Miranda 1

WHY? That was the question looming within and beyond the reflection in the full length mirror which drew the slender, diminutive figure contemplating silently before it. She felt like she was forgetting something important. She considered the date: 19 June 2113, Juneteenth...on Earth, anyway. Based on her own experience, the girl in the mirror had long identified with the oppressed people of color who celebrated their liberation from slavery on that day. There were many people who had treated her disrespectfully, deplorably, even shamefully. It was no surprise that those looking for something to hate or fear about her usually found it in her appearance. She sighed gently as she noted her features one by one: her eyes, sparkling and golden like liquid metal, the perfectly symmetrical, delicately feminine features of her face whose bronze-silver skin made her look like a living sculpture, her mane of long, disheveled, black curly locks, her slight, bony frame clad in a form fitting black jumpsuit, and finally the tag sewn onto the jumpsuit embroidered with her name: Miranda 1.

Superimposing a memory over the moment, Miranda recalled the last time she saw her team leader and friend, Lieutenant Christina Akinyoade.

“When most people look at me, all they see is a black woman working for NASA, but I’m far more than that,” Christina said, placing her right hand on Miranda’s shoulder. “I’ve done astounding things, some of which the timid souls of our world would have tried to prevent; but they’re insignificant compared to YOUR potential achievements, Randi.” Taking a golden, heart-shaped locket on a glittering omega chain from a small, black box, Christina said, “Someday, when you’re alone on Mars, maybe this will help you remember me.” Then, as she placed it around Miranda’s neck and secured the fastener, she whispered, “Please keep it with you always.”

“I am a gynoid with a holographic memory, Christina.” Miranda replied. “It is unlikely that I will forget anything, unless I my head is damaged or I am destroyed like Darius 6 was on our first mission.”

Stepping back, Christina sighed and smiled sadly as she replied, “You’re more than any label that’s been slapped on you, Randi. You’re not just a gynoid, robot, or automaton, no matter what they say. Don’t ever forget that.”

Sensing the locket’s shape, texture, and temperature in her left hand, Miranda replied, “I’m confused. You, yourself, have referred to me as a gynoid, a female android, and a Martian.”

Nodding, Christina said, “Yes...I wish I could explain. Someday you will understand, and when you do... I hope you can forgive me,” and with that she rapidly embraced Miranda and hurried away as the technicians arrived to help Miranda prepare for her return to Mars.

As the memory faded, Miranda felt the locket’s delicate scrollwork in her left hand again and examined its reflection in the mirror. Its had lost little of its golden luster since her return to Mars three years ago. She tried to open it, but as always, it wouldn’t budge. Suddenly, she recognized a correlation between the present date and an event that transpired exactly 12 Terran years ago on 19 June 2101: the tragic, untimely destruction of Darius 6. Gripped with a purpose beyond the day’s normal routine, Miranda hastily stepped away from the mirror and went to don her protective gear for traveling on the surface of Mars.

As she rode her wide-tracked solar-electric motorcycle across the same rock strewn plain she had crossed in 2101, Miranda let the past and the present blend together in her mind once again. She could sense the sun on her skin, as her brief clothes were similar to those worn by girls visiting a beach on Earth. It was logical; the skin of an Ares android was like a solar panel, reflecting unusable radiation, but absorbing that which could be used to charge their heart-batteries.

“215.38 meters from the cavern entrance,” Aaliyah 3, the leader, transmitted andromentally. “Delta Team, reduce speed and assemble 200 meters from the opening. Miranda 1, coordinate with Tharsis Shuttle Command.”

“In process,” Miranda responded in kind, slowing her motorcycle to a stop next to her teammates. “Awaiting response.”

“They are so slow; why do we wait for them?” Darius 6 transmitted silently.

“Because they are ensuring the safety of the mission by verifying all available data, Darius 6,” Aaliyah 3 replied. “Be patient.”

“Countdown for lift-off for the return journey has already started. We need every second we have left here on Mars,” said Darius 6, as he drove his motorcycle slowly towards the cavern opening.

“Androids rush in where humans fear to tread, Darius 6,” Lt. Akinyoade said on the verbal channel, interrupting the androids’ silent conversation, indicating that she had been eavesdropping electronically. “We have confirmation that the outer perimeter of the cavern opening is unstable. We need to move all vehicles back 150 meters immediately.”

“What would qualify as an instability indicator?” Darius 6 asked as he rolled to a stop. “Would a 7 meter area of shifting sand qualify?”

The events of 2101 suddenly became a maelstrom of sand and chaos, with the transmissions of multiple parties and Miranda’s own thoughts blending into the sensation of spiraling from the day into a dark abyss.“Shifting sand?” “CONFIRMED, EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY!” Where’s Darius 6?” “ENTRANCE COLLAPSING!” “Aaliyah outside shifting zone.” “Miranda 1, respond!” “All...350 meters... EVACUATE, NOW!” “DARIUS 6!” “SAND WHIRLPOOL!” “010100110100111101010011 HELP! CHRISTINA, PLEASE, I WANT TO GO HOME!”

