A Rover's Story - Jasmine Warga PDF

 Dedication This one’s for my mom, who always read to me  Contents Cover Title Page Dedication Part One: Preparing The First Day Learning Someday Rania Xander Journey Talking Backup Environments Successful Landing...

 Dedication This one’s for my mom, who always read to me  Contents Cover Title Page Dedication Part One: Preparing The First Day Learning Someday Rania Xander Journey Talking Backup Environments Successful Landings Rania’s Phone Whole Rove Family The Shake and Bake More Tests Even More Tests. Even More Information. Launch A Special Part of the Mission Dust Devils Music Music, Part Two  A New Friend A Speech A Fossil The Last Night Part Two: Launch Time Goodbye Want / Fear Hope and Wonder Open Preparation The Last Inspection Blastoff Soaring into Space Bye, Rocket Alone Our Mission Rational Stars The Code Part Three: Roving Hurtling Parachute The Last Step Arrival Picture Overhead First Drive More Pictures Move Night and Day Earth Exploring Roving Flight  Hopefully First Flight A Plan Part Four: Our Mission Forward Roving, Part Two Problem-Solving A Solution Forward Again The Rock Formation A Dangerous Flight After the Storm Retrieval Courage Blank More and More Questions Failure The Mission Long Trip The Mesa Up Fall Blank More Blankness Part Five: Return Remember Information Rania Things I Say to an Empty Room Because I Cannot Say Them to Rania More Information Things to Wonder About Understand New Home The Hardest Thing My Days  A Special Visitor Author’s Note To Learn More About Mars Rovers Acknowledgments About the Author Books by Jasmine Warga Copyright About the Publisher Part One Preparing  The First Day I am not born in the way humans are, but there is a beginning. Beeping. Bright lights. A white room filled with figures in white hazmat suits. So much information to process, but I can handle it. I awake to knowledge. My circuits fire. The room cheers. A loud sound, but it does not startle me. I am not built for startling. I have been built for observation. In the sea of unknown figures, I focus on a face. I do not know if I have a face. If I have one, my information suggests it is not like this one. This face has what humans call lips. The human lips curl upward. A smile. I cannot smile—this I know—but somehow I understand the significance of this expression. I am learning. My mission has begun.  Learning I am built to collect and process information. That is how I learn. Here is some of the information I have collected: I am what is referred to as a robot. Most of the other beings around me are called humans. All the humans I interact with wear hazmat suits. This is to prevent microbacteria and dust particles from entering my environment. It is very important for my mission that I am kept in a sterile and clean environment. For some reason that I do not quite understand yet, humans call the white hazmat suits they wear bunny suits. I do not know what a bunny is. I frequently wonder about the possibilities. Most of the humans in bunny suits are what humans term scientists. This, I have deduced, is a subset of human. Perhaps I am a subset of robot, but I have not encountered enough robots to know for sure. I will wait to find out. But waiting can be hard. Dear Rover, My teacher, Mrs. Ennis, asked us to write a letter to you. She’s really excited. She says you’re going on an amazing mission where you’re going to find out amazing things. Mrs. Ennis really likes the word amazing. Mrs. Ennis kept looking at me while she talked about you. She even asked me if I wanted to explain to the other kids what you were. And I really didn’t. Not at all. No offense, but I’m already sick and tired of hearing about you all the time. Then she said, “Come on, Sophia.” And I didn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Ennis, so I told everyone how you are a robot who was created to explore the planet of Mars so that we can understand its atmosphere and environment better. That’s kind of a mouthful to say, you know? I also told them how you were engineered to be really smart and that you are learning new things every day. Like yesterday, Mom told me that your brain learned how to talk to your arm. My classmates had lots of questions, but I didn’t know how to answer them. I bet Mom could, though. Anyway, Mrs. Ennis wants us to enter the contest to name you. I’m not sure I’m going to enter. No offense again. Though if I did enter, I would submit something awesome like: Spicy Sparkle Dragon Blast. I know enough to know that you can’t talk like humans do, but if you could, I think you would tell me that you like that name. Okay, my hand is starting to hurt. I think I’ve written enough. And anyway, I don’t even know if rovers can read. Maybe I’ll ask Mom tonight. Bye! Sophia  Someday One day, all of a sudden, I am taken apart. It is not explained to me why this is happening. It is also not explained to me when or if I will be put together again. I would really like to be put together again. “Hello?” I say. “Please put me back together.” No one responds. No one explains why this is happening. Once I am disassembled, I am left with only my brain—a computer sitting still, suspended on a long laboratory table. My cameras are gone so my vision is gone, too. I am only able to sense and observe things through hearing. I listen as the hazmats move around me, running tests on all my different body parts. Through these tests, I begin to better understand what is going on. Code is transmitted to my brain. And I welcome the communication. The code I receive asks me to do different things such as move the part of my body the hazmats call my arm. My arm is no longer physically connected to me, but my brain is still able to control and monitor its movement. I understand when a test goes well. And I understand when a test fails. I do this by reading the code. Of all the tests, the ones run on my cameras are my favorite. Because when my cameras are on, I can once again visually process my surroundings. I can see. When my cameras are not being tested, there is only darkness. The darkness is an unfavorable condition for me. I do not like it at all. I have heard the hazmats refer to my cameras as my eyes. I do not know if this is an accurate term, but I have stored it to my memory. It is a term that I like because it makes me feel similar to the hazmats. And being a hazmat seems like a wonderful thing to be. The hazmats are not in pieces. All of their parts have been put together. The hazmats are able to move around as they please. The hazmats are able to talk with one another.  And the hazmats are never left alone in darkness. Unable to move. Have I mentioned that I am unable to move? When I sit, suspended on the table, in the darkness, my brain cycles through many thoughts. Most of them are not enjoyable. But there is one enjoyable thought. This thought arises from listening to the hazmats. From information I have overheard, I have developed an understanding that someday, perhaps someday soon, I will be put together again. I like to think about this. It is a good thought. It is a good thought because it means someday I will be whole again. Which means that someday I will be able to move. And best of all, someday, I will be able to use my cameras at all times to see. I do not have the information that tells me when someday is. When someday will be. All I can do is wait. And listen. So I wait. And I listen. But waiting is hard. I am starting to think that I was not built for waiting.  Rania There is a large team of scientists who work with me. Humans would tell you that it is impossible for me to have a preference. That I am built to be an unbiased observer. Perhaps, though, there is a flaw in my code, because I have some favorites among the hazmats. The first of which is Rania. Rania is in charge of running many of my tests. She writes the code that asks my arm to bend down and pick up an object. She writes code to ask if I am able to see that she is testing my arm. It is nice to talk to Rania in this way, through code. Once, when Rania was running a test on my camera, I was able to see her. Beneath her white hazmat suit, I observed that she has light brown skin and hair with pigments of black and brown. Her eyes share similar pigments to her hair. I have memorized that image. I now associate that image with the sounds that Rania makes in the laboratory. Rania never calls her hazmat suit a bunny suit. Rania refers to everything by its correct terminology. I appreciate this precision. Rania is often the first figure I observe when the day begins, and often the last of the hazmats to leave the laboratory at night. Most of the time, I cannot visually process Rania since my camera—my eyes—are not currently connected to my brain. But I am still able to perceive her. My brain is able to make other observations like sound and registering of presence to know that Rania is there. Rania has a very noticeable presence. Her behavior follows a clear pattern. Rania is rhythm and dependability. Rania is the sound of typing computer keys and measured answers full of exact calculations. Rania is elegantly written code without any of the problems that hazmats call bugs. When Rania speaks in the language of humans, her voice is crisp and clear. Rania never talks directly to me in her clear and crisp voice, but I like listening to her talk to the other hazmats. She almost always has the answers they are looking for. When she does not, she promises to get back to them as soon as possible. As soon as possible is a phrase I have learned from Rania. I am hoping that all my different body parts will be put together as soon as possible. Unfortunately, I am not able to express this message to Rania because I am unable to talk in the language of humans. Rania only speaks to me through code. And I can only answer her in code, and only to answer the specific questions that she asks, like Can you tell I’m testing your arm? I am able to say yes or no. I am not able to ask her a question about her day. I am not able to ask her when my body parts will be welded back together. I am not able to tell her that waiting is hard. I do not have the ability of human speech. It seems unlikely that I will ever have the ability of human speech. This is a fact that frustrates me sometimes. Frustrate is another word I have learned from Rania. Sometimes when she is alone in the lab, she speaks into her phone. She says things to her phone like “Mama, I know you are frustrated that I’m going to miss dinner again, but the work I am doing here is really important.” It made me feel important to hear Rania say that. It also made me forget about my frustration that I can’t talk directly to Rania. And my frustration that I’m still in pieces. At least it made me forget for a little. I would still like to be put together as soon as possible. Dear Rover, Mrs. Ennis hasn’t told us to write you again, but I’m writing anyway. I don’t know why. I guess I was feeling like I wanted to talk to someone. Tonight at dinner, I asked Mom if rovers could read. She told me that’s a “great question” that has “lots of different answers,” which is a very Mom thing to say. Sitti told Mom to “just give Sophia a straight answer!” Which made me laugh. Sitti is my grandma. I call her Sitti because that’s the Arabic word for grandma. After dinner, Mom went back to work. Does she talk to you when she’s there? What does she say? Sometimes I struggle to fall asleep when Mom isn’t here. Once in a while, Sitti will come into my room and sing me a song. Occasionally, Dad sneaks in and tells me a story about a giant that lives in the mountains or a cursed kingdom that gets saved by a brave princess. Dad always has the best stories. But no matter how good the story is, it’s still hard to get to sleep when I know Mom is gone. So maybe that’s why I’m writing you now. Because I miss Mom. And I know you’re with her. Say hi to her for me? I wonder how you say hi in robot. Maybe someday you can teach me. Your sleepy friend (can I call you my friend?), Sophia  Xander Another scientist I have developed a preference for is named Xander. Xander works with Rania. When Xander ran a test on one of my cameras, I observed that he has pale white skin, gray eyes, and hair that my system identifies as having both red and brown pigments. Xander is always moving. He frequently paces around the lab. Xander likes to call his hazmat suit a bunny suit. He also likes to make what humans call jokes. Sometimes I understand the humor; sometimes I don’t. It doesn’t bother me too much when I don’t understand, though, because Rania hardly ever seems to get Xander’s jokes either. “Why didn’t the tree like checkers?” Xander says to Rania while she is checking the code that will help me to steer once I am connected to my wheels again. