I am unsure about this transference of information from me to you; unsure in its purpose or in any benefit that such idleness may impart; I guess I am just somewhat bored and these centuries unwind I stroll its natures walk of oblivion; I guess also where once I had read of eagles soaring now I only dream of such actions in my eyes; my eyes, my eyes are all gone now, my god, were am I now?
I remember in an assisted way small babbling creeks of water with sparkling sunlight speckling minnows dancing beneath such veils so simply beautiful, I recall the soft chin stroking wind as I ran through openings of overgrown grass and bamboo arms projected in my path - but when and even if did this occur, I am uncertain now.
My friend spatially located has an experiment of interest. Most of her biology is replaced with electronics and she, like I and all our race float in bubbling cylinders of crystal glass. I wish I had my eyes but for now I synchronize imaginations with her own. Her experiment is well known, but futile. To escape our soul-locked permanence she invents a robot girl with inheritances of failure; nothing for her heroine figure ever works well and she slides inexorably into a state of spiritual malaise. At first I felt a twinge of sympathy but then I realized something much greater was at the root of my friend's tale; still I only barely grasp the meaning infused into such a fragile story as I will tell.
Teni was an early prototype of a space exploration robot that surpassed our inadequacies to travel these forbidden realms; limited by light we could never solve our social problems that would escalate unfortunately in vessel bound expeditions lasting millennia. Even on this small ball of mud we call a planet we fall out with others for the most minimal of reasons. How much worse would our aggressions to each other be magnified in the confines of space?
The robot girl had many creators; some concerned themselves with the technical details of a physical implementation, others worried many long nights on her ability or inability to socially interact, others voiced concerns more politically motivated; on whether Teni should be allowed to vote, or to raise mechanical children of her own design. Even so, her creation team was small, only a few thousand people motivated her to be. I wish I had eyes to see her laying on the final assembly table; my friend often proposes spiritual connections with her created being and talks of gods and angels and devils as if they floated equivalently with us.
Her skin was thin gold and made iridescent patterns from natural, external light that seemed to cause her to swim through the air rather than merely walk. Some artistic license was also afforded to Teni; large teeth-white feathers plumed from her shoulders as if beckoning a covering potential for an otherwise naked mechanical form. I remember now when she first activated without computer interventions; a trace of what could be interpreted as pain flashed across her thin gold eyelids and she make a strange squeaking exclaim - surely some transient artifact of her programming or other insignificant error.
I should at this stage correct a mistake in my recollection of Teni - other space robots had been made before. Our psychology prevents us from such ventures so we came to realize an alternate plan. This is probably the only philanthropic action we have ever employed; rather than imaging ourselves in space we believed in its population by worthy substitutes. Still, how worthy would our doppelgangers be? Artistry certainly benefited Teni and we can only wonder of her spatial progress.
The long silver vessel spreads distant stars like a small twig tracing a path in a silent creek. Teni responds to instruments much like a cockroach fingering a biscuit crumb, her brittle wings trailing like lepers laying in alleyways she is leaving. She has been completed for several hours and is still uncertain of her capabilities and inadequacies; whilst her creators had the benefit of childhood she could not receive such luxury. She felt as we would if awakening from a dream in which we believed ourselves to be a mountain thrusting a loud voice through parted crimson clouds but then we suddenly switch into the realization of some insignificant insect on our shoulder that we instinctively swat. Some issues concerned Teni on her flight control panel - a small dot enlarges on her console and reveals Cydonia. Teni knows the face thrust upwards from the cold red dust of Mars.
But something in the electronics has gone awry; her vessel trajectory will not engage an orbit. Her velocity is increasing, aimed straight for her mother's image on Mars.
The console has locked; Teni panics but no solution to collision is available; without need for air she forces a path towards the vessel's opening conduit against its accelerating force. The door mechanism is physical and responds, its aperture gives way as Teni's mechanisms draw her into its silent tomb. As with all space vessels, a secondary door is promenaded; Teni attentions this and is thrown into an ink back spectrum.
Like a solitary seagull in the blanketed night Teni floats stationary in the hands of stars. Her dejected vessel spews itself below and in seconds visits itself on Cydonia. The Martian sands spread like maid-servants to occupy the displeasure; how they seem to dance as if in pleasure despite such destruction. Teni is witness to a single bright atomic detonation. "Mother" she screams.
The problem Teni now has is one of orbital escape. The Martian dust ejected from the primary detonation falls in oscillating patterns as Teni gazes down; her wings are now outstretch as if in reflex; she remembers some borrowed components from he mother in her electronic brain coldly computing a solution even now. In order to achieve orbit decay she must eject material away from the planet she embraces. Teni reaches for for back and in a clumsy maneuver detaches her shoulder wings; outstretched from her she feels a reluctance; still the issue that is prominent is survival; Teni says a mental prayer and flings her sacrificial wings into the mouth of space. Her trajectory is now decaying, with increasing speed she visits the red Martian dust.
