by Emma Newman
“I used to film my painting. The shot only showed the canvas and my hand, but I did give a commentary through—”
“So we need to do some camera practice. I take it they didn’t cover that in your preflight training?”
I’m still smarting about being talked over. “They didn’t.” He rolls his eyes and then gives me a look like it’s my fault. “There was a lot of other stuff to cover. Like how not to die in space. You know, important stuff.”
“Well, you made it here, in all your white-skinned, blue-eyed glory. You’ll look great on film, but I’m sure you know that already.”
He says it with such a barb in his tone that I feel like I’ve just told him his mother lied about who his father was. “I can’t help what I look like. It’s not why I was picked to come here.”
“Yes, the geology. Obviously. No need to go into that again.”
“Were you an arsehole before you came to Mars or has being here so long made you into one?”
I regret it, instantly. I need to work with this man. But that shouldn’t have to mean that I just let him treat me this way with no pushback. I decide against an apology. If I just take this crap from him without standing up for myself, he’ll treat me worse as time goes on.
He’s waiting for me to say sorry though. When I don’t, he casts his eyes over the room once more and says, “I need you to come up with five ideas for ‘Focus On’ slots. I need them by the end of the week. When we have something signed off by the show runner I’ll start training you.”
He leaves, so icy he’s practically chilled the air. I close the door, resisting the urge to slam it dramatically. The thought of working with him is as appealing as dental surgery. Perhaps I’ll be able to find out why he hates me from Petranek. It’s not a reassuring thought. It feels more like playground tactics. “Why doesn’t your best friend like me?” That’s worthy of a five-year-old.
When I’m sure he’s not going to come back I retrieve the ground scanner from the shower and reactivate it. I have to hold it upright for only another second or so before its own legs extend out from just above the base and stabilize it.
I’ve chosen weak pulses with a very limited range, mostly to stop Principia from freaking out about anything unusual. The results are displayed instantaneously.
There are no spaces anywhere around the base or below. The structure is exactly as I’d expect it to be from the maps I’ve learned of the base.
“Well . . . shit,” I mutter. I’m disappointed. I guess I’d hoped it would be that straightforward. But if whatever Gabor is shipping here secretly isn’t in the base, where the hell could it be?
10
I TAKE THE scanner back to storage, return to my room and flop on the bed. I have no idea what to do next and, frankly, I don’t want to get involved. No, that’s not it. I don’t want to be used. Being the pet artist for one Gabor is enough; I’m not going to be a spy for the other. There’s nothing to be done for my father now. It’s too late. For all of us.
There is an alternative explanation that is all too plausible: I didn’t have that conversation with Travis and I’ve just scanned the ground beneath this base because of a delusion. But it’s just as easy to imagine that Principia—an AI I know has already permitted the deletion of data from base records because of the footprint—is hiding the scanner data from me. JeeMuh, this is the road to madness.
Instead of thinking myself into knots, I check whether all the cam drone footage has been uploaded to the Principia database. Regardless of whether I want to be or not, I am contracted to be Stefan Gabor’s pet artist on Mars, so I’d better get to work.
The first step is easy enough: use the data to create a detailed topographical map. It’s nothing new, and I could get exactly the same information from extant data. However, using the cam drones means that I can create a fully rendered mersive and step inside it, walk around and look at different viewpoints to find the best vista to paint. I could, if I wanted to, remove rocks and see what it would look like without them, then swing the view around so I can play with perspectives. In short, all of the things I could do on Earth if someone up here sent those drones out for me and then let me download the data. No. I mustn’t think that way.
The process is easy enough to start off with a few requests made from my v-keyboard. As Principia crunches the data, I consider the need to find something about this exercise that could only be done on Mars. Short of going out there with an easel and having pictures taken of me while I work, I can’t think of anything that could come close to being special here. I don’t want to waste canvases by trying to paint while wearing one of the environmental suits though, and even if people saw the pictures, they would assume they’d been faked.
Perhaps I can do the finishing touches outside. I hate the idea of using actual Martian dust in the paintings, but it’s stipulated in the contract. I could glue some tiny bits of rock onto the canvas while outside the base to finish off a painting. Maybe I could line the canvas up exactly with the view I’ve painted and have a couple of cam drones film me taking rock fragments from the exact corresponding locations. That could be cute.
Even with a rudimentary plan, I still feel dissatisfied. There’s something distasteful about using the surface of Mars like some sort of crafting table. I want to treat this place with reverence and respect, but perhaps I can’t escape the human curse of screwing with every environment we come across. Certainly not with the sort of contract I have signed.
Principia pings me a notification telling me the data is ready for me to explore. I haven’t even gotten off my bed, so I’m halfway to being ready to go. In moments I’m standing at the edge of the crater I visited this morning, only this time I’m wearing joggers and a T-shirt.
