“Others such as who?” Wood asked.
“Such as your secretary of defense.”
Scowling, Wood turned to Oteri. “Is this true?”
Oteri nodded tightly. “Yes, sir. That would be my counsel.”
Wood moved a half step closer, pointed at Oteri’s nose. “Another half billion people will die before this war is over. If we can save a half billion innocent lives by commuting a death sentence to life in prison, we’ll take that deal every time. Erase any thoughts of going back on our word once we make an agreement. Wipe them out of your fucking mind right now.”
He turned back to Five. “Is my secretary now on board with this agreement?”
“Yes. It may prove more of a challenge to convince other world leaders, including the premier.”
“I’m supposed to convince all of them?”
“Ninety percent will do.”
Wood grunted. “Only ninety percent.”
Oliver couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Somehow he’d imagined they would strike a deal then and there. It was a step in the right direction, though.
Don’t flatter yourself. There are dozens of these meetings being held.
Right now? He thought it, rather than speaking it aloud.
Now, or soon, or they were recently completed. The other meetings were conducted without the drama of face-to-face interactions. Leaders within range were contacted telepathically.
How are the meetings going? Oliver thought.
Mixed. That was all Five would say on that, or any other topic. He fell back into silence as he was wheeled out of the Oval Office, onto the front lawn of the White House.
25
Oliver Bowen
October 10, 2030. Washington, D.C.
Everyone would remember where they were when it happened. Oliver was tossing a football with Kai in their backyard. It was two hours before the news would go public. His comm alerted him to an incoming call from President Wood, indicating that full security was required to take the call.
“Holy crap.” Oliver dropped the football. “I have to take this.” He activated his phone’s security protocol.
“Oliver.” The president stretched his name into three syllables, as if relishing the sound of it. “I have news.”
“Good news?”
“The best news.”
Oliver let out a whoop. “It’s over? Please tell me it’s over.” Kai had come over to stand close to him.
“The terms of surrender were signed ninety minutes ago. If you want to call what the starfish do with a pen ‘signing.’ More like doodling.”
“Oh my God. I can’t tell you.” He fumbled for words, his throat tight with emotion. “Thank you for calling me personally, Mr. President.”
“Are you kidding? I should be driving over to give you a hug. You were an important part of this victory. I won’t forget it. When everything settles down I want to talk about a position.”
“Yes, sir.” Oliver thought he might cry. He took a few deep breaths, tried to keep his emotions from overwhelming him. It was over, the war was over. Things would return to normal.
“Can you be here in an hour? I want to meet with my top advisors. There are things to be worked out.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
Kai stood looking at him, waiting expectantly.
“It’s over. The war is over.” And although he felt awkward doing it, Oliver gave Kai a hug.
He had to tell someone. An adult—someone he could absolutely trust. He was busting with the news. He had a few close friends, most of them back in St. Cloud, where he’d grown up. He could trust every one of them, but none seemed quite right.
Then he thought of Vanessa.
“I need to make a call; I’ll be back in a minute.” He went inside.
She answered, but didn’t say hello, didn’t say anything.
“Hi,” he said.
“What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to share something I just heard.”
“Oh? What’s that?” She was clearly trying to control the tinge of anger in her voice.
“President Wood just called me.” He took a deep breath, wanting to relish the moment, relish the words. “The war is over. The Luyten have surrendered.”
He heard a choked sound escape her.
“It’s over,” Oliver said. “Can you believe it?”
“No. No, I can’t.”
He watched out the window as Kai threw the football straight into the air, ran a few steps, and caught it himself. Kai would have liked Vanessa; she was playful, always turning things into a game.
Oliver glanced at the clock. “Oh, crap.”
“What is it?” Vanessa asked.
“It’s still morning. No talking about the war in the morning.”
It got a laugh out of her. Not a full, rich, Vanessa laugh, but a chuckle, tinged with sadness. Then she said, “I have to go,” offering no excuse or explanation, just the simple declaration. “I appreciate you calling to tell me. It’s wonderful news.”
Staring at his silent phone, Oliver wondered if Vanessa still kept the voice-mail recording from the first time he’d ever called her. Whenever something went wrong, whenever things were bad, she could play that recording of him fumbling and stammering with nervousness, and they would both collapse into laughter. Surely she had erased it, after their divorce.
Maybe now that things were returning to normal, she would have a change of heart. All he wanted now was to have Vanessa in his life, and Kai, and to have a quiet, uneventful existence. Maybe he would decline the president’s offer when it came, and go back to a university position. With his experience and a letter of reference from the president, he could take his pick of positions, could go in tenured. It sounded so good. Maybe that’s what he’d do, as soon as everything settled down.
Oliver laughed aloud, suddenly realizing how absurd this train of thought was. There wasn’t a university in the country that was operating at the moment. Maybe in a few years, though. Now that the war was over.
26
Lila Easterlin
October 20, 2030. Near Madison, Georgia.
