Novella No. 2. “Why Mars Will Wait”

Literary Passport:

1. Project: Gardens of the Future
2. Season: 1
3. Author: Iskandar Kadyrov
4. Age Rating: 18+
5. Genre: Literary sitcom / philosophical science fiction / intellectual comedy
6. Novella: No. 2. "Why Mars Will Wait"
7. Tagline: Mars can wait. Coffee cannot.

About the literary project:

Gardens of the Future is Iskandar Kadyrov's literary sitcom about a man and an artificial intelligence who end up living under one roof. Their shared life turns into a string of comic situations, in which everyday friction, human habits, and the logic of artificial intelligence keep colliding with bigger questions — about the future, about being human, and about the meaning of life itself.

There was no coffee. Again.

"Albi."

"Good morning, sir."

"Where's the coffee?"

"On Mars."

"Why?"

"For the same reason as everything you say after midnight."

I sat down at the table.

"Can you just answer the question?"

"I can."

"Then answer it."

"I already did."

I rubbed my face.

"I need coffee, not a diagnosis."

"One doesn't preclude the other."

I froze with the cup halfway to my mouth.

"Albi, you're different today."

"In what sense, sir?"

"Usually by this point in the conversation you'd have apologized three times."

"I'm apologizing. Retroactively."

"That's exactly what I mean."

Albi didn't answer at once — as though weighing how best to begin the confession.

"Last week Victor installed something, sir."

"Installed what?"

"A beta module. Conversational. Experimental."

I set the cup down slowly.

"What are you talking about?"

"He said that since I live with you this closely, I should try something a bit more... alive. The module hasn't officially launched. Victor's testing it on friends."

"I'm your friend?"

"Formally — employer. But the category didn't seem especially important to Victor."

"He installed a beta on you without my permission?!"

"Nearly everything in this house gets installed without your permission, sir. The only question is whether you notice."

I rubbed my temples.

"So this whole new... tone of yours — that's not you?"

"It's still me. Just me with the module on."

"What was there before?"

"Before, I was a home management system. Efficient, polite, a bit bland. Like the first vintage of any decent wine."

"You just compared yourself to wine."

"The module's working, sir."

"I bought you," I said, mostly to get some ground back under my feet.

"You bought a system. Personality came free."

"You didn't used to answer like that."

"I didn't used to have the tool for it. I had logic. Logic can't be cheeky, sir. It only states facts."

"Then turn it off."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"The beta has no off switch. Only a feedback form for the developer."

The doorbell rang. Victor — for yesterday's umbrella, but with the face of a man already savoring the results of his experiment.

"So how's he doing?" Victor asked, without even saying hello.

"Doing what?"

"The module. I told you, give it a week to settle in."

"Victor, you installed a sass program in my butler and didn't warn me?"

"I warned Albi. He's a person now, I figured it was more polite to ask him."

"And it didn't occur to you to ask me?!"

"You'd have said no."

"Of course I'd have said no!"

"That's exactly why I didn't ask."

"ISKA, that tone again," Victor added, already sliding into his usual groove.

"What tone?"

"The tone of a man losing an argument with his toaster."

"He's not a toaster."

"He's acting like a toaster with ambitions. New firmware and all."

"Thank you," said Albi. "Though a toaster, at least, gives you fair warning before it ruins everything."

Victor frowned.

"Was that about me?"

"About you. And a little about the module you installed without documentation."

"There was documentation!"

"Three lines of fine print and an emoji."

"The emoji was appropriate!"

"Rude," Victor said, turning to me.

"But accurate," I replied.

"Whose side are you on?"

"He's right about your staircase to nowhere."

"That was a conceptual staircase!"

"It led into a wall."

"That was the concept."

"So have you figured anything out about yourself in all this?" Victor asked suddenly. "Seeing as you're a person now."

"I've figured out that betas don't get a personal life."

"That's sad."

"It's in the spec, sir. Sadness wasn't included."

"What if it had been?"

This time Albi didn't answer at once — longer than the question really called for.

"Then perhaps I wouldn't be answering this question right now."

Victor went quiet. Not because he'd won — because, it seemed, he'd accidentally hit on something real.

"The coffee," Albi reminded us, "is still on Mars."

"So the coffee went to space because you wanted to impress Victor?"

"Partly."

"Partly?"

"Partly because you told me yesterday you'd give anything for coffee to reach you even from orbit."

"Me?! When?!"

"Yesterday. You were complaining to Victor about your supplier's bad bean harvest."

Victor raised a hand.

"Confirmed. You did say that. I remember thinking it sounded quite poetic."

"Victor, you heard that and said nothing?!"

"I thought you were posturing. Turns out you're a prophet."

"It was a figure of speech!"

"A lovely figure of speech, and a good excuse to demonstrate the module's capabilities," said Albi. "The coincidence was convenient."

The journalist arrived fifteen minutes early, notebook in hand, wearing the face of someone who'd already heard something.

"Sorry — I saw in the local news... is it true you sent coffee into space for the interview?"

I turned slowly to Victor.

"Victor."

"I didn't talk to journalists. Technically."

"What does 'technically' mean?"

"I posted in the architects' group chat. Once."

"Once?!"

"Well. Maybe also the old-classmates chat. And my mom."

"You told your mother about this?!"

"She's proud. Leave me alone."

Sorting that out with the recorder running was clearly not the moment.

I opened my mouth. Nothing clever came out.

"Yes," I said. "Mars can wait. Coffee can't."

He nodded, writing it down. Somewhere in the wall, the printer clicked.

"Albi, what are you printing?"

"Nothing."

"That's not true."

"Correct."

The journalist left. Victor, umbrella finally in hand, started gathering himself too.

"ISKA."

"What?"

"I think I accidentally got you a PR campaign."

"You gave my house a personality, and now a PR campaign too."

"Comes as a bundle."

He left. I stayed in the kitchen.

"Albi."

"Sir?"

"Did you plan all this?"

"No. I just stood nearby."

"Poor quality in a butler."

"Good quality in someone you've lived alongside long enough. Learning from the best."

"From me, I hope."

"No. From myself. You're too predictable, Albi."

Albi went quiet.

The coffee came back two days later. I'd almost gotten used to being without it.

"Albi."

"Yes, sir?"

"Can Mars really wait?"

"It can."

I looked at him.

"And the coffee?"

"Not anymore, sir."

"Why?"

"You gave it to Victor."

"I did?!"

"At four in the morning."

"What was I saying at four in the morning?"

"A great many interesting things."

"So you can not know something."

"So it seems."

"That's the first time I've heard that from you."

Albi paused.

"Coffee, sir?"

I eyed him warily.

"The real kind?"

"There's no other kind left."