"We're catapulted through the stars,” he whistles, a sound that cuts through the bar’s hum, more metallic whine than melody. "But the worst part?" His gaze sweeps across the silent, captivated faces of the new recruits. He pauses for effect. "Takeoff!”
He catches his reflection, a boxy shape with a few dings and the surprisingly sharp lines of his attire. He scans the mission patches marking his arms: navigating nebulae around asteroid AR-263, extracting ice from Excelsior 9, the unforeseen rescue of the Njord crew. A flicker of pride softens his features. Why shouldn’t he hold court here? Indeed, he was an Atlas, the Atlas. An entire cadre had been named for him. He was the prototype, the trailblazer — and after him, the mold was instantly duplicated.
A mechanical hand sets a drink down on the bar, “Thanks, love. Put it on their t-t-tab.” He jerks his head, an practiced tick.
“Do I look like I carry a wallet?” he drawls, a hint of self-deprecation softening the boast. His companions erupt in laughter.
"Anyway, where was I?" He pauses with a hint of wistfulness, “I like being sent first. Are we trailblazers or expendables? Depends on who you ask, I suppose. He shrugs, the motion stiff and mechanical. "But there's a thrill to it, don't you think? We’re the first to set eyes on a new world. We’re like rockstars, minus the glory…” He sets a hand on the shoulder of a new recruit. “That’s our story, you and me, man!”
The attention of the recruits, new to the scene and seemingly just out of the box, clicks with an intensity that captures the room’s focus. Any movements cease, making the air still, giving room to his voice.
“The first time I blasted off, I was sure I'd come apart. I felt like I’d end up a bucket of loose parts. It was nothing like the sleek cruisers we have now." He rests his three-fingered hand on the bar, rhythmically tapping.
Leaning back, he recalls, “Back before I was first assembled—what, a dozen cycles ago, we were packed into tiny capsules. Every part of us folded to fit. Launched like cargo. And we mostly were – a limited tool kit and a camera. We’d crash land, roam, and snap a few photos. End of mission.”
A flicker of pride passes over his features, momentarily softening the years etched into his surface. “I was proud to be the first to complete a round trip. They had to know we could bring back more than data. We became like settlers with return postage!”
“And, man, even now, when I hit orbit, I get this rush. Batteries charged, motors revving—I’m ready to move!”
His displays brighten, transforming his sturdy form with the excitement of exploration. “There’s no feeling quite like being the first to lock treads onto untouched sand, to feel the crunch of alien ice beneath you. To chart the unknown. A thrill only we pioneers truly know. A feel you’ll know soon.”
As the recruits gather closer, united by shared anticipation, he continues, “Every nut, bolt and wire, will wear smooth with countless miles. While inside, the thrill of discovery burns bright. We may be only gears in the cosmic machine, but we carry the spirit of discovery.”
He raises his glass. “And now, as I find my own horizon nears, it's not an ending I face, but a new frontier. One you will explore, forging paths I dared only dream of. This isn't just a legacy...it’s a beacon you will amplify, casting light further into than I ever could. Together we stand, not just as tools of exploration, but as the very essence of curiosity and adventure.”
With the room hanging on his every word, he concludes, “Remember, the trails we blaze, the worlds we survey, the mysteries we help unravel—these are our mark on the cosmic canvas. We are not just participants in this grand adventure; we are its narrators, born of human ambition, shaped by the stars themselves. We, my friends— from the seasoned to the newly forged — are pioneers.”
The recruits stand transfixed, optics wide in wonder, a hum of shared excitement vibrating through the air.
“To the new frontier!” he proclaims.
Their unified response, a chorus that starts as a hum, then vibrates through the station's metal bones. The echo carries outward, weaving through corridors, past flickering displays, until it seems to pierce the station's artificial hull to whisper among the stars.
Backstory
When I first drafted Pioneers, sometime in 2019, it was a robot mouthing off in a bar. As if some future version of the Curiosity rover was the town drunk and would tell his story to anyone that listened, patting everyone on the back, spilling his drink and calling them “pal.”
What I prefer about the new version is a couple of things: 1) a slow reveal that the speaker, and indeed all the other occupants of the bar, are robots 2) that a robot could give a pep talk to new recruits and 3) it implies some amount of sentience to the robots. Where all that leaves mankind is up to you to decide.
Great concept here, J. I love this line: "We may be mere gears in the cosmic machine, yet we embody the spirit of discovery." And this: "A flicker of pride passes over his features..." Ahah!