The gently sloping hill was covered with people, tents, and trash. There were people as far as Lila could see, from those high up among the copses of scrub pines dotting the top of the hill, to the throngs pressed right up to the outer fence, which had been set up to keep onlookers from getting too close to the real fence surrounding the detention camp.
It was like an enormous party. Everyone was drinking, singing, hugging, laughing. She could see the roadies for Hot Button setting up in a space between the laser fence and the real fence. Lila hoped they would sing the defenders’ song more than once.
Alfe passed her a bottle of moonshine. It wouldn’t be long before real booze, brand-name booze, would be back in stores, along with real soft drinks, real lipstick, real meat. She took a swig, then tapped Cheena on the elbow and held out the bottle. Cheena was dancing; Lila tapped her a second time, harder, just as another roar went up from the crowd, starting up high and spreading like a wave down the hill.
Lila scanned the valley, and finally spotted them. “There,” she shrieked, pointing. Six Luyten moved across a long-neglected field of brown crops and tall weeds. They passed between a towering white silo and a row of combine harvesters. The cheers grew deafening as the Luyten continued on, between two rows of armed defenders, through the gates, into the enormous detention camp.
The crowd was still cheering as loudly as when the first two Luyten padded between those gates, two days earlier. Now the camp was getting crowded, even though it went on for miles, encompassing trees, hills, even a few buildings. It was a temporary solution, until a secure structure could be built. On the news there was talk of imprisoning all the Luyten in one place, maybe on an island. Lila didn’t care where they put them, as long as they were miserable. Despite the premier’s speech about saving half a billion lives, honoring our word, blah, blah, blah, she really wanted to s
ee them all shot. She knew the defenders did as well—it was in their eyes as they watched the starfish shamble through the gates. They were an abomination; they didn’t belong anywhere on Earth, except in the ground.
The crowd began to cheer again. It was a large group this time—thirty, forty starfish, clustered in their usual groups of three, forming triangles. One of them was crawling with baby starfish. The first time one of these momma and babies had appeared out of the trees, Lila had been mortified. Everyone had been mortified.
Lila threw up her fist and hooted, wondered if one of these was the one who’d killed her father. She felt the familiar stab of his loss, the aching sadness that was never far from the surface, no matter how drunk she got. He was really gone; she would never, ever see him again. It didn’t seem possible.
And on the last day of his life, just before he ran out of the school to confront monsters, she’d argued with him. Along with the horrible moment of his death, she’d always carry the memory of him slapping her awake, asking her if she understood the situation, and her oh-so-clever answer. We’re going to die. That’s the situation. Would it have killed her to say, “I’m sorry”?
“Are these things going to be allowed to fuck?” Cheena asked, mercifully interrupting her thoughts. “I mean, are they going to be having kids in there, so there are more and more of them for us to feed until one day they bust out?”
Evidently Cheena wasn’t much for listening to the news feeds. “Part of the treaty is the starfish agreed not to breed.”
“They can control that?”
Lila shrugged. “I guess so, I don’t know. I don’t want to know any more about them than I have to. Let them rot.”
More cheering, as more starfish appeared and took their perp walk.
Alfe leaned over to speak into her ear. “The defenders’ parade’s been announced. It’s on Friday.”
“Vascular. I can’t wait.”
Looking down at the defenders, at their stately, serene, strangely beautiful faces, their lean, powerful bodies, Lila had an epiphany. Now that her future was open, that’s what she was going to do with her life: She would become a genetic engineer. She would study at the feet of the people who created the defenders.
Lila was confident she’d remember this moment for the rest of her life, because in this moment she’d found the blueprint for what was to come, and it felt so, so right.
“I wonder if they’ll have any good music at the parade, or if it’ll be all marching bands,” Alfe said.
Lila rolled her eyes and sighed. “It’s not about music. It’s about honoring the defenders.” She enunciated every word, like she would if she were speaking to a child. “If it wasn’t for them, we’d all be dead.”
“I know that,” Alfe said, annoyed. “I’m not saying the music is the important thing. I was just wondering.”
Lila didn’t hear Alfe’s last words. Another voice drowned him out—a voice in her head that felt like a razor blade dragged across her brain.
I’m sorry I killed your father.
Lila sunk to her knees.
Very sorry.
All around her, people shrieked, cried, clutched their ears. It wasn’t just her—they were speaking to everyone.
Sorry for your loss. Indeed.
This was a different voice, although she didn’t know how she knew that. Their voices felt horrible, like spiders had gone into her ears and were crawling around inside her head.
People were fleeing toward the road, where buses were parked, waiting to take the crowds home.
She looked at Alfe, who was plopped in the grass, his head between his knees. Cheena grabbed her by her tunic from behind, tugged her to her feet.
“Let’s get out of here.” She was shaking her hands, as if she’d gotten something disgusting on them and needed to wash. “Let’s go.”
Lila tugged Alfe up and they ran, letting the crowd carry them toward the buses.
