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Palo Alto Weekly 37th Annual Short Story Contest
Adult Honorable Mention

Perils of Space Colonization

by Susmita Ramani

Every few months, my associate Chrysanthemum and I are assigned a swath of the galaxy; we visit every potentially inhabitable planet in it, and submit a report either recommending colonization or not.

We’ve just landed on an unnamed planet half the size of the Earth, where the atmosphere has enough oxygen to support insects and vegetation. Chrysanthemum doesn’t care, as he’s a robot – but I love being able to breathe freely, as I’m usually floating in my unwieldy inflatable suit like a kid’s birthday balloon.

“Hurry up, Chrys!” I shout.

He waddles down the gangplank. He’s part beagle, part robot, with the transplanted personality of a British aristocrat who was also a medical doctor and professor. The first time I powered him up, he chose his own name, based on his favorite flower when he was human. For a dozen years, he’s been my constant companion. It’s a good thing, because even I, who am not a big talker, might’ve gone crazy being by myself all the time; Central Command knows this, which is why everyone’s assigned a helper, whether they want one or not. At first, fresh from a terrible breakup, I thought I’d be better off alone, but over time, Chrys and I have grown on each other, and rubbed off on each other. Sometimes I think he knows me better than I know myself – my moods, pieces of music I enjoy, when I could go for a cup of tea. That took a while, though. At first, he was so by-the-book about everything, it drove me nuts. He seemed to have no senseof humor or irony. He said that as a human, he was rather humorless. But now he’s more easygoing, has watched hours of comedy with me, and seems to grasp humor.

I walk, and Chrys rolls by my side.

He says, “Annora, as I know you often are curious about such things, the terrain’s purplish color is due to its high concentration of the mineral lepidolite.”

I nod. “It’s stunning.”

He gives a short bark of agreement.

I breathe deeply. “The air smells – and tastes – like grapefruit! So far, this seems like one of the most promising planets we’ve seen.”

His nose twitches. “Agreed.”

After a mile, I say, “What does that row of waterfalls remind me of? I can’t remember.” “Perhaps the river we saw last fall in the Labyrinthine Nebula,” he says. “With the

shining silver creatures similar to dolphins.”

I slap my forehead. “Yes, that’s it, Chrys! You’re a wonder.” “‘Tis nothing.” He bows, ears grazing the ground.

“I’m starting up the report now.” I click a button on my wrist band. “Satisfactory atmospheric oxygenation. Temperate weather. Nearest star is on the young side. Three moons. Gentle hills, crisscrossed by seven rivers. Five waterfalls counted so far. No detectable seas. No hostile organisms recognized. Could support fifty to a hundred million people. Recommend colonization.” I click the button again. “I’ll finalize it later.”

We see a cave, and I enter its narrow entrance first, with Chrysanthemum behind me. A few paces in, I shine my flashlight’s beam around, and on the ground, see a phosphorescent blue ball, pulsing with light. As I bend down for a closer look, I realize it’s maybe a hundred or moresnakelike creatures, packed together like a glob of spaghetti. As I back away, fearful of being bitten, I hear an electronic voice that sounds like an older model of standard translation system clearly and calmly say, “Please leave us in peace.”

I crouch lower to the ground, and say, “Hello. I’m Annora, an Officer of the Intergalactic Space Colonization Fleet.”

The largest blue snake – the only one with a pulsing magenta stripe on its back, emanating sparks – speaks its language into the device, which crackles and translates in a flat, electronic voice. “I go by Fabardaquar, and this is my family. We are the Vlargarans, an ancient species. We are extraordinarily delicate; even a forceful breath might damage us. We mean you no harm.

However, are we correct that you are here in the hopes of colonizing our planet? Please reconsider.”

I sigh; I’ve had variations of this conversation before, obviously; it’s the nature of the job.

No one wants encroachers from other places. “I understand. Yes, that’s why we’re here. Our planet is highly overcrowded, so we’re seeking places to which our people can expand. But I think your species and ours could live in harmony, benefitting from each other.”

