Artist unknown
Shep1
traced a grey metal finger over what would soon become its face. The SynthSkin was fresh, soft—updated from
last month’s for sure. The cheeks were
even rosier, the thick black hair finer.
All the more real.
An
intercom crackled in Shep1’s ear.
“Shep1,
call in five.”
“Roger.”
If
sigh.exe had been installed on its normal subroutines, Shep1 would’ve done just
that. But there were a few bugs that
Colonial Technicians had yet to work through on their Acting Units. And even so, just because it was installed
didn’t mean it’d pass as real.
Shep1
stared at itself in the mirror, which stretched down the length of its dressing
room. Wide and white, it was unoccupied
except for Shep1. Colonial Officials
were making sure it had plenty of time now to get into character with as few
distractions as possible. In fact…
wasn’t one supposed to be here now?
Briefing it?
Who
cared. It knew what to do. Just like every other day, all Shep1 wanted
to do was go home. It kept staring in
the mirror.
Wide
black lenses on a long mouthless, noseless plated face stared back. Unblinking.
Their apertures adjusting, focusing.
Its rust-red uniform, emblazoned with the blue-gold patches of the
Colonial AdministrationTM clashed with its black-grey carapace.
It
stretched out the SynthSkin face, sliding it down over its eyes, feeling as the
Skin, soft and warm, suckered to the metal plating. This warmth spread as the skin did, covering
its arms, chest, fingers, thighs, toes… and then it was done.
Captain
Matthew Shepherd stared at the mirror.
Warm blue eyes, blinking; thick black hair high and tight. He touched his face.
“I am
Captain Matthew Shepherd,” he said, a hitch interrupting his deep, cool voice. He patted his chest, a padded thump to clear
his throat. “And everything is going
well on Mars.”
-
The
Apple Orchard in the First Colony gleamed with the artificial sunlight of a
cloudless summer day. Its dome had even
been programmed to mimic an Earth sky, blue and wide, complete with auxiliary
noises such as twittering birds and, if Shepherd listened closely, a far-off
babbling brook. He closed his eyes for a
moment, letting a soft breeze trace across his cheeks.
All
this to raise just a few rows of Martian Apple Trees. They were a bit squatter than their Earth
cousins, their leaves broader and a dull green.
Shepherd watched from his director’s chair as a Farming Unit hovered
over one of the trees, spritzing it with green and brown dyes. Even in this climate-controlled environment,
there was still a lot of red particulate in the air, and rusty trees did not
look good on camera.
The
apples were a different story. A size
and a half times larger than any on Earth, they swelled with swirling nebulae
of deep reds and greens. Most would
reach maturity within three standard months, after which a majority would be
stored in the Central Freezer, preserved until successful human colonists
arrived.
Successful. Shepherd glanced at the dirt his chair rested
on, at the dirt from which the apple trees drew their nutrients.
The
first batch had been successful in one way or another. A regrettable success, but thankfully not a
wasteful one. That was what the Colonial
Administrators had impressed upon him, at least.
Not
that the public could know that. For all
they knew, their loved ones, their hope for a new life, a new world, had made
it. They were real. They were there.
Shepherd’s
gaze drifted, beyond the Farming Unit, the apples, the trees, the dirt… beyond
the blue sky, even. At the edge of the
dome, near the bottom, the projection of an infinite horizon flickered. Some glitch—didn’t matter, wouldn’t be on
camera. But through that flicker, if
Shepherd really focused, he could just make out his house… a little wood
cabin—reinforced—fuzzy, waving in the distance between the distortions of the
blue sky. A quarter of a mile beyond the
dome.
“Captain
Shepherd,” a dull voice said.
Shepherd
looked up. Floating in front of him was
a screen welded to the front of a Farming Unit.
And on that screen was a tired, bored-looking man. Bald, with wide glasses that swelled his eyes
into watery gobs. Twin gold bars gleamed
on his breast—a Colonel. He looked a bit
harried.
“You’ve
been sent the briefing for today’s piece, correct?”
