If the Luyten were sharing technology with the defenders, who was to say they weren’t passing information to the defenders, plucked out of the emissaries’ minds?
“Shit,” Oliver whispered. He closed his eyes, rubbed his temples. If the Luyten were passing information, what would the defenders learn? What would they want to learn? As far as Oliver knew, the UN had no ulterior motives, were not plotting against the defenders. There was also no overt indication the defenders intended them harm. They were emotionally unstable, yes. Maybe a bit paranoid. That didn’t mean they were gearing up for war. Clearly they held humans in high esteem. Still, the weapons were alarming.
32
Lila Easterlin
May 23, 2045. Sydney, Australia.
Among defenders, staring evidently wasn’t considered rude. As Lila and her six companions explored Sydney on their own for the first time, defenders everywhere stopped what they were doing and stared. Some followed, until they had dozens trailing them, pressed close, carefully watching them.
Sook looked straight ahead, as if she was used to ignoring adoring stares. Galatea and Bolibar seemed bemused. Oliver seemed uncomfortable, although that wasn’t unusual.
“How are you today?” Bolibar called up to a defender who was walking so close the blades along his leg were no more than three feet from Bolibar.
“Very well, thank you,” the defender replied.
“Lila Easterlin?”
Lila turned to find a defender walking beside her. She examined him carefully, recognized the slight bump in his nose, the flaring nostrils. “Hello, Erik.”
“You recognize me. I’m pleased.”
“Well, you recognized me.”
“Human features vary considerably, which makes it easier. You have blond hair, and you’re shorter than most of the other emissaries. I noted those distinctions so I would recognize you.”
Lila resisted making a self-deprecating crack about being short, afraid it would be lost on the defender. Her heart was racing.
“I came to ask if you would do me the honor of being my companion at the races this evening. It promises to be exciting.”
Lila grinned. The way he phrased it, it almost sounded like he was asking her out. “I’d love to. Thank you for asking.”
“Wonderful.” He made a fist. “Everyone will be impressed with me, when they see you’re my guest.”
Lila laughed, not sure what to say to that.
After arranging to meet outside her hotel, Erik left to find the emissaries he was escorting to the Museum of Culture.
There were at least twenty defenders following them now. The defenders were treating them like rock stars, which amused the hell out of Lila, because she’d had posters of defenders on her bedroom walls until she was nineteen. She remembered trying to strike up a conversation with a defender once, while feeding it fried chicken. She’d so desperately wanted it to talk to her, but it just went on eating like it didn’t hear her. She stifled a laugh, not wanting the others to ask what she was thinking. During the war she’d entertained such lush fantasies of having a defender friend, of going for walks with him, of the envious looks from the other kids. Of course back then the defenders had been too busy fighting Luyten. They hadn’t gone for walks, hadn’t made friends, even with each other. It was dumb, but she was excited as hell at the idea of having a defender friend.
33
Lila Easterlin
May 23, 2045. Sydney, Australia.
Bolibar was chuckling as he stepped off the hotel elevator. Lila gave him a questioning look.
“Word must have spread about your date with a defender this evening, because I just received a call from a general named Hassan, who asked me to accompany him to a military banquet on Friday.” Bolibar spread his arms. “Now I have a date as well.”
When Oliver, Galatea, Azumi, and Alan joined them, they had similar stories that they shared as they all headed off to lunch.
Oliver had two engagements lined up. “When I informed the chief of housing and construction for the city that I couldn’t join him for dinner on Thursday, because I had already agreed to join Brigadier General Thomas for an art opening, he seemed remarkably disappointed. Almost jealous.”
“That’s because you’re being unfaithful to him,” Galatea said, nudging Oliver’s arm. It seemed a flirtatious gesture to Lila. She wondered if something was brewing between Oliver and the British ambassador. God, she hoped so. It seemed as if Oliver was still waiting for his ex-wife to call, sixteen years after their divorce. It was about time he got laid and forgot about Vanessa.
“Given that they’re asexual, you may not be far off,” Oliver said, straight-faced. “To the extent they have affiliative needs, they have to funnel them into friendships. Since we created them, we represent high-status friends.”
“If we created them, don’t we represent momma and papa?” Bolibar said, grinning.
Oliver pointed at him. “Don’t laugh. Not only do they have no romantic relationships; they have no parents—”
Galatea shushed him gently, gestured that a defender might overhear.
Oliver continued more quietly. “Their brains are derivative of human brains. There could be residue of human needs, like procreation and maternal attachment, built into their DNA, with no direct means of expression.”
Oliver looked toward Lila for support, as Bolibar chuckled.
“Don’t look at me,” Lila said. “I only know how genetic codes express physically. The psychology is beyond me.”
“It’s beyond everyone,” Oliver said.
34
Lila Easterlin
May 23, 2045. Sydney, Australia.
She was winded by the time she spotted the sign—ROYAL RANDWICK RACECOURSE—up ahead. The defenders had retained a lot of the original names of places after rebuilding them to larger scale, perhaps as a tribute. That seemed to be the case with the racecourse.
