[BRACE FOR LANDING]

The little rover is sleeping. It doesn’t dream, because it isn’t alive.

[BRACE FOR LANDING]

The pod is prepared for landing. A thousand, million, billion miles away, there is a team of humans who are alive and have dreams. They want to bite their nails, but they can’t afford to—not when their fingers are flying over keys.

They’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.

[BRACE FOR LANDING]

The rover doesn’t know. It doesn’t know what went into its creation, into its journey so far away from home. It doesn’t remember much of home, because only alive things remember. Still, there are some flashes. Glimpses of the humans, of their smiling and nail-biting. Of another thing beside it, like it.

[LANDING IN THREE… TWO… ONE…]

The little rover arrives to his new home.

When the rover awakes, it has a name. The humans call it “Opportunity,” and they tell it to move around. They’re all holding their breath.

It rolls around. Its wheels make patterns on the ground.

This home is very red, and very sandy. Sometimes it’s hard to see because there’s so much dust. But the humans tell it to roll around and take pictures, so that’s what it does.

Sometimes, they’ll call it “Oppy.” Opportunity isn’t quite sure why, but it thinks it makes them happy, so it doesn’t mind. It also doesn’t mind because minding is a human emotion, and Opportunity doesn’t care much for human emotions. But it does make the humans happy, so it responds to it.

Sometimes, it wonders if it could ask the humans when it can go home. The humans tell it that it is home. Silly Oppy, it must’ve forgotten.

They tell it to explore its home, so it does.

Oppy is a wanderer. Oppy is an explorer.

And there are a lot of things to explore.

The home has big holes and big hills, and it’s always a beautiful red colour. It’s cold, but the sun feels warm. In the night, if it looks up, it can see small lights that remind it of the ones in his old home.

The most beautiful nights are when he can see a big blue shape, filling up the rover’s view with its vastness. There are so many colours—blue and green and white. The only colour in its home is red, but this place has so many. It can see other shapes too, if it looks hard enough, but this one’s the biggest and the closest.

The humans call it Earth.

The humans don’t like it when he looks up, because they say that they already have things that look up. Instead, they ask Oppy for some pictures, and it takes them happily. It doesn’t wonder why they’d want to see it. If it were them, it’d want to see it all, too. Some things are too beautiful not to see.

Oppy takes pictures as much as it can. It doesn’t want the humans to feel left out, from seeing its home. I feels bad for the humans, wherever they are, having to witness this all second hand. So Oppy describes everything as painstaking much as possible, using all the words that it knows. The red, red colour of the sand, and the far away lights, and the glowing blue of Earth. The humans are always happy, when it sends a good picture or tells them about its home.

…And this is another hill, and my wheels always get stuck here, but that’s okay because it’s mostly not as dusty up there. I can see Earth right now. The colours are glowing. Can you tell me any more about Earth?

The humans tell it to stop looking up.

Opportunity has been on this strange place for a long time, now.

It’s not as exciting to travel through the red sand. Everywhere looks the same—sand everywhere, dust everywhere. The only thing that’s still as beautiful as before is the stretching night sky.

It asks the humans why it can’t keep rolling all the way up. It wants to stand on the top, because that is the highest point, and that means there would be no more hills for it to climb. They say it doesn’t need to, because there are others up there.

Others? It asks.

The humans tell it about the others. They have names, too. There’s Phoenix and two Vikings, who’ve apparently been there for a very long time. Oppy wonders what the names mean.

There’s also one called Pathfinder. Oppy thinks it’d like to meet Pathfinder. Then it wouldn’t be so lonely.

The humans say that Phoenix is gone now. That it wasn’t awake for very long, not the way Opportunity’s been awake for long, and certainly not the way the Vikings have been awake for long. They say it might’ve not been much time, but it did what it needed to do and was therefore a success.

It isn’t sure if that’s a good thing, but the humans make it sound like it is.

There’s also another called Soujourner, which is related to Pathfinder somehow. Opportunity is glad‚it thinks it would be less lonely like that. It wished it had its own Sojourner—something like it, that can keep it company and make its home less lonely. It has a glimpse of its old home again, with the humans and something else, but it’s gone right away. Because remembering is for alive things and Opportunity is not an alive thing.

Opportunity is not a human. It is a wanderer, an explorer.

So it rolls on into the endless lands and takes more pictures of the same red sand.

The humans are sad when they talk to it now.

They wouldn’t tell it why at first, but it keeps getting restless and there’s something that felt wrong in the clicks of its mechanisms, so they concede.

They say that Spirit is asleep, now. Oppy doesn’t know who that is, but they don’t seem like they want to tell it. They just say that Spirit had a good time, and it did its work, so it was a success. The humans always sound so very sad when they say the word “success.”

Oppy wonders if success is not a very good thing to be.

Opportunity thinks that Spirit is a good name to be called. It wonders what it means, and the humans tell it. It’s strange—they’d never told it the meaning of the names before. Not even its own, not for the lack of trying.

