Undoubtedly, the meeting the defenders were having at that very moment was taking place in a less impressive virtual environment, but the fact that they were having it at all was disturbing. Oliver didn’t know what to feel about the defenders’ closed meeting. By necessity, the defenders had been engineered to be fiercely independent, reliant on humans for nothing. It had worked—the plan had saved the human race, but no one had thought beyond defeating the Luyten.
Oliver admired the assembly hall, and fretted, while the assembly argued over whether they should have forbidden the defenders from meeting, cast about for scapegoats to blame for the awkward situation humanity found itself in, and occasionally digressed into debate about the wisdom of allowing the Luyten to live.
The hall had been restored to its full size and splendor, now that a network of satellites had been returned to the outer atmosphere. The structure was stunning, a masterpiece of classical Greek architecture with a dizzying, spiraling ceiling.
President Wood was recognized by Premier Chandar. Oliver lifted his head, paid closer attention.
“Our Japanese brethren have a profound saying that I think is relevant at this moment: Fix the problem, not the blame. The issue we should be discussing in the brief time we have available before the defenders join this meeting is how to tell them that while they certainly have the right to decide their own fate, they do not have the right to retain possession of our property.” Oliver was always impressed by the president’s ability to utterly erase his Brooklyn accent and his cocky, confrontational tone when speaking in public. “I’m of course referring to the substantial cache of state-of-the-art weapons we provided them. They’re entitled to their rights as citizens, as set forth by the recently ratified UN decree, but they are not entitled to our arms.”
Lorenzo Manzanillo, the prime minister of Nicaragua, jumped in without being recognized. An interpreter jumped in just as quickly. “Not only did we build the defenders’ weapons, we built the defenders. I don’t think their status as citizens—”
Premier Chandar interrupted. Her usual calm, dignified demeanor was completely absent; her long white hair was frizzy and unkempt. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. “Excuse me, Minister Manzanillo. The defenders have finished their meeting and are asking to address this assembly.”
It was the moment they’d been waiting for, the sole purpose for this meeting. The defenders had asked to address the assembly at noon, GMT, but had kept it waiting for… (Oliver checked the time) two hours and forty minutes.
The space between the bowl-shaped seating area and the dais where the premier and her deputies were seated expanded to accommodate the defenders’ representatives. When the space was ready, Premier Chandar nodded to the chief of technology, and the defenders materialized.
There were seven defenders, chosen, Oliver had heard, because they’d distinguished themselves during the campaign. One was badly burned, his bone-white skin an angry, puckered swirl down one side of his face and neck, disappearing beneath his black dress uniform. Another was missing an arm at the shoulder.
It was the burned one who spoke, his arms dangling at his sides, fingers flexing and unflexing, as if they were hungry to clutch something. A weapon, maybe. He was breathing heavily, whether because he was nervous or just ramped up, Oliver didn’t know.
“My name is Douglas. I’m not familiar with the protocols of this assembly, so I apologize in advance for breaching them.”
He scowled as he spoke. All of them were scowling, actually. It seemed to be their default expression. “We have spent the past several days trying to determine our mission. During the war our mission was clear, and we were happy. Now we are not. We’re left with nothing to want, no one to hate. You have suggested one solution, to provide us financial resources and vocational training. We’ve decided to decline your offer.”
Douglas looked to the other defenders, who nodded, almost as if the decision were being made on the spot. They seemed awkward, now that they weren’t in battle. Unsure of themselves.
“You are our mothers and fathers. We recognize and celebrate this. But we are not children.”
Again, he looked to the others, who again nodded. One thumped his chest with his fist.
“We will create our own nation, forge our own identity, our own culture.”
Douglas paused, as if to allow time for those assembled to digest what he’d said. Oliver couldn’t digest it, because he didn’t understand it. Their own nation? Did they mean that symbolically, or were they talking about a physical place, with borders, laws, an economy?