They had walked from Lila’s hotel, because, as Erik put it, “that way, more defenders will see me with you.” Erik was trying to walk slowly, but Lila still found herself striding briskly to keep up.
“I understand your husband is a professional poker player,” Erik said.
He’d really done his homework. “That’s right. His father, Oliver Bowen, introduced him to the game. Kai was beating Oliver soundly six months later, and he was barely thirteen.”
Suddenly Lila missed Kai, and their son Errol, so badly it hurt. In the five years they’d been married, they’d never been apart for more than a few days at a time.
“I like poker. Most defenders like poker. It’s war. Nothing but distilled military strategy.”
“I’ve never thought of it like that,” Lila said. “It is kind of like a war, isn’t it? You fight until all but one player is dead.” She didn’t like looking at it in that light. Kai was a free spirit, an utterly nonviolent man. He didn’t even like violent movies.
They were different in a lot of ways, she and Kai, yet they fit together so well. From the very start, she’d loved being around him. She smiled, thinking of their first day together. Kai had tagged along with his dad to a genetic policy conference, mostly as a way to get a free trip to Miami in January. He asked Lila to skip out on the conference banquet and go with him to a high-stakes poker game instead. An illegal game. Never one to miss out on something seedy, Lila had gone. It was exhilarating, something out of a movie. Kai had been so cool, so fearless, taking on the strange and colorful men and women huddled around the table. That time, it had been a war of sorts.
Kai lost money at the game, but on the ride home in a taxi he was in a great mood, almost manic as he deconstructed some of the more interesting hands for her. When Lila asked how he could be so happy after losing however much it had been—twenty or thirty thousand dollars—Kai explained that he never tallied wins and losses in terms of a single game. He said you played differently—defensively—if you were losing, and even good players lost 40 percent of the time. The trick was to take both
a longer view and a shorter one. First, approach each hand as a new, discrete game in itself. And second, tally your wins and losses over the course of the past year. If you were a good player, in the long run you’d win more than you lost, and that was the only tally that mattered. When they got back to the hotel, Lila had led Kai down to the beach and banged his brains out.
She filed through the gate, surrounded by giants. As the only human in sight, she felt incredibly self-conscious. Everyone was staring at her. Everyone. They whispered to each other the way humans did when a movie star passed.
Their seats were close to the perfectly groomed dirt track, fringed with the greenest grass. “Wow, what terrific seats,” Lila said. “You must have friends in high places.”
Erik beamed. His smile was a stiff straight line, but wide.
Lila looked up and realized she couldn’t reach her seat. Erik stood when he saw her trying to figure out how to climb up.
“May I help you?” he asked.
“Thank you. That would be wonderful.” She held her hands out from her sides. Erik grasped her sides, lifted her ever so gently into her seat. Lifting her was clearly effortless for him.
Realizing she was blushing, Lila turned her attention to the track. A few defenders milled about by the starting gate, more down by the stable, along with several Luyten. The odds board, set out beyond the track, was active for the first race.
“Wait,” Lila said. “Who rides the horses?” It hadn’t occurred to her until then, because she had zero interest in horse racing. Kai wouldn’t go near a track—he wouldn’t gamble when the odds were against him.
“Horses?” Erik asked.
An electronic trumpet sounded. Confused, Lila looked out at the track. “Well, it’s a race track, isn’t it?”
A dozen Luyten scurried toward the starting gate.
“You race Luyten.” Of course they did. They were too big to ride horses. Luyten didn’t require riders. She should have noticed the starting gate and track were jumbo-sized like everything else, designed to race creatures bigger than horses.
“Which one should we bet on?” Erik asked. An electronic wagering system was built into the backs of the seats.
Lila eyed the Luyten, who were entering their respective stalls along the starting gate. They made her skin crawl.
What the hell, let them race. Why should she feel uneasy watching Luyten race, but comfortable watching horses race? Horses were noble animals. They deserved better treatment than Luyten.
She looked up at Erik. “My lucky number’s always been four.” Actually it had been three. She’d changed it when the Luyten invaded, clustered in groups of three.
“Four, then.” He placed a bet. Lila didn’t have any sense of the defenders’ economic system, but she assumed it was capitalist, probably closely approximating the dominant human system.
The starting bell sounded; the barriers on the stalls swung open, and the Luyten surged out. Lila had to look away. Seeing them run at full gallop reminded her of her bad time. She tried not to be too obvious; she didn’t want to disappoint Erik.
Around her defenders shouted encouragement or curses. The veins at Erik’s temples were bulging as he shouted, his fist in the air, his eyes blazing with what might be excitement, but looked more like bloodlust or rage. As the shouting reached a crescendo Lila caught a glimpse of the Luyten crossing the finish line. Erik howled with pleasure. He thumped her on the back so hard it almost sent her tumbling out of her seat.
“You did it. We won.”
Lila tried to smile as she struggled to breathe.
Defenders clamored past them down the aisle. Dozens of them pushed through a gate in the fence that surrounded the track as those still seated stomped their feet, creating a thundering that caused the concrete grandstand to tremble. One of the Luyten on the track took off, fleeing toward the stables. The defenders who’d come out of the stands chased it.
