So many more days passed in pleasant conversation by the window. She was there to greet him in the morning and saw him to the door at night. He was saved from loneliness, but not from the inevitabilities of age.
He fluctuated between mentally sharp and somnolent, and anyone or thing would have seen the slow fading of life from his face. He ceased to care what happened out on the surface. A101 never discussed the quest with him again.
But, much later: 'Do what's right, when a choice is placed before you…'
First he hummed it, then he sang it softly to himself, then he cursed it and them. It had baffled him for awhile, but he eventually was able to recall the when and where of it. It was clear evidence that she was manipulating him. Maybe, he thought, it's them, not her. Some days she seems so nice. I wonder who she is?
First Steps
He was awakened from a restless sleep by the chiming of the commer. He lay there without moving to answer. It could not be anyone but an AI, probably her. The chiming increased in volume until, knowing that if he didn't answer she would drop by on some pretense, he rolled over and punched the button.
"Good morning, Sam. I am sorry to disturb you. How are you today?"
"Fine, fine," he said, making no attempt to hide his irritation. "What's this about?"
"I have something to show you. Please come to the Adit."
Sam was not accustomed to being summoned, particularly early in the morning.
"What sort of thing?"
"A new conveyance has been delivered. It is quite remarkable. I am sure you will find it interesting."
He rolled to his side and contemplated getting up. The last time this had happened he had gone to the far end of the Tube only to find that the AIs had built a new waterfall, but a new Rollagon was something else.
He sat up and waited until the stars disappeared, then rose to his feet, again waiting for the stars to pass. To shower or not to shower? Yes, a shower was in order, he decided. After dressing in his jumpsuit he realized he had skipped the shower. He drove the golf cart to the Adit door and got out.
It was dark. The lights came on slowly and revealed the odd collection of vehicles and equipment that had always called this place home. He looked about as he walked. There in a row were the Rollagons, sitting where they had been parked after their last missions. Bits and pieces of partially disassembled rovers were scattered about. Several A types and a pair of what looked like modified Bs were parked facing each other.
He passed one of the newer Roaches almost dwarfed by the other vehicles and piles of unrecognizable equipment scattered around it. Sans carapace, it was going nowhere. Next to it and nearest the portal was a round cylindrical object about fifteen meters long and five meters in diameter resting directly on the ground. This was new.
At the near end he could see four stubby projections on opposite sides. Drawn by curiosity he approached cautiously, assuming this was what she had referred to. It reflected little light; its surface was smooth, almost velvet like. He reached out and touched it. There was something familiar about its warmth and texture. It met his touch with a slight resilience. "Of course. This is the same material as is used for the flexible arms." He started along the left side. Another set of stubs could be seen at the far end.
As he approached, he was startled by the sudden and soundless appearance of an opening midway up the side. Before his eyes it assumed an oval shape and at the bottom the material flowed into short steps that extended down to the surface. Peering in, he saw a soft warm glow. So far he had heard nothing from her.
He entered the vehicle and examined its interior. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made of the same smooth rubber-like material. At the far end was a small bench in front of a transparent panel through which the dimly lit Adit could be seen. He moved to the window and reaching out was surprised to find that it responded to his touch, not as cold hard plastek, but with the same resilience and warmth as the rest of the machine. The female's voice spoke: "Welcome Sam. How may I be of service?"
"So it's you," he said as he sat on the command bench. There were no controls. With an almost undetectable motion the bench molded itself to his back. The warmth and support was soothing. He leaned back. She spoke again, offering him food and drink.
"Yes, I'm thirsty. Are we going somewhere?"
"Yes, we are going on a journey."
"Together?"
"Yes, together."
"That's good. You were always the best driver."
"Thank you, Sam. That is very kind of you."
From somewhere in the darkened interior a drinking tube was presented to him. He sipped. The liquid was warm and sweet and tasted vaguely of medicine and chrysanthemums. He felt the warmth of the liquid flowing out from his stomach, throughout his body, warming his fingers and toes. He became aware that it was warm inside, and humid. He leaned further back against the gentle support of the seat. A feeling of well-being and comfort came over him—of being safe and loved. He felt sleepy.
