MICHAEL OF MARS

Chapter One

Michael had always wanted to be a Martian actor, whilst his parents wanted him to be an engineer, like his father, and his father before him. Only a few were chosen to be engineers, and only a few of them were destined innovators by the Algorithm – the quantum computer that governed all social roles. But, when the fateful day came, at age twelve, Michael knew that he was not going to be an engineer, something deep inside him told him, but it wouldn't tell him what he was going to be.

"Well?" Said his mother, staring down at him with those deep brown eyes and olive skin. She wasn't tall for a Martian, ordinarily, but her not so discrete high heels gave the impression and Michael pretended not to notice.

"Well what?" He replied, putting his glass helmet education down to one side, and letting it melt back into the house's artificial structure.

"How was it? Your last lesson? Was it something mechanical, something mathematical, scientific?"

"Why yes mother, it was. There was a giant cog, a machine cog, and lots of other cogs," he said, his voice mocking and poised, and she sighed. "No mother. All I can remember learning is some nuanced genetic biology, fertilisers, and dome membrane- boring stuff."

"All Martians have the same education," she said more to herself than to him. Yes, she thought, he is a quick learner of science, and no doubt the Algorithm will recognise it. He will be an engineer, he will, she was sure of it, and he would be a four voter, like his father was. Then the family would be respected, two engineers, two four voters, and her – a three voter albeit, but nevertheless a wise woman. The Algorithm knew she was wise, and that she only needed three votes to have the effect others did with four. She knew it.

"If you don't mind, mother, I'd like to go to my room."

She shook her head, freeing herself from her thoughts, not quite knowing how long she had been standing there over him. "Yes, yes. All the time you need. Do sleep soon, tonight, so you wake up early for graduation. You will be there early, one of the first and the Algorithm will see."

"The Algorithm doesn't care how early you come to graduation, mother," said Michael but as he said it, he did wonder, would the Algorithm note even such a fine detail? Surely there were tangible variables it considered, some were more obvious than others: intelligence, memory, personality traits- but could earliness be one? Perhaps. He would be early, not for his mother's sake, but for his own. The Algorithm would make him an actor, would agree to his wises, if he was early.

Michael headed up to his room and using his hand, activating the holographic device, and flicking through various compositions. He could make a theatre, or an opera, or a simple stage and then, with more machine-atoms, he could form a crowd too – and other actors, who could repeat lines he gave them. That was good practice, and it would surely help him on the rankings too. Tomorrow, he knew, would be the first day in his life that his rankings in every skill would be available. No doubt he would be in the top few percent of all actors, and the bottom few in engineering subjects, and mother would weep, but he wanted more. To be number one, not one thousand, especially not anything less than that.

There were a great many actors he admired. Especially Harla, she was the best actor in the world, by ranking, and she was incredible. Some say that her greatest performance included her own identity, the true mark of the great, to be nobody and everybody at once. She was in all the best movies, from The Birds of Prey to Tales from Venus – and that was going to be a classic. He sat about acting out her performance, repeating that iconic line as she, or Gwyneth, had killed the ugly capitalist and freed Venus like Isaac had freed Earth! Poison it was, and through a lovers kiss, and the antidote was tears. She knew if she didn't cry for killing him then she wasn't worth saving either. Michael could cry, too, on command and so he was worth saving.