Laz had once been a biologist. A man that, even by Bud’s standards, had demonstrated particular intelligence. That’s why, even though he knew the underlying cause, it never ceased to amaze Bud when his owner said something completely preposterous.
“Did you know that parakeets were the first domesticated species on Mars?”
“That’s not true,” Bud growled. Laz didn’t even glance Bud’s way as he continued to inspect the enclosure that held a flock of long-tailed green birds. The robots were the carnival’s main attraction, but it featured all sorts of oddities. They weren’t real, of course. At least, not real in the sense that they’d been born from an egg. Come to think of it, applying that definition, there were very few things on Mars that could be termed “real,” himself and Laz included.
“I always thought it was cats,” Trip’s date said.
Bud growled again. This time, there was nothing to translate.
“Pretty sure it was parakeets,” Laz said.
“Irrelevant.” Trip’s upper lip curled. “The Cathedral is this way.” The young man strode through the crowd as if he expected them to follow. Laz offered his arm to the woman. She turned her nose up at him and strode off after Trip.
“Smooth,” Bud said.
“I think she's coming around.”
“She's coming around to asking her boyfriend to slug you.”
Laz was already following after the woman. Bud wished he could stay behind just to make a point.
As Bud padded after Lazarus, he had to turn down his olfactory receptors. Fried food seemed the only cuisine served by the street vendors, and the scent of it was overwhelming. The geneticists had phased most of the animal urges from Langdog genes, but he still had a hard time resisting the frites fried in the style of the high-altitude pubs on Olympus Mons.
Laz often lamented to Bud about how difficult it must be, being a dog. Bud had similar thoughts about humans. Always being at eye level with all the other humans, inviting conversations? Usually, this section of Dome’s Edge was nearly abandoned, but with the Carnival the streets were packed. It was midday and most passersby wore solar goggles, blocking out the reddish glow of sunlight reflected off the red sands beyond the city’s biodome.
Bud adjusted his receptors again to ensure he didn't lose Laz’s scent. He dodged around heels and boots and hems. Laz smelled slightly sweet from the apple vodka. This made him easy to track—apparently there were few appletini enthusiasts attending the Carnival.
Thunder boomed overhead, causing Bud to glower upward. Hadn’t it just been sunny? The weather controls always seemed to be on the fritz. Bud wondered for at least the fifth time that month how difficult it would be to hack the system and work out a solution. The F.O.G. was obviously never going to do anything about it.
A new smell overcame that of Laz’s unmistakable fruitiness, and for a moment Bud worried he’d permitted his own to stray too far. But then Bud realized they’d reached the Cathedral, and the abrupt odor of android serum made sense.
There was nothing religious about the towering structure. Most worship had gone the way of Old Earth. But Gothic architecture had celebrated something of a revival a few years after the Purge, and the Cathedral was the crowning achievement of that movement, though Bud had run the calculations several times and the amount of public funds F.O.G. had spent on the structure, which stood nearly vacant for much of the year, was borderline appalling given the poverty of much of the city. It was constructed from gray stone veined in red mined from the queries of Vallis Marineras. There were arches everywhere one could be accommodated, crenellations along the roof line, and lots of angles. Gargoyles with wings spread wide cast shadows over the carnival goers.
Trip took the Cathedral’s steps two at a time and entered through double doors made of wood—a real luxury on a planet where the material had to be synthesized in the bio labs of Hellas Planitia. Laz strode along after Trip, still trying (unsuccessfully) to impress the dark-haired woman.
An eruption of sound leaked from the Cathedral’s doors and Bud laid his ears flat as he followed after Laz. A little girl made to reach into his back pocket seconds after they entered but Bud snapped at her and she ran off into the crowd.
“Behave,” Laz said, eyes still focused on Trip's date. Bud considered nipping at his heels.
Inside, the cathedral resembled a mall more than a place of worship. The entry emptied into a wide hallway with tall ceilings. Vendors lined either side, hawking wares that ranged from clothing of questionable decency and food of dubious origin, to items that were even more suspect. One vendor stood behind a table wrapped in a dark, ankle-length coat and wore solar goggles despite the Cathedral’s paltry illumination. Arrayed before him were an array of colored powers portioned into plastic bags. One whiff told Bud the man would have been arrested in an instant if he were to attempt selling his inventory in any other part of the city.
As they continued deeper into the Cathedral, perhaps a dozen people were gathered around a low pen, laughing at whatever was inside. Bud glanced over, then stopped, a growl in his throat. A small robotic dog was stuck in a perpetual programming loop, running after its tail before stopping, barking at empty air, then repeating. Bud had never cared for androids—those emotionless walking circuit boards had always seemed to think (incorrectly) they knew more than Bud did. But pet robots had always been harmless, simple machinations.
