Human Sister

I nearly asked: What about your ma’s not wanting you to go back to America? The words were formed and on their way, but he was so happy and excited that I resolved to keep them suppressed awhile longer.
    We made love, napped, played in the shower, talked about our dreams of our future life together, and all the while, I did my best to filter out the insistent internal whispers about Michael and Aunt Lynh. Finally, with a plan forming in my mind, I suggested we take a bike ride, this time following the A9 to Haarlem.
    Before we set off, I asked to stop at the convenience store in the apartment complex. There, we purchased chocolate bars, nuts, dried fruit, two bottles of water, a roll of aluminum foil, a roll of duct tape, a pen, a notepad, and some matches. I could have found several of those items in the apartment, but if we were being monitored, anything in the apartment might have been contaminated with microsensors.
    “What’s with the tape and matches and stuff?” Elio asked as we stood in line at the sales counter.
    “I have an interesting game to show you,” I replied—to him and to all who might have had us under surveillance.

    As we neared the northeastern tip of Schiphol Airfield I took the lead and turned south toward Aalsmeer.
    “Hey!” Elio shouted from behind me. “That’s the wrong way.”
    I rode on until I saw he was following me. I stopped, and as he rode up beside me I said, “I changed my mind. Let me lead the way today, okay?”
    I pulled off the bike path at one end of a row of hedges and glanced around, fearing that tiny volant robots might have been tracking my semblance or scent. But I saw nothing suspicious. Then I walked between the hedge and airfield fence until I found a spot somewhat secluded from the path and the road.
    “I like it here,” Elio said, laying his bike next to mine. “I’ve been thinking about Ma. How do I tell her? She gets crazy when it comes to America, you know.”
    “I wouldn’t say crazy.”
    “Oh, ja, crazy.” He sat down cross-legged and patted the grass in front of him, inviting me to sit, knee-to-knee, facing him—our long-established discussion position. “Remember a few years ago when the U.S. and China invaded several countries and destroyed their android military facilities?”
    “Yes.”
    “Ma was fixing breakfast when she turned on the news and heard about the invasion. She went into a rage, screaming and swearing and crying. Completely crazy, I’m telling you. And then she was depressed and wouldn’t speak or eat for days. She hates America. After you go home, I’ll tell her we’re lovers, but I don’t know how to tell her I’m going to go to America to be with you.”
    “Maybe I should ask Grandpa for advice. He seems to know her quite well.”
    “That’s a good idea. Hopefully, he’ll know how to handle it. Hey, let’s move over there and get you out of the sun.”
    We moved to an area of shade under and between two shrubs. Then I said, “I have something interesting to show you. But for me to show you, you have to do exactly as I say without asking any questions, okay?”
    “What’s the big secret?”
    “There’s no secret.” As I said that, I hoped it would be the last lie I’d ever tell him. “First, I’m going to make a little something with the notepad and aluminum foil.”
    He nodded, took off his shirt, and watched as I taped two layers of aluminum foil along the sides and top of the notepad, forming over it an aluminum dome with an opening through which we could write and read. I placed the domed notepad under a shrub, and concerned about what might be hiding in the brim or collar, I took off my hat and shirt and lay on my stomach, trying to capture as much shade as possible over my shoulders and arms. Pen in hand, I reached into the dome and, with seldom-practiced (and poor) penmanship, wrote:
    “Please don’t appear concerned as you read this. Try to pretend that it’s an interesting game. I’ll write a few paragraphs and then take my hand out of the dome to let you read. If you want to write something, ask for the pen; if not, say ‘Give me another hint,’ and I’ll continue.
    “There is a secret I must tell you, a dangerous secret, one that can’t be discussed or even alluded to on Vidtel, in your apartment, or even out here except in this secret manner because there exist robotic insects and birds capable of monitoring us.
    “The life of someone I love, a biologically modified android,