The Sun Planet Rover

“Icarus for takeoff, Icarus Rover for take off.” 

Icarus. Icarus. It knows that one. 

"Icarus for takeoff. Countdown initiation."

Icarus. It knows that one.

"Ten seconds until takeoff. Nine-"

Takeoff. For its job. It’s purpose. The Makers want data, the Sun Planet has it. It gets to take it when it takes off.

The Makers gave it a name for its job. If it could, it would want to do it. It does not have the capacity to want.

"For you," Maker with the anomaly eyes had said. Two colors instead of one. Anomaly, cataloged. Beautiful, cataloged. 1200 hours, July 5. 

"For you," Anomaly had said, putting on a metal plate. "Icarus. The boy who flew to the sun." They smiled.

It knows that one. Icarus.

"Five, four, three, two-"

It does not feel pain. Anomaly does, cataloged at 1800 hours, October 2. They bleed. It does not, unless motor oil counts. But the jolt and the fire could be pain. But it does not need pain.

Rising temperatures, cataloged. Rising light levels, cataloged. Rising speed, cataloged. 0900 hours, July 7. Dangerous. Danger, cataloged. 

The speed, the heat, the light continues despite the cataloged danger. The Makers may receive its catalogues, They do not tell it if They do.

The catalogued danger is removed. There is no more danger in the cataloged speed and heat and light. There is only calm.

If it could like things, it would like calm. And then the speed is gone and it is hovering. Lightweight in the air, gravity has lost its feeble grip, and its sensors let it hang there without complaint.

Anomaly's voice comes over the communication-link. "Icarus, travel sleep mode."

And then there is nothing at all.

Sunlight, cataloged. 0300 hours, January 25. I am here. The Sun Planet bears its rays at Icarus as it descends onto the new plane of existence. It is everything suddenly. It is not calm.

256 degrees Fahrenheit, cataloged.  0300 hours, January 25. It is time for the job, the purpose. The name Anomaly gave it has a purpose and it will fulfill it. The Makers will enjoy the Sun Planet's data.

Sand, cataloged. Sky, cataloged. Temperature, weather, life, cataloged. Beauty, cataloged. 0400 hours, January 25. Send data.

There have been many hours. There have been many catalogues. There have been fifteen July 7s here. If it could like, it would like to spend fifteen more. It has almost been here for sixteen.

There is the sun on the Sun Planet. Not a singular place to hide. And there is sand. Nothing but sand on the Sun Planet. Life forms evade it. It has not cataloged many. None like the Makers.

None like Anomaly. 

It rolls along anyway. The weather, cataloged. A pattern, too much wind, cataloged. The sun is growing dimmer, cataloged. 1700 hours, June 8. A storm is coming. Send data.

 It rolls along anyway.

Storm cataloged, 1000 hours, June 9. Dust is winding around it and it can no longer roll along.

It sits and gathers data from the wind. 

Wind 70 miles per hour, cataloged. No sun, cataloged. Dust, cataloged. The dust rains over it. It covers the solar panels it uses to move.

It will blow away. It - i - remember(s) Anomaly again.

The storm has stayed. The wind has stayed. And it cannot recharge. It feels itself dwindling at the edge of one percent and zero. It doesn’t have enough to gather more data. The Sun Planet will not give it the sun to do so. Solar powering down.

It stays put and conserves. It wants to collect more for the Makers. It does not have the capacity to want. I do not.

The sun is still gone, cataloged. 2200 hours, June 10. My battery is low, cataloged. Send data. Anomaly, cataloged. Send data.

It's getting dark, cataloged. I do not like the dark. Send data.

Icarus does not have more data. Icarus does not have more power. Blink, sensors on and off. They do not sense anything anymore.

Anomaly. I remember. Icarus flew too close to the sun. Anomaly, I remember. Send data.

It is calm. If Icarus could like, it would like calm.