“Your population was culled substantially by the war. There were seven-point-two billion humans before the Luyten invaded; now there are two-point-nine billion.” He spread his hands. “There is more than enough space, plenty of resources for all. We’ll claim our prisoners, carry out executions, then leave you in peace.”
Their prisoners? That didn’t sound good. The uneasy feeling Oliver had been nursing became downright dread. Judging from the look on the premier’s face, she felt the same.
“I’m not sure I understand. What are you proposing, exactly?” Premier Chandar asked.
Without hesitation, Douglas replied, “We want Australia.”
PART II
AUSTRALIA
30
Lila Easterlin
May 18, 2045. Over the Coral Sea.
“Can you see anything yet?” Lila’s husband asked.
Lila leaned forward, looked out the window. There was nothing but thick, white clouds below. “Nope. My guess is, if I could see Australia, the cloak would have cut us off by now.”
“True,” he said.
“What’s going on back in the world? Am I missing anything?”
“Most of the news coverage is about this plane full of diplomats heading for Australia. You’re missing a lot of poop, though. As soon as you drove off, Errol started making that face that means he’s pooping, and he hasn’t stopped since.”
A few of the emissaries sitting near Lila glanced her way as she burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny. I hate poop. You’re our go-to poop person. I’m in charge of vomit. I’d rather clean up a bathtub full of vomit than a diaper’s worth—”
“Kai?” Lila said. Her phone had gone dead. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.
Oliver twisted in the seat in front of her, poked his head over the headrest. “You get cut off?”
“Yeah, Dad. Sorry—I know you wanted to say goodbye.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll see him in a few weeks.”
Lila slipped the phone into her jacket pocket as Oliver turned back around. It was a strange feeling, not knowing when she’d talk to Kai again. If only they knew what the defenders had in mind, whether this summit was meant to be a brief, ceremonial reestablishment of ties, or the initiation of detailed discussions and negotiations.
The silence was jolting, the sense of isolation unnerving, partly because it meant they had entered Australian airspace. She stared blankly at the stray tufts of Oliver’s graying hair visible over the seat back. Oliver cleared his throat—a nervous habit. Lila was relieved to know the US Secretary of Science and Technology was nervous, too.
Then Lila thought to look out the window
Nothing to see yet; they were still above the smoky cloud cover. It was hard to believe Australia was down there. Over the past fifteen years it had taken on almost mythical dimensions in Lila’s mind, and knowing she would see it any moment, see what it had become, set her heart pounding.
The Spanish ambassador, in the seat next to Lila, turned, as if noticing her for the first time. “Nervous?”
She nodded. The word didn’t begin to describe the shades and layers of what Lila was feeling, but it would do as a rough approximation.
The Spaniard’s white eyebrows pinched. “Were you even alive when the Luyten invaded?” Bolibar: His name came to her as he spoke. “Have you ever seen a defender?”
“I’d
have to be sixteen years old to have never seen a defender.” Lila wasn’t sure if he was trying to flatter her, or what. “I’ve seen plenty. And Luyten.” She closed her mouth. That was all she wanted to say on that topic. The last thing she wanted was to flip out on the flight in. Lila did not want to prove her skeptics right.
“Ah. I’m sorry,” he said, reading her face. “You were a young girl? I’m sorry.”
The second apology was for bringing up the painful topic, no doubt. It was impolite to bring up the Luyten invasion if you weren’t sure the person you were speaking to was amenable to the topic.
Lila shrugged. “Who doesn’t have nasty memories?” She forced a smile, turned back to the window, but it was too late. As they surged toward Australia, and humanity’s first contact with their saviors in fifteen years, Lila’s memories reeled out. She saw the Luyten, like enormous starfish dropping from the sky, twirling in one direction and then the other. She squeezed the armrest, trying to let the memory be, let it play out if it needed to. She’d learned that if she resisted it would only pull her in deeper, turn into a full-fledged flashback, and if she went into PTSD mode, they would yank her at the first opportunity. The pols in Washington would just love an excuse to pull her. Nobody wanted her there; it bugged the shit out of them that the defenders had specifically requested her. Lila suspected the only reason the president had signed off on the request was that he’d rebuffed the defenders when they first asked for Dominique, and he didn’t want to start off on the wrong diplomatic foot by saying no twice.
