As the lecture concluded, Bud realized he was expected to stay with his assigned cadet. The thought of leaving Laz alone for an extended period sent a jolt of anxiety through him, but he saw no way around it. With a resigned huff, he followed Jamie to the cadet wing.
While they walked, Bud composed a message to Laz’s room terminal: "Unexpected development. Won't be back until morning. Stay put and stay quiet." He hoped Laz would heed the warning, but Bud wasn’t optimistic.
Jamie's quarters were spartan. White-gloss walls, furniture of a similar material—desk, chair, bed. The only item that didn’t appear to be FOG issue was a framed photo on the desk: a smiling woman beside an android poorly disguised as a human, its metallic skin barely concealed beneath ill-fitting clothes.
"That's my mother," Jamie said, his voice low. "She was... she was executed shortly after the Purge. They said she sympathized with android apologists, but it wasn't true." His tone hardened on the last words, as if daring Bud to contradict him.
Bud couldn't help himself. "If FOG killed your mother, why did you join the Academy?"
Jamie's head snapped toward Bud, but to the langdog's surprise, he said nothing about Bud’s ability to talk. Instead, his face flushed with indignation. "There is no greater honor than working for FOG and upholding the law," he stated, voice clipped. "Now, I'm going to sleep. We have an early start tomorrow. You can sleep there beside the desk."
He motioned at a far corner, then undid his tunic and dropped into bed, speaking a command to turn off the lights. Bud tried to control his racing heart, breathing through his nose to conceal anxious panting. Jamie had only just started training with cysniffers—he must assume all of them were capable of the curiosity Bud had just displayed. Laz already put them at enough risk. Bud couldn’t afford to make another mistake like that.
Once Jamie's breathing had settled into the slow rhythm of sleep, Bud crept to the door. He paused, ears twitching, ensuring the cadet was truly unconscious, then slipped out into the darkened hallway. The nighttime illumination consisted only of strips of red and white LEDs set into the wall paneling.
His paws made no sound on the polished floor as he retraced his steps to the mysterious corridor he'd discovered earlier. The Academy was eerily quiet at night, the usual bustle of cadets and instructors replaced by the low hum of air recyclers and the occasional distant footstep of a patrolling guard.
As he approached the section of wall that had opened earlier, Bud's enhanced senses were on high alert. He scanned for any sign of surveillance, any hint that he might be walking into a trap. But the hallway remained deserted, the only movement the slight swirl of dust motes in the dim emergency lighting.
There didn’t seem to be any way to open it from the outside—no control panel or over-air frequency that Bud could detect. So he just waited. That was something he’d become good at, and with a bit of imagination the dim corridor wasn’t that much different from a poorly lit bar.
His patience eventually paid off. The hidden door slid open, emitting a weary-looking technician. As the man shuffled past, Bud slipped inside, his heart racing. The door slid shut behind him.
Brushed steel walls greeted Bud, the only light supplied by intermittent green strobes that pulsed on and off every few seconds. The effect instantly gave Bud a headache. Doors lined the hallway to either side. Bud approached one, his paw seeking a control panel, but found none, nor any other obvious way to open it. He tried several more with the same result, frustration growing with each failure.
At the corridor's end, Bud faced two doors. One was massive, secured by an encryption system far beyond anything he'd encountered so far inside the Arcademy. The other, smaller and less imposing, yielded to his efforts after only a few moments of probing.
The room beyond was a riot of blinking lights and humming machinery. Banks of computer panels lined the walls, their displays flickering with streams of data. Above them, a bank of video screens drew Bud's attention, each showing what Bud could only assume were the interiors of the locked rooms he'd passed.
Most were empty, sterile chambers with a single chair at their center. But some... Bud's blood ran cold. In several rooms, people – if you could still call them that – were strapped to the chairs, their bodies a grotesque fusion of flesh and machine. Tubes and wires snaked from their skulls and torsos, connecting to ominous-looking devices. Their mouths were open in silent screams, the video feed mercifully muted.
Two screens stood apart from the rest. One showed only the exterior of the large, locked door. The other was blank save for a single word in acid-green letters: SECURED. Bud attempted to activate it but was rebuffed by layers of security protocols even his advanced processors couldn't breach.
Turning his attention to the control panels, Bud realized he could potentially open the other doors from here. He accessed the data streams, his eyes widening as he interpreted the information. Vital signs, chemical compositions, power outputs—the readings left no doubt. These were cyborgs, and the FOG was experimenting on them.
Bud had assumed that identifying the AMEN operative would be simple—a single cyborg held captive by a government that despised all that was cybernetic. Now, faced with this horrific discovery, he was at a loss. Logic dictated the operative must be behind that heavily secured door, but how could he be certain?
More pressingly, how could he break through those security protocols? Bud's mind raced, weighing options and discarding them just as quickly. He needed more time, more information. Perhaps if he could—
A distant sound jerked Bud back to reality. He'd stayed too long. With one last glance at the suffering cyborgs, he slipped out of the control room and back into the green-lit corridor.
The hidden door opened smoothly,seeming to sense his approach, and Bud emerged into the familiar Academy hallway—only to find Jamie waiting, arms crossed and expression unreadable.
For a moment, neither moved. Jamie's eyes bored into Bud, though they looked like nothing but shadowed orbs in the nighttime lighting, lending no hint as to the cadet’s thoughts. Then, without a word, Jamie turned and walked back towards his quarters. Bud followed, his mind whirling with questions and half-formed plans.
As they re-entered Jamie's sparse room, Bud's gaze was drawn once more to the photograph on the desk. The woman's smile seemed sadder now, the poorly disguised android a silent accusation. What would Jamie's mother think of her son now, training to hunt the very beings she'd tried to protect?
Jamie settled onto his bed, still watching Bud. "You're not what you seem," he said finally, his voice low. It wasn't a question.
Bud weighed his options carefully. Denial seemed pointless, but how much could he safely reveal? "Neither are you," he replied, deciding that a calculated risk was his best move.
A flicker of emotion—surprise? fear?—crossed Jamie's face before his neutral mask slipped back into place. "I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do," Bud pressed, gesturing toward the photo with his snout.
Jamie's jaw clenched, but he remained silent, and Bud didn’t dare say anymore. He’d placed his bet, but further gambling would be reckless. Frankly, he’d likely already crossed that threshold. And he’d spent the past week worrying it’d be Laz who would get them caught.
Finally, Jamie pulled a sheet over himself and rolled over, facing the wall. “As I said, early start tomorrow. Don’t wake me again.”
The room’s lights dimmed at a muttered command from the young man, and Jamie said nothing more. For a long time, Bud just sat there, staring at the boy’s still form. Was that the ally he needed laying there? His ticket to learning what had really happened to Moose, perhaps even that she was still alive? Or would he be the doom of not only himself, but Laz and maybe all of AMEN too?
Finally, Bud resigned himself to settling down in the corner beside Jamie’s desk. The metallic floor was cold and unyielding, calling to mind past regrets and unanswered questions. But the discomfort would be worth it if Patricia truly had the answers she claimed. So Bud took Jamie’s advice to heart and searched for sleep. He’d need to be sharp tomorrow. In all likelihood, everything was going to change within the next twenty-four hours.
Click here for the next chapter!
Are you enjoying Bud's adventures? If so, sign up for my newsletter to ensure you never miss the next installment!
Note: I wrote this story with the assistance of AI. To read about my process, see the following post:
buymeacoffee.com/dtkane/mars-174-years-after-earth-destruction.