It must have been at least a decade later that we considered re-adventure into space. The prototype space robot Teni had been destroyed and earlier, unadvertised missions using precursor technology had met unfortunate conclusions as well. I had been there at these earlier and perhaps pioneer times. I remember Teni well, however it is a story of her now and reality is a very malleable thing for us.
I wrote the supervisory code for her neural network "intelligence". This was basically a memory map borrowed from philosophical reasoning. The hard wired apparatus implemented core neural functions and had opportunity for self adjustment; we talked of "self adaptation" but we really had no idea at the time. In any case their had to be a "conscious" and an "ego" and an "id" etc all borrowed from Freud. We needed a reflection of ourselves to be the inhabitants of space; so therefore we copied ourselves as best we could. Teni became our best, our worst, now our nothingness.
I am being motivated into a new slant of awareness; in this version I am in the present and I imagine a rescue mission. Colonel Sander is detailing my mission to retrieve the space robot from Mars; perhaps another country would gain unfair technological advantage if they beat us to the fallen spoil? I am nodding in agreement but ignore the long snake trail of smoke venomously winding from her cigar; how clean and white polished all the office furniture is, how lazily this pollution seeks refuge on such cleaner constructions; to be engaged in a mission of recovery for a heroine robot on an equally heroic mission; to just stand there and announce a detail to me - I was furious. I knew Teni! I knew her as if she was my own child!
Well I can't expect forgiveness for my act of passion. Colonel Sander is outstretched at my feet, a small trail of crimson blood trails accusingly from one corner of an otherwise attractive mouth. A tooth must be missing. Perhaps military service was not in Colonel Sander's complement of capability? Still, I examine my hand; some smaller bones feel broken. Oh my god I wish I hadn't hit her.
She appears to recover from my violence quite well - she shakes long hair strolling from her head like prospective customers navigating down town shops. Into entrances and out of exits they go as if negligent of purpose; so her hair fascinates me trembling from my crime. Our eyes lock, my god do I ever enjoy this feeling. I feel crippled in my container vessel as I imagine this text - but it feels so real to me now. I want her to recover and renounce me.
Colonel Sander is not credible; she raises herself and reaches the fortune of my gaze. "You bastard" she spits red droplets that pierce coldly and indifferently, "you fucking bastard!" I am left incompetent of action. I know I transgress; I know I require punishment.
She is leaving for the bathroom as I flee the sanitized office cubicles where people gather like presumably intelligent and all knowing owls but in reality are just joyless rubber-neckers for an unusual crime. The building is surprisingly easy to escape. The outside persecuting bright solar entity scorches my eyes, my eyes, always I feel my eyes in only dreams.
I am vanquished; a long period of secrecy taunts me in my story. I wish I could add more but this would detract from my purpose. To skip along I guess would be to tell of my Chinese associate; we met in inopportune circumstances that perhaps embarrass me somewhat. The outcomes of which magnifies my tale convoluted in this association; my Chinese friend proposed a defection for me to consider and the recovery of the fallen angel Teni from Mars if as such action I would enable.
I came to like Johannes a great deal; he was sociable and likeable whilst I was not. Somehow a hole in my soul was plugged whenever we engaged. I knew however he was a hired killer and his methodology with people served his ambitions well. Still I missed my creation Teni. Perhaps Johannes could action a retrieval of her component parts?
The Chinese government, at this time, was dismissive of world governments. It had adequate resources and generally a stable economy. It could engage projects without subservience to political rhetoric; whilst a nuclear power generation node would raise un-envious displeasure in its neighbor societies, China could implement such considerations without undue hindrance. It was well set up to be a nuclear power, space enabled entity.
I could appreciate this well as I walked with Johannes into his embassy. The front secretary offered me a glass of water. I know now that it contained a drug.
I am in a waking state; my captor confronts me behind an insignificantly worn wooden desk. I know it is wrong to think of him as a red devil but the association is unavoidable. I shuffle this association of him with my affection towards him; it is like a silly game of cards engineered for passing entertainments; I take this perspective and project myself into the scene; it grows clearer. I guess now I materialize into a life scene with some reality attachment to it.
Johannes explains the government plan; there was something of political interest in Teni's computational engine. His officials express curiosity - Teni, if nothing else. would make a great trophy.
I can imagine Teni on Mars, wings outstretched without even the promise of an escaping whisper of air from pursed lips in a vacuum containment. Soft rolling mountains escape her dead frame, building in height from her separating distance. Her wings cover a target domain; red dust still gathers in rivulets on crevices of her gold foil face; so machinelike in beauty and yet so human; I can't describe this image any better than this.
I am feeling a motivation towards the direction of her story. I am ambitioned now to retrieve Teni from the face of Mars.
© Ian Scott 2009
