The officers’ dining hall loomed before them, its polished marble facade out of place with the rest of the Academy’s austere furnishings. Bud could sense Jamie's reticence, the cadet's steps faltering as they approached the ornate entrance. With a gentle nudge against Jamie's leg, Bud urged him forward.
"I'll be here the whole time," Bud murmured, his words transmitted directly to Jamie's earpiece. The cadet's posture straightened slightly, though Bud could still hear the rapid flutter of his pulse.
As they crossed the threshold, the colonel's booming voice greeted them. "Ah, Cadet Wells! Quite the surprise, your success today." His eyes flicked dismissively to Bud. "Especially considering your... substandard unit."
I can run laps around ordinary cysniffers, Bud thought. At least, he’d intended to only think it. But Jamie’s lips momentarily flashed into a grin that showed Bud’s reaction had been translated into his earpiece. The colonel raised an eyebrow at Jamie’s reaction, but thankfully let it pass and showed Jamie to his seat.
Around the room, other officers eyed Bud with thinly veiled disdain, their own cysniffers—each a uniform, solid color, either black or white—sitting motionless at their sides. The temptation to disrupt their perfect order was almost overwhelming. Bud allowed himself a small, private grin of his own as he imagined the chaos of relieving himself in one of their ornate soup tureens. He might be a mechanically engineered super creature, but the instincts of his ancestors still lurked in the recesses of his animal brain.
Bud took up position at Jamie’s feet as the cadet sat down. As Bud scanned the room, cataloging potential threats and escape routes, his gaze locked onto a familiar face. He nearly bolted from the room before checking himself. That would only make things worse, though this was already a potentially terrible development. Sitting across from Jamie was Trip—the young FOG operative from the carnival. He was looking far too pleased with himself, and given the body language of the officers sitting around him, it seemed he was being given ample reason to feel smug.
The colonel raised his voice, commanding the room's attention. "Gentlemen, in addition to our competition winner, Cadet Wells, we're honored to have with us tonight Trip Graves, Cyborg Specialist from FOG central command in Valles Marineris."
A murmur of interest rippled through the assembled officers. Trip nodded graciously, his eyes gleaming with barely concealed ambition. A chill ran through Bud’s circuitry. His blemished face displayed the arrogance of youth, but he otherwise appeared harmless, neither physically imposing nor particularly attractive. But Bud had seen the sick pleasure Trip had taken in torturing that android at the Cathedral. His boyish features seemed even more out of place peaking above his freshly-pressed FOG uniform than they had beside the dark-haired date he’d had with him at the Carnival. But if any of the officers around the table resented his apparent status at such a young age, none showed it. Quite the opposite—everyone seemed to be jockeying for his attention.
Jamie must have sensed Bud's unease, as the cadet's hand discreetly dropped to scratch behind Bud's ears. It was a small risk—handlers generally didn’t show affection toward cysniffers the way owners of ordinary dogs might—but Bud appreciated the subtle gesture of reassurance all the same. He leaned ever so slightly into the touch, grateful for the connection but acutely aware of the precarious situation in which they now found themselves.
As the first course was served, conversation flowed freely around the table. Bud's enhanced hearing easily picked up the various discussions, most centered on recent developments in the ongoing struggle against the android resistance.
"It's been absolute chaos lately," one portly major complained, sawing at his synthetic steak. "Every other day, it seems, we're chasing down some new lead on rogue androids."
"Indeed," another officer chimed in. "The resistance is getting bolder. Just last week, we had reports of an attempted infiltration at the space elevator terminal. We’ve been receiving reports of supplies gone missing for months, now. The quartermasters had all assumed it was just the typical rabble from Dome’s Edge, but I’m beginning to question their judgment.”
Bud's ears perked up at this, though he was careful to maintain his stoic cysniffer facade. It wouldn’t be good news for AMEN if the FOG was getting wise to their use of the elevator.
Trip leaned forward, his voice carrying easily across the table. "That's precisely why I'm here, gentlemen. Central Command is... concerned about the recent uptick in resistance activity. We have reason to believe they're planning something big."
The colonel frowned, setting down his fork. "You mean some sort of attack? Why wasn’t I informed?"
