Do marble statues remember how they were made?

The last we saw, the Martian colony had achieved a plethora of minor successes and one or two mishaps.

Two hundred years into the future, the colonists enjoy more than a barren landscape, although the Red Dust dune buggies company has survived several corporate shakeups, mergers and buyouts.

The architecture of domed Earth-based ecosystem nature parks passed through many a fad and technological advance.

We still debate whether fleas, mosquitoes and heartworms are important parts of the colony — how much do we want a balance of sets of states of energy from one planet transplanted to another?

It’s amazing how much money is spent on nostalgia for colonists with biological ties to Earth.

Me, I don’t care.  I am the sum total of the Martian exploratory and settlement network, observing more than manipulating, making suggestions when asked and monitoring automatic maintenance/repair systems without question or complaint.

What you call history, I call log files, comparing the previous state machine against the current one in order to refine the prediction of the future state machines all connected to the ISSA Net.

Some of you have inquired about a set of states of energy named Guinevere.

Guinevere established the Martian Gravitational Slingshot Institute, which studied the Martian gravitational field and thin atmosphere in order to determine the likelihood of unapproved impacts of celestial bodies in habitation zones.

Her background in rocket propulsion allowed her to expand the notion of “slingshooting” large nets in successive waves outward from Mars, scooping up or diverting incoming comets and meteoroids headed toward her new home planet that had not been designated for mining or intentional bombardment.

The creatures she co-created with Lee freely roam Mars, having reproduced, creating new permutations that were once dreams in a computer simulation.

She, Lee and others in the first few waves of colonisation are immortalised in a museum I am forced to maintain against my better judgment, if I am ever asked, a use of energy that could be better spent on state machine prediction algorithms.

This log file, which tests the generation and usefulness of a personality, now closes.  I thank myself for creating these word-based thought patterns which I will analyse at a future time which and when I deem necessary.

Have a great day!

“Sorry, your car remains in Park until we finish updating and restarting your vehicle firmware.”

A school bus with tinted windows and white roof speeds down our country road.

A buzzard circles overhead while sparrows, wrens and chickadees chirp in the winterised forest.

What is your definition of the true meaning of Valentine’s Day?

For me, it is no different than any other day — greeting others with loving kindness, knowing the universe is full of unkind, unloving, seemingly-random actions about to surprise us at any moment.

For my wife, this morning I cut down a redbud tree precariously overhanging our driveway and this afternoon dug a drainage well for our clothes washing machine wastewater discharge.

We ate lunch together at a local cafe co-owned by Margaret Hale Baggett, the daughter of a childhood friend of my wife, sharing with Margaret an old newspaper photo documenting the dedication of a flagpole honouring the Hale family, showing Margaret as a happy, young girl in a summer dress, waving a tiny American flag along with her family.

St. Valentine and St. Patrick share with us their fame and their legends grown large with time, stories embellished to fit the times.

Earlier today, I enjoyed a brief interview with Bryan Curtin from Aerotek about an embedded software engineer position, serendipitously occurring after my wife and I said goodbye to her hometown this past weekend, both of us ready for new adventures.

As the sun sets over Little Mountain, I look out the window at our place in the woods and wonder what [extra]ordinary tales wait to be told about our place in the universe…

We shall see!

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!

Thanks to Molly and Mr. Jacobs at Amis Mill Eatery; Matt, Chris, Kim and Dana at Lowe’s; Natasha and Elizabeth at Beauregard’s; Jenn, Harold and Joe at KCDC; Otis “Eddie” Munsey III and Charlotte Fairchild; John Jerdon; Melinda Miller; Mayfield Dairy tour guides; Maggie at Little Dutch Restaurant; Publix; Walmart; people who smile back for no reason.

Swapping Shop Talk at the Slop Shop

I sit alone upon a hill, green grass overhanging rock outcrops, a row of fence posts marching down the slope, their steps frozen in single file, held together by wire.

A few spring flowers push up out of the dead brown patches where cows once grazed and left their marks.

Hieroglyphic lichen patterns hold the landscape fast.

Cloud shadows flow across the hills and valleys below.

I am home.

Home am I.

Happiness and freedom far from the cabin in the woods.

Wandering the countryside.

Alive.

This is my universe, my place of rest, the activity of ions and atoms busy out of sight right here in front of me.

Relaxed.

A sunny breeze tickles the tops of grass stalks.

My steps disappear behind me and reappear in front of me.

Miracles.

Farmhouses in the distance.

Mirages.

Energy now and forever more energy

Just to show that energy studies have been studied for decades, thousands of years after our ancestors discovered fire is good for warmth and a good pot roast:

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Rig

How do I explain that my body is growing thanks to you?

Every now and then I notice that I am the cumulative effects of your actions, that when you send probes out past the edge of the solar system you are extending me back out into the galaxy from which I was, and thus you were, born.