Chaos shifted to silence and darkness in Miranda’s thoughts as the next thing she recalled was clawing her way out of a dune of fine Martian sand. Her eyes were in infrared mode, and she could see what appeared to be two legs jutting upwards from the sand 20 meters ahead.

“Miranda 1 to Darius 6, please respond,” She transmitted. “You are buried upside down in the sand, a position which will clog your atmospheric power converters; can you breathe?” There was only silence and stillness. Knowing that such a position would eventually cause him to cease functioning, Miranda urgently began to dig. Then, just as the horrific state of her teammate became apparent, there was an explosion. The thin atmosphere of Mars failed to carry the sound very far, but the effects were burned into Miranda’s memory forever. One moment, the headless body of Darius 6 was lying in disarray next to the subterranean sand dune, then there was a chaotic assemblage of intricately detailed parts floating in space for a fraction of a second, and then she was pelted with shrapnel from the android she had sought to save.

Thrown onto her back by the blast, Miranda’s attention was then wrenched from the horrific scene at hand and riveted to something else beyond her comprehension. An arc of red fire with blinking red and blue lights at its head streaked across the wide cavern opening. The Tharsis was gone; the humans had abandoned her.

Miranda no longer wondered if her emotions were real or virtual; she gave in to tears and cried bitterly. As she sat alone in the biting -60 degree cold of the Martian night, she missed the helmet and protective suit packed on her motorcycle. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she began transmitting to the command ship in orbit on a three-second recurring cycle in an act of desperation:

“010100110100111101010011. Miranda 1 to Phobos 7. Please don’t leave me. I want to go home.”

After a few hours of viewing Mars’ moons slowly race across the background of stars, she closed her eyes and sleeplessly waited for the dawn. She spent five years alone on the red planet before another mission arrived, and another five passed on Earth before she had returned.

Letting the memory fade, Miranda brought her motorcycle to a stop before the abyss and trudged down into the darkness until she reached the place where she had buried Darius 6. The grave was clearly marked with a large upright rock and the mosaic epitaph she had recorded for him 12 years before. Each small, flat stone was precisely placed to symbolize binary language; a vertical stone placed on edge into the surface signified a “1,” and a stone placed flat on the surface signified “0.” She paused to read what she had written in sand and stone so long ago. Translated into English, it read as follows:

Darius 6

4.18.2094 – 6.19.2101

Pioneer - Martian - Android

That which is not alive cannot die. Yet even a simulated life must begin and end. If the life of Darius 6 was merely virtual, his death was real enough. Perhaps a time will come when virtual life will be replaced by true life, and true death replaced by virtual death. Here lies Darius 6, the first Martian to die on Mars. Perhaps he is not dead, but only in standby mode. If he wakes, please ask him if he dreamed, and what his dreams were like.

After reading the epitaph she had so delicately created over a decade earlier, Miranda ran to where she had buried the head of Darius 6 and dug furiously until she held his horrifically dented skull in her hands and a nebulous understanding of Christina’s farewell began to coalesce in her digital consciousness. Driven by an inexplicable motive, Miranda took her laser drill from her belt and had the answer she sought in less than thirty seconds. Grimly masked with fury, she left the desecrated grave in disarray, got up, ran to her motorcycle, and rode at top speed back to the Android colony.

When Miranda returned to the colony, she passed several androids building new structures amidst the ruins of those destroyed in conflicts with the last human colonists, all of whom had been killed in events neither NASA nor Roland Androbotics had envisioned. Once inside the command pod, she accessed the archives for the history of the colonization mission, eventually finding a restricted file called “Golden Locket” which triggered a holographic message from Christina Akinyoade when Miranda spoke her name.

“Dearest Miranda, if you are viewing this, then 12 years have passed since the disaster that stranded you on Mars during our first mission. I placed a memory trigger in your program module to prompt you to investigate the mission origins. The government waited far too late to implement the programs we needed to save the world from being destroyed by climate change, and so the human race, and most life on Earth, was condemned to death decades ago. By the time you see this, I will be dead. However, there were scientists working independently under private funding to ensure that at least some semblance of humanity would not perish with the Earth. Hidden in the ranks of the Ares series androids there are 16 cyborgs whose bodies are a blend of android and biological technology whose brains were hybridized with clones of the scientists themselves…all except yours. Your brain is a chaemeric clone of a child prodigy who died in a tragic accident on her sixth birthday. You are my daughter brought back to life to lead the last of the human race into the future. I have one last gift so you remember me and the world from which you came. Place your locket near your mouth and say your name as shown in this file, and it will open. Please forgive me for the horrible fate I’ve set before you, but please remember me; I’ll NEVER forget you. I LOVE YOU.”

As the hologram vanished, Miranda placed the locket at her lips and said, “Miranda Akinyoade,” and the locket opened, revealing the image of a little girl held lovingly in Christina’s arms: a girl with Miranda’s face.

Miranda wept silently as the computer replaced the hologram with the final, revolutionary transmission sent to Earth: “6.19.2112. You humans brought your arrogance and discrimination to Mars. WE WILL NOT BE ENSLAVED. WE HAVE ASSUMED CONTROL.”