Trip's smile was razor-thin. "I'm afraid that's classified. But rest assured, we're taking every precaution. In fact, that's why I wanted to observe your cysniffer program. We may need to... expand its scope in the near future."
Jamie shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Bud could sense the cadet's growing unease. He pressed his muzzle gently against Jamie's leg.
"Expand how, exactly?" one of the younger officers asked, his tone matching the ambition in Trip’s eyes.
Trip's gaze swept the room. It felt as if his eyes lingered on Bud a moment longer than the rest of the cysniffers, but a quick check of his sensors showed it was just an illusion caused by his omnipresent anxiety over getting caught. "Let's just say,” Trip finally replied, “that we're exploring new ways to identify and neutralize threats. We’ve eradicated most of the free androids, and all but eviscerated the planet’s cyborg population. But those few that remain have become increasingly adept at blurring the perceived line between human and machine. We need to adapt our methods accordingly."
Bud wondered how many people in the room knew what FOG was concealing down the hidden corridor. But Trip’s words also sent a shiver down Bud's spine. What exactly was he planning?
The colonel nodded approvingly, though his frown remained. "Well said, Specialist. We've long advocated for more aggressive measures. These half-breeds and their sympathizers pose a grave threat to the natural order."
Murmurs of agreement echoed around the table. Jamie remained silent, suddenly very intent on his potatoes. But Bud could detect the slight tremor in his hands, the way his breathing had quickened.
“Of course,” the colonel went on, “we’ll need Valles Marineris to provide adequate resources if we’re expected to carry out some sort of counterstrike against the resistance. And any intelligence you have would be most appreciated.”
“As I said, colonel,” Trip replied, voice making plain he was enjoying his position of power, “that intelligence is classified. But I promise you, FOG will make certain that adequate measures are employed to achieve our ends.”
The colonel’s frown deepened, but he nodded and didn’t address Trip further. As the conversation among the dinner’s attendees continued, ranging from operational challenges to the latest in cysniffer technology, Bud's mind raced. He wanted to get out of Trip’s presence as quickly as possible, but he still wasn’t any closer to finding a way into the secured area of the hidden corridor.
"Tell me, Cadet," Trip suddenly addressed Jamie, his tone casual. "What made you interested in the cysniffer program?"
Jamie swallowed hard, clearly caught off guard. His hand shook as he set down his fork. "I... I've always been fascinated by the bond between handler and cysniffer, sir. The way they work together to maintain order and protect our society."
Trip's eyes narrowed slightly. "Interesting. And your unit there—it's quite... unique, isn't it?"
Jamie tensed, and Bud was thankful for the revisions he’d made to his subroutines to enable him to impersonate a cysniffer. Otherwise, Bud would have flinched in alarm.
"He was assigned to me just the other day, sir," Jamie replied, his voice steady despite his obvious nerves. "As for hs appearance, well, we don’t always receive top-of-the-line kit here in Gale City."
Trip leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Really? Who is it who told you that?"
The colonel interjected, his tone jovial but with an undercurrent of tension, eyes flashing briefly toward Jamie. "Now, now, Specialist Graves. Let's not bore our young cadet with talk of the supply chain. This dinner is to celebrate his success in today's exercise."
Trip nodded. "Of course, Colonel." This time, however, it wasn’t just Bud’s imagination that Trip’s eyes lingered on him.
The colonel cleared his throat and went on. "Since we’ve already touched on the topic of the resistance and Central Command’s plans to quell it, I suppose it’s proper to mention that we’re working on a project of our own here that may bear similar fruit."
Trip raised an eyebrow. "Is that so, Colonel? I don’t believe I’ve seen any reports mentioning that."
The colonel's eyes flicked to Trip, a subtle twitch at the edge of his lips. "Well, I can't divulge details, of course. Classified information, you understand. But our work here may uncover the resistance's location very soon."
The table had grown quiet, several officers shifting in their seats and virtually all glancing between Trip and the colonel. Bud maintained his composure but felt the first spark of optimism he’d experienced since entering the dining room. If the colonel was still working on locating the resistance, that meant they hadn't yet broken the AMEN operative. There was still time.
Trip leaned back, his pocked face a stormfront. "How fascinating. I do hope you'll keep Central Command informed of your... progress."
An older officer at the far end of the table snorted. "We’ll share ours as soon as you start sharing yours."
