Winner - David Lee
Cogitation
By David Lee
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.