February 19, 2019 at 05:27First
- Transfer
- Recovery mode
Thomas sharply turned the steering wheel to the left, all eight wheels of his “crab” creaked in protest, digging into the ground.
“I give you five minutes,” came the headphones. Julia's voice struggled through the noise - he drove too far from the station.
“Three are enough for me.”
- Sure? ..
- Are you kidding? He yelled into the microphone.
Thomas winced. He did not plan to answer so harshly. But he knew the relief, studied every inch of it. Months of preparation, computing, disputes, planning. Photos, glared at the memory. He could not be wrong.
He is only five years old. Sufficient age to know about death, but not enough to come to terms with the concept itself. Sufficient age to fear infinity, but not enough to be inspired by it.
“Why, why, why can't he come back?”
My father rubbed his neck with his hand - an involuntary gesture that, as Thomas could learn, meant not anger - disappointment. My father first met this - seemingly insignificant news, an innocent question about Mars, and - bang! - tears. Tears, tears, endless tears. But how to reassure Thomas now?
“He ... mmm ... had a task.” And he did it well - very well. Then he exceeded it - and more than once. But they ... umm ... never came up with a way to get him out of there.
- It's not fair. He is there ONLY ONE! - The most severe injustice. Sobs turning into a roar.
"Crab" crossed the crest of the dune and rushed down. The warning buzzer squealed - a hose broke. Typical of Martian technology - it arrives from Earth, glistening with fresh paint, to soon be torn to shreds by Martian storms. Martians only joke with sadness. “Mars will outlive you and spit you out,” they grumble in the workshop. “Nothing built on soft green Earth has survived on Mars.”
Except the First.
Father's hand lay on Thomas's head, caressing his hair.
- I spoke with friends about Him. And one said to me like this: He is waiting for us . For this, he stayed there.
Thomas looked at his father suspiciously. He was already familiar with the evasions of adults - his parents more than once softened the sharp corners of this cruel world for him, and it infuriated.
- Waiting? Someone specific?
- Us. All of us. - Father relaxed. He knew his son and knew how to "read" his voice, he recognized the calm after the storm. “He ... like WALL-E .” Scouting the planet for us, preparing a bridgehead. People can’t just take it and go there - if it weren’t for Him, they would stick out on Earth.
- And when will we go? Asked Thomas impatiently. “How about ... now?”
“I don’t think I can, ever,” answered the father. “But I bet you can.”
Thomas glared at the approaching red wall. Dust storm, a side effect of primitive methods of terraforming. Millards of tons of Martian soil driven by the wind. If the storm overtakes Thomas, it will be ... let's say, not good. But if he misses the First now, he is unlikely to be able to find him again.
So they lost the First before. They arrived (how many years have passed!) At the Sagan Station , not so close to where the First remained. They always wanted to find Him. But the process of terraforming constantly raised dust storms, and they lost His signal. Found again, and again lost. He fell asleep, rolled, carried and fell asleep again - from year to year. And over the years, the signal sounded weaker.
Thomas was worried. Over time, excitement dominated him more and more. He found like-minded people. In their free time, they argued about the drift vectors, made maps of the movement of the dunes. And with horror they expected the next dust storm to drown out the signal forever.
Thomas will not let this happen. Will not allow it.
Beep.
Thomas's gaze jumped to the screen. Here it is, a signal! His voice, which at one time easily pierced the abyss of space - and now only wheezed languidly, crying out for help.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep beep beep beep beep - drowned by the roar of sand, the crunch of crumbling glaciers, the crash of descending avalanches and collapsing mines - rushing, jumping, falling on Thomas. Dusty whirl. The review fell to zero.
But the signal was calling. The first is very close.
Thomas fell out of the “crab” and crawled forward with difficulty. The wind violently ruffled his spacesuit. Emergency siren, hissing - decompression! From the rushing brutal dust, the glass of the helmet instantly dimmed. He didn't care. Somewhere in the distance, Julia screamed into the microphone his name. He knew that it was crazy, that this made no sense, but he stubbornly crawled against the wind, feeling -
a smooth plane. Sharp corner. Thomas lifted the line-thrower and fired. Lin struck the metal - just in time: the dune, supported by a storm, crawled up, threatening to bury the First one more time. But the tench held on, and Thomas hung on it with a tick, slowly crawling under the protection of the “crab”. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax. All! They did it. They will no longer lose the First.
