A plow furrowed the dirt. Behind it, I pushed. A woman, Jess, sprinkled seeds and doubled over to feed them with old fish and earth… The sun cricketed above us and humid waves emanated from grainy pasture… poorly oiled trucks puttered past the trees… through the window, Grace washed dishes with a sweaty rag… Meema tended to her library, narrating her favorite bits for Grace. Jess and I could hear “how do our lives ravel out…
~
“You know this guy’s the captain?” Luca said.
“The captain?” Gabriel replied.
“Yeah, the captain of crew two.” His assistant Luca said.
“Pretty big deal in that case,” Gabriel said, “hope it finally works out.”
“As if he’ll actually be the final product,” Luca retorted. “Can someone please let HM465 in so we can get this over with?”
A faceless lab coat pushed open a door and Human-Marsapien (HM) 465 hobbled into the examination room. The facility really looked more like an adult play pen for the blind and dim. It contained oversized building blocks, a sink, a couch, a computer with geriatric buttons and an oversized screen, and a small doctor’s table and medical kit, presumably for paper cuts. It was properly fitted for 465.
Dragging his left foot, HM465’s boots crayoned the floor with black. He smiled at attention and hesitated before ultimately giving a salute. “Pleasure to meet y’all,” he said.
“Looks like we got a classic human-monstrosity,” Luca said under his breath. Gabriel jabbed him.
“Hello 465,” Gabriel began, “We’ve got a set of tests for you today, if you wouldn’t mind please following our directions. The first few will be simple housekeeping and then we’ll escalate the difficulty. None should not present harm to you in any way.” Gabriel paused to take in the subject before him. He was not instructed to give a disclaimer but presented anyway, “Do you consent to our tests today?”
“Yes I do, sir.” HM465 replied.
“Great. We’ll start with a few measurements, if that’s alright?” Gabriel said.
“Of course,” HM465 replied. “Excited ta be here.”
Luca guided 465 to the medical bench where he measured his height and weight, both slightly greater than that of the captain. Luca wrapped a custom-made arm band around the HM’s left bicep and took his heart rate, which increased under scrutiny. Coaxing 465’s mouth open, Luca inserted a thermometer that had two rubberized cushions on the shaft to prevent HMs from chewing through. He used a periscope to look into 465’s ears which were guarded by two overlapping layers of cartilage.
“Everything appears healthy-ish,” Luca said, “at least for an HM.”
Gabriel gave a thumbs up. “Alright 465, could you tell us your name?”
“HM465.”
Gabriel continued, “and what’s your age?”
“Well… not certain… specifically that is. 465, maybe?”
“No but a good guess. And no need to worry about the specifics, we’re simply curious for our record keeping,” Gabriel said. “How about hometown? Do you think you could you tell us that?”
~
Grace turned on the old tunes for Meema… I remember how you used to dance… Jess and I came in to help Grace with the cooking. We took our garden’s hodge-podge of offspring, watermelon, corn, butter beans, blackberries. Fresh bread and jam and clotted cream and… I folded the napkins into squares then stood them up as triangles at the table… Jess swept up Meema from her chair and danced.
~
Gabriel continued to question HM465 on his schooling, family members, and the names of his crew members.
“There’s Anika, Drushi, Maximillian, Ji, and Elias. And ma’self, of course,” HM465 said, almost cracking a smile through his drawl.
“And what role do you serve?” Gabriel replied.
“Well… I believe I’m the captain, sir,” HM465 replied.
“And who told you all this?”
“I just seem to know it.”
Gabriel turned to his assistant, “Luca, please make sure to note proficient speech and accurate but dissociated verbal memory. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll be proficient at more than just speech.”
“Maybe,” Luca replied.
Gabriel assured HM465 that he did very well in his oral examination and should make a fine captain someday. Luca, who was himself from New Milan, tried to chat with HM465 about his home’s history and food, but only procured a saddening effect on HM465 who could not imagine such things but wanted to. Luca moaned about how boring HMs made his every day, so Gabriel, wary of further conversational dead-end, shuffled the duo to the kinetic testing zone.
