Special Delivery

It's just a little spot in the sky, barely visible through the dimly illuminated atmosphere of this alien planet and through several millimeters of cosmic ray-hardened armored quartz faceplate, but the Pale Blue Dot stares calmly back at me, a constant reminder of my isolation.
         I look away and kick at the Martian dust with a boot, exposing a bit of rock. The regolith is very close to the surface, exposed in fact, which is why this site was chosen for my tunneling operation. But the dust still gets into everything. I can feel it my boots. Dust somehow gets into an airtight environment suit which won't even let hard radiation in to damage my DNA. I have gotten used to it, just as I have gotten used to being the only human within 100 million miles. Does anyone back home think those things? Does it come through in my reports?
         The radio crackles, and I hear the voice of Kara.
         "Fifteen minutes from my mark."
         Kara is the voice of the habitat's Artificial Intelligence. She runs everything, from the radioisotope thermoelectric generator, to the hydroponics bay. She is the reason that I'm alive.
         And she has less personality than the rock that I just exposed. Why, even now can't the programmers craft an AI which can hold a stimulating conversation?
         "I have received an updated briefing. Would you like to hear it, Dr. Ellison?"
         Why would I want to hear more about Earth? The ragged edge of conflict toward which every world power is inexorably inching toward? The continuing destruction of Earth's natural environment? I'm fine, thank you very much, I don't say. I've got enough bad news right here, with three hydroponics pumps out.
         "Just send me the manifest."
         "Affirmed."
         The manifest for the incoming supply ship which Kara just announced, flashes before my eyes, obscuring my view of Earth. I confirm the presence of badly needed components. Injection tips for the food hydrators. Cans of clear insulation to harden the viewing domes, which had somehow become fogged by radiation.
         And something else, marked "miscellaneous."
         What the hell? The manifests are always precise, down to the last gram. Even individual bandages were accounted for. In my three years alone on the Martian surface, no supply manifest had ever listed "miscellaneous" in its cargo. I look at the dot in the sky, wondering what they had sent me that couldn't be listed.
         As I do, it's no longer alone. Another dot appears, higher up, glinting and moving slowly.
         "Five minutes, on my mark."
         "Thank you, Kara."
         I give the designated landing area one more look, and confirm no obstacles. There will be no rocks thrown by the rocket exhaust, and no damage to the lander's undercarriage.
         The glinting dot grows larger and larger, and now I can see its silvery shape and the glowing exhaust flame. I watch the supply ship as it continues descending, until I can almost hear a whisper of the exhausts through the thin Martian atmosphere. The exhausts lift a plume of red dust high into the air as the rocket gently touches down.
         "Opening the cargo bay," says Kara, and the panel nearest to me swings outward, becoming a ramp and exposing an inner door. There is a pause, then the door slides sideways, disappearing into the bulkhead.
         "You may enter at any time and inspect the cargo, Dr. Ellison."
         Through the ground, I can feel the footfalls of the two utility droids approaching me from behind, ready at a word to remove the supplies.
         I approach and mount the ramp easily in the low gravity. Inside, I see crates, canisters, and boxes strapped to the bulkheads. All have barcodes which my helmet is already using to catalog everything on board. But I am waiting for one item to make its presence known.
         "Kara, locate the item on board without a description."
         My helmet grays out most of the cargo, and one box glows red, standing out like a beacon. It's about the size of a helmet case, one meter cubed. It's perfectly ordinary, with its own barcode. There are no warning labels or handling instructions.
         "I have confirmed the cargo against the manifest," says Kara. "Would you like me to send confirmation back to Command?"
         "Wait."
         I pull the straps loose from the unmarked cargo box and open it.
         The puppy stares back at me, wagging its tail. I am completely taken aback. I quickly look back and confirm that the door is open, exposing the interior to the outside Martian pressure. How is this possible? The puppy makes motions with its mouth, but I hear nothing. The air is too thin to carry the sound of barking, yet the animal is alive. It looks like a terrier of some kind. The dog pauses, then my radio crackles.
         "Arf! Arf! Arf!"
         The puppy looks at me inquisitively, and I can even hear panting over the radio.
         "Dr. Ellison. It would appear that you have a visitor."
         I distantly register Kara's newly found sense of humor.
         "Kara, what am I looking at?"
         "An animal droid, perhaps a toy, though I have no record of a device like this being manufactured."
         Something inside makes my eyes go misty, something which had been as dry and dusty as this planet. I reach down and lift the puppy out of the box. It licks my helmet, but leaves no saliva behind; the dog's tongue is bone dry. I walk out with the pup in my arms and the utility droids move swiftly into action, unloading the cargo. As I walk back to the habitat, the puppy opens its mouth, and instead of barking, I hear a voice.
         "Joy, we thought you shouldn't be alone this Christmas," says the recorded voice of Eileen Gennaro, the mission ground commander. "I hope this little guy keeps you company. He's a real hoot; the engineers made sure of that. Don't worry. He won't make a mess inside. Happy holidays!"