When asked, he gave the right answers. “For research. Put scientific experiments. For the sake of the future of humanity. ”He knew what the commission expected to hear from the candidates. What for? Why is this one-way red cobblestone ticket in endless darkness? He believed his answers. Now he is a man, he left childish jumps behind. Thomas flies because it is necessary.
But just before his departure, his father hugged him ...
- It's my fault. I hit you with stupid stories ...
- Dad, I have a degree in biophysics. I have been preparing for this from the institute. I want to ...
- ... find Him? - Father rubbed his neck with his palm. Spotted neck, dry, wrinkled palm. - For many years you only talked about this.
- Years - until my voice broke. But - yes, including that. To find Him. - Thomas hesitated. What can I say, looking father’s eyes for the last time in his life? - I will write every week. When will the channel be free.
Father's hand found his palm. Two wedding rings on a thin chain.
“Take it to Mars, Thomas,” said his father proudly. - Take me and mom to Mars.
Thomas brought to life the voice of Julia in the headphones.
- There is a carrier! The reception is steady. Nobody believes that you succeeded.
He stirred, climbing out of a pile of sand. Then he began to tear him apart with his hands. There were shovels, tools in the “crab” - but now he did not think about such trifles.
- How's the head of the base - tearing and mosquing?
Julia laughed in her earpiece — rather, even grunted. What a clever girl she is!
- She's not angry. Quite quite. Your find ... inspired people. You have no idea how. - A short pause. - We will be soon.
Thomas did not answer immediately. His tongue was swollen, his eyes were watery. Fine red dust flowed in streams, freeing the panoramic camera - ugly boxes on the tubular neck. Thomas continued to dig.
- "Who are "we?
- We that's all .
They walked onto the drive crab, like butterflies on fire. We parked, planned, landed a bit off, got out of our vehicles and walked to Thomas, who was still digging. Like pilgrims.
No one helped him dig, but for some reason it seemed that it was necessary. They just looked at him from a distance of several meters - even Julia. He dared sand from solar panels. His hands passed through the cables, the braiding steel of which, as he remembered, was melted from the remains of skyscrapers - collapsed Earth icons. The crowd, without saying a word, laughed with joy when he opened the wheels. All the transmitters of the suits worked - but no one said a word, only Galima hummed in a whisper.
Thomas plugged the wire from the tablet into the dashboard and froze - a squeezed sigh of dozens of people coming from the headphones made him turn around. Julia was right - everyone stood behind him . The Sagan station now stood empty - all the Martians were here, all to one.
All Martians came to see the First. The first Martian.
Thomas's fingers in thick gloves ran over the tablet. Dance of lights, murmur of gears, majestic pirouette of cameras. Thomas knew that in fact He did not “look” at them, but it looked like that - the First Martian woke from a long sleep and looked at the rest of the Martians.
As if to say - “Well, finally!”
People were crying. Their secret surfaced - a secret that many of them were not even aware of. This moment was a small part of what prompted them to cross the abyss of darkness, to become Martians, to bring Humanity to a new round of spirals
- but some, tiny part of each of them was only eager to find Opportunity .
Thomas put down the tablet. Self-diagnostic programs were executed, the batteries were charging, program updates were downloaded to the rover memory. The technical part of the work was done. His hand slipped into his waist bag and pulled out a sealed container. With great caution, he hung his gift on the "neck" of the rover.
The platform with cameras turned. Two wedding rings swayed beneath it on a thin chain.
Exhausted, Thomas headed toward the crowd.
Some believed that the first place in the museum. But hotheads - with Thomas at the head - prevailed. They replaced the batteries, patched the wheels, instead of decaying solar panels installed modern nanophotosynthesizers. They updated the on-board computers quite a bit - enough for the virtual interface to work, and the First Martian always had the opportunity to call for the help of other Martians - if such a need arose.
Then they released the Opportunity on an endless journey through Mars.
The rover will never be lost again. Tracking his movements has become a tradition, the first job for young engineers. Over time, Martians began to believe that newcomers should - during the first months of their stay on the planet - make a pilgrimage to the rover, wherever the route takes him. Vacation for this time is always provided, without unnecessary questions. Each pilgrim, each new Martian, gently touches the rover - twice - and sets off on his way.
People often swear that when they do this, the old probe turns around the cameras in order to look at them. Of course, this is all fiction.
But no one laughs at them.
From the editor of Wired magazine, which published the original story: Once, one of us asked a question on Twitter - what to do with a five-year-old kid mourning about a rover who was not destined to return home. John Rogers asked us to wait a couple of hours - and then sent this story. Thanks, John.