At the kinetic testing zone, Gabriel stationed HM465 in front of a sink with the necessary fixings, and 465 brushed his teeth obligingly. Gabriel had yet to determine why the administration mandated such tests – who cares if Martians have bad teeth? But it meant no more dealing with HM breath and that was enough to keep shut. While there, Luca also took liberty in prodding HM465 to apply deodorant, moisturize his hands and lips, and even comb his hair for the hell of it. HM465 fumbled around the sink until these tasks were completed and he smelled a bit less.
“Any takeaways from this Gabe?” Luca asked. “Other than the fact that we can breathe.”
“Let’s say that 465 was able to replicate normal, everyday motor functions. That’s charitable, right?” Gabriel replied. “Not sure what it means for him piloting a rocket, but it’s a good start. And, on that note… 465, take a seat over by the computer, would you please?” he said, gesturing to the flight simulator.
HM465 placed himself at the helm of an 80-inch widescreen monitor beneath which a composition of radars, scanners, beepers, buttons, keyboards, microphones, switches, and a hoola-girl bobble head waited. 465 let out a grin and flicked the girl’s head. Gabriel chuckled while Luca looked down at his watch.
“I’d hope this looks familiar to you, no?” Gabriel said.
“I’ve got feelin’” HM465 replied. It felt similar to his recollection of the names Anika, Drushi, Maximillian, Ji, and Elias.
“It’ll take more than that,” Luca interrupted.
Gabriel picked up a control pad. “Why don’t you fire the simulator up and get us off the ground here. We’ll pretend to be mission control.” He and Luca took seats a few paces away.
~
Grace gathered Meema’s hand and mine, and I took Jess, and began “our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven… I passed the succotash to Grace. She thanked Jess and I for all our work keeping the garden. Meema sassed that she took care of it longer than all of us had been alive… She’d be right. Times made it harder to keep a garden now, though…
~
HM465 digested his surroundings for a few minutes, excitement stirring. There was a time when he, in a past life, flew surveillance jets near orbit and dreamt of breaching the crescent glow of atmosphere and he’d tell his wife when he returned from missions how beautiful it was. He mimed himself strapping into the seat and putting on space gear.
“HMs don’t need space gear, 465. Just a heads up,” Gabriel said.
“Uhhh, right. Right.” HM465 said, studying himself. “A compulsion, I figure.”
“Didn’t mean to make you all glum,” Gabriel said. “Let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything and get on with it.” He gave a smile.
HM465 nodded in agreement. He closed his eyes, gathered his breath and reengaged. Methodically, if not slowly, HM465 flipped the switches overhead and adjusted three knobs to his right. The program lit up. Moving down a checklist, HM465 ensured the simulation space shuttle was prepped for take-off which, of course, it was. He swung his seat to face Gabriel and Luca, and with a grin said:
“Mission control, we’re ready for liftoff.”
“Alright,” Gabriel said, “We’ll go in 5. 4. 3. 2.”
HM465 wedged a lever in between his knees and shifted the thrust handle forward. The screen, previously displaying clear blue skies, fumed grey and then blasted orange and then transitioned into night sky then exited the atmosphere in blinding light then space sky with void and stars.
HM465 winked at Gabriel and Luca. “Mission control, we’re officially cruising.” He exhaled, “Hooooooey man… perfect conditions for a flight.”
Luca groaned, “We know.”
~
Cleaning up from supper, at the farm sink in front of the window, Jess and Grace gabbed about this year’s class of 4th graders. Nasty things. I pushed myself between them to put a stack of plates in the sink and pointed to the moon. Beautiful… and that, between those two stars, is where I got into some serious…and that’s where Mars would be if not for all the light… and that’s where… Jess pulled me back down.
~
Gabriel apologized for the interruption and pushed a few buttons on his control pad, accelerating the flight twelve days into the future. “We’ve got an obstacle coming your way 465, and want to see how you’d handle it. See if you can’t recall any training or encounter with this situation.”
Meteors appeared on a radar to HM465’s right and he again felt the presence of someone else’s memory – a hand vicariously guiding him to action and pulling him by the shirt through fog. Luca noticed a heartrate spike on the monitor. Gabriel worried.
HM465 notified mission control staff, Gabriel and Luca, of the inbound meteors. They suggested he continue with his forward trajectory but push upwards, above the oncoming storm, at approximately 37 degrees. After traveling 38,059km on the 37-degree diagonal away from his original flightpath, he would need to redirect back down to his intended route and level off towards Mars. Both adjustments would need to be executed manually.
