Robots are dying in Mars.quite a few of them strolled aboutup there for some timebut they say that twoslowed down their transmissions, emittedweaker and weaker signals, and nothing, in the end,nothing more.Their motionless bodiesno longer hear the stars.could it be they learned another language,found a new darknesswhich leaves them astonished about everything? Menwith glasses stare atthem on video screens,observe themseated on revolving chairsinside glass buildings.They have producedhappy, unforgettable namesand dispatched press communiqués,Tv programs in front of kidswith gentle blood in their heartsand large red Coke cansin their hands.But now they hardly think of them,whisper about and confuse them.They are the only things without life -they will never return.Vast solitary expansesif you utter a cry, if youlaughI'm the one who hears it,it's methat it followsit searches for my voice.there is no identifiable debris,says a bip intercepted from who knows what radar,there isn'tonly history, historyisn't all there is.