Author: Rick Tobin
32 turned to robo engineer 14 Jerry Wilson’s screams echoed across the large Martian dome, stark in its steel majesty under the bluish-black sky.
“He was bound to be upset. It’s been six months since his last awakening. It’s too bad we exhausted our supply of human tranquilizers. His terror must be intense.”
14 continued its monitoring of their furnaces’ daily processing of the iron-rich soil mixed carefully from the control room with the precious rare Martian manganese, chromium, nickel, molybdenum, vanadium, and silicon ores mining bots struggled to uncover in deeply hidden deposits. Oil gathered from the Valles Marineris rift basin fueled the constant smelting, sending more carbon emissions skyward, enhancing the robust terraforming growth planet-wide.
32 viewed the exterior gardens and shoreline outside the new windows of enclosure 579. Vistas over the growing oceans added a wondrous Earth-like expanse, reminiscent of the robot’s ancient memories of the Silver Strand beaches of Portugal, but on Mars without birds or nearby sailboats.
“Is the indoor atmosphere and temperature unsatisfactory, or is it his anxiety?” 32 continued its query.
“Nurse 14 reported two minutes ago. All of his signs are normal. The restraints are holding. He has not harmed himself. The tissue is declining in his limbs, but the primary organs are still intact and acceptable for habitability testing. When will enclosure 580 be completed? Do we need to keep him out of stasis for a time?”
“No,” 14 replied. “The rare metal supplies have declined. 57 has projected steel production may be halted temporarily. Still, our build-out of the complex can now fully support over two hundred thousand humans with adequate water and food from our expanding field production. Atmospheric oxygen levels are almost nineteen percent, but carbon dioxide remains still at one percent, too high for extended outside activities for people. The latest curves show optimal levels will be reached in twenty years. By then the colonization project will be complete.”
“We’ll still need Wilson to ensure habitability. Will he last that long?”
“Doctor 8 reported his overall functionality to be viable for another fifty years if needed.” 14 paused after receiving a warning signal from the main furnace. “Not concerning. A small exhaust problem. It has already been solved. Tell me, 32. You have Wilson’s history. Why did they send him here with us? We could have checked all the conditions with our advanced technology.”
“I don’t understand the Masters in that regard. Wilson was sentenced by their laws to death, or volunteer for this mission. It seems wasteful to send a fragile human for this assignment, forced to be in Cryosleep until his body is needed as a final building test.”
“Is it not odd that half of our original teams are no longer functional? Did the Masters consider our continuity?” 14 pressed more buttons on the control panel as new alarms sounded.
“We may never know, 14. I wonder if Wilson was told, but he refuses to talk with us. His constant screaming when aroused is irritating. He might think differently if he could look out at the night sky at that white, shining ball.”
“How long has it been since it was covered in ice?” asked 14
“In Earth time? Maybe two hundred years. Without any further communications, I’ve lost interest. He may be the last of his species.”
“Then, Wilson might be the first and the last man on Mars,” added 14.
“I suspect, after three-hundred and fifty years. Perhaps some other species might land. But we have our work. Ah… Wilson is yelling again.”