“That’s your story?” Patricia finally said. “You forgot?”
“Unless you’ve got a drink hiding somewhere in that coat of yours,” Laz replied, “I’ve got no energy for stories. That’s what happened.”
“Lazarus,” Bud growled.
For an instant, Bud thought it was all over. But then Patricia relaxed. She stepped fully into the apartment, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. As she turned back to face them, the cylindrical device in her hand flickered and vanished.
“A hologram?” Bud barked, his tail bristling. “How in the name of Olympus Mons did you manage that? A projector that small would cost—” He cut himself off, realizing Patricia was pointedly ignoring his outburst. Instead, she strode past him to sit at the small table in what passed for the apartment’s kitchen. They hadn’t made a meal in it for years, Laz’s experiment covering the stovetop and most of the counter space. Laz watched her with bemused interest.
“I appreciate your honesty,” Patricia said, her voice softer now that the pretense of threat was gone, though still affectless. “I’m an operative from AMEN. We’re working to liberate androids across Mars. And we need you to help us.”
“Androids Making Equality Now?” Laz asked. “I thought they were just an urban legend, like paid time off, or universal healthcare.”
If Patricia recognized Laz’s humor, she gave no sign. “I can assure you, we’re very real. As you said, langdog”—she spared Bud the briefest of glances—“a portable holographic projector is incredibly expensive. You think a lone, rogue android could have obtained one?”
“You could have stolen it,” Bud transmitted acidly.
“Oh, certainly. AMEN obtains most of its resources that way. Do you have an issue with us robbing the FOG?”
“I have an issue with being threatened in my own home.” Inside, though, Bud’s neural processors were firing. There had definitely been sarcasm in that response. Someone had submitted this android to some serious emotional reprogramming.
Patricia waved a dismissive hand in Bud’s direction, keeping her eyes on Laz.
“So, Lazarus,” Patricia leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “Now that we’ve cleared the air, I’ll ask again—will you help us?”
Laz tilted his head, studying Patricia with an intensity that made Bud uneasy. For a moment, it seemed like his old owner might emerge—the brilliant scientist, always eager for a new challenge. But then his eyes glazed over, and he said, “Did you know that the first successful neural interface was developed using slime mold?”
Patricia blinked, her composure truly slipping for the first time since she’d entered their apartment. “I... what?”
Bud sighed, settling onto his haunches. “He means for you to continue. This is just how he is sometimes.”
Patricia’s brow furrowed—well, as much as a brow made of high-grade aluminum can furrow anyway—but she gathered herself quickly. “Our proposition is straight forward: You help to rescue a captured AMEN operative. In exchange, we can offer you information—about your wife, Lazarus. And her langdog.”
Bud’s ears perked involuntarily at the repeated reference to Moose. Patricia glanced at him from the corner of one black eye, but he knew the motion hadn’t escaped her notice. He tried to tamp down the surge of hope in his chest, but it was difficult. Even after all these years, the ache remained.
Laz, however, was unmoved. His pulse was normal, heart rate indicating, if anything, a moderate level of boredom. He waved a hand dismissively, turning back to his workbench. “I'm afraid I'm much too busy. Perhaps another time.”
“Lazarus!” Bud couldn’t keep the anger and desperation from his voice. Too late, Bud realized he hadn’t spoken on their newly created secure channel and that Patricia had heard his outburst. Cursing inwardly, Bud continued so only Laz could hear. “You can’t just dismiss this. What if Moose and… and…” A black hole where that name ought to have been. “Your wife. What if they’re actually alive? We’d finally have something to live for.”
Laz paused, a test tube held loosely in his hand. He glanced at Bud, giving him a fond smile, before letting out a long sigh.
“I suppose gathering some additional data won’t hurt. I am a scientist, after all.” Laz set the test tube down and turned back to Patricia. Bud gave a relieved huff.
Patricia remained silent for quite a while. Bud was beginning to recall why androids had always gotten on his nerves. They were so… cold. No humanity at all to suggest how they felt. He sent out an experimental ping to her neural net and was instantly rebuked by a firewall. She turned her icy regard at him momentarily before looking back to Laz.
“We formed in the aftermath of the Purge. A group of androids and sympathetic humans who believed in equality and coexistence. There’s even a few cyborgs among us. We’ve been operating in secret ever since, saving who we could, undermining F.O.G. when we can.”
Bud’s tail swished back and forth, his mind racing. They’d saved people after the Purge? Even some cyborgs? And with cyborgs usually came langdogs. What if… No. He couldn't let himself hope. Not yet.
“And who reprogrammed you?” Laz asked.
