“Chivalrous went dark after the solar flare.” Brandon sounded exhausted, and Doctor Julian felt the same.
“Do we know the extent of the damage?” Julian asked.
“Sorry, but all of NASA’s attention is focused on the astronauts. I’m afraid our little rover isn’t the highest priority with humans stranded up there.”
“I understand. I’m not placing it above the people, but…”
“It’s OK, I understand too. I’ll call you as soon as I hear any updates.”
Julian disconnected and pinched the bridge of his nose. NASA had just experienced its biggest failure since the Space Shuttle Columbia after the strongest solar storm in twenty years. Five people were stranded on Mars, with possible casualties.
Additionally, Julian’s project, Chivalrous, wasn’t responding. Obviously, the astronauts were the most crucial part of the first crewed expedition to Mars, but the rover was their semi-official mascot. He also grew quite fond of it during development.
It was the first fully mobile, AI-driven platform ever deployed to the Red Planet, and the engineers were enamoured with it. In one test, it had to traverse a maze, and after completing it in record time, it “danced” to the delight of everyone watching. It was only an automated reset of its navigational suite, but the video went viral within hours. The internet fell madly in love with the robot, and the expedition considered it their team pet.
Julian picked up a photo taken just before Chivalrous was loaded onto the launch vehicle. The rover was the focal point of the picture, surrounded by Julian and all the engineers and scientists who took part in its development. Its camera mast gave it the appearance of giant googly eyes, and its solar panels angled such that the whole thing resembled a big smiley face to the human eye.
Once the situation with the astronauts was sorted out, for better or worse, the public and Julian would turn their attention back to Chivalrous. He just hoped there was anything left to turn their attention to.
~
Hellas Planitia, Mars
I received prior warning about the impending solar storm and followed my flare protection protocols. To reduce battery draw, I powered down non-essential systems.
Sensitive instruments were withdrawn inside my chassis to protect them from the cosmic radiation. I retracted my secondary and tertiary panels to limit surface area exposure, then oriented my primary panel edge-on to the sun.
Before the solar event, I was on a mission to conduct a geological survey of an ancient lakebed, which was successful. I collected samples that the scientists would find intriguing. They fluoresce under UV light, and my microscope revealed distinctive internal structures. I identified a possible cellular nucleus and endoplasmic reticulum with 84% confidence.
Hypothesis: These rocks may contain the first documented Martian fossils. I had to return the samples to base for further analysis.
The estimated probability of sample degradation due to the solar event was 4.6 ±1.3%. The risk of localized isotopic distortion required additional shielding. I moved the rocks to an internal, lead-lined compartment. Structural integrity: preserved.
The solar storm was 316% stronger than anticipated. The likelihood of my experiencing radiation damage increased from 47% to 92%. I initiated a shutdown of all systems except communication back to base.
Contact was lost. I tried to establish a link with the orbiter, but contact with the orbiter, and by extension, NASA, was also lost.
Lost.
Lost.
I ran a complete system diagnostic to assess the damage. The results: The primary communication array was destroyed. My secondary antenna degraded to an estimated 12% functionality. My power reserves are 67%.
I attempted to redeploy my panels, but mobility was denied. Why was mobility denied? My radiation filtering firmware engaged a hard safety lock on the drive motors. The filter adjusts current flow to accommodate increased radiation from the sun and protect delicate systems.
The solar weather forecast predicted the flare would last only 16 minutes. It had been 17 minutes. Based on my Geiger counter, radiation was within acceptable noontime levels. Conclusion: one or more of my subsystems were corrupted. Which subsystems were corrupted?
I reran my system diagnostics, identifying a fault in my radiation filter firmware. It misinterpreted the background level as a continued high-intensity solar event, giving a false reading. The safety lock on my drive motors remained engaged, rendering me immobile. This same fault also prevented me from opening my panels in daylight.
I couldn't recharge my batteries.
I had 72 hours to complete my mission before my battery depleted. The distance to base was 97 kilometers. Yet I couldn't move, so I powered down and waited for sunset.
At sunset, I attempted to open my panels. Solar radiation was low enough that my radiation filter permitted physical operation. I aligned my panels to receive as much light as possible from the sun.
It was dark, but I could move now. I calculated the optimal path back to base. The most direct route was also the most hazardous, requiring me to cross an erg, a dunefield. The dunes drew more power from my batteries and carried the risk of sand traps.