Lila focused on her breathing, kept it smooth and even as she saw her fifteen-year-old self rushing into the shelter of the elementary school as the ground shook from explosions and the air crackled with the Luyten’s electric fire, which stank like burning sweat. That first glimpse of a Luyten, galloping out of the trees on three arms. Her father, rushing outside.
Lila took a deep, sighing breath. It had been a few years since her last full-blown flashback, but it was inevitable, given the situation. Seeing defenders, actually standing before the massive things and talking to them, was bound to draw the memories back. It was worth it though, to be one of the first to see what sort of society they’d built. To have the opportunity to thank them personally. There weren’t many humans she respected as much as she respected every single defender.
Bolibar was looking at her, probably wondering why she was sweating, and panting like a fucking Labrador.
“So what do you think’s going to happen?” Lila asked him, mostly to deflect Bolibar’s attention from what a wreck she was.
Bolibar grunted. “That’s the big mystery, no?” He unsealed a pouch of dried fruit, offered it to Lila before helping himself. “I’m sure you sat through as many strategy meetings in your country as I did in mine, trying to anticipate why they suddenly want to reestablish ties.” He stuck out his lower lip and shook his head. “My guess is their focus is technology. They want to exchange ideas. They’ve clearly made advances of their own since they segregated themselves.” Bolibar waved in the air over his head, alluding to the cloak the defenders had developed that repelled both surveillance and missiles. What a shock it had caused when it went up, just two years after the defenders took possession of Australia. Everyone wanted to know how they had developed technology still beyond humans in such a short time. As far as Lila was concerned, that the entire population had IQs ranging upwards of 140 pretty much solved that mystery.
“If that’s the case, why did they invite a plane full of politicians, and me? Why didn’t they invite a bunch of techies?” Lila asked.
“I have no idea.”
Everything made as much sense as anything else. The defenders’ brains had been developed so hastily—few understood that as well as Lila—that it was difficult to guess what might be going on inside them. Dominique—Lila’s mentor, one of the humans she respected as much as she respected defenders—admitted she had little idea what the hodgepodge of neurological tissue and circuitry she’d engineered really added up to, beyond its military capability. The defenders had retreated into self-imposed exile before they had a real chance to find out.
“Their motives aren’t that simple, or that benevolent.”
Lila turned in her seat to see who’d spoken. It was the Korean ambassador, Sook Nahn. She was a chubby woman, short, her features kind of scrunched.
“And what do you think their agenda will be, Secretary Nahn?” Lila asked.
“Sook,” she corrected, giving Lila a warm smile that reduced Lila’s knee-jerk dislike of her by about half. “They’re militaristic beings. They eat, sleep, and breathe war and military tactics. When the war ended, they insisted on carting off millions of Luyten in cargo ships just so they could have the pleasure of executing them. My guess is they’re seeking alliances. They’ve invited representatives from all over the world, but you watch: They’ll peel off representatives from certain nations for private talks.”
“Which nations are you referring to?” Bolibar asked.
Half smiling, Sook lifted her shoulders. “The like-minded ones. I’ll leave it at that.”
The most aggressive, militaristic countries, she meant. Lila could feel her hackles rising. What an uncharitable light to paint the saviors of the human race in. She was tempted to remind Sook that her scrunched little face wouldn’t be on this plane if not for the defenders.
“It’s an interesting perspective,” Bolibar said.
