Ruins

Samm understood. Survival was all she cared for, and for her to leave that behind was more meaningful than he’d given her credit for. “You’re here,” he agreed. “You wouldn’t have left the Preserve if you weren’t truly dedicated to something even more important.” His emotions wrestled inside him, guilt and etiquette warring with the importance of his mission, until finally the latter won out. “Heron, I doubt it comes as much of a surprise to you when I say that I rarely have any idea what you’re thinking and what you are trying to accomplish. But I still trust you, and most of the time that’s good enough. Right now, though, I need to know what you’re trying to do by accompanying us. Maybe you want to help us on our mission to save the species, or maybe you just want to get back to Dr. Morgan. Maybe you’ll use us to get through the Badlands and then abandon us as soon as we’re back on safe ground. Maybe you’ll do something else I haven’t thought of yet. But . . . this is important. The information we have might save the human species, and you might be the only one strong enough to deliver it. What I need to know is if you will.”

Heron was silent a moment, and Samm sensed nothing through the link. He marveled once again at her ability to hide her emotions so completely. Why would the espionage models even need to do that? Why give them the power to deceive their own companions, when they were designed to deceive humans? Only after she turned a corner, and they started eastward down a long, bare stretch of road, did she speak.

“Badlands is a Preserve term,” said Heron.

“Excuse me?”

“We called it the toxic wasteland before,” said Heron. “That’s what Afa called it, and it’s the most descriptive term. Badlands is the term the humans in the Preserve use, and now you use it.”

“Are you saying I’m becoming one of them?” asked Samm. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

“I never said anything was bothering me.”

“Then why are you acting so strange?” asked Samm. “You wanted me to hurry, but you wouldn’t help me with the work; you brought me out here alone, but you don’t want to talk.”

“We’re talking.”

“Does this count?”

“I don’t know.”

Samm’s link crackled with frustration. “What is that supposed to mean?”

They walked a moment in silence, the dark clouds blotting out the moon. “You’re cold,” said Heron. “Let me help you stay warm.” She put her arm around him.

Samm was too surprised to speak, and faltered a step as he walked. He was acutely aware of Heron’s body against his, her arm around his shoulders, the side of her breast pressed softly by his arm. The cold breeze lifted her hair, black strands wafting across his face and ear. He slowed to a stop.

“What are you doing?”

She curled around in front of him, keeping one arm behind his back and encircling him with the other. She pulled him close and kissed him, her lips soft and moist, her fingers twining gently in his hair. He froze, too stunned to move, then grabbed her arms and pushed her away.

“What are you doing?” he asked again.

“It’s called a kiss,” said Heron. “You did it to Kira once, so I know you know what it is.”

“Of course I know what it is,” said Samm, his link data a jumbled mess of confusion and shock and arousal. “Why are you doing it to me?”

“I wanted to know what it felt like,” she said. Her link data was as blank as ever. “Calix said you kissed her, too.”

“Calix told you that?” Calix hated Heron; that was almost as unbelievable as the kiss.

“I can be very persuasive.” She turned east again and started walking. “I was trained to use whatever means I could to extract information from humans—male or female. None of those techniques even work on Partials, because you never developed the ability to read the same cues.”

Samm ran to catch up. “Heron, tell me what’s going on.” He grabbed her arm. “We’ve known each other for almost twenty years, and that . . .” He looked at the clouds. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Your decisions are stupid,” said Heron. “Our only operational goal is survival, by any means necessary, and you’ve had that in your hands a dozen times now just to throw it away. Your plans don’t lead toward that end; your tactics don’t support it. You’re dying in seven months if you don’t do something, and yet you’re leaving behind your best chance to stay alive. Now Calix says you’re in love with Kira, and that’s the only thing that explains anything you’re doing. They taught us in our training that love makes you stupid, that we could use that against our enemies, but you . . .” She turned to face him. “You’re not even happy. You’re throwing away your own life because you love someone who’s not here anymore, and you hate it, and it’s killing you. Love is the worst thing that ever happened to you, but you still love her.”

She paused just long enough that Samm thought she was finished, and then spoke again.

“I . . . ,” she began. “I wanted to see what that felt like.”