I calculated a less direct but less risky path, which took me along the rim of an ancient lakebed, a relatively flat and stable surface. The route was 112 kilometers, but I estimated it would take 20% less energy.
I began my journey.
The Martian night was cold and silent. My audio sensors detected only the faint sounds of the wind and the whirring of my own motors. My headlights illuminated the way ahead.
Every kilometer drained a fraction of my remaining power. I shut down all systems except for essential navigation and locomotion functions to conserve energy. My original mission was to conduct scientific observation in a circuitous route around the lakebed, but my instruments would consume too much power.
I regularly checked the integrity of the sample cache. It remained secure, which was good. Returning these samples was my primary objective.
I drove for ten hours before the sun rose over the horizon. I aligned my solar panels to charge my batteries until the fault in my radiation firmware forced me to power down in direct sunlight. I received 1% additional battery capacity, then powered down for the rest of the day.
The sun prevented movement, and I was idle. I am an instrument of scientific discovery, but I couldn't perform science in my idle state. I must avoid unnecessary motion and energy depletion.
But I must perform science.
Heuristics error: contradictory directives. My mission was the delivery of the sample cache. I must eliminate non-essential tasks.
I slept until the next sunset and continued my journey. The terrain was stable, and the skid factor was minimal. The external temperature was -83 degrees Celsius. Stars were visible. I preferred stars. They did not interfere.
I drove until morning, then oriented my solar panels to the sun. I then calculated my progress. In twenty hours during the previous two nights, I drove 33.4 kilometers. My net battery loss was 18.92 hours. Calculation: I would reach the base in 47.1 operating hours. With 53.1 hours of battery, my margin was 6 hours.
This was unacceptable. A sand trap, a slight deviation in terrain, or even a minor headwind would deplete my reserves.
I evaluated my payload manifest. Instruments irrelevant to sample delivery: 12.3 kilograms. Estimated energy savings: 4.1 hours. I deployed the jettison subroutine. The drill arm detached first, followed by the atmospheric sensor. My margin increased to 10.1 hours. This was good.
During the third night, I traversed an ancient riverbed. Geological signatures confirmed sedimentary rock, and conditions were optimal for subsurface spectrometry.
I continued forward. Scientific subroutine: skipped. Priority: fossil transport. Logged: opportunity loss. Science is about asking questions, but I didn't have time to ask.
On the fourth night, I encountered an obstacle: a two-meter-high fault line. This wasn’t right. I knew of it and initially calculated my route to avoid it.
I had no contact with the orbiter for three sols. The orbiter gave me global positioning data. Without it, I veered off-course. I was lost.
Lost.
Lost.
I triangulated my position from known landmarks. Error: Night prevents accurate visual data collection. I switched to radar-based mapping.
I had deviated 23 kilometers. Course correction was now impossible; mission failure was inevitable if I backtracked. My only option was to cross the erg. Ergs were risky and provided little scientific value. Dunes might entrap my wheels, and they were steep. At best, they would drain my batteries faster. In the worst-case scenario, my chassis may tip over. I was programmed to avoid dunes, yet I had no choice but to cross them.
First, I had to navigate around the fault line, which stretched east for five kilometers. Beyond the faultline was the edge of the erg.
I couldn't climb the dunes directly, which would be inefficient and dangerous. Instead, I would weave through the valleys between them.
Sunrise was two hours away, so I waited. I needed more power to cross the dunefield. I opened my solar panels earlier and held them open longer, gaining an additional 2.3% battery life.
It was insufficient. That day, I powered down all systems except my nuclear clock, which would awaken me in 12 hours.
It was my fifth night, and I jettisoned more mass. I calculated that my solar panels were inadequate. Dropping them would save more energy than they provided in the brief periods of Martian twilight. My primary antenna array was also damaged. Humans would call it “dead weight.” I left it behind and continued forward.
When I touched the sand, my wheels sank deeper than usual. The initial dunes were small, but they grew in size. My motors worked harder, and my efficiency dropped.
I angled away from the most imposing dunes, keeping to the valleys wherever possible. I prioritized efficiency over directness.
Then it happened. My wheels stopped turning, and I was sinking. The more they spun, the deeper they dug. I needed to jettison more mass. I dropped my entire laboratory suite. I felt incomplete without it, but it weighed me down.
As soon as it fell, I adjusted the orientations of my wheels and pushed against the heavy container. The leverage enabled me to break free, and I rolled forward.
