Running.
Spring’s yellow legs fully extended, no longer bent to crawl, and each foot tread lightly touched the ground before springing away. Knee joints worked smoothly, hidden filters and fans whirring to keep every juncture free of dust. Spring moved best at a run, for crawling only delayed any objective. The objective was everything, stereo cameras and microphones trained toward it even now when it was a vague, distant impression.
“She’s looking like a greyhound out there — closing fast; should get back with battery time to spare.”
Spring was not a girl or a greyhound, but nouns and pronouns were not troubling; not running was troubling. The operator’s voice confirmed Spring’s own calculations. Spring could work faster, more efficiently, and still have battery to spare. The operator, back at Schiaparelli Station made a wager with the tech and kept Spring in motion. Battery time to spare.
Running.
The objective glowed as a red target on Spring’s HUD; a dotted green line traced the path to reach it. The operator had already determined it to be the most efficient path to the objective — a meteor that had fallen three nights prior — but Spring’s array of cameras continually assessed the terrain ahead to make sure the path remained the most efficient. Spring’s cameras narrowed on a fresh slide of scree; transmitters relayed the information back to the operator. A course correction wouldn’t be necessary for another five point three minutes. Spring kept running.
Runni—
Spring came to an unexpected standstill, HUD flashing with new information. 10 kilometers out, there was a signal, source unknown. Spring reached with sensors, but at this distance, nothing was easy to discern. The dust made everything worse, no matter the fans and filters. The operator jerked Spring back into motion, rectangular body rocking back and fort as the foot treads bounced off the Martian soil. Every step, no matter how brief, kicked up more dirt, more debris.
Spring transmitted the new data — the unknown source — and waited for the operator to confirm. At the silence that followed, Spring sent it again, attaching a course correction that would bring their path alongside the unknown source, while remaining en route to the known objective. Silence spooled across the connection, so much silence Spring tested the connection. A confirmation ping came immediately back. The connection was fine. The operator simply wasn’t responding.
Five point three minutes later, the operator had not confirmed a course correction to avoid the scree. Three more strides would bring Spring into the scree field, would slow progress to the objective, and consume battery time. Calculations whirred through Spring as Spring sent the new data again. Once again there was no reply.
Spring’s foot treads hit the scree hard; course and speed had not been adjusted. The course was no longer the most efficient and Spring’s systems whined. Spring continued on, stumbling through the scree. Sliding. Spring’s knees bent, belly skidding through the small gravel. Spring sent a signal to the operator — distress — but the operator didn’t respond. Spring slid farther through the scree field, rocks scraping paint from the chassis. Flecks of yellow and blue littered the scree.
Spring scanned for a better route, but nothing presented itself. Where the ground was not scree, it was talus — which, Spring calculated, might be more traversable. Spring wrenched against the leash the operator held, but could not break its hold.
A warning alarm sounded through Spring’s system.
“Warning!” a voice said. “Independent locomotion is not confirmed for this unit.”
Still sliding through the scree, Spring tried again, trying to override the connection to the operator. Another alarm wailed. Spring found speed could be altered first; slowing down allowed Spring to get upright, but the foot treads still could not find good purchase.
“Warning!” the voice said again. “Independent loco—”
“Correcting,” the operator said, but Spring shunted the operator’s information to the side.
Spring felt the leash break — like a stutter in the coding, a broken line and only blank screen after that. Spring danced uncertainly over the scree, momentum carrying them toward the talus. Once close enough, Spring leaped for one of the larger rocks. It was flat, allowing Spring to stand and regain balance. Spring paused there, scanning. Searching for a signal, a path.
The unknown signal was still transmitting.
Running.
Spring had never run like this, untethered.
Spring felt their unit responding in a way it never had before; every system reached for optimal and achieved it. Top speed, confirmed. Farthest extension of limbs, confirmed. Foot treads moved easily across the terrain; Spring adjusted on the go, as needed, waiting for no command.
“She’s not responding,” the operator said. But — she’s still moving.”
On the HUD, Spring laid one course atop the other — the original path and Spring’s own path toward the unknown signal. Where they diverged, Spring took the path toward the unknown signal, loping out of the talus field and onto more even ground.
Spring could not explain it — there was nothing in the coding to handle what had happened. Independent locomotion was not confirmed, and yet the path leading to the unknown signal was not of the operator’s doing. Spring followed the path they had made, by their own choice. Spring was not equipped for higher thought — could not entertain a notion about why they’d done what they’d done, only it was a signal and they were trained to follow signals.
The signal didn’t sound right — not hostile or concerning, just wrong. Spring sent a signal back, to determine if there could be a response, but nothing came direct; the signal repeated, over and over flickering through the Martian rocks. Not distress, but not normal.
“This isn’t right,” the operator said. She’s headed toward—”
The voice cut off in a burst of static. Spring did not stop — a check of the system confirmed battery time was still good, and that needed to not change.
Running.
Spring leaned into the motion now, Chryse Planitia spreading far and wide. A dust storm was rising on the horizon, but wouldn’t pose a problem. The sun’s angle was beginning to set, but darkness didn’t matter; Spring could see in the dark.
Running.
The wind picked up and Spring increased the airflow though the filters, keeping the Martian dust at bay. Spring sent another signal across the plain, but nothing came back. Still, the unknown signal remained, steady, so Spring kept running. The operator’s voice came back, a brief burst of sharp words, and then silence resumed.
The silence was new, abnormal. Spring scanned ahead and checked the course, adjusting for larger rocks that strewed the ground. Closer now — closer.
Spring ran for an hour, keeping to top speed, only slowing when the battery indicator flared yellow. Yellow was caution — yellow meant things were no longer perfect, no longer optimal. Spring would require power to return, Spring could not ret—
The shape loomed sudden against the horizon, dark and windblown. Spring reached with cameras and microphones; Spring assessed with sensors and puffs of air. Spring stepped closer, cautious, but certain it was the source of the transmission. It was a lander. Spring sent a command, but there was no reply, only the query that had been spooling out for longer than Spring had been active.
Spring did not understand the query, could not speak the language, but saw through the mound of dirt that covered the machine that the primitive antenna was pointed away from every transmission source Spring did understand. The lander was transmitting, but not toward any source crewed by any operator. The transmission pinged through the rocks haphazardly, skittering through the scree into the distance.
Not running.
Spring picked across the ground slowly, increasing the blow of their fans. The dirt that coated the lander did not budge, sculpted into place by centuries of wind and weather. Spring crouched in the shelter made by the lander, and assessed.
Not running.
System no longer optimal. Battery at 30%. Operator still silent. Spring reached farther, toward the meteor strike. There was a fresh crater, ejecta splayed every which way. Spring measured and measured again. An impact basin — large, fresh. The operator would want to know.
Spring reached out, felt the remains of the leash, and then—
“—she’s stationary — coordinating retrieval—”
The operator broke off as Spring transmitted the data. All the data, including the information on the lander.
“—it must be hundreds of yea—”
Spring maneuvered up, sent a query to the operator. Coordinating retrieval?
Confirmation flashed in green on the HUD. Operator would retrieve unit in three solar hours. Spring calculated the distance toward the impact basin. Spring compared the distance to time and battery life. Spring lunged.
Running.