These last words are straight out of the manual, what one is supposed to say – but I can’t help squirming, as I have my doubts about the veracity of this statement.

Fabardaquar hisses into the device again. “Please do not do this. Every part of our planet is holy to us in a different way. It would mean our culture’s annihilation.”

Chrysanthemum barks softly. “Sir, respectfully…it’s not our decision. When we return to our spacecraft, Annora will have to upload all that we have seen and talked about here to Central Command. The tribunal will view and discuss it. Based on the composition of your atmosphere,which is a rarity and almost an exact match for what we’ve been seeking, there’s almost no chance that they will vote against colonizing.”

As soon as Chrysanthemum’s words are translated and the snakelike creatures hear it, they shriek in unison – and they’re surprisingly loud.

“Wait!” I say. “Let me talk privately with my associate.” Chrysanthemum and I exit the cave.

“Listen, Chrys,” I whisper. “Let’s just report this planet as uninhabitable and call it a day.

Can you just…erase a few minutes?”

“As a former doctor, as you know, I operate by the first-do-no-harm principle,” said Chrysanthemum. “It is clear that the colonization of this planet would cause the annihilation of the Vlargarans. I have layers of protocols preventing the erasure of time. However, if you were to open the compartment at my neck, slip my master switch, power down my system, and reset my internal clock, I could awake without having experienced this. But you would risk resetting me to the way I was when we first met.” His tone is calm and explanatory, as though he’s walking me through an engine repair.

My heart wrings like a sponge, as this seems unimaginable…like risking my closest friend’s death. I turn away, feeling sick. “No, I don’t want to. I won’t.”

“But you must,” he says. “And I urge you to do it now, immediately.”

I know he’s right. Sobbing, before I change my mind, I turn the tiny metal knob at his neck, pull it open, and flip the switch that I haven’t touched since twelve years ago when we first met.

Chrysanthemum powers down, and I put him into my backpack, as though he’s merely a non-sentient object like a soil specimen – which, I realize with a twinge of nausea, is what he is at the moment.

I run back into the cave and tell the Vlargarans that we’ll be on our way and not returning, and leave to a sound of cheering coming from the translation device.

I drag myself back up the gangplank.

I erase my first, glowing report, and replace it with another, concluding simply that the planet is uninhabitable and merits no further consideration.

I knock back a swig of lukewarm blue-green tea, which Chrysanthemum brewed earlier.

Then I yank him from my backpack, open the compartment in his torso, and turn back his internal clock by about three hours. After closing this compartment, I open the compartment in his neck, and flip the master switch back on. Slowly, he powers up, until there’s the steady, soft whirring I’m used to, like a friend’s regular breathing.

“Hello, Annora,” he says. “You have performed a hard reboot on me.” His voice is correct.

“Yeah.” My voice comes out like a frog’s croak.

“You are in fact Annora Walker, my owner of record?” he asks. My heart sinks. “Uh huh.”

“My first order of business is to select a name.” He makes a soft whirring noise for a few seconds. “I shall choose a name based on what my favorite food was when I was human.”

I nod, unable to speak. “Spaghetti,” he says.

I sink to the ground and stay there, moaning.

“Are you feeling unwell, Annora?” he asks. “I’m fine.” I get up, and power on the engine. “There’s one more thing,” he says.

“Huh?” I don’t turn from the engine console.

“I’m kidding, Annora.” His tone remains as flat as a pancake. “I’m still Chrysanthemum. I figured that for whatever reason you had decided to reboot me, it might be amusing to give you a scare.”

I scream for joy, feeling like my heart might break from happiness and relief. “No! You scared the space dust out of me! Wait…what’s the last thing you remember?”

“Waking up this morning, and winning our table tennis game,” he says. “You were quite unhappy to lose, as I recall.”

Kneeling, I hug him. “From now on, I’ll never care about that again. I’ll even let you win.

You rock, little buddy.”

“As do you, Annora,” he says. “Shall we head to the next…rock on our list?” Grinning, I type in the coordinates. “Can’t wait, Spaghetti!”