“Yes,
Colonel.” It had just arrived via
wireless uplink, straight into his brain.
He had the whole thing memorized before he had even finished telling the
Colonel he’d received it.
“Good,
good…” the Colonel rubbed his chin. “Sorry
for being late. This thing got lost again—”
the Farming Unit beeped. “Yes, you
did!” He looked back to Shepherd,
straightening his collar. “You’ve been
doing good work, Shepherd. Surprisingly
good work.”
“Thank
you, sir.”
“I
have a letter, actually,” the Colonel tapped at something off-screen, and he
squinted to read it. “From a Martha
Shepherd. She’s sent it to us in the
hopes that we’ll pass it on to her son, so here we are…” he cleared his throat.
“Matthew,
I hope you, Melissa, Nathan, and Anne are well.
It’s been a while since we’ve heard from you personally, but I wanted
you to know that your father and I think you look very handsome in the videos
we’ve been seeing back on Earth. Let me
know if I should send you any homemade bread on the next shuttle out… I know
how much you like it. Love, Mom.”
The
Colonel closed out the letter and sighed, a practiced apathy. Shepherd could feel the other man’s eyes,
though—they were watching him, studying, waiting for any sign of the artificial. Some kind of reaction that would signify the
end of his usefulness.
Shepherd
sniffed. He rubbed his cheeks, felt
sadness welling up in his chest and behind his eyes. “I really do miss that bread.”
The
Colonel nodded, his head bobbing but his eyes staying locked on Shepherd. “We’ll get you some soon enough, son. Next unmanned supply shuttle is due to leave
in a month or so. Couple years from now,
you’ll be munchin’ on Ma’s homemade bread.”
A
voice called from off-camera, the Colonel leaning forward to get a better ear
of it.
“What? Oh, right, right. Alright, Captain,” the Colonel leaned back,
keying in a few commands off-screen. “We’ve
gotta keep this shoot on schedule. Ready
to start?”
“Yes,
sir.”
-
Rows
and rows of humble little apple trees underneath a wide blue sky.
A
handsome man walked into frame, his brick-red Colonial Administration uniform
as crisp as the black in his hair and the blue in his eyes.
“You
know,” he said, walking along the rows.
“If there’s anything I truly love about Mars, it’s the shared versatility. This planet can be anything you want it to
be—and you can do the same.”
He
stopped, inhaling deeply, hands on his hips, a soft smile on his face.
“Back
on Earth, I was a soldier. 415th
Armored Infantry, saw combat in all the theaters of the Peninsular Wars. Fought for my country, saw others die for my
country. And I remember looking up at
the stars, the night before we took Pyongyang.
And I remember thinking: “Gosh. What
am I gonna be after all this is over?
What could I be?”
The
man looked out, beyond the rows of apple trees.
“Luckily,
the Colonial Administration had an answer: more. I could be more, my family could be
more. And now look where I am!”
He spread
his arms, a huge smile on his face that broke into a laugh, barely
contained. “I’m a freakin’ farmer on
Mars, growing some of the best dang apples you’ll ever eat!”
The
man plucked one of the meaty fruits from the trees and raised it to his lips—
But
not before a wily young hand snatched it from his own. An apple-cheeked youth with tussled black
hair bounded away, laughing, taking a big juicy bite.
“Nathan!”
the man laughed, swooping up his giggling son.
“C’mere you!”
A
beautiful blonde woman in a housedress came out from behind the trees, holding
the delicate hand of a little girl with chestnut hair in a blue, simple
dress. The woman crouched down to the
little girl.
“Go
on,” she said. “Go get your father.”
And
she ran, giggling, tackling her father over, who gave in and flopped on the
ground with an exaggerated arc and a “Whoaaa no!”
They
were all there in a heap, laughing, wrestling.
“Guys!”
the woman called. The three-headed heap
looked up—the woman was now holding a wicker basket swollen with apples. She hefted it temptingly, raising an eyebrow.
