iD by Madeline Ashby Page B

about Xavier had said about generation ships. They sounded sort of mythical, like jetpacks or flying cars.
    “It’s really a shame,” she said, without turning to face him. “They were really onto something, here. I know why they used meat – it’s harder to detect, and it surprised us – but the tissue could have been put to better use. I think it may be a prototype for something else. I think the whole invasion was the prototype for something else. Something bigger. I think there’s another reason for all of this.”
    “I love you,” Javier said.
    Amy turned, finally. She was wearing white again. She was wearing the torque. Unlike human women, her eyes did not turn red with crying. The skin under them didn’t puff up. But he could tell. He had learned how to tell.
    “I love you, too.” She sounded careful. Cautious. As though the love itself wasn’t the point. Which it wasn’t.
    “And I’m sorry,” he added. “I know you were just trying to protect me.”
    Amy nodded. “I was.” Her lips pursed. “I was just so angry. And I was jealous, too. I’m not very proud of that. But…” The white line of her lips grew even thinner. “If he hurt you, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”
    Javier closed his eyes. “Of course I would.”
    “OK.” Her arms closed around him. “This is why I don’t want to take advantage of you,” she said. “Do you understand, now, what it would mean if I took advantage of your failsafe like that?”
    Oh, yes. Yes, he did. He understood it better than she could know.
    He kissed the top of her head. He hugged her back. “I understand.”
    She butted up under his chin like a cat. “Thank you.” She hugged him harder. “I don’t like being mad at you. I’m sorry I was.”
    He squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s OK. You can get mad at me. I deserve it.”
    “No, you don’t. You really don’t. We were both working our own protocols. They just happen to be different.”
    Javier had spent most of his life being dishonest about one thing or another. He had stolen money from most of his lovers. He had lied to them about coming back. None of those lies – those small, petty, human lies – had prepared him for this one.
    “I got you something,” he said. “It came in on the shipment.”
    It would be OK, he told himself, as her slender fingers closed on the wrapper. She had pulsed him. Pulsed the whole island. For their own good. And this was for her own good, too. In a way. For their own good. Because Powell would leave. Powell would not do anything worse. And then they could figure something out. They could make it better. They could make sure she never got hurt. Ever.
    “Thank you.” The wrapper rustled noisily as she tore it open. She snapped off a piece and held it out. “Would you like some?”
    “That’s OK,” Javier said. “It’s for you, remember?”
    “If you say so.” She popped it in her mouth and smiled.
    Nothing happened.
    “Are you OK?” Amy asked.
    “Sure,” he heard himself say. “It was just a long night.”
    She nodded. She sat down cross-legged on the bed. Then she made room for him, and he joined her. “You said something was strange about the lions,” she said.
    Javier nodded. “I think they’re talking to each other. José told me to look into it. So I did, and they are.”
    She still looked fine. Normal. She kept eating. She nodded to herself.
    “That’s not good,” she said. “They’re part of the island’s default defence mechanism. So I can understand why they would attack a human being, but not why they would be spending time together. They’re supposed to watch the kids, not each other.”
    “About that,” Javier said, “what exactly is the island’s default defence mechanism?”
    She frowned. “You really want to know?”
    He nodded.
    “You’re not going to like it.” She put the poison down. “But I guess, since we’re being so honest, I should tell you.” She picked up his hand and stroked it. “It’s