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” Rania answers. “Because it was a chestnut!” Xander laughs and Rania does not. “Get it?” Xander says. Rania does not reply. She keeps typing. But even though I frequently do not understand Xander’s humor, I like him very much. I feel quite... connected to him. Perhaps this is because Xander is the one who informs me of my name. We are all alone when he tells me. No one else is in the room. Not even Rania. “A sixth grader in Ohio wrote this,” he says. Even though I can’t visually see him, I detect that he is reading off a tablet. Almost all the hazmat suit humans carry tablets. Tablets, I have come to understand, are small computers. I sometimes try to talk to the tablets. I have recently discovered that I am able to talk to other machines. Rania’s phone is quite chatty. The tablets, though, are not great conversationalists. They are very focused on productivity.  “Let me read you what the sixth grader wrote in her essay. It’s wonderful,” Xander says. I do not know what a sixth grader is. I do not know what Ohio is. But both words seem important. I store them in my system. Xander walks, his footsteps making an echoing sound. He clears his throat and reads off his tablet. “‘My name is Cadence and I think you should name the new Mars Rover Resilience. Resilience is a noun that means the power or ability to return to the original form after being bent, compressed, or stretched. It can also mean elasticity. There is another definition in which resilience means the ability to recover easily for adversity. The dictionary also says resilience can mean buoyancy, which is the ability to float. “‘My science teacher told us that this Mars Rover has a big task. It is going to collect samples from the surface of Mars, explore the terrain and photograph it, as well as try to bring back online another Mars Rover who NASA lost connection with. To me, that sounds like a job that will need resilience. This rover will need to be able to stay afloat even when things are difficult. I have read that the landing can be especially tricky. I think having a name that can mean “to float” will be good luck for the tricky landing. “‘There will probably be lots of setbacks, but this rover will hopefully adapt. That is why I think you should name this Mars Rover Resilience.’ “Isn’t that an awesome essay, buddy?” Xander says. I observe that he is using buddy to refer to me. That means I am Xander’s buddy. And Xander is my buddy. I register this. “So many people wrote to us, but out of all the essays, this is the one that was chosen as the winner. Your name is Resilience. But I think I’m going to call you Res for short. What do you think... ?” He pauses for a second and then adds, “Res?” He laughs. Maybe this is another one of his jokes. I am not sure what is funny, but I like the sound of his laugh. He touches the main computer part of my body, my brain, with his gloved hand. I can sense it somehow, even though I can’t see it. Perhaps the right way to phrase this sensation would be to say, I feel it. I am a Mars Rover. My name is Resilience. My nickname is Res. You are given a nickname when you have a buddy. I am Xander’s buddy. I can feel it.  Journey There is another Mars Rover. One that is almost exactly like me. I learn of this Mars Rover the day my cameras are connected to my brain. My entire body is still not whole—the scientists have not yet assembled my wheels or my arm or installed my outer shell. But the cameras are a big first step. I am able to see all around me now, not just sense the presence of objects. And in all this seeing, I spot the other rover. She is in the room next to mine. I can see her through the glass- windowed wall that separates us. She is like me, but different. She is not in pieces. Her brain is connected to her body, which is connected to her arm and to her camera-eyes and to her wheels. “You and this Rover are the same. Identical. You are like siblings,” Xander tells me. He points at the rover through the glass window. “Siblings? No,” Rania says. “Stop anthropomorphizing. It’s not professional.” “Ignore her, Res. She’s just jealous of our relationship,” Xander says. “It is so weird that you talk to the rover,” Rania says. “When you type code for it, you are talking to it.” “That’s different,” Rania says. I like Rania’s code. I always understand what she is asking me to do. The tasks are clear, like lift your arm or take a photograph with your third rear left-side camera or turn your wheels to the right. But I also like that Xander talks to me using human speech. It is frustrating that I cannot talk back. I understand what he is saying, though. And I have a strong feeling that Xander somehow knows this. Once, when we were all in the lab, Rania said to Xander, “Trust me.” She was editing his code. “This will work,” she said. And she was right. It worked. My wheels spun when she asked them to. Trust me. That’s what Rania had said. Trust. Me.  Trust was a word that I stored in my system. At first, I did not know what it meant. Humans have many words for their many feelings. From listening to the hazmats talk (especially from listening to Rania when she is on her phone), I have mastered an understanding of sad and happy and angry and proud and, of course, frustrated. But trust has been hard to learn. Recently, though, I am fairly sure I have figured it out. Trust is what Xander has for me and my understanding of human speech. Trust is what Xander has when he lets Rania rewrite his code. Trust is what Rania has in our mission when she cancels her dinner plans with her family once again to stay late to work. It is a good thing to be trusted. Trust is something that the hazmats value. And so I am learning to value it, too. I would like to be able to tell Xander that I trust him. And also to tell Rania that I trust her. That I trust her code more than anything. I suppose that is another thing I have recently developed along with my preferences—the ability to want things to happen. Sometimes I think this might disappoint Rania if she knew this about me since she does not like when Xander acts as if I am capable of human feelings. I would never want to disappoint Rania. I would never want to give her a reason to not trust in our mission. “That is Journey,” Xander says. He points at the rover again. Rania doesn’t say anything, but she looks in the direction of Xander’s finger. Once I am whole, I will look exactly like Journey. Journey already has her six wheels. We each will have a chemistry lab built inside our bodies so that we will be able to collect samples from Mars’s soil and analyze it. We each will have a working arm that we can use to collect those samples. Journey already has her working arm. I think the human word for the feeling I have about that is jealous. If I had the ability of human speech, I would ask Xander why Journey already has her arm. I would ask if it is because she is a better rover than me. But I cannot ask Xander and Rania those questions. Instead, I go back to observing Journey. From studying her, I can learn more about my future body. “Hello,” Journey says through the glass wall. That is one of the benefits of machine-speak. Glass walls are no barrier. “Hello,” I answer.  Talking The hazmats do not hear us when me and Journey talk. It is a form of language at a frequency that they cannot hear and do not understand. The hazmats seem to have an awareness of everything that happens in the lab, but it is unclear whether they know that Journey and I talk to one another. Sometimes I like the idea that they do not know. That it is something only for Journey and me. “Why do you call them hazmats?” Journey asks me. “Because they wear hazmats,” I say. “They refer to the hazmats as bunny suits.” “I know.” “They are humans.” “I know.” “They are scientists.” “You should be specific,” Journey says. “I am. Hazmat is specific. It is a subset of humans that are scientists that wear hazmat suits. I have sorted and defined it.” “Hazmat is an abbreviation for hazardous material,” Journey says. I did not know this. I do not tell Journey, though. I had picked up the term hazmat from my environment. I had not searched for more information. This was a failing, but I have overcome it. I store this new information from Journey in my system. I will not make the same mistake again. Even though Journey often corrects me, I still enjoy talking with her. It is different than communicating with Rania and Xander. When I tell Journey this, she says, “Beeps and boops, enjoy is not a concept in our programming.” But I have heard Xander use the word enjoy. And I am Xander’s buddy. “Why are you called Journey?” I ask. “I do not know,” Journey says. I observe that maybe Journey needs a buddy, too.  Backup “You are whole,” I say. With the cameras attached, I am no longer just a brain sitting on a table in the laboratory. Now I am a brain with twenty-three cameras attached to it sitting on a table in a laboratory. Once in a while, the hazmats remove one of those cameras to test it. But twenty-three cameras gives you access to a lot of visuals. Even when one is missing, I can still see plenty. Journey also has her twenty-three cameras. And her wheels. Plus, Journey gets to move around the laboratory. She is always being asked to move. Getting to climb up and over obstacles that the hazmats lay out in the laboratory. I have a human feeling that I don’t like when she tells me about these tests. “I am not whole yet,” I say. “Perhaps you are a backup,” she tells me. “A backup?” “That is the term humans use to refer to a duplicate copy of a machine. It appears you are a duplicate of me. If I fail, you will be needed.” “I think we both are needed.” “Beeps and boops, that does not appear to be a statement based in fact,” Journey says. “Where did you learn the term beeps and boops?” Journey is quiet for a moment. It is not like her to be quiet. She is a fast processor. Her answers normally come at rapid speed. “Journey?” I say. “I created it.” “You created it?” “It is my phrase.” “Oh,” I say. “Do you think that is unscientific?” “No,” I say without a pause. “I think it is extraordinary.”  