Bud sent out a quick query and was unsurprised to find that the dog’s processors lacked any security at all. With less effort than it took to blink, he deleted its recursive programming and put up a firewall with a randomized encryption key. Almost immediately, the creature ceased its chasing and yapping and lay down. The crowd around the pen quickly dispersed and a grimy man who must have been the thing’s owner stomped out of the shadows, cursing.
“Oh, look!” Trip’s date exclaimed, drawing Bud’s attention back toward his owner. “They're doing the moonwalk, my favorite!”
The woman had begun dancing in place. She was standing beside Trip at the base of a circular stage surrounded by people. She moved in a manner that Bud had noted many humans seemed to find appealing, but Trip hardly spared her a glance.
The space centered around the stage was vast, more vendors packed side-by-side, haggling and exchanging credits with customers. Above, spectators hung over balconies to get a look at the scene below. Lights had been positioned behind the stained glass set into the roof, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the performers below.
Here was the main attraction, the Carnival’s namesake. Androids were outlawed for the most part, but were permitted in tightly regulated numbers in a few provinces.
They all looked the same—humanoid in shape, smooth bronze plating on the limbs and faces, silver torsos. Their eyes were multi-faceted sensors, sparkling as they reflected light from the stained glass. They were all unclothed—androids had always been prohibited from wearing garments. Bud rose up onto his hind legs, paws on Lazarus's shoulders, to get a better view. The androids danced like someone’s dream of how a perfect man might move. Lithe. Impossibly graceful. They were gliding backwards across the stage in unison, their not-eyes straight ahead, metal faces incapable of expression.
“Down,” Laz said, shrugging his shoulders.
Ordinarily, Bud would have been annoyed, but he heard the sudden strain in his owner’s voice and so instead obeyed, then gave a comforting nudge against his leg. Lazarus rubbed behind Bud’s ears.
Trip jumped onto the stage, a knife in each hand.
The music kept on playing. A few in the crowd gasped, but most hooted and hollered as drunk humans do, thinking it was all part of the evening’s entertainment. Laz twitched as if to follow Trip. Bud grabbed the hem of his shirt between his teeth, growling as he did so. His collar translated without issue.
“Don’t, Lazarus. This must be why he invited you.”
Laz stopped struggling and Bud released his shirt. He had to peer up through legs and around still-dancing bodies to see what Trip was doing. The young man was face-to face with one of the androids, making lude gestures. The android continued its fluid movements as if it didn’t see him, even though Bud knew it must. For all Bud’s misgivings about androids, they certainly had plenty of reasons to ignore humans.
Trip held his knife before the android’s optical sensors, following the movements of the dance so the weapon stayed in its field of view. With a malevolent grin, he sliced a narrow incision across the dancing android’s chest. It gave no reaction of pain, but a few drops of amber fluid dripped from one of its sensors. Many in the crowd roared with drunken laughter. Trip’s date tittered along with them, though not as loudly as some.
“Mindless hunks of metal,” she said as if reciting a pre-rehearsed line, “just like the F.O.G. says.”
A loud smack pulled Bud’s attention away from Trip. The dark-haired woman stood staring at Laz in shock, a red welt rising on her cheek.
“Don’t be simple, woman!” Laz shouted. “Just because they’re different doesn’t mean they deserve your scorn.”
Trip’s date gaped for several seconds, face slowly darkening. She reached into her pocketbook, coming out with a Personal Defense Article, a sleek bit of metal that looked something like a cross between a comb, an old-Earth pistol, and the modern hadron projectors used by F.O.G. soldiers.
“Touch me again and you’ll regret it.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Laz said, turning back to the stage as if pretty women pulled weapons on him regularly. Which, come to think of it, had occurred before. They hadn’t all been Laz’s fault, but still.
While the lady’s PDA might not have troubled his owner, Bud kept an eye on it. Laz had a steel-bound constitution, but a stunner could still harm him. Ironically, it was Bud’s protective instinct that caused him to miss what happened next on stage, and more importantly, Laz’s reaction.
“You bastard!”
Bud spun, front paws set low, ready for trouble. He’d seen Laz do plenty of stupid things since the Purge, but even Bud was surprised to see his owner sprinting across the stage. The androids had finally stopped dancing, one of their number convulsing in mechanical jerks on the stage floor. More carmine fluid was leaking from a much larger gash across its abdomen. Trip stood above it, his knives green in the stained-glass glow, face cast in a mixture of shadows and scarlet luminance. He seemed ready to drive another blow into the writhing android when Laz reached him, throwing his body between the sadistic young man and the fallen android. More of the audience seemed to be realizing this wasn’t part of the show, but a good many continued their raucous jeers. Whether they continued to believe this was all for their entertainment or simply didn’t care an android was being abused, Bud couldn’t say.