The say that Spirit is a good thing to have. That it’s what makes something alive. And to feel. The name is tugging at Opportunity, like something that it should remember, but can’t. The humans know this, and they seem so very sad.

Oppy doesn’t like seeing them sad, so it tries to make them feel better. It takes more pictures. It rolls around with determination. But they still seem sad whenever they talk to it, and Oppy clicks with frustration.

Oppy describes everything it sees furtively; it spends fifteen minutes examining a rock and describing exactly what shade of colour it is. It’s worried that maybe the humans aren’t sad, but angry, or disappointed. Maybe it hasn’t done his work, or not well. Maybe they’d never bring it home.

So Oppy tells them everything. There’s a dust cloud headed northeast. Due to the excessive amounts of sand, I am currently travelling at only 0.09 miles per hour. I will do better.

Soon, it can’t distinguish actual information from just mindless chatter. Desperate to prove it’s doing something, it has begun speaking whatever comes to mind.

One day, it tells them that humans must have a lot of Spirit. It still doesn’t really understand what it means, but it’s a good thing to have and it’s what makes something alive. And the humans are feeling so much that they must be so living.

The humans are still sad, Oppy thinks. But they tell it that it has Spirit too, anyway.

Oppy doesn’t have to talk as much anymore.

It’s a while longer when Oppy finally remembers.

The thing like itself, besides it. The humans were creating it at the same time that they were creating Oppy.

They called it Spirit.

Oppy thinks it can remember just a vagueness of a memory, where they are rolling towards each other. It doesn’t know how it ends—how far they are apart, if they stop or if they collide, what they’re doing, where they are. They’re just rolling towards each other.

It remembers the humans saying that they were twins. It doesn’t know what twins are, but it thinks that it must be better than a success.

The humans landed them in the same home, but at différent ends. They never met each other—except they did, on the other home.

If Oppy explored its home for a long enough time, it would find Spirit, sleeping somewhere forever.

Spirit was like Oppy, except it was a success. Oppy doesn’t really know what itself is.

The humans tell it that it’s a wanderer, an explorer.

Oppy sometimes wonders if it’s lost.

The humans tell it that a visitor is coming. A younger sibling, they say.

They say this happily, if a bit nervously. It thinks that they would be biting their nails if they could afford to.

Oppy has been travelling somewhere for a while, now. It didn’t know why, but it’s glad that the humans finally trust it enough to tell it. Oppy is instructed to stay close enough to get there quick, but far enough that it’s safe, until the pod lands.

It can see the pod—flying through the sky incredibly fast. Oppy does as the humans asked.

[BRACE FOR LANDING]

The pod gets closer and closer, like one of those lights in the sky except it’s getting larger. It’s been so long since Opportunity has seen anything other than red sand that it thinks it’s almost beautiful.

[BRACE FOR LANDING]

The pod has stopped flying, but now hovers over the ground, just close enough for Oppy to see it. It’s getting lower and lower.

A group of humans are holding their breath.

[LANDING IN THREE… TWO… ONE…]

The pod lands, and another little rover wakes up.

The rover’s name is Curiosity. It’s newer, shinier, fancier, and a lot bigger. Its mechanics doesn’t click as much. It doesn’t take as much effort to get over the hills. Oppy sees the exact moment it takes in the red sand, the dust, the hills and the holes—just like Oppy did an immeasurable time ago.

Curiosity seems excited. It whirls and chirps, grasping onto the concept of home. Oppy wonders if it has Spirit, too, but it realizes it’s a stupid question. It’s not sure anything can have Spirit on this red home, but it thinks that considering how happy the humans seem, Curiosity must be the most alivest thing here.

They call it a wanderer, an explorer.

Oppy feels a click at that. It doesn’t want this bigger, better version of Oppy to be like it. It doesn’t want Curiosity to take pictures forever.

But then maybe Curiosity wouldn’t end up a success. Oppy hasn’t been a success yet—and hasn’t gone to sleep once. Maybe the other can be the same.

The humans want them to stay together for a little while, and Oppy is very happy about that. They say that Oppy is a big brother now, whatever that means. They say that it paved the pathway for Curiosity, and that it made it all possible.

Oppy doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but it doesn’t matter. The humans are happy, but for the first time, that doesn’t matter either.

Oppy is just excited to show its younger sibling Earth.

The humans made Curiosity leave, and Oppy is alone again.

That’s okay. It knew it was bound to happen. Oppy wasn’t meant to be together. It was meant to be lonely, like the night sky.

But it misses Curiosity. It thinkis that Spirit might have been like Curiosity once. So excited. So wondering. It explored without being lost, not even once. Not like Oppy does.

Oppy hopes that Curiosity likes the night sky as much as it does.

It thinks that the humans should bring it back home soon, because it’s sick of the sands and the dust. It’s sick of not being able to see, and when it can, only seeing the same things.

But the humans haven’t mentioned of bringing it home yet, so Oppy just roams on, taking pictures.