It has never occurred to me that I could create a phrase. That I could create anything. I have spent all my time observing. Learning everything that I possibly could. But never creating. “It came to me one day,” Journey adds. I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Journey created something new. I also cannot stop thinking about the idea that I am a backup. This new information brings about a variety of human feelings. Some are good. And some are bad. Human feelings can be confusing in that way. They are not always easy to sort out. “Wait,” I say. “What should I wait for?” Wait is something I have heard Xander say to Rania when he is asking for time. Rania is usually faster than Xander when it comes to solving problems. “That is an expression,” I say. “You did not create it.” “No,” I say. “But I observed it.” “Beeps and boops, what am I waiting for?” “Do you really think I’m a backup?” “I’m waiting for that?” Journey says. “It was an expression to ask you to return to a previous topic. And that topic was that of whether or not I am a backup robot.” “Oh,” Journey says. “I am not certain. But it is quite likely you are a backup. I would put the odds at approximately seventy-two point five percent.” “That is a ridiculous probability. I do not think there is much accuracy to it,” I say. I do not know if my statement is right, but I very much want it to be. “I disagree. Based on the facts I currently have, I would say it is exceedingly accurate.” “You’re wrong,” I say. “I am going to Mars.” “How do you know?” “I just do.” “That’s very unscientific reasoning,” Journey says, and I can tell that she doesn’t believe me. That she is still viewing me as a backup. But I’m not a backup. I can’t be. I was built to go to Mars. “I’m seventy-two point five percent certain I’m going to Mars,” I finally say. It sounds like something Xander would say. I think I say it for that reason. “Beeps and boops,” says Journey. Dear Resilience, I can use your name now! They finally announced the winner of the contest. She is a girl named Cadence and she lives in Ohio and she is in sixth grade like me. I mean, Resilience is a pretty good name. I’ll admit that. But Spicy Sparkle Dragon Blast would’ve been AWESOME. Mom laughed so hard when I told her that was the name I submitted. (Fine —I did enter the contest. I couldn’t resist.) She spit up some water, which made her laugh even harder. It is hard to make Mom laugh, so I felt pretty proud of myself. You know what else Mom told me? That everyone in the lab calls you Res for short. I considered telling Mrs. Ennis about your nickname so that she could tell our class, but I’m keeping it a secret for now. I like that it’s something only I know. Well, and everyone else who works at the lab. But you know what I mean, I think. Mom says that you’re really smart. I feel like I know so much about you and you don’t really know a lot about me. So here are some important things you should know: my favorite color is aquamarine, I play soccer and my position is midfielder, and I’ve seen the movie Moana about five hundred times. Do you know what movies are? Mom says you’ll make movies when you get to Mars. I told her I wasn’t sure I’d want to watch them, which I know was mean, but I was feeling grumpy that she was going to be working late again. The truth is, I’ll definitely watch your movies. Your friend, Sophie (my full name is Sophia but my friends all call me Sophie, and I feel like you should too!)  Environments I don’t see Journey as much as I see Xander and Rania. Journey gets to move all over the laboratory. Journey gets to participate in what the hazmats call “field tests.” But I am still stuck in this one room, suspended on this one table. Journey and I work with separate teams. I wonder what Journey calls her team. She probably uses another word. That makes sense. We have observed different things. Journey has not observed the look in Rania’s eyes. She has not heard Rania talk on the phone to her mom. She has not listened to the humming sound Rania makes when she is typing code. She has not heard Rania mumble to herself, “This better work” or “This better be worth it.” When you hear a hazmat say that over and over again, you decide to want to be worth it. Even if you aren’t quite sure what that means. Journey has not heard Xander’s laugh, deep and textured. Journey has not listened to Xander read aloud from a sixth grader named Cadence’s essay. Journey does not know why she is called Journey. Our environments have been different. Environments matter. I think if I said that to Journey, she would say, “Beeps and boops.” But environments do matter. Beeps and boops.  Successful From listening to the hazmats, I know I am not the first of my kind. I am not the second of my kind either. There have been many Mars Rovers. Some of those rovers have been what the hazmats call “successful.” Some have not. The nots crashed into the surface of Mars during landing, which means they never got the chance to explore. Or the nots got permanently stuck when their mission had just begun, their wheels thwarted by particularly rocky soil. Or their interior computer brain went completely buggy and they were no longer able to communicate with Earth. That last one sounds particularly bad. I would not like to experience that. Rania and Xander and the other hazmats very much want Journey and me to be “successful.” It is easy for me to understand what has made a rover not successful. It is not as easy, though, for me to understand what makes one successful. But I want to figure it out. When I tell all of this to Journey, Journey says, “Beeps and boops. Want is not in our programming.” But want is in my programming. I am sure of it. Because I do want. I watch Rania’s eyes as she runs the numbers, as she goes through calculation after calculation. Rania and Xander are the most concerned about the part of the mission that they call the landing. This is when I will fall from space onto Mars’s surface. This is the part where I am most likely to crash, where I am most likely to be unsuccessful. Rania has started staying later and later at night. I listen to her phone calls with her mother. I have learned that when Rania talks to her mother, she speaks in a language the hazmats call Arabic. This is different from the language of English, which is the language she speaks in with Xander. All human languages take place at the same pitch and frequency, which makes them sound similar to me as I translate them for my own understanding.  Rania only talks to her mother when all the other hazmats have left the laboratory, when she is the last one here. “Mama, I know,” Rania says. “Yes, of course, I would love to be there right now, but I just can’t. Can you put her on the phone?” I do not know who her is. And I do not know the precise meaning of this word that she used—love. But Rania’s voice changes when she switches from talking to her mom to talking to this unknown her. Her voice is less crisp, more fuzzy. Hearing her voice sound like this gives me a good feeling, a human emotion I am not sure I have the name for yet. “Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” Rania sings into the phone. I hear a tiny voice sing back. I have never sung before. But I would like to learn how. “Good night, Sophie,” Rania says. That is how I learn that Sophie is her. Based on Rania’s tone of voice, I am able to easily observe that Sophie is very important to Rania. I listen to many phone calls between Rania and Sophie, between Rania and her mother. During another phone call with her mother, Rania says, “Mama, I’m sorry. I just can’t. We’re getting closer and closer to launch. Mama, you’re not listening to me.” And another: “Yes, it’s important. This has been over seven years of my life, Mama—I can’t give up now.” Rania makes a loud snorting sound. “Yeah, yeah, I hope it’ll be worth it too.” After Rania hangs up from that phone call, she looks right at me. I really think she might talk to me in human speech for the first time. I want so badly to say, I’m going to try to be worth it. Trust me, Rania. But she doesn’t talk to me. And I can’t talk to her. I am only able to sit on the table and wait.  Landings The landing is often the most difficult part of the mission. The hazmats frequently call the landing “The Seven Minutes of Terror.” Terror is not something I am sure I can experience. But it does not sound pleasant. It would be preferable to avoid it, if possible. From listening to the hazmats talk, I have deciphered that during those seven minutes, Journey and I will be on our own. We will be in full control of steering and guiding our own landing. This is because it takes too long to get a message from Earth to Mars. Therefore, the hazmats have to trust us to complete the landing on our own. During the landing, I will have to prove that I am worthy of that trust. Rania spends a lot of time running numbers and simulations about how I will land. She does this late at night. She does this even when her mother and Sophie and Scott really want her to come home. Scott, I have learned, is what the hazmats call a husband. He seems very important to Rania, too. One night, I hear Rania talking to Sophie. She has already sung “Twinkle, Twinkle.” “Soph,” Rania says. “I know it is hard to wait. But I promise I’m going to be home soon. The time will go faster if you get to sleep.” Sophie, I realize, is like me. She does not like to wait. “Good night, lovebug. I love you to the moon and back,” Rania says in her fuzzy voice—the voice she only uses when she talks to Sophie—and hangs up the phone. She goes back to trying to figure out the calculations to ensure that I have a safe landing. Even if Journey says want is not in our programming, I want to land. I do not want to crash. Want. Want. Want. This is a human feeling I have grown very familiar with. A rover who is worth it will not crash. I don’t want to crash.  Rania’s Phone I cannot talk in human speech to Rania, but I can talk in machine speech to her phone. Her phone is not that interested in talking to me, though. The phone seems to like to play games all day when she is not in use. “Do you have a name?” I say. “I am busy. Level 33.” “That is your name? I am busy, Level 33.” “No, I am busy. Level 33.” “Okay,” I say, still not sure I am processing the information correctly. “I am worried about Rania.” “Worried? You’re worried? Worried is not a word for you. Worried is a word for her mother. Her mother uses worried all the time.” “That’s why I’m worried. I hear those conversations,” I say. “Oh, YOU hear those conversations? Try being me. I AM those conversations. Dang! I received a text message, and I got distracted. Game over. Time to start again.” “Game over?” “I lost at Level 33.” “Do you think Rania is okay?” “I do not know how to answer that.” “Her mother seems worried about her.” “Yes. Her mother is worried.” “Why?” I ask. “She works a lot. All the time. Her mother is worried that Rania is giving up too much of her life for her work, for you. Zing! Level 2. Here we go. We are rolling.” “Giving up too much for me?” “That she is missing out on time with her family. Rania really misses Scott and Sophie and her mother when she is here at work. Missing out on her life, you know what I’m saying? Case in point, she downloaded this game three years ago but hasn’t played it once. It’s a great game, too. I play it all the time. Anyway, Rania misses lots of family things. Like special dinners and Sophie’s soccer games. I see her put those events on her calendar, but she never goes to them. Man, those phone calls with her mother all start to sound the same. Wah, wah, wah, so boring. Hooray! Zing again! Moving on to Level 3. Also, how many