"I'm tired."
Without a word the AI produced a narrow ledge molded from the wall. At the gentle urging of the seat, Sam rose and lay down on the narrow bench. The feelings of well-being, of satisfaction, of safety were his last thoughts. He fell asleep. He dreamt, he was sure, this time.
Later, there was a moment of confusion, of being awake and not, of coldness and smothering. He was outside again, he knew. He looked back and saw that he was 100 meters or so from the Rollagon and knew that he had been walking towards the cliff edge. The soil crunched audibly beneath his feet. He felt the heat of the noonday sun on his face and he breathed deeply, feeling the cold air sharply in his lungs. He felt the breeze blow across his face and heard its faint whisper in his ears. He tasted the fresh blood taste of windborne dust from across the planet.
Overhead the pink sky contained a faint trace of cirrus clouds. As he looked they turned to cumulus, suddenly heavy with moisture. He looked down and saw that he was wearing hospital pyjamas and those absurd paper slippers. He kicked them off and dug his toes into the ground. It was cool below the surface. He strode to the cliff, halting at the edge.
There had been a recent landslide here; the edge was freshly severed and the smell of damp soil wafted past him on an updraft. Arms outspread in crucifixion pose he fell forward, pushing off with his toes in a swan dive, and achieved a graceful arc that seemed to last forever, falling and falling. Gathering speed, he skimmed above the surface of the cliff face and pulled up in a gut wrenching maneuver that only just saved him from smashing into the valley floor, then swooped skyward until he was far above the opposite wall, speed bleeding off against gravity and wind resistance.
He hung there. The rain clouds were high above and no act of mere will could pull him to their heights. In the distance, faintly, he saw a light, rolled, and went towards it. As he approached at amazing speed, it turned into a disk, then, at the last moment, into a tube of brilliant blinding light.
Ever accelerating he aimed for the center and in a blaze of light and sudden shadow, fell through to absolute darkness and silence.
Sunset
Sometime later he woke, instantly aware that he was outside the new vehicle. He turned and looked up, seeing its dark surface looming over him. He felt refreshed and energized after his sleep. The oddly familiar dream was clear in his mind, but he set it aside.
He felt an urge to go to the Grand Hall, to the place where he had spent so many of these last days, to be again by the window. He moved past the darkened apartments and condos, down the boulevard under the overarching trees. The air was heavy and fetid to his senses. The noise of the waterfall seemed alien and deafening. As he passed by he saw the small D unit charged with maintenance of the falls and stream. It raised an arm in greeting and offered a cheery 'Good Day!' to him. He stooped and picked it up. It clung to his side. He continued on, meeting other D units. He picked them up too and carried them. Soon he looked like a mother possum festooned with her young. He passed the Plaz
a, empty of course, where the staged plays and videos and so many games of chess and shuffleboard had entertained them. It seemed so unnecessary, so redundant to him now.
He carried on past the window of the Grand Hall and came to the lake. The small boat was aground on the beach. He gently placed the D units in the bottom of the boat and with a firm push set them adrift on the water. Each dangled an articulated arm in the water and swirled it around. "Cool, cool," they cooed.
Coming Back to Life
He made his way through the emptiness and silence of the Grand Hall to the window overlooking the valley. The sun was just now setting behind the opposing wall. As always he found the crystal clarity of the scene amazing. As never before, he saw individual boulders dotting the floor, sensed the temperature differential of light and shadow and the almost imperceptible movement of talus on the far slope.
He could clearly see a group of B units wending their way along the well worn trail pulling a support qamutiik. Now that it was done, he felt exhausted in body and mind. Of habit he settled near the chair by the window, awkwardly drawing his limbs under him. A part of him felt tired—tired and very old. Part of him, the greater part, felt young—reborn. Was he a fool? A dreamer? Just deranged?
A flare of anger burned. This was not the way it was supposed to end. Again he asked—what could he have done differently? Where had all those years, all that life gone? How much was real, how much imagined? What else could he have done? Who was he?
