The Colorless Efficiency

Engineer Vale stood at the observation port of Deimos Station, her unmodified skin pale as Martian dust. Through the porthole, Earth hung like a diseased eye, its population writhing with chromatic displays visible even from orbit when she magnified the feed.

“Inefficient,” she said to no one in particular. It had become a kind of meditation.

Coordinator 7895 drifted up beside her, their movements precisely calculated to expend minimal energy. Like all Mars-born, they’d opted out of the chromatophore modifications that had swept Earth a generation ago. Their skin was the same utilitarian beige as everyone else on the station.

“The Earth delegation arrives in seven hours,” 7895 stated. “They’ve requested environmental adjustments to accommodate their... displays.”

Vale’s lips compressed — the only emotional expression she allowed herself. On Mars, they’d evolved past the need to advertise feelings. What use was emotion when you could have data?

“Denied,” Vale said. “They can adapt or suffer. We won’t waste power modulating light spectra for their vanity.”

She’d read the studies, of course. Earth’s chromatophore adoption rate had reached 94% in urban centers. The remaining 6% were either too poor for even Basic Gray subscriptions or religious holdouts who believed God intended skin to be one color.

Mars had taken a different path.

“The efficiency reports,” 7895 continued, pulling up a holographic display. “Earth’s productivity has dropped 23% since widespread chromatophore adoption. Time lost to ‘reading’ emotional displays, social negotiations based on color hierarchies, the processing power required to maintain the subscription networks...”

“While our efficiency has increased 34%,” Vale finished. “Yes. I’ve seen the numbers.”

She turned from the port, moving with the economical grace that marked all Mars-born. No wasted motion, no wasted thought, no wasted emotion. Why display what could be computed?

The Earth liaison — Davies, according to the manifest — would arrive painted in whatever expensive emotions his corporation could afford. He’d expect to read the room through skin tones, negotiate through chromatic displays. He’d find only beige efficiency and calculated responses.

“Shall I prepare the standard documentation on our rejection of emotional display technology?” 7895 asked.

“No.” Vale made a decision. “Let them see for themselves. The most efficient communication is demonstration.”

She thought of her grandmother’s stories — the first Mars colonists who’d watched Earth embrace the chromatophore revolution from afar. How they’d made a collective decision: evolution meant moving forward, not painting yourself in primitive emotional displays.

“There is... one thing,” 7895 said, displaying the faint discomfort that passed for embarrassment on Mars. “The liaison’s file indicates he has a Platinum subscription. Full spectrum emotional display, including some wavelengths outside baseline human perception.”

“Irrelevant,” Vale said. “We perceive data, not drama.”

But as she returned to her work — optimizing oxygen recycling algorithms — she wondered what those invisible emotions might be. What feelings had Earth invented that Mars would never know?

The thought was inefficient. She deleted it from her consciousness and went back to her calculations.

Seven hours later, Davies arrived, his skin a riot of impossible colors. The Mars delegation met him in their beige uniformity, unimpressed and unreadable. The negotiation lasted exactly 2.7 hours — the minimum time required for information transfer.

Davies left frustrated, his skin screaming emotions in frequencies the Martians had chosen not to see. Evolution, Vale reflected, sometimes meant knowing what not to become.

In the observation port, Earth continued its chromatic dance. Mars remained beige, efficient, and inexorably pulling ahead.