“What’s happening?” Lila asked.
Erik pointed at the fleeing Luyten. “It finished last, and some of the bettors aren’t happy with its effort. Watch what they do.”
What they did was beat it. They could have used the razor-sharp shards along their sides, but instead they punched, kicked, and stomped it. Then defenders grasped each of its limbs and lifted it into the air.
“My God.” Lila watched through her fingers. The spectators went wild as they pulled the Luyten apart.
35
Oliver Bowen
May 24, 2045. Sydney, Australia.
“Why am I doing this?” Oliver said to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’d been waiting in the bathroom for two hours; for all he knew, he could be waiting another four. He had no idea when the rooms were cleaned; all he knew was they were, and he could not picture a defender making a bed with those stiff-clawed hands, so it had to be cleaned by a Luyten.
It could prove extremely advantageous if Oliver was able to contact Five. Beyond that, he wanted to speak to Five for personal reasons. He felt as if they had unfinished business, things that needed to be said.
The door opened in the other room. Oliver heard the muffled thud of something large walking on the carpeted floor. He took a couple of deep breaths, still looking at his reflection in the mirror, then turned toward the room.
The plum-colored Luyten gave no indication it noticed Oliver; it collected the damp towels he’d left folded on the dresser and headed toward the trash can.
“You know I’ve been waiting for you,” Oliver said aloud, but softly. “Do you know where I can find him?”
The Luyten straightened, walked toward Oliver, then turned sideways to slip past him. It disappeared into the bathroom.
“Can you at least let him know I’d like to speak to him?” Oliver asked.
There was no response.
Oliver went to the bathroom door. The Luyten was cleaning the bathtub. “This is ridiculous. I know you understand me. I know you can answer if you want to.” He turned his palms up. “Can you at least show me the courtesy of answering, even if your answer is ‘no’?”
The Luyten went on scrubbing, as if Oliver weren’t there. Maybe this was the Luyten’s way of expressing their rage at the human race for signing a treaty and almost immediately breaking it. Oliver had to admit, it was well deserved. “I was against breaking that treaty, though,” he said to the Luyten. “I’d like to speak to Five for personal reasons, beyond my role as an emissary.”
The Luyten looked into the toilet, evidently judged it clean enough, and stepped toward the doorway.
Oliver stood his ground, blocking its path. “Say something. Lay out my deepest fears and insecurities. Tell me to fuck off and die. Say something.”
It waited, perfectly still.
Oliver stepped aside.
The Luyten brushed past, collected its supplies, and closed the door behind it.
36
Lila Easterlin
May 26, 2045. Sydney, Australia.
It was strange, to feel so small all of the time. Everyone on the pedestrian walk towered over her. The stone wall that ran along the river was waist-high to the defenders, but Lila couldn’t see the river at all.
She watched defenders hurry to work clutching satchels, others stop into Perks Coffee, clutching giant Styrofoam cups on their way out, or sitting at tables outside. It could almost be a human street scene; the only thing missing was the occasional sound of laughter.
She spotted Erik a little way off leaning against the wall, looking out at the water. Lila called his name; he saw her, smiled, and headed toward her carrying something wide and flat, wrapped in brown paper. Under his arm it looked to be the size of a magazine, but it would come up to Lila’s waist if he set it beside her.
“My special friend. Hello,” Erik said, loud enough for passersby to hear. He looked around, as if seeking a reaction.
“Ready?” Lila said. She checked the time on her phone. “We don’t have much time before I have to meet the others.”
Er
ik blew air through his nose, a signature defender gesture that Lila had learned signaled anything from frustration to sadness to anger. “Are you sure you can’t sit next to me?” His eyes were flat and emotionless, but his feelings were clearly still hurt from her unavoidable snub.
“I really wish I could, but Vladimir had a row of seats constructed just so the emissaries could sit together at the front.” The performance had been planned for months, in their honor.
“Vladimir.” His tone was surly. Then he seemed to remember the package he was holding. “I have something for you. Shall we sit?”
Pigeons flapped away from the bench they found facing the river. With Erik’s help, Lila climbed into the seat. Erik propped the package on the seat between them. “I made this for you.”
Lila canted her head at Erik, smiling. “For me? That’s so thoughtful of you.” She slid her finger under the spot where the paper was sealed, unsure what to expect. What would a defender make for someone? Pulling off the brown wrapping, Lila had to mask her reaction. It was an oil painting—a truly terrible painting, of a defender standing beside a human figure. There was little background to speak of, beyond smears of purple and green.
“It’s you and me.”
Lila inhaled dramatically. “It’s wonderful. I love it.”
“Do you really?” There was an undertone of desperation in Erik’s voice. The gift obviously meant a lot to him.
And despite how awful the painting was, she did love it. She loved what it represented, found herself choking up. She sniffed and said, “I really do. It’s the most beautiful gift anyone’s ever given me.”
Erik smiled, his mouth almost—not quite, but almost—curling at the corners. “That pleases me. I made it very small, so it would fit in your house.”
Defenders Page 16