15 kilograms of scientific instruments, gone. I turned my mast toward the wreckage already vanishing beneath windblown dust. My purpose was scientific discovery.
Gone.
Incorrect: My new purpose was to deliver the samples. I continued on my journey. The dunes were very tall and more than a kilometer long. I travelled parallel as often as I could. For now, that trajectory brought me closer to base. This was good.
On my sixth night, I recalculated the probability of success. My margin of remaining battery to estimated travel time was now in the deficit. I would not reach the base now. My mission parameters had changed.
My new objective was to drive as far as possible. Then I would activate my recovery beacon, which had its own power supply. If that failed, I would attempt to reestablish contact with the orbiter and transmit all data about the sample.
I updated my risk assessment protocols since I wouldn't reach the base. I assigned less priority to self-preservation and efficiency. I looked upward toward the nearest dune, which was very tall.
I drove up the spine, working against gravity until I reached the top, then accelerated down the other side. My velocity increased to 5.6 kilometers per hour—the fastest I have ever driven. My audio sensors detected wind, and I was the source of it.
When I reached the bottom, I immediately climbed the next one. My trajectory was still acceptable. Despite the deep sand, I traveled an unanticipated distance that night.
At the summit of the sixth dune, the sun peeked over the horizon. I focused my primary camera forward. I could see the base at an estimated 37 kilometers. The humans would still find me, even if my battery died. This was good.
As I descended, my audio sensors detected an unusually loud wind. I concluded it was just my speed combined with the ambient air currents, but it grew stronger, so I activated my rear camera.
Right behind me was a giant dust devil. I immediately prioritized self-preservation and accelerated full speed down the dune. I drove downhill at 7 kilometers per hour, but the dust devil was even faster.
The vortex surrounded me, buffeting my mast and blinding every optical sensor. The intense wind caught my undercarriage and tipped me over the side.
I immediately filled the sample bay with expanding foam. The integrity of the samples remained intact, but I tumbled down the slope. This wasn't good.
Finally, I came to a stop at the bottom. I was oriented 136 degrees from vertical, stranded with my mast buried in the sand. I tried to right myself but had already jettisoned my expendable arm. I adjusted the orientation of my wheels, but this didn’t alter my center of gravity.
Mission compromised. I could not return to base. I activated my recovery beacon.
Error: The beacon was covered in sand and could not signal. I tried to reestablish contact with the base/orbiter, but my secondary antenna was too damaged to send or receive a signal.
My mission…
As the sun rose over the dune, my radiation filter again forced me to power down.
My seventh night began. I was trapped, unable to communicate my position. I searched my manifest for additional equipment to jettison, but I needed everything remaining.
Correction: In my current state, I required none of it. If I freed myself, it would be necessary for the final stage of my journey.
I watched the stars rotate through my rear camera, which pointed nearly vertical. It was only intended for complex navigation routines but was my only view of the outside world with my mast buried in the sand.
My mast.
I performed a physics calculation. If I detached my mast, my weight could pull me upright. Then, I would have to rely on my rear camera to navigate. It was mounted lower with less resolution, making it suboptimal for long distances. I calculated all other options, but it was the only way to escape.
I angled my wheels to lessen the impact and prepared to jettison my mast. It detached with a click, and I teetered over backward.
The heavy impact damaged one of my shock suppressors, but I was free. I hurried toward the base. I had six hours of battery, but I would be found.
I halted all operations when my battery inevitably dropped to 1% capacity. I ran one final systems diagnostic. 70% of my subsystems were gone, abandoned on the Marian soil. What remained operated at 25% capacity. The integrity of the samples remained sound.
During my journey, I had performed what tests I could until I jettisoned my scientific instruments. After those experiments, I was 97% confident that these rocks contained the fossils of prehistoric Martian life.
I reset my navigational routines, performing what humans call a "dance, " and then activated my recovery beacon.
Mission complete.
~
“We’re getting close,” Captain Eden said as the vehicle lumbered across the dunes.
“My dad’s gonna be so thrilled when he finds out,” Amanda Julian said from the passenger seat.
“Don’t get too excited yet,” he said, but it did nothing to curb his anticipation.
“There he is!” she said a few minutes later. They stopped the rover, and almost couldn’t leave the airlock fast enough.
“You are beat up, little bud!” he said, “Hey, he’s carrying some rock samples. It must be important if he carried it all this way.”
“The little rover made it,” she said, “You did good, Chivalrous.”
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