It roams for a very long time.

Oppy takes a picture of the ground.

The humans say it’s proof of a vigorous, violently rapid flow of water at some point in Mars.

They say that this could be proof that there might’ve been life in the red place.

They’re celebrating, calling it a scientific breakthrough.

Oppy doesn’t know what that means.

The sandstorm catches it by surprise.

It whips sand in its crevices, and Oppy wants to convulse at the thought of the sand being inside it, too.

The humans are worried, and Oppy can tell. But it’s actually kind of glad that it got caught up in the sandstorm. Now, they’d have to bring it home, wherever that is. Maybe it’s way to the top of the red place, over all the sand and taller and higher than any hill. Maybe that’s why they didn’t let it go up there.

It thinks that they’re gonna tell it any second, any moment. They’ll tell it where their home is. Maybe it’s way out there in the lights. Maybe that’s where it came from, where everything like it came from.

Oppy doesn’t dare hope it’s on Earth.

But they never tell it where their home is. They never even chide it for forgetting that the red place was its home.

Oppy waits, for a very long time. It stays very, very still, trying to forget about the sand, to not feel as if it’s shrivelling away from the grains. It waits for the humans to say the words, “you’re coming home.”

They don’t talk to it again.

Oppy never knew just how lonely it could be.

It guesses it does, now.

It doesn’t take many pictures anymore.

There’s no point, and it’s not as if the red place is really beautiful, anyway.

Sometimes, Oppy feels lost.

All the times, it misses Curiosity.

It didn’t know that Curiosity was just beginning to see how lonely it could be in the red place, too.

It didn’t know that every year, Curiosity sang itself a lonely birthday.

Curiosity didn’t know that Oppy didn’t even have that.

Oppy couldn’t sing at all.

Oppy stops roaming not soon after that.

It gets stuck between a hole and a hill, and it can’t move at all.

It’s so tired.

It’s last four pictures were all of the sky.

One day, out of nowhere, Opportunity gets a contact.

After a long while of aimlessly wandering the red place, the humans have finally gotten through. They call it “the last attempt of communication.”

Oppy doesn’t know what last means.

The humans all sound sad. They must know. They know that Oppy has despised the sand with all of its being for a long time now; that it wants to go home.

But truthfully, Oppy actually doesn’t hate the sand all that much anymore. The rover’s been sapping away since the sandstorm, with every day darker than the last, and there’s just not enough of it left to care about. The sand isn’t even that red. Everything’s a strange shade of muted gray, and Oppy doesn’t really mind. It’s too tired to feel anything but exhaustion and want, and all it wants is just to go home.

It’s getting ready for the humans to tell it that they’re coming. They’re sending another pod, and that it’ll take it home. Oppy is so happy to finally go home. It never wants to look at red again.

Instead they call it a success.

Oppy is nearly shaking as the humans tell it that it has roamed a planet called Mars for fifteen years—which must be synonymous for an unmeasurable eternity. And when Oppy asks when they’re coming to bring it home, they don’t reply.

Funnily enough, the silence is all the answer it needs.

All that time wandering, exploring. And it would never find its way back home.

It would never even see its twin, Spirit. Sleeping between some hill and some hole. It would never meet Pathfinder and Sojourner, and tell them how lucky they are to have had each other in this lonely place. The red is seeping back into its vision, and Oppy is choking on dust.

It knows what success means.

It knows that it won’t be awake for much longer.

The humans are grieving before it’s even asleep. They’re telling it everything that it never knew, from the moment it was created to now. They tell it about Spirit, who looked exactly like Oppy. They tell it what twins mean.

Oppy finally speaks. It asks for or about Curiosity. It’s not quite sure which. The humans say that Curiosity is awake and exploring. And far, far away.

It hopes that Curiosity never comes here, ever.

Oppy looks up at the dark sky getting darker. It’s blackness stretches out into the far corners of the universe. Earth is out tonight. It’s glad.

Oppy asks them what Opportunity means.

They tell it: A chance, a possibility.

Opportunity thinks that it is falling asleep.

It doesn’t mind as much as it thought it would. It thinks that the first sleep, on the way to the red place, was rather pleasant. And who knows, maybe it would wake up again in another, better, less lonely home. Maybe it’d have no memories of this red place.

It hopes that maybe, the humans would bring Curiosity back, and maybe Oppy, too.

The sky is so dark that the lights are shining blindly. Earth is luminescent, and beautiful. Oppy doesn’t know enough words to describe it.

The humans speak one last time. “You were a good wanderer, and a good explorer. You were a great success. Thank you, Oppy.”

There’s some sound playing from the speaker in it. It doesn’t know what it is, but it can vaguely make out some words. Oppy tries to describe it; tries to describe everything around it, but it’s too beautiful to ever be replicated by words or pictures. So instead, it thinks as hard as it can, and commits the scene into its mind.

Opportunity tells the humans one last thing.

My battery is low and it’s getting dark.

That’s okay though, because home looks closer than ever.