“If you were describing humans instead of defenders, that characterization would seem the worst sort of stereotype,” Lila said. “They’re highly intelligent and adaptable. Who’s to say their interests haven’t branched out into science, the arts…”
Sook tilted her head, as if considering. “Who’s to say.” She didn’t seem offended, or even ruffled, by Lila’s heated defense of the defenders. In fact, she seemed amused, which made Lila even angrier.
“Maybe they’ve simply realized that our races need each other,” Lila said, “that they exist because of us, and we still exist only because of them. We share a powerful bond.”
Oliver had switched to the outside seat on his row to listen. “It’s true—they may have no agenda at all. Maybe they just want to check in, because they feel ready now. More grounded.”
“Trade,” a man sitting half a dozen rows closer to the front called back.
“Maybe,” Bolibar called, “but Australia is relatively self-sufficient when it comes to resources. Unless the defenders want Coca-Cola and a download of the new Peter Septimo album.”
“Have you ever taken a close look at a defender’s hands?” the man said. Lila moved her head left, then right, trying to see who it was. Finally, she caught a glimpse of Azumi Bello, the big, affable Nigerian ambassador. He held up his own hand, made a fist. “Their hands weren’t engineered with fine-motor skills in mind. They were made to hold weapons. I can’t imagine how they could mend boots with those hands, or manufacture dishes, or paint a picture.”
“How did they create the cloak, then?” Sook asked. “That sort of technology would require extremely fine motor skills.”
Azumi shook his head. “That, Ms. Sook, is a mystery.”
Lila lifted her hand from the armrest, felt more weight than had been there a moment earlier. They were descending. She ran her hands over her thighs, wiping sweat. Fifteen years of wondering, and in a minute they’d have their answers.
People were leaving their seats, crowding around the windows, seeking a first glimpse of Sydney. The cabin was hushed as the jet broke through the clouds and a city took shape below.
“Oh,” Bolibar said, clearly disappointed.
The city had barely changed. Visible below were skyscrapers, roads, vehicles, bridges. The jet descended, dropping below the tops of the skyscrapers.
“Oh,” Oliver said, his tone laced with surprise and disbelief. As they dropped, the size of the city became more apparent. The skyscrapers were immense. Their jet was a toy that could nearly fit through an office window. T
he defenders had retained the look of the city, but had rebuilt it to their scale.
“Of course,” Lila said softly. She meant it as a personal aside, but others looked at her, waiting for her to elaborate. “They’re brand-new beings—their only point of reference is how humans do things.” If everything was designed to defenders’ scale, the city would be almost triple in size. The tallest buildings might be three thousand feet tall.
The landing gear ground into place beneath them. The FASTEN SEAT BELTS sign chimed. Reluctantly, the ambassadors returned to their seats. It was quiet as the jet descended. Everyone was peering out the windows, taking in Sydney.
They landed on a strip as long and wide as a small desert, then taxied to the airport for ten minutes.
As they lined up to get off, Bolibar grinned at her. “Here we go. Into the fray.” There was a buzz of excitement, a plane mostly full of jaded politicos sounding like kids on Christmas morning.
Lila gave Oliver a playful nudge in the back. “Hurry,” she said. He turned to look at her, his eyebrows raised. He was effectively here as her babysitter, someone the feds thought could control her, someone she would listen to if push came to shove. That made her smile. It was true, to a degree. But only to a degree.
Oliver had shown her the file the CIA worked up after the defenders requested her. She was impulsive, she drank too much, exhibited classic symptoms of PTSD. In short, she was damaged goods. Big surprise. Who the hell wasn’t? Them? The clowns in charge were probably more damaged than most people; the difference was they were too arrogant to admit it.
As they approached the exit, Lila took a deep breath and swept her hair out of her face. Screw their file, she wasn’t here for them. She was here for the defenders.
A defender was waiting on the tarmac. Lila had always found them strangely beautiful. So like the statues on Easter Island, if those statues were stretched, and stood on three legs, and had what looked like enormous shards of broken glass running down each side. Their faces were chiseled and angular, set on a long, almost neckless cylinder.
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