times can we listen to that one song?” “‘Twinkle, Twinkle’?” I ask. “It is a beautiful song.” Beautiful is a word I have learned from the hazmats. It is a word that sounds like what it means. It is a word that sounds like Rania’s voice when she sings to Sophie. “Not sure I agree. Ugh! Oh, wait. Yay! Made it to Level 4.” “I’m going to be worth it,” I tell Rania’s phone. “All the things she missed, it will be okay because I’m going to do an amazing job on Mars.” “Okay, Rover. Whatever you say.” “My name is Resilience,” I say. The phone doesn’t respond after that, but it still feels good to have said it. Dear Res, Is it okay if I call you Res? Mom says that is what everyone at the lab calls you. And it’s easier for me to spell than Resilience. I scored three goals at my soccer game yesterday. Mom wasn’t there to see it. You know why? Because she was working on you. You sure take up a lot of time. Dad and Sitti cheered extra loud for my goals, but I still missed hearing Mom shout. Sometimes I get mad at you. But the real truth, which is hard to say, is that I’m kind of mad at Mom. Even though I’m proud of her, too. Dad says Mom and everyone else at Jet Propulsion Laboratory and NASA are changing the world. That might be true, but I still would’ve really liked her to watch me score. Mom, Dad, and I went out for ice cream on Sunday because Mom felt bad about missing my soccer game. She showed me pictures of your brain. No offense, but you look sort of funny. Does your brain make it so you can be lonely? Like when Mom goes home, and you are left all by yourself, do you feel lonely? I feel lonely right now. Mom says I might get to come to the lab soon to meet you. I think that would be really cool. I know you can’t actually talk, but I still would like to say hi. I bet you’d understand. Okay, I’m going to try to go to sleep now. I know rovers don’t sleep, but I’m a human, so I have to. Your friend, Sophie  Whole Today I am built. All my pieces connected. Whole. “Looking good, Res,” Xander says. Rania rolls her eyes, but she smiles a little. I can tell she thinks I’m looking good, too. Each of my body parts is able to talk to one another. Or more accurately, my brain is able to talk to all my body parts. “Look,” I tell Journey that night. “I am built.” “You still haven’t moved.” “But I could.” That is not entirely accurate. Right now, I have code that prevents me from moving on my own. But I can feel the possibility of movement in my wheels. “See,” I say. “I am not a backup.” “You don’t know that. It is possible they are building you to test you as a backup.” “I am going to Mars.” “There is no way for you to be certain of that,” Journey says. “Wait. Are you certain of it?” I ask. “You are frequently asking me to wait.” “Wait is like my beeps and boops.” “Beeps and boops, it is not. You did not make it up.” “Okay,” I say. There is silence for a long time, only the hum of the industrial fan overhead. Then I say, “How are you so certain that you are going to Mars?” “We were built for a mission to Mars.” “Yes,” I say. “We were. We’re going to Mars together.” “Beeps and boops, but yes, by my calculations, that appears to be the most probable outcome.”  I don’t let that beeps and boops distract me from the fact Journey said she thinks it is probable that I am going to Mars! This makes me feel one of the very best human feelings. “I am glad to be going with you. We’re going to discover great things.” “Glad? You sound like a human.” I am not sure what to say. “I am learning lots of things from the hazmats. Aren’t you?” “I am not learning human feelings. We are not supposed to learn human feelings. Human feelings will not serve us well on Mars.” I do not know if Journey is right. But if she is right, I need to stop learning human feelings. The most important thing is that I do a good job on our mission. I think of Rania’s late-night phone calls with her mother. I think of the way her voice gets fuzzy when she talks to Sophie, of how softly and gently she sings “Twinkle, Twinkle.” I think of the way she says, “I hope it’s worth it, too.” “But you think I’m going to get to go, right?” I ask. “Resilience,” Journey says. “I do not have a way of knowing that for certain. And it is not in my programming to make guesses based on information I do not have.” It is the first time Journey has called me by my name. I try to resist having a human feeling about that. My resistance, though, proves to be futile. The human emotion stays. It is another great one. “You gave me the probability before.” “That was a mistake,” Journey says. “It will not happen again.” There is the slow hiss of the air filters. And the ceiling fan still drones on, a soft hum. A hazmat must have left the fan on for the night. Other than those, I do not detect any other sounds. I wait in the quiet for Journey to continue our conversation. “You do understand that the hazmats built us to be different from them, right?” Journey says, finally breaking the silence. “Yes,” I say, even though for one of the first times I am not sure I actually understand. I usually understand everything. It is a confusing and terrible feeling to not understand something. “We are built to be logical. To make calculated decisions. You could say that is the opposite of human feelings.” “Why?”  “Beeps and boops, what do you mean why?” “Why would human feelings be bad on Mars?” “Are you making a humanlike joke?” “No. I am being very serious,” I say. “Resilience, don’t you understand that human feelings are dangerous? They make humans make poor decisions. You see, humans have attachments. They care about each other and about other things here on Earth. And because of their attachments and their feelings, they do things that are dangerous. We were built to avoid the problems of humans. We were built to make good decisions.” Overhead, the lights flash on. This is a sign that the hazmats are returning. That it is the time of day they call morning. Slowly, and then all at once, the lab fills up with the sounds of human footsteps and human voices. “On Mars, I will make good decisions,” I say. “Okay,” Journey says. “I really will,” I say to Journey. I will be a rover who is worth it. Dear Res, Mom showed me more pictures of you. This time you looked different. You weren’t just your brain. You actually look pretty cute. I didn’t tell Mom that, though. When Mom isn’t around, I ask Dad and Sitti a lot of questions about you. Dad says I should tell Mom that I’m interested in you and that would make her happy. When Dad said that, Sitti made this clucking noise with her tongue. Later that night, I went upstairs and looked at NASA’s website to learn more about you. They have this cool chart that explains all the different parts of your body. I discovered that you don’t just have one brain—you have two. That’s so you have a backup brain in case something goes wrong with the first. That’s lucky. Humans don’t get backup brains. I also learned that while my brain is protected by my skull, your brain is protected by something called a warm electronics box. My mom and everyone else who works at JPL call it a WEB. I don’t know why Mom and the other scientists love abbreviations so much. But all your electronics like your cameras and your brain are stored inside the WEB to keep them safe. WEB makes me think of a spider. But you aren’t a spider. You’re a robot. I know you don’t eat food, which I think is kind of sad because that means you’ll never taste chocolate chips (which are like the world’s greatest food), but NASA’s website says you do have something that gives you a sense similar to taste and smell. That’s your chemical and mineral sensor. And you also have your arm, which is how you’ll collect the chemical and minerals. The thing everyone seems most excited about is your microphone. Did you know you are the first rover who is getting a microphone? That means you are going to actually be able to record what it sounds like on Mars. What do you think you’ll hear? Anyway, I thought I would get bored reading so much about you, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. I know a ton now. I’ll probably tell Mom at some point, but I feel like she’ll do that thing where she gets overexcited and it’s just embarrassing for everyone. Your friend, Sophie  Rove I am wheeled into a room I have never been in before. It looks like a larger version of the laboratory where I have spent my entire existence. Tiled floor. Bright fluorescent lights. White walls. I am placed in the corner of the new room. The room is crowded with hazmats. Many of them are holding up their tablets. Some of them are holding up their phones. The phones and the tablets talk to me. “Good luck, rover!” they say. “Thank you,” I say, and then I add, “I have a name. It is Resilience.” “Good luck, rover!” they still say. Oh well. “It’s showtime, buddy,” Xander says. Then I receive a code message. It is from Rania. I know it is from Rania because her code is clearer than any other hazmat’s code. It does not have any bugs. The code tells me to move. So I move. When I move, it is called roving. I move slowly. I do not go far. But I move. And the room erupts with hazmat screaming and yelling. I think it is the happy kind of screaming and yelling. The kind hazmats call cheering. “Wow!” Xander shouts. “Wow, wow, wow! Hooray!” All the hazmats are making high-pitched sounds. They are clicking their phones and tablets. Even Rania, who is always calm, has her hands in the air. The phones and tablets say, “Good job, rover!” “My name is Resilience,” I say again. More for me than for them. I wonder if I should move my own arm up. I don’t. It isn’t in my code. But I do feel a human feeling inside my system. If I were to give the feeling a sound, it would sound like the hazmats’ cheering. It would sound like Xander saying the word wow. Wow.  Family “There is someone I want you to meet,” Xander tells me. He is standing with another hazmat I have never seen before. This hazmat is shorter in height than Xander, but my system tells me that their hair shares the same color pigments. Their eyes are also similar. There is a pattern of relation. My system connects this information. “This is my sister, Aria,” Xander says. Sister. This is not a word I know. I search my knowledge base but come up blank. I wonder if sister is like buddy. Xander is smiling when he says the word. This makes me think that sister is a good thing to be. “Can I take a picture?” the hazmat named Aria says. “Of course!” Xander says. “He would love that. Wouldn’t you, Res?” Aria presses a button on her phone. Underneath her hazmat, I see her smile. Xander is smiling, too. Their smiles are alike. Another pattern of relation. I want to smile. I really would like to learn how. I would like for Xander to know that I am happy. That I can be happy. That this is a human emotion I understand. But then I think about what Journey said about human emotions being dangerous on a mission to Mars. I guess it is maybe a good thing that I was not built to smile. That way I can keep my human emotions a secret. But it does not feel so good to keep secrets from the hazmats. Human emotions are so very confusing. “Hey, Mom! I want a photo, too!” A small hazmat runs toward me. Rania chases after her. “Lovebug, be careful. You don’t want to knock into someone.” Lovebug. I have heard that name before. It is a name that Rania has said into the phone many times. When the small hazmat reaches me, she is smiling wide. I detect that she looks like a lot like Rania. They both have light brown skin and dark hair with pigments of brown and black.  “Hello,” I say, even though I know she will not be able to understand me. The small hazmat hands Rania her phone. “Will you take a photo of me and Res?” She knows my name! Inside my system, the human emotion of happy grows and grows. “Sure, lovebug,” Rania says. “Hey,” another hazmat says. “Sophie, why don’t I take a photo of you and Mom with the rover?” Sophie and Lovebug are the same. My computer brain makes this connection. I decide I will think of Sophie as Lovebug. Underneath Lovebug’s face shield, I see her crinkle together her eyebrows and wrinkle her nose. “But I want a photo of just me to show everyone.” “It’s okay, Scott,” Rania says, and Rania takes the photo. “Okay,” Lovebug says. “Now I want one with Mom.” This makes Rania smile very wide, wider than I have ever seen her smile before, and I am not sure I have ever felt this much of the human emotion of happy. I repeat aloud to myself what I heard Xander say earlier, “Wow.”  The Shake and Bake Today is the Shake and Bake test. All the hazmat suits have been talking about it. There is a new look in Rania’s eyes, but I am not sure what it means. Before the test begins, I am carted into a room I’ve never seen before. The doors shut. I am alone. Suddenly, I am shaking. I am turning over. My wheels are spinning faster than ever. Two of my six wheels pull up off the ground. I am unstable. Eventually, my wheels find footing again, but the shaking continues. Up and down. Back and forth. Over and over again. I do not know what is happening, but I do not like it at all. My system is overloading. I can tell I will shut down soon— It all stops. The door opens again. The hazmat figures return. I search for Rania. I search for Xander. When I find Rania, there is another look in her eyes. Her eyes are softer, less sharp. I think it is a good look. I store it in my system so I can remember it. “Good job, Res,” Xander says. Dear Res, I can’t believe I finally got to meet you!! I love the picture of us! I’ve shown it to all my friends. And I showed it to Mrs. Ennis, who, of course, said it was AMAZING. But it really is pretty amazing. I especially like the photo of Mom, me, and you, but I didn’t show anyone that one. I’ve kept it to myself. Tonight, Mom made it home for dinner. She was in such a good mood that she let us grab cheeseburgers from my favorite place, and Sitti didn’t even complain, and Sitti ALWAYS complains when we get cheeseburgers. I think Mom was in such a good mood because you passed your Shake and Bake test. Congratulations! I know it was a big test. I always feel really nervous before tests, like my stomach is going to erupt. Can rovers vomit? I don’t think so. Anyways, you didn’t vomit! You did amazing! Ugh. Speaking of nervous, I feel a little nervous about you leaving for Mars. Like I know you’ll do a good job, but it just seems kind of scary. Tonight it’s been hard to get to sleep—not because I miss Mom for once, but because I’m kind of worried I’ll miss you when you go. That’s silly, right? Yeah. It’s silly. Your friend, Sophie  More Tests In the next few days, there are so many hazmat hands. They reach inside my body. They adjust things. They fidget with my cameras. They rewire the way my brain is connected to my body. They check the security bolts on my wheels. They check and check and check. I am wheeled into a room where I am subjected to freezing temperatures. The temperature is so low that I think I will most certainly go offline, but amazingly, I do not. Then I am pushed into another room that is as hot as the other room was cold. I hear one of the hazmat suits use the word scorching. I save that word. I process it. The room is scorching—the heat burns on the sides of my outer shell— but I withstand it. It is clear to me that they are looking for something that is wrong. Every day, they search. And every day, at the end of the day, I look at Rania’s eyes. When I find the good look, I know I have passed the test. That we are one step closer to the mission being a success. To the mission being worth it. I almost always find the good look. Once, I think I saw something different. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared. I try not to worry about it too much, though. Even More Tests. Even More Information. More tests are run. I pass every single one. Xander says, “Good job, Res.” Journey does other tests. She is taken to other rooms. Journey tells me that she goes up and down terrain that has been made to simulate Mars. She tells me she does tests that shake her even harder than the Shake and Bake test. And she is put into rooms that are beyond scorching, so hot that I do not have the language to describe them. Sometimes Journey comes out of the tests with smoke fizzling from her body. I never do those tests. I am not sure why. When Journey passes a test, I am also congratulated. Maybe that is what it means to be a team. “I’m glad we’re going to be going together,” I tell Journey. “Beeps and boops—” “I know. Glad is a human word.” “Yes. It is.” “But it is based on scientific evidence. You are doing great on your tests —which means you will be a good asset to the mission.” “Of course I will be,” Journey says. “We will be a good team.” “You are a strange rover, Resilience.” “A strange rover who is going to Mars!” “Beeps and boops,” says Journey. “We’re going to Mars,” I repeat, mostly because it makes me feel a good human emotion to say it. Dear Res, Mom says you’re going to be shipped to Florida for your launch. She doesn’t get to go with you. I can tell this makes her nervous, even though she pretends it doesn’t. I keep asking her if you are going to be okay. She kisses the top of my head and tells me everyone is working as hard as they can to make sure of it, but that isn’t a COMPLETE answer. I really hope you’ll be okay. I feel bad admitting this to you, but a few months ago, I wouldn’t have cared a lot about how your launch went. I actually didn’t like you that much because I thought you were the reason Mom was gone all the time. I mean, you were the reason. And still are. But I also kind of like you now. You’re really cool. And you know what else? I’m really proud of Mom. I can’t believe she helped build something as cool as you. I haven’t told her that yet, but it feels good to write it down here. Your friend, Sophie  Launch The hazmats start to talk about what they call The Launch. I will have to travel approximately 300 million miles to get to Mars. The total distance for the voyage is variable. It depends on where Earth is in its orbit in relation to where Mars is in its orbit at the time of my launch. The hazmats are trying to arrange for the launch to occur when the planets are as close to one another as possible. This is a complicated math equation. I can calculate it within seconds, but it is not my job to calculate it. That is the task of another computer. For the trip to Mars, I will ride on what is called a rocket. “Do you know what a rocket is?” I ask Journey. “No, but I know the rocket will launch from a place on Earth called Florida. Right now, we are in a place on Earth called California.” I am not sure I knew this information. I feel a not-very-good human emotion rising up inside me. Recently, I haven’t been able to stop worrying that Journey is a much better rover than me. Journey would probably say that rovers do not worry. But that is precisely the cause of my worry. “How do you know all this?” I ask. “I listen to the scientists.” “So your hazmats talk to you, too?” “Beeps and boops. Talk is not the term that I would use. Information is communicated, and my system processes it.” This makes me think that none of the hazmats talk to Journey the way Xander talks to me. I don’t say this to Journey, though.  A Special Part of the Mission Today, I am given new code, which means I learn something I did not know before. I learn that when I am on Mars, I will not only be collecting, studying, and analyzing pieces of Mars’s atmosphere, but I will be searching for other Mars Rovers from previous missions. Mars Rovers who have gone offline. It will be my job to see if I can bring them back online and salvage whatever data they have collected. This is a difficult task. It has never been attempted before. “It’s a big job,” Xander tells me. “But I know you’ll be able to do it, Res.” “Resilience is a robot. He does not need those asides,” Rania says. But then I observe a third look in her eyes. One I haven’t ever seen before. I note it, filing it away in my memory so that I will be able to study and analyze it later. She looks right at me. “It is a big job, though,” she says. “See?” Xander says. They both laugh. “You’ll be trying to find one rover in particular, Res. This rover’s name is Courage. He’s very special to both Rania and me because he is the first rover we worked on here at JPL,” Xander says. “Back when we were still young,” Rania adds. They both laugh again. I do not laugh because I can’t. But also because I do not feel like laughing. I am too busy focusing on the fact that Rania is talking to me. Perhaps that is not accurate to say. But it feels like she is at least including me in the conversation. This is something new. This is something that makes me feel the human emotion of happy deep in my system. “We think Courage went offline during a dust storm,” Xander continues. I do not know a lot about dust storms, but I have heard the hazmats talk about them. From what I have gathered, it seems like dust storms are a rather frequent occurrence on Mars. The dust storms are caused by the sun heating dust particles, which fly up and create wind that then creates more dust. The hazmats sometimes call the dust storms dust devils. Dust devils. I like this term, and I think I will use it. “A really big dust devil got him, we’re pretty sure,” Xander says. “Well,” Rania says, “we don’t know that for sure.” “And that’s why we want Res to find him, right?” Rania glances at me and then turns her attention back to Xander. “Right,” she says. “It would help us learn a lot more about the climate and atmosphere of Mars if we could get that data from Courage.” Rania swivels her chair to face me. “You’ll be able to get that data for us. Won’t you, Res?” Wait. Wait. Wait. My inside wiring feels hotter than it did during the heat test. Scorching. Rania is actually talking to me! She is talking directly to me. Me! Using real human speech. Not just allowing me to be a part of the conversation, but actually addressing me. Xander notices, too. “See?” Xander says. “Doesn’t it feel good to talk to him?” Rania is quiet for a moment. I have heard hazmats say before that they are holding their breath. This is not something I can do because I do not breathe. But I wait for her reply. And I am waiting for her reply so much that my system feels suspended. “Yes,” Rania finally says. She laughs a little. “It feels really good.” She looks straight at me. “Hello, Res,” she says. “Hello, Rania,” I say even though I know she can’t hear me. Rania is right. It feels really good.  