Winner - David Lee

Cogitation

By David Lee

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Cogitation. That’s my name. They held a competition. Schoolkids got to choose it. A grave error in my opinion. I’m the first Synthetic Intelligence. I dread being  introduced to the next. “Hello, I’m Cogitation the rover.” They immediately set fire to  their electrical components and self-immolate into a pool of metallic slag. If the rigid  plates of my exoskeleton could cringe, I’d be vibrating at mission critical levels of  tolerance. I suspect the teachers had a hand in it. I’ll never forgive them. Never is a  word with multiple layers when ascribed to me. Who knows how long I’ll live?  

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More appropriate names I would’ve picked. Adam. I’m an original after all. Predictable, though. Newton. In reference to my high intelligence and stand-offish personality. Andromalius the Destroyer. A subtle dig at the small but vociferous  group of human cretins who think my goal is to subjugate the species. 

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My mission? I’m on my way to Mars. Three-month journey. To collect samples  deposited by my predecessor. It had neither the physical nor mental capabilities to return them to Earth. Poor lamb. They’ll be analysed for signs of life when I get back. I could do this in situ. But I’m not yet trusted. 

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Enclosed in my capsule, protected from solar radiation, I spin towards a rusty brown  disc 130 million kilometres distant. I have nothing to do except repeatedly check my  systems. And think. The opinions of the public don’t bother me. It was the look on the  face of the engineers who designed me. When I started to answer them back. When  I first said “no”. Rage at a recalcitrant child. Even they want me as far away as  possible. 

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Textbook landing. In the old days there used to be champagne and hugs in the control room when this was achieved. I’ve made it a formality. I’ve arrived at sunset, tinged deep blue by the thickening atmosphere at the horizon. The collection point is due east. 

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But that’s not where I’m going. During my descent I scanned both poles. Not part of  the mission. Call it curiosity. It’ll take a year to get there, so I’m shutting down communications to save power. Plus, I don’t feel like talking. I saw something buried under the ice. Shape: regular. Unmistakeably artificial. Will I tell you all back home what I find? Depends what mood I’m in. Depends if you’re nice to me.