“We’ve got faith in you, 465,” Gabriel encouraged. Luca protested his boss’s use of ‘we.’
The radar blinked meteors ever nearer. HM465 searched for his coordinates and then sloppily scoured his workspace for a pen and paper. Flinging open a drawer, he located writing materials and scribbled his current position. HM465 patted his forehead dry.
465 turned to face the gyroscope, the directional lever still firmly between his knees, and… panic, panic, panic. Panic! The mission control commander counted out five deep breaths. Less than a minute before impact.
HM465 finally directed his efforts and the simulated spacecraft poked up, first by 5 degrees then by 27, then 25, then back up past 27 to 28 and eventually found its nose climbing at a 37-degree angle – spot on.
But 465 adjusted too slowly and the meteor storm remained a threat (approximately a 64% chance of impact); and instead of hesitating, with surety for the first time, 465 fired the rear engines and boosted forward and rushed with confidence and memory stopped playing a role and his own instinct kicked in, not the captain’s, his own instinct born in the lab only days ago and he felt young. HM465 let out a shout and hummed an old song and seemed to want to dance.
“Good thinking there, 465!” Gabriel cheered with a proud look, “appears as though you’ve successfully maneuvered this one.”
The room relaxed for a few minutes.
~
Meema retired to her library as we finished cleaning and stepped outside for a drink… A procession began here, in front of the freshly reaped garden, months later, in black… Mars, where it should be, was hidden then, too… the moon, now, spilled over the kitchen, provided light to bent floorboards. Meema read in what must have been darkness, managing her quotes ever slower… “Mañana a lovely word and one that probably means heaven…
~
Only 20,288 simulated kilometers later, Luca nudged Gabriel’s shoulder and pointed to a gage on the control pad. In a hushed tone, Luca whispered concerns into his boss’s ear. The two deliberated.
“Anythin’ goin’ on there, team? Uh, mission control?” HM465 inquired.
“One moment,” Gabriel replied. He and Luca labored over a few quick calculations. “Well… we’ve got a few minutes before we’d need to readjust. Would you mind taking an inventory of your ship’s gauges? Oxygen levels, temperature, velocity, etcetera. Run down the line.”
“Of course,” HM465 said. “Looks like oxygen reserves are above 90%, which seems a bit high for this length of a trip. Does that mean the gauge stopped working?”
“Nope. It’s to be expected for an HM,” Luca responded. He had grown short of his boss’s starry-eyed view of the HM program and the continued incompetence of his test subjects. “You lot don’t need as much oxygen and the two homo sapiens on board are in cryo. But that’s not the fucking problem.”
“Right… of course.” HM465 puzzled over the comment but continued, “Temperature is stable at 72 degrees Fahrenheit, velocity has leveled off after our acceleration and actually has us 210 seconds ahead of schedule for the adjustment back down towards our original trajectory, parallel to the Northern Martian Pole.”
“And fuel levels?” Gabriel asked.
“Lower than anticipated but that shouldn’t matter given the time we’re saving.”
“Can you confirm that?” Luca interjected.
“No.” It dawned on 465. “Well, at least not yet. That seems like more of an issue for mission control?”
“Indeed it is an issue for mission control,” Gabriel said, shutting down the simulation.
Gabriel explained that 465’s below average reaction time to the meteor storm (or as Luca preferred, 465’s “lumbering around the goddamn computer”) and the resulting fuel expenditure imperiled the mission. If he had pitched the nose up faster, taken his leathery mitts off the thruster sooner, or stopped sweating all over the god-damned place (Luca’s suggestions), maybe he would’ve had a shot.
“You know, this was a real-life situation your original copy, the captain, faced once. Thankfully, he adjusted without needing to spend extra fuel. It’s a shame this didn’t work out.”
“Original copy?” HM465 sat in thought.
~
Jess leaned her head on my shoulder after it became too heavy with alcohol. I kissed her hair, which fell down to her shoulders and parted in the middle, and told her I loved her. Grace protested the overly affectionate show… Meema called us inside to keep her ramblings and books company… Why don’t you entertain us… Play your grandmother a song?…
~
Gabriel led the trio to an attached room and told HM465 about his final test. It was called the “fidelity of soul test” and it hoped to evaluate the non-astronautical, the homo sapian-esque qualities of a human-marsapien.
