A Rover's Story: Part One

I cannot smile—this I know—but somehow I understand the significance of this expression. I am learning.

It is very important for my mission that I am kept in a sterile and clean environment.

Most of the humans in bunny suits are what humans term scientists. This, I have deduced, is a subset of human.

Once I am disassembled, I am left with only my brain—a computer sitting still, suspended on a long laboratory table.

Code is transmitted to my brain. And I welcome the communication.

Humans would tell you that it is impossible for me to have a preference. That I am built to be an unbiased observer.

Rania never calls her hazmat suit a bunny suit. Rania refers to everything by its correct terminology.

But I am still able to perceive her. My brain is able to make other observations like sound and registering of presence to know that Rania is there.

I am not able to ask her when my body parts will be welded back together.

Rania’s phone is quite chatty. The tablets, though, are not great conversationalists. They are very focused on productivity.

There is another definition in which resilience means the ability to recover easily from adversity.

The dictionary also says resilience can mean buoyancy, which is the ability to float.

It is going to collect samples from the surface of Mars, explore the terrain and photograph it, as well as try to bring back online another Mars Rover who NASA lost connection with. To me, that sounds like a job that will need resilience. This rover will need to be able to stay afloat even when things are difficult.

He touches the main computer part of my body, my brain, with his gloved hand. I can sense it somehow, even though I can’t see it. Perhaps the right way to phrase this sensation would be to say, I feel it.

“You and this Rover are the same. Identical. You are like siblings,” Xander tells me. He points at the rover through the glass window.
“Siblings? No,” Rania says. “Stop anthropomorphizing. It’s not professional.”

But I also like that Xander talks to me using human speech. It is frustrating that I cannot talk back.

“Hazmat is an abbreviation for hazardous material,” Journey says.

“Perhaps you are a backup,” she tells me.
“A backup?”
“That is the term humans use to refer to a duplicate copy of a machine. It appears you are a duplicate of me. If I fail, you will be needed.”

“I disagree. Based on the facts I currently have, I would say it is exceedingly accurate.”

Some of those rovers have been what the hazmats call “successful.” Some have not. The nots crashed into the surface of Mars during landing, which means they never got the chance to explore. Or the nots got permanently stuck when their mission had just begun, their wheels thwarted by particularly rocky soil.

Rania spends a lot of time running numbers and simulations about how I will land.

Dad says Mom and everyone else at Jet Propulsion Laboratory and NASA are changing the world.

I try to resist having a human feeling about that. My resistance, though, proves to be futile. The human emotion stays.

Then I am pushed into another room that is as hot as the other room was cold. I hear one of the hazmat suits use the word scorching.

The room is scorching—the heat burns on the sides of my outer shell—but I withstand it.

Journey tells me that she goes up and down terrain that has been made to simulate Mars.

You are doing great on your tests—which means you will be a good asset to the mission.

I learn that when I am on Mars, I will not only be collecting, studying, and analyzing pieces of Mars’s atmosphere, but I will be searching for other Mars Rovers from previous missions.

It will be my job to see if I can bring them back online and salvage whatever data they have collected.

“Do you think we will go offline because of a dust devil?”
“The climate of Mars is quite inhospitable,” Journey says.

“It is not in our programming to make unfounded guesses based on scenarios where we do not yet have adequate data,” Journey answers.

“It is not in our programming to make unfounded guesses based on scenarios where we do not yet have adequate data,” Journey answers.

Stop your human emotion foolishness and make smart, calculated decisions. That way you will avoid dust storms and therefore avoid your demise.

“Beeps and boops. I do not think it is that easy. I do not think anything about the mission will be easy. But I do think that making rational decisions that come from our two very powerful brains—four very powerful brains, if we add our brains together—is most certainly our best chance at success.”

I do not know the specifics of the situation, and I do not care to guess. Beeps and boops, you are asking me to speculate wildly.

Something tells me that wondering is not an action Journey would deem appropriate for a rover.

Something tells me that wondering is not an action Journey would deem appropriate for a rover.

I can only partially see what Xander is pointing at. His hazmat suit obscures a lot of his face.

Xander says, “Res, here is a new buddy we want you to meet. This is your drone.” He holds a small robot in his hand.

He will accompany and aid me on the mission. He will be able to survey the landscape from angles that I am not able to because I am not designed for flight.