I’m truly sorry. It was the first voice again, the voice of the monster who’d killed her father. It was speaking to her. Lila suspected the sound of that voice might drive her insane. She had to get out of there. She tried to run faster, but the crowd was setting the pace, and not everyone in it was young.
Her gaze was drawn down into the pens, toward one particular Luyten, a smallish, crimson one pressed close to the fence. There was no way to know for sure that it was the one who was speaking to her, but somehow she felt sure it was.
27
Oliver Bowen
October 21, 2030. Washington, D.C.
They loaded Five into a semi. It was marked as a Killer Donuts truck, leading Oliver to wonder if the Killer Donuts Corporation was a government front. They made surprisingly good donuts, if that was the case.
As two men rolled down the back door of the semi, Oliver resisted the temptation to wave. Enough people thought his relationship with Five was sick and weird—no need to throw fuel on that fire. Oliver imagined Five would miss tormenting him.
Having you as company is about as fulfilling to me as the company of a goldfish would be to you.
Although Five had given no indication he was joking, Oliver couldn’t help laughing. He turned away, headed into the shade of the oak trees on the side lawn of the compound, where he could speak aloud in peace.
“You’d really prefer to be in a camp? I could argue that you’re more valuable as a liaison.”
I prefer to be with my kind.
“All right.” Oliver wondered what sort of reception Five would get. If he’d been telling Kai the truth back when they first met, Five had violated a basic rule set down by the Luyten leadership: no communication with the enemy.
Luyten don’t shun their own. Even those who’ve made terrible mistakes.
“But in the end, it allowed you to be of some use to your kind.”
To facilitate our surrender. Yes, how useful.
Oliver realized the direction of their conversation provided an opportunity to broach the subject many people were curious about. “Of course, there are lots of Luyten talking now.” Oliver watched the truck pull away. “Can I ask why that is?”
You already know the answer.
“I suspect the answer. Given that Luyten motives are way beyond my comprehension, how could I possibly know I’m right, unless you tell me?”
In this case, our motives should be utterly transparent, even to you. We’re engaging in a campaign to “humanize” ourselves, because your kind are less likely to carry out genocide on a species that seems somewhat human.
“You’re scaring the shit out of people.”
That can’t be helped. By communicating we become less alien. By sending a consistent message of kindness and contrition, we become less threatening.
Oliver had to admit it made sense. In human wars, countries went to great lengths to dehumanize the enemy so their soldiers would feel less guilty killing them.
“Can I make a suggestion? Tell your kind to take on names, and introduce themselves when they contact someone. Names humanize.”
Five didn’t respond. Oliver frowned. “Five?”
The truck must have carried Five outside his telepathic range. He was gone.
His hands in his pockets, feeling somewhat melancholy, Oliver headed back inside. If not for what happened with Vanessa, Oliver could honestly have said he would miss Five.
28
Oliver Bowen
October 24, 2030. Washington, D.C.
The defenders just kept coming. They were marching three abreast, and that was all that would fit across Pennsylvania Avenue. The crowd cheered, waved flags, tossed flowers and wreaths at the defenders, who crushed the offerings underfoot until the pavement was hidden beneath a layer of multi-colored mulch. Many carried weapons as they marched briskly, eyes front, their long faces proud, unsmiling.
They just kept coming. And these were just the defenders who’d been in the D.C. vicinity at the end of the war. There were hundreds of parades going on all over the world. Oliver
wondered what all of these defenders would do now that the war was over. They could guard the Luyten, but that would require only a small fraction of them.
“How many defenders are there?” he asked Ariel. “Do you know?”
Ariel touched a finger to her lip. “You know, I don’t. Millions. Several million. Maybe ten. We made as many as possible, as fast as we could. Every new defender meant fewer human lives lost.”
“What are they going to do, now that the war is over?”
Ariel shrugged. “I don’t think that’s been discussed yet, not at the highest level. I guess they could be retired, given barracks and pensions. They could relax, watch jumbo TVs. Or they could be retrained to work in law enforcement, maybe construction?”
“Hmm.” Oliver caught a glimpse of Kai, near the front of the crowd, waving at the passing defenders, who did not wave back.
“Why? Do you have an idea? I doubt anything’s been decided.”
“I was just curious.”
Oliver leaned forward, tried to see if the end of the line was in sight, but the crowd was too thick.
The defenders just kept coming.
Oliver craned his neck to look in the other direction. “Where are they going, when they reach the end of the parade route?”
Then he remembered: His comm was working, the satellites were back in orbit. His comm located a camera farther down Pennsylvania Avenue and provided a link so he could see.
The defenders were turning onto Rock Creek and Potomac Parkway, and exiting along the long stretch of parklands. He linked to a camera in the park.
They were simply standing there. Not looking around, not talking to each other. Just standing. They had no idea what to do with themselves.
29
Oliver Bowen
November 11, 2030. Washington, D.C.
Despite everyone being nothing but holographic images, the ethereal UN assembly hall nothing but keystrokes of computer code, the tension in the room was palpable.
Defenders Page 13
