, the porthole covers over the port and starboard windows will close, and you may notice a slight drop in the cabin temperature.  Please do not be alarmed, this is all perfectly normal.  Hostesses are coming around now to administer tranquillisers.  These will help you to relax and drift comfortably off to sleep before the cryogenic process begins.  May I bring to your attention, the coloured lights at the front of each cabin.  If you are still awake when the red light shows, please alert a hostess for immediate assistance...'
    The stories of people still being conscious during the cryogenic process sprung back into Treepol's mind.  He gripped the armrests of his seat, tightly, but relaxed a little as soft music started to play over the loudspeakers.
    Tacky, but effective, he thought, as the soothing sounds filled the craft.  He could see the hostesses moving down the aisles from the front of the cabin, pushing trolleys loaded with syringes and medication.  His grip on the armrest tightened once more.
    'Hello, sir,' said the hostess, with a smile. 'I hope you're sitting comfortably.'
    Well, a little more leg room wouldn't go astray, Treepol thought to himself.
    'If you'd just like to roll up your sleeve for me,' she continued, politely, 'I'll try and be as gentle as I can.'
    The hostess picked up a particularly vicious-looking syringe - five three-inch long needles arranged in a circular pattern.
    Treepol rolled up his sleeve and closed his eyes.  He felt a cold, wet dab on his arm as the hostess rubbed an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball on his arm, then a short, sharp prick as the needles penetrated his skin.
    Odd, he thought.  It didn't hurt anywhere near as much as he'd expected it to.
    'EEGH!' he gasped, suddenly, his body going rigid.  His arm felt as though it were on fire, as the serum was injected into his arm and began to flow through his veins.  He dug his fingers further into the armrest.  That was no ordinary tranquilliser.
    'There you are, sir.  All done!' the hostess smiled, dropping the syringe into a bin beneath the trolley, before moving on to her next victim.
    Treepol tipped his head back and closed his eyes.  He was starting to feel nauseous.  Must be the effects of the injection.  He listened to the music.  It made him feel a little better.
    'Attention all passengers,' the captain announced.  'We are about to leave orbit.  Very soon, you will all drift off to sleep.  The cryogenic systems will then be activated.  These will freeze your bodies and put you in a state of suspended animation for the duration of the two year voyage.   When you wake up, we'll be orbiting our new home.  Have a pleasant journey.'
    There was a steady hum as the thrusters came on line.
    Treepol couldn't help but feel sorry for all those people that would be left behind, as the vessel moved gently away from the planet.  A tear ran from the corner of his eye.
    He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind.  It was a terrible tragedy, but there was nothing he could do to change things.  As they told him when he joined the committee, "you can't save everybody".
    Now, he had to look to the future.  A new world lay ahead.  He wondered if he would find his father on Earth.  They'd told him at the committee, that they had lost all contact with his father's craft, the Explorer 2, two years after it's launch.  It never reached the designated landing site on Earth, and because there was no debris on it's projected flight path, it was assumed that the vessel was either lost in space, or had crashed elsewhere on the planet's surface.  Either way, all on board were presumed dead.  But there was still a slim chance, he thought.  Even now, after all these years, his father could be living on some remote part of Earth.
    Treepol moved his hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn.  All of a sudden, he felt extremely tired.  He closed his eyes, and a few seconds later he was fast asleep...