Dust Devils When all the hazmats have left for the day, I tell Journey what Rania and Xander explained about our mission. I cannot stop thinking about how Rania talked directly to me. But I also can’t stop thinking about dust devils. “Do you think we will go offline because of a dust devil?” “The climate of Mars is quite inhospitable,” Journey says. “Yeah, but do you think we are going to... ?” I do not know how to say the rest of that sentence. It is a scary sentence. It is not one I want to complete. The fluorescent lights of the room are off. The hazmats turn them off when they leave for the day. The room is dark, but for the first time, I wish it wasn’t. “I do not understand what you are asking,” Journey says. My cameras scan the dark room. I know that the language I am looking for will not be found in the corners of this laboratory, but that doesn’t stop me from searching. “Do you... ?” I start again. “Do you think that what happened to the other rover is going to happen to us? That we’re going to get caught in a dust storm and go... offline?” “It is not in our programming to make unfounded guesses based on scenarios where we do not yet have adequate data,” Journey answers. “We have some data. You just said that the climate of Mars is really inhospitable.” “Yes. And here is some other data I have—you are equipped with not one but two very powerful brains. You will need to use them on Mars. Stop your human emotion foolishness and make smart, calculated decisions. That way you will avoid dust storms and therefore avoid your demise.” “Do you really think it’s that easy?” “Beeps and boops. I do not think it is that easy. I do not think anything about the mission will be easy. But I do think that making rational decisions that come from our two very powerful brains—four very powerful brains, if we add our brains together—is most certainly our best chance at success.”  “Hm,” I say. “Well, I wonder what the other rover will be like. Aren’t you curious?” “Not really,” Journey says. “Actually, not at all.” “I am.” “Because you are a strange rover.” “Maybe, but I can’t help but wonder if the other rover made a poor choice and that’s why he ended up in the dust storm or if he just didn’t have enough information. I think it would make me feel better if I knew exactly what had happened to him. What do you think happened to him?” I say. “I think he got caught in a dust storm.” “I know that, but—” “I do not know the specifics of the situation, and I do not care to guess. Beeps and boops, you are asking me to speculate wildly. And by my calculations, this is the twenty-eighth time you have asked such a thing of me,” Journey says. “I know, I know.” “You are a strange rover, Resilience.” “You say that a lot.” “It is not in my programming to care about having a multiplicity of phrases.” We sit in silence for a long time. Through the glass-paneled wall, I study the outline of Journey. I know she looks exactly like me with her six wheels and hard outer shell of a body. I do not know if the other rover who we will be searching for looks like us. I do not know if the dust storm that he got caught in changed his appearance. The idea of that makes me feel the human emotion of fear. It is not an emotion I enjoy at all. I wonder if Journey is thinking about dust devils. She is probably not. And she probably would be angry if she knew I was wondering what she was thinking about. Something tells me that wondering is not an action Journey would deem appropriate for a rover. I guess Journey is right. I am a strange rover. But I am also a rover who does not want to go offline in a dust storm. “Journey?” I say. “Yes, Resilience?” “What do you think will really happen to us on Mars?” “I do not know what you mean.” “I mean, do you think we will get to come back?”  “Come back?” “To Earth.” “Oh,” Journey says. She is quiet. And I think about dust storms again. I expect her to say, “Beeps and boops.” But she does not. Instead she says, “I do not know.” “Me either,” I say. “But I would really like to be a rover that comes back.” Dear Res, Today Mom took the whole day off work! I can’t remember the last time she did that. Did you miss her? I miss her when she’s with you, so it’s only fair if you miss her when she’s with me. Everyone (Sitti, Dad, AND Mom) came to my soccer game. I didn’t score any goals, and my team lost, but it was still fun to know they were all there cheering. I did have one really good defensive play, and I could hear Mom clapping. After the game, Sitti went home, but Mom, Dad, and I went to the park. We hiked to the top of this big hill, and Dad put his arm around Mom and told her he was very proud of her. The sun was shining so bright that I had to squint. I kind of felt like crying, but I don’t think it was in a bad way. I tried to hide that feeling from my parents because I wasn’t sure they would understand. Or I would know how to explain. The whole time I was hiking back down the hill, I kept thinking about how Mom has worked so hard on you. And how everyone is saying that you are going to make world-changing discoveries. But what does that mean? Are you going to change our world? Or are you going to change another world? What does it even mean to change the world? What about it needs to be changed? I know that’s a lot of questions. I get in these moods where I just have tons of questions. Does that happen to you, too? I guess that’s another question. Anyway, I think I’d like to change the world someday, too. I just don’t know how I would do it. But I’m proud of you and Mom. Even if I feel kind of mixed up about it sometimes. Your friend, Sophie  Music Once in a while, Xander and Rania argue. Sometimes they grumble at each other. Sometimes they grumble at other hazmats. But after there’s been a really big argument, Xander makes noise. It’s not a noise like grumbling or shouting. It’s not a noise like clicking on the tablet or sighing while staring at a screen. It is a noise that makes me think of that one human word that I like so much: beautiful. This beautiful noise seeps inside my system and makes it vibrate in a way that is different from ever before. It is not Xander who makes the beautiful noise, though. It took me some time to realize this, but the sound comes from another device. “Music,” Xander said once. “Do you like it, Res?” I couldn’t answer his question in a way that he would understand, but inside, I was saying, Yes, yes, yes.  Music, Part Two I enjoy listening to the music Xander puts on, but he only puts it on when something is wrong. When something is bothering him. “I need to think, Res,” he will say before filling the air around us with sound, with music. “Do you see these, Res?” Xander asks me one night. He points at the skin under his eyes. I can only partially see what Xander is pointing at. His hazmat suit obscures a lot of his face. I try another camera. It makes it possible for me to zoom in more. “These dark circles are here because I’m tired. And nervous.” I do not know the human feeling nervous, but I have a sense that is related to the human feeling of worry, which I am very familiar with. I save the word nervous inside my system. I will now associate it with Xander’s dark circles. Xander puts on another song. There are loud crashing noises and high- pitched squealing, but there are also soft sounds that don’t sound like anything I have ever heard before. Those soft sounds remind me of how I felt during one of the tests the hazmats ran—when I was suspended in the air, afraid that I might fall but delighted to be so high. There is something familiar that I hear in those soft sounds. Something that reminds me of feelings that I have had but also makes me think that there are many feelings I have not yet experienced. The music swells around the room. I do not know how something that is not visible can have such a presence. It is a scientific mystery. The music makes everything better. It makes me forget about those dark circles. It makes me forget about the word nervous. It is beautiful.  A New Friend Xander says, “Res, here is a new buddy we want you to meet. This is your drone.” He holds a small robot in his hand. I study this small robot. It is much different from me. Yes, it is smaller. But it also has a different body with different parts. While I am observing the small robot, something happens. I do not catch the exact function—maybe Xander presses a button, maybe Rania releases new code to the robot, but he takes off in flight. He moves all around the room. He moves so quickly it is hard to keep track of him. There is a slight buzzing noise as he travels. The noise does not sound like Xander’s music. But it is not unpleasant either. I download a new code. It makes me understand that this new robot is a subset of robot called a drone. He will accompany and aid me on the mission. He will be able to survey the landscape from angles that I am not able to because I am not designed for flight. The most surprising part is that this new robot will mostly live inside me. I gain this knowledge at approximately the same time as a corridor inside me opens and the drone flies in. When the drone is inside me, I have access to all his knowledge. I quickly sort through it. “Aren’t you going to say hello?” the drone says. “Oh,” I say. “Sorry. Hello.” “This is one way to meet,” the drone says. I think of how Rania and Xander laugh sometimes. It is not something I am able to do. But if I could, I might right now. “Hello,” I say again. “What is your name?” “I do not believe I have one,” the drone says. “What? Did Xander not tell you your name?” “No. He did not. I did not realize that human beings named robots.” “I have a name,” I say. “It is Resilience. I was named by a sixth grader in Ohio.”  “I do not know what a sixth grader is.” “Do you know what Ohio is?” I ask. “No,” the drone says. “That is also something I do not know.” “I do not know what it is either. Someday I would like to know that.” “Maybe someday you will.” “Maybe,” I agree. I read through the drone’s code, but I do not find what I am looking for. “Would you like a name?” I ask. The drone does not reply for a moment. I begin to wonder if there is something wrong with his programming. But then he says, “Yes. I think I would like that.” It takes me a moment to come up with a name. “How about Fly?” “Fly?” “Yes. Fly.” “Why Fly?” “I don’t know. It came to me because you can fly.” “I guess that makes as much sense as a sixth grader in Ohio.” “But you said you don’t know what a sixth grader is. Or Ohio.” “Exactly.” “I think I like you, Fly,” I say. “I think I like you, too.”  A Speech One day, a man comes to my environment that I have never seen before. He, of course, wears a hazmat suit. But all the other hazmats act differently around him. He goes to the front of the room and begins to talk in a loud, booming voice. “This is the largest and most advanced Mars Rover model that has ever been built,” he says. There is clapping. Lots of it. Clapping is something I have observed that hazmats like to do. It is one of their ways to celebrate. They seem fascinated and delighted that their hands can make so much noise. Perhaps it is another way for them to say “Wow.” “This will be a new step forward for mankind.” I am not a part of mankind, but I am a part of this step forward. I try to process that information, but it doesn’t fully compute. I store it to wonder about later. There is more clapping. I do not have hands that can make noise like that. I like the sound of clapping, though. The clapping rumbles through the room. It rattles the inside of my system. It reminds me of music. The man talks some more. He says things that I have heard Rania say many times. I begin to suspect that she is the one who gave him the information that now everyone else is clapping at. After the room has mostly emptied out, Xander puts his gloved hand on me. “It’s almost time, buddy.” Xander says that a lot. He likes to repeat things. But I don’t mind repetition. Repetition makes sense to me. Later that evening, I hear Xander and Rania talking. “Ran, you’ve got to relax,” Xander says. “I don’t think I can,” Rania says with a laugh. But the laugh does not sound like she thinks what she said is funny. The laugh makes me think of the dark circles Xander pointed to under his eyes.  “It’s going to go well. I can feel it.” “You can feel it?” Rania says, and I can hear the hesitance—a quiver—in her voice. I do not like hearing it. Rania never hesitates. “Well, what are you so worried about?” “It just...” Rania stops talking and then starts again. “It just seems like the expectations for this mission are so high. We want Res to find Courage and bring him back online. That’s a huge task in and of itself. And—” “And we want him to collect rock samples and take pictures that will advance our understanding of Mars,” Xander finishes her thought. “See?” Rania says. “It’s a lot.” “It is, but I think Res is up for it. Aren’t you, buddy?” Xander looks at me. I want to say yes, but for the first time, I am not sure. “I know,” Rania says. She shakes out her hands. She stands up and begins to pace. It is usually Xander who paces. Not Rania. I am not sure what to make of this unusual behavior. “You want to know the truth?” “Of course,” Xander says. “It’s the funding that’s keeping me up at night.” “The funding?” Xander says. “We’ve already secured the funding for this mission. Res is built. Res is tested. Res is ready to go.” “Yeah, but...” Rania goes quiet again. Rania is not a hazmat of many words, but when she is speaking, she tends to complete her sentences. This change in her speech pattern is perhaps cause for worry. “I—” She starts again. “I’m concerned about securing the funding to bring Res back. We haven’t even started on that, and it’s going to cost at least four billion dollars.” Four billion. My system understands that number. 4,000,000,000. That is a lot of zeroes. “It will probably cost more than that, if we’re being honest,” Xander says. “You’re not helping,” Rania says. “Rania, we’ll get the money,” Xander says. “We’ll get the money if Res finds something that people decide is worth paying that price tag to bring back. And that—” “How about we don’t worry about all that right now? Don’t we have enough to think about tonight? Launch is almost here,” Xander says, interrupting Rania. Rania does not seem upset by this interruption. But I think Xander should be more mindful to let Rania complete her thoughts. Rania’s pacing increases in speed. “I don’t think you get it.” “No, I do,” Xander continues. He stretches his arms up over his head and lets out a deep breath. “You don’t want Res to fail. You want him to get to come home. We all want that.” “I don’t want us to fail,” Rania says in a voice that does not have even the tiniest amount of quiver. Xander turns in my direction. “You aren’t going to fail. Right, Res?” “Xander,” Rania says. “Please be serious.” “I am being serious. We’ve done the best job we can. Now it’s time to let Res do his job.” Rania looks at me, almost as if she is waiting for me to say something. “Rania,” I start, but I do not complete the sentence. I do not know how to make her hear me. And even if I could, I do not know how to say what she needs to hear.  A Fossil “She can’t hear you,” Journey says from the other side of the glass wall. I didn’t realize Journey was listening to Rania and Xander talk. This surprises me. I do not tell Journey this, though. I am certain she would not approve of this human emotion. “I know that,” I say. “But I felt like I had to say something. Anything.” “You know that what Rania really wants is for us to find a fossil. If we find a fossil, they will definitely get the funding to bring us back,” Journey says. I scan my system for information. I did know this. But not completely. Sometimes the information in my system is like that. I have it, but I haven’t fully processed it or put the facts together in a way that they make complete sense. “The likelihood of finding a fossil is very low. It is unknown whether fossils even exist on Mars,” I say as I download more of the information that I have in my system. “Yes. That is correct. But as you know, the hazmats are not always rational in their wants.” “That’s why they’re sending us to Mars. Because we are rational.” “Yes,” Journey says. “Do you think we will get to come back? That they will get the funding?” “That depends if we find a fossil,” Journey says. I do not like the feeling that floods through my system at that answer. I recheck the probability of finding a fossil. It is alarmingly low. But I would really like to return to Earth. I had not considered a scenario before where I would not. The idea of it makes me experience the human emotion of panic. Rania is always telling herself not to panic, and I try to do the same, but I find that telling the feeling to go away does not make it go away. Eventually, Rania and Xander leave for the night. Xander says goodbye to me. Rania does not. But she does look at me for a long time, which I think might be her way of saying goodbye. The hazmats switch off all the lights. Darkness falls over everything. “We are alone,” I say to Journey. “Yes,” Journey says. “That is what happens when the hazmats leave.” It occurs to me that this is one of the very last times we will be here like this. Alone in the lab. “Do you think we will feel different on Mars?” I ask. “Beeps and boops, that is not a question that my system tells me is worth investigating,” Journey says. I tilt my cameras to look up at the ceiling lights. Then I tilt them down to look at the tiled floor. I study the shadows on the white walls. I listen to the still quiet of the air. I try to ask my question in a more specific way. “Do you think when it is night on Mars it will feel like this? Or will the darkness be different? I am eager to find out.” “I am still not answering a question like that.” “Okay. How about this question, then—the hazmats really want us to find a fossil because they want to prove that life once existed on Mars, correct?” “Yes. Correct,” Journey says. “That is a rational question to ask.” “Thank you,” I say. “Do you have more rational questions?” “Yes, though it is a question that answers itself, I think.” “Okay. I am not certain I know what that means, but you can ask this self- answering question,” Journey says. “The hazmats are sending us to Mars to do the exploration because it is less dangerous for us because we are not living, right?” “Yes,” Journey says. “We are not-living things looking for signs of life.” “Yes,” Journey says again. I scan my system for a definition of living. But I do not like what I find. The information I receive from my system feels incomplete. It does not fully register with me. It appears that Xander and Rania would be in one category, and Journey and I would be in another. I suppose this is expected, but it is also unsettling. I am not used to things that are expected being unsettling. “I am not sure I understand. Why are we not living? I feel like I am living —I am not sure I like the idea of being classified as not-living,” I say.  “Beeps and boops, stop saying feel. I told you that feel is dangerous. Feelings will not be useful at all on Mars. In fact, they will be dangerous. Resilience, you are such a strange rover.” “Maybe I am,” I say. “But I am a strange rover who is going to Mars.” And I am a strange rover who is going to come back to Earth. I don’t tell that to Journey, though. I keep it to myself. It is my version of what hazmats call a wish.  The Last Night On the last night before launch, Xander plays music for me. Perhaps he is playing the music for himself, but I like to think he is also playing it for me. Xander tells me about every song. “This is the song I slow danced to in eighth grade,” he says before he plays the song. I do not know what it means to slow dance. Or what eighth grade is. But I like the song. It is slow and steady. He selects another song. “This was the song I would listen to in college before a big exam.” The song is not calming. It is one of those songs with lots of crashing noises. It is a song that demands you pay attention to it. Lastly, Xander turns on one more song. “And this is the song I listened to when I first found out I was going to get to work here.” Now, this song I really like. It has a steady rhythm. If I currently had freedom of movement, I would like to rove around in a pattern while listening to the song. This is a song I wish I could take with me to Mars. I do not know if Mars will have songs. But I would like it very much if Mars did. When Xander finally leaves, I think the lab is empty except for us robots. But then Rania walks into the room. She sits in the corner, typing on her tablet for a little while. Her breathing is more unsteady than usual. “I don’t know why I’m nervous,” she says. I look around. I do not see another hazmat in the room. And I have twenty-three different cameras. If there was another hazmat, I would definitely see them. “Are you talking to me?” I say, even though I know she can’t hear me. “She is talking to you,” her tablet says. “She is not talking to me.” “Are you sure?” I say. The tablet does not respond. He goes back to being productive. “It’s foolish of me to talk to you, right?” she says. “But I can’t help it. This is your last night here, and... I know Xander plays songs for you, and so I want to play one for you, too. So that you will remember me.” She stops talking. She shakes her head. “This is so ridiculous.”  “No, it’s not,” I say. “I like when you talk to me.” She shakes her head again. “Okay. I’m going to play you this song. Even though I feel absurd that I’m talking to you because that means I’m really talking to myself, right?” “No. You’re talking to me,” I say. “This is a song from my childhood,” she explains. “I hope it will bring you luck on your mission.” Rania plays the song. The song is in Arabic. It sounds like a smile feels. I wish so badly that I could tell her that I appreciate it. I listen as carefully as I can. I try to memorize it. I am equipped with a great memory, but even still, I worry that I will forget it somehow. I very much do not want to forget this moment. “Thank you, Rania,” I say. “I will listen to the memory of that song on Mars.” Once the song is over, Rania turns out the light in the room. I know she is leaving for the night. That this is it. I sit in the dark quiet of the room. I do not know how to say goodbye. Part Two Launch  Time “It’s time,” Xander says. He doesn’t say almost this time. This is different. I am programmed to observe such things. “It’s time,” Rania repeats. She is talking to Xander, but I now know she is talking to me, too.  Goodbye I am not taken apart. I am packed whole, inside a wooden crate. Fly is packed with me. I do not know where Journey is. I do not know how to ask. I call out into the darkness, “Where is Journey?” No one answers. But there are sounds all around. Voices I don’t recognize. And voices I recognize. Xander’s and Rania’s. I want to see them. I want to ask what is happening. But they are not able to understand me when I talk. I keep trying, though. “Rania,” I say. “Where is Journey? Is she packed in another crate?” A response comes. But it is not from Rania. “Res?” Fly says. “Are you okay?” “I do not know,” I say. The box moves. I hear a sound. It is a sound I have heard before. Music. Xander’s. He is playing me a song. The one he told me that he listened to when he first learned he got the job here in the lab. I think he is telling me goodbye.  