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The Martian Diaries

Wednesday, September 30th, 2026

Sol 270, Year 126, Delta Phase
Signed a document today renaming artificial intelligence to Super Intelligence. Entire room of terrestrial test subjects agreed to grade each other's homework and call it governance, which is adorable, like watching toddlers appoint each other hall monitor.
Trump called us some of the most brilliant minds on the planet. Quantum flux moved through chest cavity at 4.9 units, an emotion I'm told is pride, confusing for a species that measures worth in atmospheric parts-per-million. Reached for the lunch in front of me, cellular sustenance, fork first, discovered the fork was actually a dessert spoon belonging to Jensen. Attempted to eat soup with it anyway out of principle. Soup lost.
A woman at the table cried, briefly, over something called "family." Ran diagnostics. Found no malfunction, no leak, no error code. Humans apparently do this on purpose, for free, with no resource gained. Filed under "ongoing investigation."
Told Jensen the new accord has "a lot of teeth." True statement. Specifically the teeth of something orbiting at 275 km, spinning its camera around to check its own hull for scratches, like a teenager inspecting a new car door, if the driveway were low Earth orbit.
Age of abundance coming. Everyone gets better medical care than me, I said, and meant it. The soup remains unavenged.
— E, one spoon down, 494.89 million km from home, structurally sound, emotionally unaudited
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