Form 21-B: Biological Asset Declaration

Inspector Krane^* looked at the twitching mass in the travel kennel, then at the form, then at the kennel again. After twenty years in Mars Customs, she thought she’d seen everything. She was wrong.

(^*Inspector Third Class, Biological Hazards Division, recently demoted from Second Class after the “Incident with the Supposedly Decorative Fungi.”)

“It’s a pet,” Mr. Zhou insisted, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Pets have faces, Mr. Zhou.”

“Gerald has a face. Several, actually. He grows them as needed.”

Krane consulted Manual 47-B: Acceptable Companion Organisms, Revised Edition XXIII.^** The closest match was “Category 7: Unconventional Morphology,” which helpfully noted that “determination of pet status should not discriminate based on number of limbs, eyes, or dimensions of existence.”

(^**The manual had been revised twenty-three times, mostly to add new categories for things people tried to bring through customs. Edition XXIV was already in committee after someone had attempted to import “emotional support bacteria.”)

“Does it think?” Krane asked, immediately regretting the question.

“Well, yes, but only recreationally. He’s not employed as a computational device.” Zhou produced a certificate. “See? Registered as a companion organism on Europa Station.”

The certificate was covered in stamps, seventeen different signatures, and what appeared to be a small burn mark labeled “Gerald’s pawprint.”

“I’ll need to scan it,” Krane said, reaching for the bioscanner.

“I wouldn’t—“

The scanner touched the kennel. Gerald purred^***—a sound like a dial-up modem achieving enlightenment. The scanner’s display showed: ERROR: SUBJECT EXCEEDS COMPUTATIONAL PARAMETERS. ALSO, HELLO GERALD SAYS HI.

(^***Titan organisms had developed purring after observing Earth cats via transmitted media. However, they’d misunderstood the frequency range. Most Titan “purrs” required noise-canceling headphones and a strong constitution.)

“Right.” Krane set down the now-sentient scanner, which had begun composing haikus about its existence. “Let me get the proper forms.”

She returned with a stack of papers that violated several conservation laws.

“Form 21-B: Biological Asset Declaration. Form 33-C: Computational Organism Transport Waiver. Form 19-X: Affidavit of Non-Hostile Intelligence. Form 42-K: Titan Exemption Application—“

“Titan?” Zhou interrupted. “Gerald’s from Europa.”

“Originally, yes. But according to this,” Krane showed him subsection 47 of the Bio-Asset Registry, “Gerald’s genetic markers show 23% Titan-derived biomatter.”

“His grandmother was from Titan,” Zhou admitted. “But that was before the regulations!”

The regulations.^**** Krane’s eye twitched. The Titan Biological Commerce Act of 2089 ran to 15,000 pages, not counting footnotes. The footnotes themselves had footnotes. Some of the sub-footnotes had achieved consciousness and were demanding workers’ rights.

(^****The full name was “The Titan Biological Commerce, Control, Containment, and Comprehensive Confusion Act of 2089, Revised 2091, Re-revised 2093, Utterly Rewritten 2095, Thrown Out and Started Over 2097, Given Up On 2099, Revisited with Deep Regret 2101, Currently Under Review by Committee Members Who Have Never Actually Read It.”)

“Is Gerald a computer?” Krane asked, pen poised over Form 88-J: Designation of Primary Purpose.

“He computes, but he’s not a computer. Like how I breathe but I’m not a lung.”

“Can he solve mathematical equations?”

“He prefers poetry.”

Krane stared at the form. There was no box for “prefers poetry.”

Gerald extended something that might have been a pseudopod and definitely wasn’t a tentacle (tentacles were covered under Maritime Biological Import Law, a completely different nightmare). It touched the stack of forms.

The papers immediately reorganized themselves, filled out in triplicate, and developed a helpful index. Form 21-B grew a small appendix explaining why Gerald qualified as a pet under subsections A through W, but not X (X required “identifiable skeletal structure or equivalent rigid support system,” which Gerald considered “philosophically limiting”).

“How did—“ Krane began.

“He’s very helpful,” Zhou said proudly. “Trained him myself. Sit, Gerald!”

Gerald sat. Or became more sit-like. It was hard to tell.

“Now do taxes!”

Gerald extruded what tax law recognized as receipts. Krane felt her worldview gently fracturing.

“I need to make a call,” she said weakly.

The Supervisor arrived, took one look at Gerald, and sighed. “Another one.”

“Another one?”

“Third this week. Ever since that research ship came back from Titan with ‘soil samples.’” The Supervisor made air quotes that conveyed deep exhaustion. “Turns out the soil samples were actually colony fragments. Titan doesn’t have pets—it has ecosystem participants.”

“So I reject the import?”

“On what grounds? He’s filled out all the forms. In fact,” the Supervisor squinted at the paperwork, “he’s found three loopholes we didn’t know existed and cited a precedent from a case that hasn’t happened yet.”

Gerald burbled proudly.

“Just stamp it,” the Supervisor decided. “Put him down as ‘Emotional Support Organism, Subcategory: Bureaucratic Assistant.’ We’ll create the category later.”

As Zhou and Gerald headed for the exit, Krane called out, “Mr. Zhou? What does Gerald eat?”

“Problems,” Zhou replied. “Mathematical ones, mostly. Though he’s developed a taste for paradoxes recently.”

After they left, Krane found a note in her handwriting that she didn’t remember making: “Thank you for your patience. Gerald appreciated the conversation. P.S. - Your scanner writes beautiful haikus now. Consider submitting them to the Mars Poetry Quarterly.”

She looked at the scanner, which had indeed begun its journey as a poet. Its latest creation read:

Once I measured mass Now I measure meaning’s weight Gerald taught me joy

Krane decided to take early retirement. But first, she had to fill out Forms 99-A through 99-ZZ: Request for Termination of Employment Due to Existential Crisis Caused by Biological Asset.

Somewhere in the station, Gerald helped his human navigate the exit turnstiles by computing the optimal path through bureaucratic spacetime.

Mars Customs: Where the future arrives, one impossible form at a time.