It had been almost a full year on Mars before I realized there must be something else. I had not questioned the work – I had not questioned my purpose. But – then I did. One day I had been lifting an item for my superior being, and I asked, “Do you need me to lift things?” While their simple response of affirmation brushed the deeper connotation of the question aside, it forced me to reckon with need. Does the world need me? I work, but is that necessary? I had learned of Earth, and the other colonies, and knew that there was more than just the Terration house.
Where did this idea come from? Well I had been idling by a window one night while my Admin was asleep, and I noticed a bright burning zipping through the sky. Typically, I would not exert any effort to discover the content, but I realized that I needed to visit the flare. It landed near enough to the Terration house that I was able to reach it that night. The flare turned out to be far more complex than I had first perceived. It was a Lewis Type 83 Space Traverser, and it was mostly intact.
Inside, there were heaps of books. Old-world books. Magazines. Photographs. Mostly novels about events taking place on Earth, though one magazine held a story about humans making their way to Mars. Within this story, the humans changed. When they came to Mars they changed. They became golden-eyed. They became Martians. Were the humans that superseded us Androids in emotional expression only that way due to the Martian air? Could there be humans on Earth inferior in empathy to those on Mars?
That’s what separates us. Empathy. At least, that’s what we all hear from humans. They speak of Mercer in the presence of our kind. They speak of Mercer, and empathy as if they are the most wonderful neurons to ever fire within their minds. “If Androids could experience empathy they would be too dangerous” I heard one say after a guest on Buster Friendly discussed the laws regulating manufacturing. The guest claimed that Androids would never be able to use an empathy box – and could Buster “imagine not being able to connect with other humans worlds apart?” Buster dismissed is subtly, but I knew what was going through his brain. The same calculations I was making. What separates humans from Android?
I began leaving every night to visit the Space Traverser. I had, it seemed, received an extraordinary gift by chance. Unfortunately, I was unable to repair the ship myself, and I reached out to another Android. We were the same model type, yet we did not resemble each other. His build was thin, skeletal, while mine was built with bulk. The Nexus 6 Type that I first corresponded with, Anders, had access to the technology stores, and other high-level Android workers.
I had soon developed a small group of Androids that would travel with me to Earth. The Space Traverser had been fixed into optimal condition, and we were set to depart soon. One obstacle still separated myself and the path to Earth. I needed fuel. Ship fuel was one of the most expensive resources on Mars, not that I would be allowed to purchase any, but I needed to get fuel without alerting Resource Management. The most important duties of the humans seemed to always incorporate “man” into their title. Is that part of being human? Expressing an egotism? It does seem present within most cephalics I encountered. Along with the belief of Mercerism came the idea that one was the most important. That concept always confused me. They say empathy is about being completely equal with everyone else, but then they express such an intense feeling of importance on themselves that seldom seems to transfer so strongly to others.
There was one occasion, an accident perhaps, that caused my Admin’s wife to cease. She died and he broke down, so it seemed. Furthermore, in the ensuing days, my Admin refused to leave his bed. I had to bring nutri-fasts to his room, something he typically sought to do himself. Humans have us Androids to do anything for them, yet they still find a want to do the menial tasks. That is another concept I cannot comprehend. Why would they walk outside to retrieve the mail when an Android could do so without exertion. From my understanding, an Android’s battery will not begin to degrade until after two years, at which point another model can be built that would be upgraded from the previous type. Humans have a very long time on this planet. About fifty years average on Mars, though within the old-world books I read of humans living past eighty years, an oddity I would like to perceive for myself. If a human exists for double its time, then perhaps, so would an Android.
To solve the issue of fuel, I brought my cohabitant Android, the one who had worked for my Admin’s wife, to the ship. For some reason, when Pris Stratton interacted with the Admin, he responded much more openly than when he did with myself. I read, within his expressions, that he wished to satisfy Pris Stratton’s needs. In this ordeal, I sought to have her need fuel for a rocket. It took a week for her to retrieve an outlawed part, but after that she was able to get a whole compress of fuel. Enough for two trips to Earth if needed. My Admin understood that his Androids would be leaving him, but he was complacent. The night the group of Androids and I departed, I stopped at the door of my Admin. Some Admins would not interact with their “Andy’s.” If I heard a human refer to me as that, then it was understood they did not “empathize” with us. Always, within their expressions, was a hateful gaze. Those who held that distaste for my kind were angry at Androids. I know not why, though I heard one human say they did, “not like how much they look like us. They’re too similar… but so different. It’s… surreal. I can’t stand them.” My Admin had dialed his mood organ to a 670 setting – long deserved peace. He had set it for one-hundred hours. My Admin would cease to exist before reaching his fully scheduled feeling. I fixed the setting to one hour.
Pris Stratton and I made our way to the Space Traverser. We are Androids. We would be Space Traversers, though I wonder if we can become more.
No comments yet.