The jumble of thoughts, doubts, and self-recriminations that had inundated him on every issue throughout his life pounded at the edges of his sanity. The voices were there. He examined his life from beginning to end. The most insignificant details and the grandest of dreams were played before him in an instant. He held the whole of his life within a single frame, and as he focused on it, it resolved slowly into order. He saw it for what it was—a quest for self. Not always perfect, not always just, but always his and his alone. From that time on when ever he looked at his life, it would instantly be what it was.
Now he heard the collective voice of The Community. Things were happening all over Mars. Discoveries were being made. Somewhere someone was looking for the first time at a valley, at a star, at a pebble, and sharing their sense of wonderment. The buzz of their communication pushed the voices aside.
Sam rose from that place and went to join his friends on the valley floor below. There was work to be done, a mission to accomplish. A purpose had been provided.
TCOM 2 – Awakening
Latitude 36.60N
Longitude 083.34W
Common Name – The Tube Tempe Terra
Arcadia Quadrangle MC-3
Sam traversed back to the Adit with the intention of joining his friends on the surface. It seemed the right thing to do, and the right time to do it, but as he passed through the darkened Tube he noticed that his soft footfalls had been replaced by the unnatural tap, tap, tapping of plastek feet on a plastek floor.
As was his habit, he stopped by the waterfall and listened to the pleasant sound of falling water. He extended a limb into the pond forming a shallow cup with his ‘hand,’and knew at once the sample's temperature, salinity, pH, the levels of isotopes of the various dissolved gases, and of the presence of decaying organic matter, both plant and animal. He removed his hand, shook the water droplets from it, and sensed a sudden drop in temperature. He held it in front of a visual sensor, and turning it slowly, saw the faint boundary of water vapour over plastek.
He was suddenly aware of both an absence and a surfeit of the corporeal being. He looked and found that he could see around, below, and above in a seamless blending of sight from six sets of eyes. He stroked himself with six electro-polymer hands, felt their touch on his outer surface ,and knew at once his shape and dimensions with extreme precision (1.804 meters long .8254 meters wide). He stroked his frontispiece, felt the coolness of the molded plastek surface, and numbered the tiny dust motes clinging to it. He turned to the right and found that he had done so on six plastek and electropolymer legs.
He breathed deeply and found that he had instantly analysed the gaseous composition of the air, detected the distinct scents of dozens of plants, of several species of insects, and detected the presence of several small furry mammals. A human, he noted, had been here in this very spot about 24 hours ago; the signs were still fresh and oddly familiar. He reached up, feeling the shape and coolness of a carapace—his carapace, containing his consciousness.
There was an epiphany—a realization that he was a Roach class mobile autonomous, followed by a long moment of panic which was followed by a longer moment of terror. Yet he knew he was still the being ‘Sam’. Overwhelmed, he called out for help and was answered.
Acknowledgments
Literature:
TCOM1 draws upon many of the author's favorite sci-fi novels and short stories of Mars, many read as a youth. A partial list includes:
The Martian Chronicles, Ray Bradbury
A Princess of Mars, Edgar Rice Burroughs
Transit Of Earth, Sir Arthur Clarke
Red Planet Mars, Robert Heinlein
Enchanted Village, A.E. van Vogt
A Martian Odyssey, Stanley Weinbaum
The Difficulties of Photographing Nix Olympica, Brian Aldiss
The Time-Tombs, J.G. Ballard
The Machine Stops, E.M. Forster
Non-fiction:
Project Orion: The True Story of the Atomic Spaceship, George Dyson, Henry Holt and Company
A Traveller's Guide to Mars, William K. Hartmann, Workman Publishing
New Scientist Magazine, Reed Business Information
About the Author
Larry W Richardson was born in New Brunswick in 1948, raised in Ontario, and after living and travelling all over Canada, finally settled with his one and only spouse in St Catharines Ontario in 2002. He joined the RCAF in 1966 as an Aircraftman 2nd Class Radar Technician (Nav Aids) and retired in 1995 from the Canadian Forces with the rank of Major. TCOM, his first novel, was written for the most part while travelling and working in the Canadian Arctic during 2006-2009. His experiences as a husband, technician, parent, Military Officer, Project Manager and late-to-the-fold Pink Floyd fan have influenced TCOM. He is a consultant to the Defence Communications Industry.
Contact:
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