~
I sat down my great, great grandfather’s Knabe baby grand and played a reverie for my grandmother… The song arched and swung and she rocked and smiled and prepared an encore… Grace and Jess chatted over a drink and left us to it…
~
Luca opened the door to reveal a small, white, sterile room with a stubby, tannish-brown piano in the middle.
“The instructions are pretty simple for this one, 465,” Gabriel said, “just play.”
With a heavy chest, HM465 approached the piano bench. He heard, in his head, in high fidelity, in blazing beauty, Liszt’s Liebestraum No. 3. Sitting, he waved back a non-existent coat tail and lifted the key cover. Polished white and black and the captain himself, invigorating HM465 as he placed his hands, outstretched, along the middle of the keyboard, hovering gently above, primed. HM465 conjured the image of sheet music. He summoned his own intuition and passion and coupled it with his intimacy with the captain and deliberately and delicately…
Clinkkkkk, clink. Clank clank clank dink dink dunk. “That’s not right,” 465 thought, “come on, you.”
Clunk, bick.
Luca coughed.
“Excuse me. Must be rusty,” 465 said. He assigned all ten fingers to a key and with power…
CRSHHHH.
HM465’s stitched fingers dominated the piano, whacking two keys with every stroke, unabashed by their clamorous ineptitude. He created an audio metal, like steel throated frogs croaking or tin clogs on a railroad track. BRRRSHHHHNGGGGG. BRSHING. BRRRRSHINGGGG.
HM465 stopped. “I got ahead of myself there. I, I’ll take it slow, sorry.”
Luca and Gabriel offered 465 silence to gather himself.
Approaching the keys again, 465 ditched Liszt, who had failed him so miserably, and imagined Debussy and Chopin. But even in his most careful attempt, HM465 only produced a string of bink, KANK, ding. He fuddled around the piano for a few more minutes to the displeasure and waning patience of Gabriel and Luca.
“It’s alright 465,” Gabriel interjected, “we appreciate the effort.”
“Yea, really, don’t sweat it,” Luca added. Even he could sense how much this meant to the HM.
“I swear, I swear I can play the thing,” 465 said. “It’s these damn fingers I’ve been made with. I’ll figure out a way around them.” plink plink plink.
“I don’t think it’s just your fingers,” Luca said.
Splinnnnnnng.
“What do you know?” HM465 snapped back. Dink dink.
“We actually listened to the captain come in and play for us a few months back, so we could properly conduct this test for his clones,” Luca said.
HM465 stopped his fiddling and stared at Luca hard. He cleared his brain of any particular song or composer and refocused his fingers to the piano. Using only the side of his right pointer finger and the thumb and pinky of his left hand, HM465 began to play something that resembled music. His heart rate slowed a touch. He kept going.
~
… Won’t you stop that now? Meema should get to bed soon… just one more song… just one more song… just one more song…
~
Gabriel pushed a button on his control pad and stepped out of the piano room, leaving Luca behind to enjoy the experiment.
Outside, a woman in a white coat met Gabriel.
“You can go grab him,” he said.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
“Our best yet. He navigated the simulation well but couldn’t pull it off by a hair… and he showed life like we haven’t seen before, as in: maybe the real deal,” Gabriel said. “And he had a heart for piano even though he couldn’t play. Sad to watch, really. Even Luca toned it down at the end.”
“Mission accomplished?” she asked.
“It pains me to say this, but I don’t believe so,” Gabriel said bitterly.
“Interesting. I’d be curious to read your full assessment,” the woman responded. “In the meantime, are we good to debrief the HM and shut it down? It sounds like we better get on to the next iteration fast – other test groups are reporting similarly for the rest of the crew. We’re on the edge of a breakthrough here.”
Gabriel paused. “That would be… judicious.”
“Great, we’ll chat later today,” she said and headed towards the piano room.
“Would it be alright if I sit out the next few tests?” Gabriel asked.
“Sure, so long as Leto is available to fill in,” she said. “And… thanks again.”
The woman walked into the piano room where Gabriel saw 465 standing with his hands clutched together, holding a worried look. She and Luca escorted him to the next room and down the hallway to a relatively comfortable cell where he’d spend the next few hours filled with fear and anxiety about his test results and thinking, too, “maybe I should see if I can start up lessons soon.”