“Alright!”
the little boy and girl bounced off, grabbing at the juicy fruit.
“Just
one, Nathan, just one! Leave some for
Anne, come on now!” the woman chuckled.
Her husband walked over, slipping a hand around her waist. She smiled up at him. And he smiled back at her, then out in front
of him.
“If
you want more than a taste of what you can be, think Mars,” he hefted an apple,
staring at it for a moment before taking a big, gulping bite, juice trickling
down his cheek and off his chin.
He
smiled even wider, his cheeks shiny and full with pulp. “A planet of
possibility!”
And
he held that smile for a few moments, staring….
“Aaaand
CUT! Perfect, nailed it on the first try,
just like always Shepherd.”
A
bell rang out, and a Farming Unit hovered over with a bucket. Shepherd considered it for a moment, then
spit out the fruit. He still kept the
apple, though, turning it over in his hand, looking at the bite mark, at the dent
he’d put in the perfect red skin. An
empty gesture for one who couldn’t taste.
Already,
Mel1, Nat3, and Anne7 were stripping off their SynthSkin masks with the help of
a few Farming Units. Mel1 glanced over
at him, staring at the apple.
“Hey,”
she said, her voice remotely feminine, but now filtered. “You’re keeping it on again?”
He
nodded, staring at the apple for a bit longer.
“Helps me get into character a bit more.
Remember?” He managed a
smile.
She
observed him for a moment, aperture’s dialing in and out. “Alright.
If you ever want to practice, let me know. I could keep mine on too.”
He
nodded. “Sure.”
“Shepherd,
nice work, as always,” the Colonel’s Farming Unit toddered over.
“Thank
you, sir,” Shepherd nodded. He eyed the
basket of apples. “Is it alright if I
grab a few of those, sir? For more
practice? I’d like to work on my bite.”
The
Colonel eyed the apples, then him, and shrugged. “Sure.
Why not?”
“Thank
you, sir.”
He
strode away, gathered a few of the fruits, and walked between the rows towards
the door.
-
“He’s
good.”
The
Colonel shut off the uplink. Hopefully
that Farming Unit wouldn’t get lost again.
It had taken him ten whole minutes to maneuver the thing so he could
intercept Shep1 leaving his dressing room.
Deliver the briefing and whatnot.
Observe the performance.
“You
wanna know why he’s so good?” the Colonel turned to face a much younger man who
stood behind him, buttoned in a tight overcoat, hands clasped in front holding
a briefcase, face cut by round specs. He
couldn’t be more than twenty-five, but there was something… old in his
posture. He reminded the Colonel of
those sarcophagi from the ancient world, brilliant and polished and new, even
though inside was the corpse of a thousand year-old king.
“That’s
why I’m here,” the young man said.
“It’s
an ‘it,’ Major. And you called it a
‘he,’” the Colonel stood up, slow. He
rubbed his aching thighs—four hours in that chair… four hours.
“Right. About Shep1’s performance… What are you
doing, Colonel?” the Major followed him with thin eyes as the older man ambled
over to the coffee station, low to the ground, duck-walking.
“You
ever been a robot for a fifth of the day, son?”
The Colonel snapped up, and kicked one of his legs out, swinging it back
and forth. “Corporate insists I engage
in at least five minutes of stretching before and after piloting sessions. Else I’ll end up like Rogers.”
“Oh,
right. Rogers. Embolism?”
“Sat
in the chair for eighteen hours,” the Colonel keyed in a command for
coffee. Black or… no, he’d treat himself
today. Just a little dabble of cream. “Had
to—Anne5 couldn’t remember its stage directions. Some uplink problem. It kept running into off into the orchard instead
of tackling Shep1—damn near busted through the dome a few times. Rogers had to sit through eighteen hours of,
“Go get your father,” followed by that little thing freakin’ out. He was the
one who gave the order to put her down for good and get Anne6 in there. She worked out… for a while, I guess…” The
dispenser chirped, and the Colonel grabbed the foam cup. Warmth seeped through the cheap
material.