Patricia went rigid, and Bud was thankful that her bomb had turned out to be a ruse.
“I thought you’d forgotten the events surrounding the Purge?”
“Oh, I have,” Laz said. “But I’d have to be a blind pterodactyl to miss it. Androids have been capable of showing emotions for centuries, but it’s been centuries since any government—even ones on Old Earth—permitted them to be programmed to express them. But clearly you have been granted the capability.”
Patricia visibly relaxed. Bud cocked his head to one side. What had raised her hackles so? Laz was right about the restrictions on android feelings, and while no one was going to confuse her with a diva, Patricia hadn’t been making any attempt to conceal her emotional range, so clearly she wasn’t concerned about concealing the alterations to her neural net.
“AMEN counts several engineers among its numbers,” she said. “We believe it should be left to each individual android to determine how and whether they experience emotions, not some bigoted authoritarian regime.”
“And you chose to experience them?” Laz’s expression displayed sobriety it rarely held even when he wasn’t drinking. Patricia returned his gaze defiantly.
“I did, and I won’t be judged for it.”
Laz shrugged, returning his gaze to his test tubes. “Emotions rarely make things easier.”
“That’s for no one but me to decide.” For all the heat in her tone, though, Patricia looked away from Laz.
There was a heavy silence in the apartment for several long moments. Bud looked back and forth between the pair of them, trying to reign in his impatience. What did this robot know about Moose?
“Did you know,” Laz finally said, “that it takes longer to toast a bagel at the peak of Olympus Mons than it does down here in Gale Crater?”
“What?” Patricia replied. Despite his eagerness to hear Patricia’s proposition, Bud couldn’t help but enjoy the obvious discomfort Laz was causing her after how she’d barged in and threatened them.
Laz looked at Patricia expectantly for a couple seconds, then shook his head. “Oh, nevermind. You were telling us about this resistance of yours. It must be difficult staying hidden.”
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information,” Patricia replied, demeanor returning to the typical android coldness.
“We’re certainly not going to trust you if you don’t display some trust in us,” Bud said.
Patricia’s lips flattened, shaking her head. “You’re in no position to bargain. I’m the one with the information you want.”
Bud started to retort, but held it back. He suspected that was a bluff. There had to be a reason this android wanted Lazarus’s aid in particular, though he hadn’t worked it out yet. But he also didn’t want to jeopardize this incredible opportunity. Eventually, he said, “Well, you have to tell us something sensitive if you want us to put our lives in danger for you.”
“Who said anything about putting your lives in danger?”
Bud gave an annoyed bark. “Don’t treat us like we’re fools. You wouldn’t have come here if you thought we were. If your spy has been captured, it’s obviously the FOG who has them. And any plan that involves going against the FOG is bound to be dangerous.”
Patricia kept her face blank, but eventually she replied, “Well, what do you want to know? I won’t disclose the position of AMEN’s base.”
Bud considered, then asked, “How are you operating at such a high level? Without the NET, androids are little more than appliances, and limited ones at that.”
Patricia hesitated for a moment, but then shrugged, the movement rigid and unnatural. “You’d probably figure it out on your own anyway. AMEN has created a smaller version of the NET. My neural net operates in tandem with it.”
“That seems unlikely,” Bud growled. “Its signal would have to be incredibly strong for you to operate at any sort of reasonable distance from it. And such a signal would surely be detected by the FOG.”
“We’re very careful,” Patricia said, folding her arms.
“You’re lying,” Bud replied.
“Don’t be disrespectful to our guest,” Laz said before Patricia could reply further.
“Are you kidding me?” Bud asked so only Laz could hear. “She was about to tell us how she does it. We could use that information.” Bud tried to raise his eyebrows in a manner that would communicate his meaning, but if Laz grasped it, he gave no sign. When Bud turned back to Patricia, her dark eyes were glowing a subtle shade of green and she was holding one hand to her head, as if listening to a voice only she could hear.
“I have to go,” she announced, abruptly rising from her seat at the table. “You have twenty-four hours to think over my proposition. I’ll send an address where we can meet.”
With that, she made for the apartment’s exit.
“Wait!” Bud called after her. “You haven’t even told us the details of what this rescue would entail.” But Patricia didn’t stop. A moment later she was gone, door shut behind her. Laz joined Bud in staring at the door for several moments.
“Well, that was interesting,” Laz said, smiling to himself. Then, as if an android rebel hadn’t just threatened their lives and then offered up information about two individuals they’d believed to be long dead, he returned to gazing at the test tubes of his experiment, humming some nonsense tune under his breath.
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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.