151 P.E.D.
The apartment was spacious, well-lit, and filled with comforting, if slightly eccentric, furnishings. The afternoon sun filtered through tall windows, casting warm patterns across the polished floors. A wall of glass-fronted cabinets housed Laz's extensive collection of scientific equipment, each shelf meticulously organized. His prized electron microscope held a place of honor near his desk, which was covered in neat stacks of research papers and data tablets. A series of terrariums lined one wall, each a perfectly controlled environment for various Martian microorganisms Laz was studying. Even Bud's computer terminal was tastefully designed, disguised as an antique brass and wood side table.
Bud lounged on a plush dog bed, the soft material conforming perfectly to his body. Laz had ordered it custom from a boutique manufacturer on Olympus Mons. Beside him, Moose's warmth pressed against his flank, her breathing slow and steady. Bud huffed a contented sigh and permitted himself to doze.
On the couch, Laz sat with his wife leaning against him, their backs to Bud. She reached over, stealing a sip from Laz's drink. "Hey!" he protested, though his mock offense quickly dissolved into a grin as he pulled her closer.
Their android housekeeper entered, metallic features catching the sunlight. It stopped to vacuum a stray hair from the carpet, the noise momentarily startling Moose from her slumber. Bud huffed in the robot’s direction, though it had already moved on.
"Would the missus care for a drink of her own?" the housekeeper inquired, voice modulated to perfect politeness.
"No thank you," Laz’s wife replied. There was a smile in her voice, causing Bud to forget his temporary vexation and snuggle closer to Moose.
Time passed in a pleasant haze. Bud's enhanced hearing picked up fragments of conversation between Laz and his wife—mundane discussions about dinner plans, gentle teasing about Laz's latest experiment, soft laughter at shared jokes. The news On the vid-screen provided a steady background drone, something about android voting rights and public assembly restrictions.
Suddenly, the anchor's voice cut off mid-sentence.
"I was listening to that," Laz's wife protested.
"I prefer the sound of your voice," Laz replied. "And the contented sighs of our dogs." His wife snorted, but then kissed him, the sound soft in the quiet room.
Bud huffed, the canine equivalent of rolling his eyes at such mushiness. But truthfully, he didn't mind. The peaceful domesticity of the moment wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and he let himself drift further toward sleep.
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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.