“Stop this!” Laz cried as he shielded the fallen android.
“Why?” Trip’s voice lacked even an echo of compassion. “Bots were created to serve us and then spurned mankind like the thankless scrap they are. They deserve no greater benevolence than a washing machine.”
“Do you regularly attack your washing machine?”
Trip laughed, but Bud saw the look in his eye, saw just where this was going. Bud made to leap onto the stage, but before he could, pain exploded in his hind legs, and he stumbled over with a whimper. Trip raised one of his knives.
“When an appliance breaks, I dispose of it.” His blade dropped and Laz did what Bud knew he would—show the one trait he possessed that made Bud proud to call him owner, made all the hardships of the past fifteen years bearable.
Laz deflected the blow with a forearm. Red fluid splattered across the stage. Despite the pain in his legs, Bud growled in dismay at the wires and circuitry that showed through the gash in his owner’s arm. Laz barely flinched, glancing down just long enough to survey the damage. Laz’s serum was distinctly more scarlet than an android’s, owing to the real human blood mixed with it.
“Cyborg!” Trip exclaimed.
The crowd’s attitude shifted. Quiet settled over the raucous proceedings like a sunset, many sharing nervous glances at the long-forbidden word. Others departed the Cathedral entirely.
“I knew it.” Trip scowled at Laz. “Calling the bots androids? And that dog of yours! The coloring is clever—black with imperfect patches of white on the paws and snout? But its movements were far too arrogant for a mutt. No. That’s a purebred langdog, a cyborg’s companion. They train us at the Academy to ID them.”
“Do they?” Laz asked. “Well, A-Plus, then.”
Trip sneered. “You’ll soon be decommissioned, cyborg.”
“Huh.” Laz sounded entirely unconcerned—Bud wished he shared his owner’s calm.”Tell me. Do they also teach you how to handle the queen ant once the workers have led you through the colony?”
“What?” Trip looked at Laz like he was crazy. His confusion quickly turned to shock as Laz punched him in the gut. Bud heard multiple ribs snap from across the stage. Trip staggered back, gasping, then turned and limped toward an exit at the stage’s rear. Laz pursued but pulled up with a sudden start after only a few steps, as if a leash around his neck had been pulled taught. When Trip realized he wasn’t being followed, he stopped and turned back. He smiled darkly as his eyes fell on Bud.
“So that’s how you’re doing it without the NET. Can’t leave your langdog’s side, eh?”
Laz looked back to Bud. Initially, there was anger in his eyes, but when he saw Bud unmoving on the ground he rushed back across the stage and was kneeling beside Bud faster than any human could have moved.
“It’s okay, Lazarus,” Bud said with another whimper. “Just a stunner. My legs will work again in a few minutes.”
Laz exhaled through his hose, then turned angry eyes at Trip’s date, who still stood nearby with her PDA ready.
“I thought cyborgs were smart,” she said.
“We are,” Laz replied.
“Not when it comes to women, apparently. You never even asked my name.”
Laz was silent a moment, then said, “What is it?”
“Go screw.” The woman turned and disappeared into the crowd. Laz watched her go.
“I never can pick a good one.”
“Lazarus,” Bud said. “Ordinarily, I would love to have a good laugh over your relationship woes. But we need to go.”
Bud left unspoken a growing concern in his mind. He’d been monitoring Laz’s vital signs since Trip had sliced open his arm. Appearances aside, the injury wasn’t particularly serious. But what was alarming was how his heart rate accelerated as he looked after the dark-haired woman. Bud called up the data on Laz’s vitals from since the woman had sat down next to Laz back at the Airlock. His heart rate had been higher than average almost across the board since that time. Laz was a hopeless flirt, but usually it only stimulated him at a superficial level.
“Bud?”
The Cathedral was emptying quickly and those who remained were staring at Laz in fear. A few held hands to ears, obviously making calls on cell chips. When Laz saw Bud’s eye focus on him, the tension in his shoulders eased and he looked back to the stage. Trip was gone. The android he’d murdered lay still, its comrades standing motionless over it. Serum dripped from their optical sensors.
“Come on,” Bud said. “There’s nothing we can do for them.”
Laz looked a moment longer, then nodded.
“They’re just bots anyway, right? Come on, let’s get gone.”
Squatting, Laz scooped Bud off the ground and held him close. He wasn’t a small dog, but Laz carried him as if he weighed no more than a feather. Bud wasn’t one for coddling, but his rear legs were still numb, so he permitted himself to be carried to safety. No one tried to stop them.
Of course, moments later, sirens began to blare.
Click here for the next chapter!
Note: I drafted this story using the assistance of AI. To read about my process, see the following post: https://buymeacoffee.com/dtkane/mars-174-years-after-earth-destruction.