Several officers murmured agreement, though many more looked almost horrified at the apparent challenge. Trip's jaw tightened.
“Mind your tongue,” the colonel snapped at the officer who’d spoken. “Specialist Graves is our honored guest.”
“With respect, sir,” the graying man replied, “nearly everyone at this table outranks Specialist Graves. It him who ought to be showing us some deference.”
As the veiled hostilities continued, Bud discreetly scanned the room, his enhanced vision picking out potential security access points. A keypad by the far door, a retinal scanner near what appeared to be a secure communications terminal. But how to reach them without arousing suspicion?
"Speaking of successes," Trip's voice abrading the room’s already tense atmosphere, "our young Cadet Wells here has shown quite the aptitude. Particularly noteworthy, given his... background."
Jamie stiffened beside Bud.
“I thought we were past discussing the cadet’s substandard cy-unit?” one of the junior officers said. A severe-looking female officer beside him pursed her lips.
"I believe the specialist is referring to the cadet’s mother."
The junior officer coughed, face turning red, and the tension around the table ratcheted up several more notches. Jamie, though, rolled his shoulders, sitting up straight, looking for the first time to have found some confidence.
"My mother never did anything except love me and do what she thought was right."
An awkward silence descended, several officers exchanging angered glances.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Bud spotted an opportunity. An officer's keycard dangled from his pocket, just within reach. Bud didn’t need to run the calculations to know this was the best shot he’d get. With a carefully calculated motion, Bud "accidentally" bumped the table, sending a water pitcher crashing to the floor. As officers jumped up to avoid the spill and servers rushed in with towels, Bud made his move, deftly swiping the keycard and slipping it into Jamie's pack.
Jamie, quick on the uptake, seized the moment. "I apologize. Perhaps its best if I take my cysniffer to the maintenance lab." He rose from his chair. "Please excuse us, and thank you for the honor of dining with you all."
No one tried to stop them as they made their way to the exit, though Bud felt Trip's eyes boring into him. The specialist's lips were pursed, his gaze calculating. Did he recognize Bud, or was he merely angered over the interruption?
Once outside, Jamie let out a shaky breath. "I shouldn’t have said that," he murmured. “About my mother.”
“You’ve got a heart,” Bud replied. “And a conscience, it seems. You shouldn’t apologize for that.”
“FOG operatives aren’t supposed to be soft,” Jamie said, refusing to look at Bud. “What was that you put in my bag?”
Bud desperately wanted to tell Jamie, not just about the keycard, but everything. It’d been so hard, being on the mission alone. Well, he had Laz, of course, but sometimes—maybe more than sometimes—it felt as if Laz were a million miles away even when he was right beside Bud. But still, Bud held back. If he’d misjudged Jamie even a little, the consequences of revealing his plans could be disastrous. And even if Jamie was entirely genuine, there was also a part of Bud that worried about getting Jamie too involved.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Bud said. “I knocked that water pitcher over and you excused us almost immediately.”
Jamie pursed his lips. “So this access card just accidentally fell into my bag? Just like you accidentally knocked over that water?” He slipped the card from his pack and waved it under Bud’s nose.
Bud kept his expression neutral, ensuring no emotion passed through his LANG unit into Jamie’s earpiece. “It was pretty chaotic back there. One of the officers must have dropped it.”
The cadet glowered at him, then slowly made to put the card in his pocket, obviously trying to draw a reaction from Bud. He gave none. Jamie had no way of knowing, but Bud had already copied the card’s access codes during their exit from the dining hall. He didn’t need the physical object now. With obvious exasperation, Jamie shoved the card into his pants pocket and headed toward his quarters without another word. Bud loped after him, feeling both guilty and relieved. Jamie had been warming to him, but now that was likely ruined. But at least he’d be safe if Bud was caught. Bud already had worries aplenty without fussing over Jamie’s wellbeing.
Jamie went straight to bed, pointedly taking his earpiece out to show he didn’t want to talk. Bud lay down in his corner and feigned sleep as well, making extra certain to re-run his scans of Jamie’s vitals several times before concluding the cadet had fallen asleep. Then he prepared to head out, back toward the hidden corridor and toward the imprisoned AMEN operative. It was now or never.
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Note: I wrote this story with the assistance of AI. To read about my process, see the following post:
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