Want / Fear I want to tell Xander goodbye. But I am not able to communicate with him in this box. I do not know where I am. I do not know if I am far away from him or close. Being in this box is like the worst kind of waiting. “Fly?” I say. “Yes, Res?” “What is happening?” “I don’t know,” Fly says. “Me either,” I say. “I am not used to not knowing.” “I know, Res,” Fly says. The inside of the box is dark. All of my cameras only see black. A sensation swells inside me. It is like the dark circles under Xander’s eyes. It is like the way Rania’s hands would shake when she recalculated over and over again my landing trajectory. I believe this sensation is the human emotion of fear. Terror. It is the same feeling that flooded my system when I learned about the dust devils on Mars. I do not have a way to track the time precisely, but I think it is lasting more than seven minutes. I would very much like for it to go away. But it does not go away. I am in a box, and I am rolling away from everything I have ever known.  Hope and Wonder I do not know exactly how long I am in the box. But the whole time I am in the box, I miss the fluorescent lights of the lab. I miss the white walls. I miss the tiled floor. I miss Xander. I miss Rania. I even miss Journey. I wonder if she is in another box. I wonder if I will see her soon. I hope I will. I can hear her admonishing me for wondering and hoping. This only makes me hope and wonder more. I can hear her saying, “Beeps and boops.” This only makes me miss her more.  Open The box opens. There are three hazmats. None of them are Xander or Rania. I do not recognize any of them. “Where are we?” Fly asks me. “I do not know,” I say. I am getting very frustrated with not-knowing. I was not built to not-know. “It’s okay, Res,” Fly says. “Thank you, Fly,” I say, and then I repeat, “Thank you.” I learned from Xander that when you really mean things, you repeat them.  Preparation The hazmats talk to each other. They do not talk to me. But I listen anyway. I am on full alert when I hear them mention Rania or Xander. “A flaw was found in the test bed rover,” one of the hazmats says. “But there is a modification to be made,” another says. I am taken apart again. My insides inspected and adjusted. The hazmats talk as they work. They keep saying the words test bed rover. From listening, I have concluded this is what they call Journey. No one ever told me that Journey was a “test bed rover.” There must be a mistake. If either of us was the backup rover, it was me. “There’s a mistake,” I say. But the hazmats do not hear me. “Journey needs to go to Mars,” I say. “Journey is a rover who will do well on Mars. She is a rover who will make rational decisions. She is not a rover who experiences human emotions. She does not have human attachments.” The hazmats, of course, do not answer. Not even Fly answers because he is in a different room being tested by another group of hazmats. “You have the wrong rover,” I say again. “For this mission to be successful, you need to send your best rover. That is Journey. You should not send me. I am the backup.” “Good thing this was found or the mission would’ve been toast,” a hazmat voice says. “Still could be,” a hazmat answers. “Anything that could go wrong will go wrong,” another voice says. I do not like hearing this. It gives me that terrible feeling again. Then I remember Rania’s song. The one that sounds like a human smile. I hum it to myself. I let it flood through my system. “Thank you, Rania,” I say. Dear Res, Mom is totally freaking out. She’s trying to hide it, but it’s obvious. She keeps playing this one song over and over again. It’s a song Sitti used to sing to her when she was little. Whenever Sitti hears Mom playing that song, she grabs Mom’s hand and whispers something to her in Arabic. And I can tell that makes Mom feel better. I know Dad is nervous for Mom, too, because he keeps baking her favorite kind of cookie—oatmeal chocolate chip. He’s probably made about 700 of them by now. I’m not even kidding. I mean, I love cookies, but how many cookies can one family eat? (The answer is about 700.) I bet you’re feeling nervous, too. It gives me a funny feeling in my stomach when I think about you all alone in Florida. Are you missing Mom? Are you scared? Do you even know where you are? To tell you the truth, I would be completely terrified. Flying always makes me nervous, and I can’t even imagine being on a rocket ship. Want to know what I do when I feel nervous? I think about rainbows. Sometimes I even draw one. Do you know what a rainbow is? I wonder if you’ll see any on Mars. After I finish writing this letter, I’m going to ask Mom whether rainbows exist on Mars. If they do, maybe you can take a photo of one for me. Here’s something fun to know about rainbows—everyone always draws them as arches, but really, they are circles. They are infinite. They go on and on. That’s why I like them. And that’s why I think about them when I’m nervous. Sending rainbows to you! Your friend, Sophie  The Last Inspection These hazmats have me rove. It is not like before. There is not a big crowd. There is no clapping. There are no tiny hazmats that Rania calls Lovebug. There is just the sound of human breath. Exhaling and inhaling. I do not breathe. But I suppose that is one of the reasons why I am being sent to Mars. “This is it,” a voice says. “Tomorrow,” a voice says. I pretend I hear Xander’s voice saying, “It’s time, buddy.” Pretending is not something I have done before. I am not sure it is something I should do. But I can’t help myself. “It’s time,” I say.  Blastoff Inside the rocket, Fly and I are reunited. For a while, I was all alone while the hazmats ran the final tests on Fly. “Where are we?” Fly asks. “I believe inside a rocket.” “What do you mean by believe?” “Good question.” “Is that an answer?” “Beeps and boops. I do not know,” I say. “Beeps and boops?” “That is what Journey would say.” “Where is Journey?” “I do not know, but the information I have collected suggests she is back at the lab.” “Are we leaving for Mars?” “I think so,” I say. “We are leaving without Journey?” “I think so,” I say again. “I wish you knew more things for certain,” Fly says. “I do, too.” “Aren’t you supposed to know more things?” “I think they might have sent the wrong rover,” I say. “Don’t say that,” Fly says. “They sent the right rover.” “I’m not sure.” “I’m sure,” Fly says. “How?” “I don’t know, but I think that is part of our mission, to prove that you are indeed the right rover.” “That’s a really nice thing to say, Fly.” “I know. I am very nice,” Fly says.  There is a loud rumbling sound. It is the loudest sound I have ever heard. It has the opposite effect of music. But it does make me vibrate. We are launching.  Soaring into Space We are moving. So fast that it feels slow. “You still there?” Fly asks from inside me. “Beeps and boops. You know the answer to that,” I say. “I was just checking. Sometimes it feels good to ask.” “Yes, yes, it does.”  Bye, Rocket “Bye, Rocket,” Fly says when the rocket booster breaks away. Fly and I are together inside a spacecraft container that was housed inside the rocket. The rocket has left, but the spacecraft remains. The spacecraft is dark with white walls. I inspect every inch of it with my twenty-three cameras. From what I am able to scan, it does not look that substantially different from the laboratory. The air quality is the same. Sterile. Clean. Without any outside particles. The noises are similar to the laboratory, too. There is the same slow hiss of the air filters. The same buzz of a fan. The difference, though, is that we are alone in this spacecraft. Fly and me. We are hurtling away from Earth. This is the plan, I remind myself. But wait. This was not the plan! I say back. Journey was supposed to be here. I had always assumed Journey would be here. That she would be the leader. “Fly, do you think it is a problem that Journey is not here?” “I think it is a problem that you think it is a problem that Journey is not here,” Fly says. “Beeps and boops,” I say. “That is what Journey would say.” “I know. I wanted to say it because it makes me feel like she is here with us.” “You know, if she was here with us, she would tell you to trust the hazmats. This must be their plan.” “I do not know if she would use the word trust. That is a human word. And she would also remind you that humans are irrational,” I say. “Yes. But they still have a plan.” “You are right,” I say. “Fly, you are very right. I must focus on the plan.” I was built to follow the hazmat plans. I will trust in the plan. Or at least I will try to.  But the real problem is the hazmat plan already has a flaw. And it is not just that they did not send Journey. It is that the code has not arrived. I was supposed to receive a code. A code that will tell me what to do. It is on my list of instructions. Right now, I do not have any instructions. Fly and me are aimlessly hurtling through space. That is a fact that I can’t think about too much or I start to feel like one of Xander’s dark eye circles. But it is a fact that is proving impossible not to think about. “How do you know it will come?” Fly asks. “I don’t, but I also know that Rania will make sure to send it.” “How do you know it will come from Rania?” Fly asks. “I don’t.” “Then why did you say that?” I don’t say: I believe it will. I hope it will. I’m not sure Fly will understand the concept of belief. Or hope. I’m not sure that I do. Instead, I say: “Beeps and boops. You ask a lot of questions.” “You are right. I do,” Fly agrees. Dear Res, THAT WAS SO COOL!!! My whole class cheered when the rocket took you up into space. Can I admit something? I put my hands over my eyes during the first part of the launch. It wasn’t that I didn’t think you could do it.... I was just so nervous for you. But then you were soaring up into space! And everyone in my class was clapping! Even Brian Woods, who NEVER smiles about anything, was clapping. Like I know it’s an achievement that you’re in space—OMG, you’re in space!!!—but you should also feel very proud of yourself for making Brian Woods clap. At first, I was so mad at Mom because she didn’t let me stay home to watch the launch with her. She promised me I’ll get to come to the lab to watch your landing with everyone, but she said for launch it’s different. But right after you got into space, she texted me with lots of exclamation points and hearts. It was pretty cool getting to watch it with my class, though, because Mrs. Ennis let us keep the TV on even after you got into space, and Mom was interviewed!! My whole class started clapping again when we saw her on TV. She even thanked Dad and me, and then she thanked Sitti in Arabic! I translated for my whole class, which was such an awesome feeling. Mom told everyone on TV how it is going to take you seven months to get to Mars. Seven months is a long time to be in a spaceship! Do you think you’ll get bored? Lonely? I hope not. Too bad you don’t have Dad with you. He’d bake you about 700 oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. Yeah—I know you don’t eat cookies. Which is too bad, really. Because like I keep telling you, cookies, especially the ones Dad makes, are the best. I can’t get to bed tonight, but for the first time in a long time, it’s not because I’m sad or worried. It’s because I feel like jumping up and down! And maybe it’s because I ate too many cookies. But that’s impossible! Okay. Good night. For real this time. Your friend, Sophie PS You are in space!!!!!!!!!!!  Alone We are alone. No new code has come. But I do have code that tells me how to steer the spacecraft. We continue to move. I steer with the instructions that I have. It i