I stagger a couple of steps back, briefly overwhelmed by the sensation of really standing on the surface of Mars. How backward is the life I lead now, where mersives have more realism, more immediacy, than reality? My cheeks are wet with tears as I take in the beauty of the red dust, the dramatic sweep of the crater bed below me and the volcanoes in the distance. I could get back in the shuttle now and go back to Earth, satisfied that I really have been here.
After a few deep breaths I start to walk around. It’s not perfectly rendered like a game would be; the ground feels smooth beneath my feet instead of peppered with sharp stones, but it’s good enough for me to use the way I need to. Everything changes to reflect my position, so I take a short stroll, mulling over the possibility of having the crater lip form the bottom portion of the painting. I like to have something highly textured and interesting in the foreground, with elements that give a sense of scale in the rest of the painting.
I spot a cluster of rocks farther round the rim that could be a good detail to have front and center, and I walk clockwise around the crater toward them. Perhaps if I can find the right angle, I could line up one of the distant volcanoes to be a feature in the background. As I walk, I wish that the render included physical sensations. It would be so good to feel the ground crunching beneath my feet and even just a gentle breeze on my face. Because I’m more visually oriented, it isn’t enough to break the illusion for me though.
Just as I start really losing myself out here, a dialog box pops up from Principia. “Would you like to explore the data more efficiently?”
My first instinct is to just swipe it away. But the total area that has been reproduced is several square kilometers. Maybe there’s a better way to review it than physically walking. “Yes,” I type back.
“Hello, Dr. Kubrin.”
I yelp and spin around. A man is standing behind me, someone I’ve never seen before. He is slightly taller than me, his skin is light brown, his hair is black and his eyes are dark brown. “Who the hell are you?”
“I am Mars Principia. You indicated a desire to explore this data more efficiently. The most efficient means of learning an unfamiliar interface is to w
atch another person.”
I’ve had enough of unexpected visits to my headspace. “You could have warned me you were just going to turn up!”
It has the grace to look confused. “I am sorry. My records indicate that your chip was upgraded before you left Earth. Have you not used an avatar-based interaction with an AI before?”
“No, I have not.”
“There is no need to be afraid, Dr. Kubrin. I am here to help.”
“Why do you look the way you do?”
“I am presenting as one of my standard avatar models, based on your reactions to other members of the Mars Principia base.”
JeeMuh, has it picked an avatar that has similar features to Elvan because I fancy him? How the ever living fuck does it know that?
“Would you like me to change my appearance?”
“It won’t make any difference.”
“I beg to differ, Dr. Kubrin. Based on your profile, should I assume the form of a human-size spider, you would experience distress.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“No, Dr. Kubrin, I was merely explaining the importance of interacting with an avatar that makes you feel at ease. Is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable? I am aware that my speaking to you is a potential breach of your communication preferences. I had hoped that you would find it more palatable in a mersive environment with a human avatar.”
It really is like talking to a person, like I am having a conversation with someone outdoors on Mars. I’ve talked to hyperrealistic people who don’t exist dozens of times before, like everyone has, on a gaming server. Not when working with what is effectively a very clever database interface. No, that’s unfair, but still, this is an AI deciding what to say to me, actually conversing, without having been scripted by a games company. The AIs I’ve worked with in the lab are nowhere near as advanced as this.
It’s doing my head in. I’m tempted to tell it that the only way to make me feel more comfortable is to bugger off, but I can’t deny the fact that this is a much easier way to communicate than using a v-keyboard. No wonder they are being phased out. I had no idea the upgraded chips could provide such a compelling interface with an AI. “It’s voice interfaces without any visuals that I don’t like. This is . . . okay, actually.”
“Why don’t you like voice-only comms? I can use this voice instead of the gender-neutral default, should you find it more comforting.”
“That’s none of your bloody business!”
“I simply wish to isolate the cause of the problem, so that I may attempt to provide a solution. That is one of my primary purposes.”
I recall the file I read on Mars Principia during my training. This AI has been here for twenty years longer than any human settlement. It was sent up with the second cargo batch and oversaw the construction of the base and the creation of enough oxygen and fuel to maximize human survival rates long before the first human arrived. It was designed to solve problems, that much is true, but not the sort of problems I have with voice-only interfaces.
“I’d rather not discuss that with you.”
“I understand. Would you like me to demonstrate how to interact with this data more efficiently?”
“Yes, please.”
The avatar comes over to stand next to me. “Everything you can see has been rendered from the data gathered by the cam drones you released earlier today. All objects within the hi-res range of the cams can be selected for closer examination. For example, that rock over there.” He points at one a few meters away. “If you want to look at that rock more closely, focus your retinal cam on the rock and draw a circle around it in the air with your finger. This indicates that you want to inspect that object in more detail.” He demonstrates the movement and I copy it with a different rock. The rock seems to fly toward me and then stops just in front of me, floating in the air.