From a translator: As you wish, but I read and cried.
“I give you five minutes,” came the headphones. Julia's voice struggled through the noise - he drove too far from the station.
“Three are enough for me.”
- Sure? ..
- Are you kidding? He yelled into the microphone.
Thomas winced. He did not plan to answer so harshly. But he knew the relief, studied every inch of it. Months of preparation, computing, disputes, planning. Photos, glared at the memory. He could not be wrong.
He is only five years old. Sufficient age to know about death, but not enough to come to terms with the concept itself. Sufficient age to fear infinity, but not enough to be inspired by it.
“Why, why, why can't he come back?”
My father rubbed his neck with his hand - an involuntary gesture that, as Thomas could learn, meant not anger - disappointment. My father first met this - seemingly insignificant news, an innocent question about Mars, and - bang! - tears. Tears, tears, endless tears. But how to reassure Thomas now?
“He ... mmm ... had a task.” And he did it well - very well. Then he exceeded it - and more than once. But they ... umm ... never came up with a way to get him out of there.
- It's not fair. He is there ONLY ONE! - The most severe injustice. Sobs turning into a roar.
"Crab" crossed the crest of the dune and rushed down. The warning buzzer squealed - a hose broke. Typical of Martian technology - it arrives from Earth, glistening with fresh paint, to soon be torn to shreds by Martian storms. Martians only joke with sadness. “Mars will outlive you and spit you out,” they grumble in the workshop. “Nothing built on soft green Earth has survived on Mars.”
Except the First.
Father's hand lay on Thomas's head, caressing his hair.
- I spoke with friends about Him. And one said to me like this: He is waiting for us . For this, he stayed there.
Thomas looked at his father suspiciously. He was already familiar with the evasions of adults - his parents more than once softened the sharp corners of this cruel world for him, and it infuriated.
- Waiting? Someone specific?
- Us. All of us. - Father relaxed. He knew his son and knew how to "read" his voice, he recognized the calm after the storm. “He ... like WALL-E .” Scouting the planet for us, preparing a bridgehead. People can’t just take it and go there - if it weren’t for Him, they would stick out on Earth.
- And when will we go? Asked Thomas impatiently. “How about ... now?”
“I don’t think I can, ever,” answered the father. “But I bet you can.”
Thomas glared at the approaching red wall. Dust storm, a side effect of primitive methods of terraforming. Millards of tons of Martian soil driven by the wind. If the storm overtakes Thomas, it will be ... let's say, not good. But if he misses the First now, he is unlikely to be able to find him again.
So they lost the First before. They arrived (how many years have passed!) At the Sagan Station , not so close to where the First remained. They always wanted to find Him. But the process of terraforming constantly raised dust storms, and they lost His signal. Found again, and again lost. He fell asleep, rolled, carried and fell asleep again - from year to year. And over the years, the signal sounded weaker.
Thomas was worried. Over time, excitement dominated him more and more. He found like-minded people. In their free time, they argued about the drift vectors, made maps of the movement of the dunes. And with horror they expected the next dust storm to drown out the signal forever.
Thomas will not let this happen. Will not allow it.
Beep.
Thomas's gaze jumped to the screen. Here it is, a signal! His voice, which at one time easily pierced the abyss of space - and now only wheezed languidly, crying out for help.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep beep beep beep beep - drowned by the roar of sand, the crunch of crumbling glaciers, the crash of descending avalanches and collapsing mines - rushing, jumping, falling on Thomas. Dusty whirl. The review fell to zero.
But the signal was calling. The first is very close.
Thomas fell out of the “crab” and crawled forward with difficulty. The wind violently ruffled his spacesuit. Emergency siren, hissing - decompression! From the rushing brutal dust, the glass of the helmet instantly dimmed. He didn't care. Somewhere in the distance, Julia screamed into the microphone his name. He knew that it was crazy, that this made no sense, but he stubbornly crawled against the wind, feeling -
a smooth plane. Sharp corner. Thomas lifted the line-thrower and fired. Lin struck the metal - just in time: the dune, supported by a storm, crawled up, threatening to bury the First one more time. But the tench held on, and Thomas hung on it with a tick, slowly crawling under the protection of the “crab”. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax. All! They did it. They will no longer lose the First.
When asked, he gave the right answers. “For research. Put scientific experiments. For the sake of the future of humanity. ”He knew what the commission expected to hear from the candidates. What for? Why is this one-way red cobblestone ticket in endless darkness? He believed his answers. Now he is a man, he left childish jumps behind. Thomas flies because it is necessary.
