Page 20 of Invasive Species
My scales harden in a bid to protect me. I can't think about that time of my life; if Nevare overhears me, he'll seeeverything I’ve tried to keep hidden. What would Dom do then?
I let my hands fall to the cold grass. I shouldn't be straying into mechanics and designing fabrics. It’s not my purpose, and it's too dangerous.
“What’s this?” Arra-bellah points to something in Arture’s bicep.
I respond without looking. “I don’t know, I’m not an Ingenistock.”
“What’s that?”
“A clone built for engineering tasks.”
“Hm, well, you seem to be doing a good job anyway— What’s that? Looks sticky.” Without warning, her tiny fingers dart into Arture’s complex mechanics.
A hundred scenarios burst into my mind, all of them catastrophic for the continued functioning of Arture’s arm and, therefore, his usefulness. “Stop! Don’t!”
She flinches back, a sticky gray substance on her fingers. Flushing, she holds them up to me. “Sorry. I saw this, figured it didn’t belong.”
Slowly, I peel it off her tiny fingers, each digit minute in mine. Her hand goes still and with it, the rest of her body in slow increments; her arm relaxes, then her shoulder loosens, and her eyes find mine.
Green and wide, and dancing, as if the joy she feels constantly bubbles up inside.
I look away from her as I finally get the substance off her and raise it to my nose. The acrid and familiar smell of CNULG overlays her cinnamon scent. “I mustn’t have removed it all before,” I mutter.
“What is it?”
“CNULG, Containing Natural Urges in Low Gravity. I repurposed it to protect Arture’s servos, but it needs frequentmaintenance.” Maintenance I’m straying outside my purpose to give, except it’ll keep Arture’s arm.
“Containing natural… wait. Does that mean what I think it does?” Her cheeks go a ruddy color, but her green eyes catch alight.
“I’m not a psychic like Nevare, I don’t know what you’re thinking.” How I wish I did.
Arture’s eyes dart back and forth between us. “This substance contains a clone’s emissions while we’re in space,” he explains, hunkering lower.
A wicked smile spreads across her face. “I see. A condom. Got any more?”
I pull out my tin of CNULG, take out a ball and show it to her.
“This? Looks like a gumball.”
“Massage it between your fingers, and it will stretch and become pliable.”
She does so, the white ball melting over her fingers. She’s fascinated once again, as if eager to explore all the facets of anything and everything, but watching her play with CNULG all over her fingers makes me stir.
I shove the feelings back. Of course they'd program us with carnal urges for females to help tie us to them, and she's pinging them. That's all this is.
“Next topic. Do you guys have… partners? As in, romantic partners, boyfriends or girlfriends.” Her gaze darts up to me.
I can’t answer, my throat too tight.
“We do not,” Arture supplies, glancing at me. “Females form mating bonds with their chosen partners.”
“Ooh, mating bonds. That’s so cool.”
Which shocks me enough out of my reverie to retort, “Mating bonds aren’t real.”
Arra-bellah’s eyebrow raises, her smile fading. “No?”
I grunt as I ease the dry suit tube over his mechanics. “They’re a myth. There’s no scientific basis for such a bond, no way to measure it. There are no markers for whether a female has a bond or not, she only reports feeling it and the males dutifully fall into line.”