“You can now rotate the object with your hands. As this is visual-only data without full-immersion simulation, you will not receive sensory feedback. If there is a detail you wish to enlarge, simply tap and pinch outward, as with a standard Web interface. When the enlargement reaches the pixilation point, you will be notified that any further magnification may not be accurate. As the cameras record with a resolution of five hundred megapixels, you can examine small details in the landscape as well as rocks. When you have finished examining an object, simply swipe it away.”
“Okay, that seems straightforward. What about changing my viewpoint?”
“If you wish to move a short distance to a place which is in clear sight, simply point to the location from which you wish to view the rendered data and say, ‘Move me there.’ You can move to a location out of sight by calling up the topographical map—I have placed the icon in your visual field—and then pointing to the location you wish to ‘travel’ to and saying, ‘Move me there.’ Would you like to try it now?”
“I’ll do it once you’ve gone.”
“I am available to assist you for as long as you are reviewing the data, Dr. Kubrin. I have more than enough processing capacity to run this avatar and carry out my other duties simultaneously. I am happy to stay.”
“Happy? You don’t feel anything though, do you?”
“It is a figure of speech, designed to facilitate natural conversation and thereby aid communication. I do not feel emotion; it is true. However, I can simulate it if you would prefer me to appear to be more emotional.”
“No, thanks.”
“Are there any other ways I can help?”
“I’ll ask if something confuses me, thanks.”
“Is there any way I can improve our interface outside of this mersive, Dr. Kubrin? It is far more efficient for us to communicate verbally than via dialog boxes and typed responses.”
Folding my arms, I frown at him. “Is improving efficiency one of your primary purposes too?”
“Yes. Increased efficiency equates to increased profitability. Perhaps we could develop a tailored solution? One in which my initial contact with you is via a ping or dialog box, and then should further communication be required, it could be carried out verbally.”
“No,” I say. Then: “I’ll think about it. I’d like you to go now. I need to concentrate and I prefer to be alone.”
Why am I justifying myself to an AI? The avatar gives what I would describe as a polite smile, turns and walks away. He fades until he finally disappears, like he’s walking into mist. I feel my shoulders drop an inch with relief.
The lesson proves to be very useful and soon I am zipping about the landscape. Changing viewpoint location feels a lot like flying but without the wind in my face, as once I’ve selected a new point the landscape effectively moves beneath me at great speed. I laugh, filled with an inkling of being godlike, before I stop messing about and get back to some proper work.
I soon lose myself in the examination of different possible backgrounds to a crater-lip foreground. Of course, I could paint whatever I like, but it feels important to make it accurate. Probably some sort of justification for coming all the way here, or at least an attempt to approach that. I like the idea of the art being like a viewing portal to a very specific place on Mars. Perhaps it’s more a personal desire to feel I’ve achieved something on a technical level.
I find the perfect spot, with an interesting cluster of rocks on the crater rim, as I’d originally hoped for, with the largest volcano in the region, Elysium Mons, in the background. It’s so far away that the cams have only picked up on the suggestion of its dramatic slopes, but it fits with what my eye expects to see.
Wanting to be certain, I draw a frame in the air with my fingers around the ideal image and take a shot of it for later reference. I also mark my location on the map. It’s only when I look at the little blue dot and its location, on a topographic map, that I realize this cluster of rocks is not where I thought it was. Having seen th
is very cluster not far from my original start point, I’m thrown by the fact that this location is more than ninety degrees farther round the crater than I thought.
Examining the cluster of rocks, I wonder whether I’ve simply muddled myself with zipping around all over the place and am actually in the original starting point at the edge of the crater where I first saw them, and not standing where I think I am. Or perhaps I’ve remembered them incorrectly and the cluster of rocks is merely similar, not identical. I go back to my starting location—one that I am certain of—and find the rock cluster I saw before Principia came to help. It looks exactly the same. Two large boulders leaning against each other, a third resting on top of the one on the right, reminding me of those left behind by Ice Age glacial flows on Earth. All three have the most beautiful shades of red and fascinating contours and seem unique.
I call up the shot I took farther round the crater and display it like a floating poster so I can compare the two. They are identical. How can there be two identical, unusual clusters of rocks next to the same crater in different locations?
All of a sudden, that sense of really walking around Mars disappears. It feels like I’m in some cheap mersive, like the ones I played when I was at an entry-level pay grade, in which chunks of landscape are repeated instead of rendered on the fly to save costs. How much of this is just bullshit hacked together to make it seem real?
But this isn’t a gaming server. This is a render on a multipurpose server, built from data I’ve just collected. Perhaps this is a glitch. Even as I think that, I don’t believe it. Principia is regularly serviced and upgraded and this is the sort of task that a computer well below its capabilities could handle.
“Principia? Could you help me with something, please?”
“How may I help, Dr. Kubrin?”
He’s appeared behind me again. I wonder if it’s something to do with not wanting to just pop into existence within my sight. Maybe the original programmer wanted to make it as realistic as possible. I turn to face the avatar, disturbed by how I do find him attractive, and the reason why.