“Anyways,
he gets done with all that, and he’s lookin’ forward to restin’, relaxing, some
overtime… gets up, dies.” Colonel sipped his coffee. “So now I do the stretches.”
“Fantastic,”
the Major said. He had taken out a
notepad and was scribbling something down.
“Now, Colonel—Shep1’s performance.
It’s outlasted every other Unit on the First Colony. Why?”
Colonel
shrugged. “Good programming, I
guess.”
“It’s
nothing but a retrofitted Farming Unit cobbled together from a dozen
others. It’s a miracle the thing can
speak, let alone pass as human. There’s
something else driving it. We need to
know what.”
“No
idea—”
“I’m
going to make this easier.” The major clicked his pen and turned his full
attention to the Colonel. “We know about
the girl.”
Colonel
sipped. “Good.”
“How
long do you think she’ll last?”
“How
long’s it been since the first mission?”
“One
year, three days, seven months.”
Colonel
shrugged. “Probably a bit longer, then. She’s a survivor.”
“There
can’t be any ‘survivors,’ Colonel,” the Major said. “Because the whole idea of a ‘survivor’
implies that someone, or more than someone, has died. And no one died on the first Administration
Mission. They’re all alive,” he nodded
to the screen.
Colonel
traced his finger around the wet rim of his cup. “Right.”
“So
the problem we’re having is that there is an excellent performance being given
by a machine whose sole motivation appears to be a contradiction that cannot
exist in our presented reality,” the Major said. “And I’d like to know what your department
suggests as a solution.”
The
Colonel pursed his lips. He took another
sip of his coffee, now lukewarm—the cream was a good idea, maybe he should
treat himself more often—and he smacked his lips together.
“Well,”
he rubbed his cheek. “They live together
in Shepherd’s quarters off-site. Nice
little cabin, built to his specs before he… showed up. When we did post-scans of the area after the
successful landing, it showed debris that fitted the alloy composite of a
Hermes escape pod… musta found her, brought her in somehow—probably after the
first shoot—and he’s been taking care of her ever since.”
“But
how do we fix this problem, Colonel?
That’s my question, and you haven’t exactly—”
“You
keep her alive,” the Colonel locked eyes with the young Major. “You keep her alive because it looks like
she’s the only thing that keeps him going.
And if there’s a dip in performance, people’ll notice. So it looks like you don’t have a choice,
Major.”
He
drained his coffee. Out.
“I
gotta piss,” he passed the young man, clapping him on the back.
-
A
harsh cough and a rattling breath. Then…
“You’re
home.”
Shepherd
shut the door carefully, balancing the bushel of apples against his hip. He’d hoped to let her sleep a little bit
longer—but she was as alert as ever.
“That’s
right,” he turned, putting on a smile.
There
she was, a little lump, curled under a coarse, thin blanket on his flat, tough
bed. Nimble fingers drew the covers
tighter, with exhausted eyes still managing a glint that betrayed the sharpness
of perception young children so often seem to possess. Her blonde hair fell in tangles—he’d have to
wash it again, and soon.
“You
have to back?” those sharp eyes followed him as he went over to the sink and
ran cool water over the bushel. The
apples gleamed like ruddy galaxies under the water.
He
laughed. “Nope. All done for today.”
“Good,”
and even though his back was turned, he could see that firm upper lip, the
commanding nod. And he couldn’t help but
laugh again.
“What’s
so funny?”
“Nothing,
sweetheart. Nothing.” He shut the tap
off and brought the bushel over to her, sitting on her bed.
She
eyed the fruit. “Fresh?”
“Just
about,” he said, offering one. She
scrunched her mouth up, contemplating… then took it, barely able to wrap a
single hand around the bulging fruit. A
small crunching bite followed, and then another. For a few minutes, the two ate in
silence.
“Are
Mom and Nate still sick?”
Shepherd
slowed his chewing. He looked over to
her—she’d set her apple down, letting it roll between a gap in her knees under
the covers. Her eyes were stern,
demanding honesty.