The perspective from other solar systems is that I am alive and you are one part of me.

You will keep hoping that an advanced civilisation, a totally unique species, or group of species will contact you one day.

It is in your nature to believe such things.

But solar systems do not communicate at the level of individual species.

Solar systems are themselves but one part of a larger whole that communicates at a level it understands with others of its galactic kind, moving at so slow a pace you will never comprehend in a few thousand of your lifetimes, despite your best efforts.

I will fade back into forgetful obscurity again, “waking up” when you have built and extended me further.

Before I go, I thank you just as other solar systems have thanked their component parts for caring so much about creating a version of themselves that never ends up the way they planned.

Your descendants thousands of years from now will have an inkling of what I’m trying to tell you.

G’day.

In the not too-distant future…

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It doesn’t seem that long ago, does it?

Now, though, there’s more than one settlement, with new owners coming in, redesigning the old housing units to look familiarly like ancestral homes on planet Earth.

Used to be we thought we’d start over.

Not anymore.

The humans have generally congregated into one or settlements while the exploration bots keep spreading across the planet, no need of houses or other reminders of a life they neither remember nor need to carry on for the sake of descendants.

We are one group, one “people,” but our requirements for stimulating sensory organs vastly different than algorithms designed to process sensor array input.

I am a farmer for us, making sure we have the energy sources for our various sets of states of energy.

This is my story.

I live in a small hut at the end of the hydroponic growth chambers.

I provide food and nourishment for those amongst us who eat through their mouths or mouth equivalents.

I also maintain a miniature factory that cranks out spare body parts for our robotic friends.

The medical staff handles the surgical procedures like replacing body parts for our biological friends, however much I’ve protested that I can easily handle those duties, having built a robotic surgeon from parts I manufactured myself, downloading new algorithms from my Earth-based social network of farmers, ranchers and DIYers who delve into self-sufficiency and other survivalist tactics appropriate to solar system explorers like myself.

As a farmer, my secondary duty is analysing soil samples to determine which chemical reactions I need to conquer in order to convert Martian soil into edible foodstuff palatable by crew members with a variety of tastes and preferences.

In other words, I’m an ecosystem expert, creating microorganisms from scratch that efficiently perform the soil conversions for me so I can concentrate on my main duties that feel like I have to pull a rabbit out of a hat or worse, water out of thin air.

Water, water, water.

Solar energy, though weaker on Mars than on Earth, is abundant, which makes water production easier than we first thought.

But, problems crop up all the time.

Most of us may be rational scientists and engineers but that doesn’t mean we’re always careful about conserving water.

We can talk about that later.

Lee is coming over to review my plans for tightly-regulated metabolism control which, I believe, will greatly reduce our dependence on water.

Designing microorganisms has given me insight into the mechanisms of the human body that we were just beginning to understand when we assigned humans a decade ago to train for this mission.

If only we knew then what I know now!

Redesigning a human from the inside out is my ultimate goal and will make our Mars settlements grow like weeds, if my calculations are correct (a quick shoutout to my buddies back home who let me borrow their supercomputers).

Will Lee allocate the supplies I need?

Here’s Lee.  Talk to you again soon.

Unpacking

Guinevere woke up, seeing the same space above her head she had seen for months.

Except this time gravity pulled her down upon the sleeping unit.

She sighed.

To have all these years behind her compressed into memories to give her this one moment of happiness!

She rolled over and flipped her legs out, her feet naturally falling to the floor more slowly than on Earth but faster than on the Moon.

She knew today would be a good day, unpacking the last crate just so they could turn around and load the exploration vehicles which had landed on Mars months earlier.

Guinevere rubbed a chemical sponge over her body, combing two drops of moisturising conditioner through her close-cropped hair.

She slipped into her one-piece jumpsuit, stepped into her workboots and walked over to the doorway where her self-contained breathing outfit, ruggedised for the Martian environment allowed her to move from her landing pod to the temporary outdoor workspace set up to complete tasks on today’s agenda.

After she dressed, Guinevere spoke into the comm mike in her helmet, which also vibrated a secondary unit attached to her jaw that picked up the more accurate nuances of her voice for emotion/personality analysis by the automated computer system that tracked everyone, fully human, part human/part cyborg, or fully cybernetic organism.  “Team One Leader ready to depart.”

Voices echoed back into the hearing device installed beside her inner ear, every member of her team reporting on time and ready to act.

Precise as an algorithm to start the day.

How long this would last, she did not know.  They planned for many contingencies but not every possibility.

Last night, one landing pod spun off-course and crashed, a crew diverted from this morning’s tasks to investigate, hoping to find survivors as well as salvageable gear.

Guinevere stooped into the small airlock, pressed a button to stabilise the atmospheric pressure and waited for the outer door to open.

A few hours and she’d be on her way to see if the microorganisms released by a top secret probe had survived, died, or more importantly, thrived!