But just before his departure, his father hugged him ...
- It's my fault. I hit you with stupid stories ...
- Dad, I have a degree in biophysics. I have been preparing for this from the institute. I want to ...
- ... find Him? - Father rubbed his neck with his palm. Spotted neck, dry, wrinkled palm. - For many years you only talked about this.
- Years - until my voice broke. But - yes, including that. To find Him. - Thomas hesitated. What can I say, looking father’s eyes for the last time in his life? - I will write every week. When will the channel be free.
Father's hand found his palm. Two wedding rings on a thin chain.
“Take it to Mars, Thomas,” said his father proudly. - Take me and mom to Mars.
Thomas brought to life the voice of Julia in the headphones.
- There is a carrier! The reception is steady. Nobody believes that you succeeded.
He stirred, climbing out of a pile of sand. Then he began to tear him apart with his hands. There were shovels, tools in the “crab” - but now he did not think about such trifles.
- How's the head of the base - tearing and mosquing?
Julia laughed in her earpiece — rather, even grunted. What a clever girl she is!
- She's not angry. Quite quite. Your find ... inspired people. You have no idea how. - A short pause. - We will be soon.
Thomas did not answer immediately. His tongue was swollen, his eyes were watery. Fine red dust flowed in streams, freeing the panoramic camera - ugly boxes on the tubular neck. Thomas continued to dig.
- "Who are "we?
- We that's all .
They walked onto the drive crab, like butterflies on fire. We parked, planned, landed a bit off, got out of our vehicles and walked to Thomas, who was still digging. Like pilgrims.
No one helped him dig, but for some reason it seemed that it was necessary. They just looked at him from a distance of several meters - even Julia. He dared sand from solar panels. His hands passed through the cables, the braiding steel of which, as he remembered, was melted from the remains of skyscrapers - collapsed Earth icons. The crowd, without saying a word, laughed with joy when he opened the wheels. All the transmitters of the suits worked - but no one said a word, only Galima hummed in a whisper.
Thomas plugged the wire from the tablet into the dashboard and froze - a squeezed sigh of dozens of people coming from the headphones made him turn around. Julia was right - everyone stood behind him . The Sagan station now stood empty - all the Martians were here, all to one.
All Martians came to see the First. The first Martian.
Thomas's fingers in thick gloves ran over the tablet. Dance of lights, murmur of gears, majestic pirouette of cameras. Thomas knew that in fact He did not “look” at them, but it looked like that - the First Martian woke from a long sleep and looked at the rest of the Martians.
As if to say - “Well, finally!”
People were crying. Their secret surfaced - a secret that many of them were not even aware of. This moment was a small part of what prompted them to cross the abyss of darkness, to become Martians, to bring Humanity to a new round of spirals
- but some, tiny part of each of them was only eager to find Opportunity .
Thomas put down the tablet. Self-diagnostic programs were executed, the batteries were charging, program updates were downloaded to the rover memory. The technical part of the work was done. His hand slipped into his waist bag and pulled out a sealed container. With great caution, he hung his gift on the "neck" of the rover.
The platform with cameras turned. Two wedding rings swayed beneath it on a thin chain.
Exhausted, Thomas headed toward the crowd.
Some believed that the first place in the museum. But hotheads - with Thomas at the head - prevailed. They replaced the batteries, patched the wheels, instead of decaying solar panels installed modern nanophotosynthesizers. They updated the on-board computers quite a bit - enough for the virtual interface to work, and the First Martian always had the opportunity to call for the help of other Martians - if such a need arose.
Then they released the Opportunity on an endless journey through Mars.
The rover will never be lost again. Tracking his movements has become a tradition, the first job for young engineers. Over time, Martians began to believe that newcomers should - during the first months of their stay on the planet - make a pilgrimage to the rover, wherever the route takes him. Vacation for this time is always provided, without unnecessary questions. Each pilgrim, each new Martian, gently touches the rover - twice - and sets off on his way.
People often swear that when they do this, the old probe turns around the cameras in order to look at them. Of course, this is all fiction.
But no one laughs at them.
From the editor of Wired magazine, which published the original story: Once, one of us asked a question on Twitter - what to do with a five-year-old kid mourning about a rover who was not destined to return home. John Rogers asked us to wait a couple of hours - and then sent this story. Thanks, John.
From a translator: As you wish, but I read and cried.