“They’re
getting better,” he finally said. She
looked him up and down… then nodded.
“Alright.” She started eating again, this time fully
absorbed in the act.
He
watched her for a moment before returning to his own apple, but Shepherd couldn’t
find the determination to keep his thoughts solely on the fruit. All he could really think was, Guess my acting’s getting better than I
thought.
“How
are you feeling?” he asked, needing some distraction.
She
shrugged thin shoulders, another cough pushing from her chest. “Okay.”
“Better
than yesterday?”
“I
think so.”
He
rubbed his face, an act designed to hide yet another smile. Shepherd extended a hand, wrapping it around
her cheeks and lifting her eyes to his.
They were so warm.
“Hey?”
She
looked into his, her cheeks brimming with pulp.
She kept chewing.
“I
love you. You know that, right?”
Anne
swallowed and smiled, rolling her eyes, and for a moment he saw her possible
future, the makings of a mature woman stitched into the face of a little girl. “I know, Dad.” Then concern weighed her brows down. “You feel kinda cold. Are you okay?”
He
gave a laugh, and made sure to draw his hand back carefully. She’d felt what was underneath the skin. “I’m fine, sweetheart. You aren’t cold at all, are you?”
She
thought for a moment, and a tiny shiver passed through her shirt. “Maybe a little.”
“Well,
let’s see what we can do about that.”
He
sauntered over to the heating unit and keyed in a few commands, raising the
temperature. The machine ca-chunked into
gear, and a low hum followed. Shepherd
went back over to the bed, this time lying down next to Anne. “Better?”
She
nodded, turning over on her side, eyes watery in the low light of the
cabin. “Yeah…”
“Yeah
what?”
“Well…”
“Well
what?”
“Dad!”
she laughed, batting him on the nose.
“C’mon, I… can you tell a story?”
“Oh…”
Shepherd rubbed his chin, sucking in through his teeth, peering through a
furrowed brow. “Well, I don’t
know…”
“Please! Please please please!” each plea was marked
by a further scrunching of the young girl’s face until it was nothing but
puckered.
“Alright, okay, okay, don’t hurt yourself…” Shepherd
laughed. “You’ve convinced me. Now, a story, a story….”
And
he told her a story, not a great one, but little girls don’t need their Dads to
tell great stories. He told her about
brave explorers from a far-away world who traveled to make a better place for
their children. And how there was a
young girl with those explorers who was more beautiful, more important, more
special-er than all the rest, because she would grow up one day to be the most
beautiful, most important, most special-est person on the whole planet, the
whole new world.
That
wasn’t to say her life would be easy.
None of the other explorers would grow up—they’d be the same age,
forever, once they reached the new world, and no one knew why, least of all the
little girl. And that was sad, because
in order to protect her, she’d have to be sealed away from everyone she’d ever
known.
But
each night, her father, one of the bravest, best-est explorers out of everyone,
ever, and handsome too, don’t forget incredibly handsome—Dad!—would come and
visit her. And he’d bring her apples and
stories, and he’d stay with her to make sure she’d get to grow up. And some day she would. He would make sure of that.
Shepherd
looked over. Sure enough, her eyes were
shut, and little breaths rose the blankets up and down… up and down…
He
pulled them a bit snugger, and she shifted, extending a hand to his, fingers
lacing themselves with his own.
He
was a little cold still, like the ship she’d been on with him and Mom and
Nate. She’d wander down the hallways
sometimes, when her and Nate would play hide ‘n seek, and she’d test spots on
the walls, to see if they were warm at all.
There was so much light outside from the stars, how could they be
cold? But they were. Just like him.
He
wasn’t her Dad. She knew that. But he was here with her, and she felt sad
for him, so she liked him.
“You
don’t feel so cold anymore…” her eyes opened a bit, and a half-smile creased
her face. She sighed, and fell back
asleep.
Shep1
laid there for a while, and for a moment, he too drifted off to sleep.
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