Defenders

by Will McIntosh

  “That must have been a challenge.”

  Erik raised his hand, looked at his three clawed fingers. His hands reminded Lila of Tyrannosaurus rex claws. “These aren’t made for painting. I lash the brush to my hand with bonding tape.”

  “Do you do a lot of painting?”

  Erik nodded. “It’s my hobby. Everyone is encouraged to pursue a hobby.” He grunted. “My work isn’t good enough to merit display in the Defender Museum of Art. At least, that’s the curator’s opinion.”

  “Well, I think he’s an idiot.”

  Erik beamed, his brow and mouth smoothing, giving him an almost serene countenance. “Our special friendship is…” He struggled for words, squeezed his hands together. “… it’s the finest thing.”

  Lila wished she could go back in time to show her sixteen-year-old self this moment. She stood, brushed off her skirt. “Well, I should get going.”

  Erik stood. “Can I walk back with you?” He sounded desperate. “I can carry your painting for you.”

  “Absolutely. Thank you.”

  Lila felt safe walking beside Erik. On a conscious level, she knew the Luyten padding around were no threat, but she could never seem to convince the primitive part of her mind to relax. Each time one of them came into sight, she jolted, tensed to run. Just the sight of them felt wrong. Walking with Erik calmed that feeling.

  “There’s a defender named Ravi who’s written a book that’s becoming very popular,” Erik said. He cleared his throat. “He writes that the fewer legs a creature has, the more value it has.” He looked at Lila, as if trying to gauge her reaction. Lila nodded for him to go on. “Humans made defenders with three legs, because you see us as valuable, but not as valuable as humans. Mammals have four legs, insects six, and Luyten either six or seven. So killing a Luyten means nothing, but you should only kill a dog if you intend to eat it. Do you think this makes sense?”

  “No, of course not,” Lila said. “We engineered defenders with three legs so they’d be fast, because Luyten are fast. Believe me,” she said with a laugh, though it was a little forced, “we weren’t thinking about things like relative status when we designed you. We were thinking about survival.” She thought about those dark days, before the defenders appeared. “It’s hard to describe just how utterly the threat of extinction pushes aside everything else. Thoughts of who’s better than who just stops mattering.”

  Erik frowned, clearly wrestling with what she’d said. The question had thrown Lila, left her flustered and uncomfortable, because she wasn’t being completely honest. She had answered honestly, but there’d been more to his question than whether this wacky theory of leg count was correct. Erik was probing, trying to understand what humans thought of defenders now, and although no one ever said it aloud, Lila suspected that deep down, most humans viewed defenders as inferior.

  37

  Oliver Bowen

  May 26, 2045. Sydney, Australia.

  On the elevator, Oliver watched his reflection in the polished brass door, trying to ignore the stares of the defenders sharing the elevator with him.

  Lila was waiting in the lobby. She waved, as if he might not notice the only human in sight.

  “How are you doing?” Oliver asked, squeezing Lila’s shoulder.

  She blinked slowly. “Well, let’s see. Apparently I have a boyfriend.”

  “Erik?”

  She nodded, smiling. “He gave me a gift, a painting of us. He painted it himself.”

  “Is it any good?”

  “No,” she said laughing. She made a face. “In fact it’s awful. But in this case it really is the thought that counts.”

  Oliver had to agree. He touched her sleeve, drawing her away from the pedestrian traffic between the elevator and the exits. “How do they strike you? We all seem to be ending up with ‘special friends,’ but you’re apparently getting to know Erik especially well.”

  “I don’t know about that. I am spending a lot of time with him. He gets upset if he sees me with another defender. Humans don’t seem to be an issue, but if I’m with another defender, it’s as if I’m being unfaithful.”

  “So what’s your impression of them?” Oliver wasn’t getting many opportunities to talk with the others.

  Lila sighed. “When I look at a defender, I see them storming over that school, fighting to keep us safe. I feel such overwhelming gratitude toward them. Love, even.” She sighed. “But I have to admit, at times they scare me. Not Erik, but generally speaking.” One of the elevators swished open; a half dozen emissaries stepped into the lobby. Lila waved to them. “The way they tore that Luyten apart at the racetrack. The huge stockpile of weapons…”

  Oliver nodded, said, “The weapons were a shock. Thanks.” They went to join the others, to wait outside for the limos that would take them to the theater.

  Oliver found it interesting, how cliques always formed no matter the situation. He and Lila gravitated toward Bolibar, Galatea, Alan, Sook, Azumi—their little clique, bunched together on the edge of the larger crowd of humans.

  “Who’s in charge?” Sook was saying as Oliver and Lila joined them. “I mean, it’s not Vladimir. He’s some sort of midlevel official. Why haven’t we met the leaders?”

  “All these dinners and performances,” Bolibar said. “Next they’ll take us to an ice cream social. It’s like they’re trying to soften us up.”

  “Of course, the social events are mixed with these tours of their military might,” Alan pointed out.

  Azumi nodded. “It’s an odd mix of activities, that’s for sure.”

  Oliver had been wondering the same thing. They’d been in Australia for eight days and had yet to meet anyone in power. When he’d asked Erik if the defenders had a leader, Erik had proudly answered that they had three: Douglas, Luigi, and Ichiro. Why hadn’t these leaders met with them?

  A parade of limos pulled up in front of the hotel, and Vladimir stepped out of the one in the lead. Everyone stopped talking.

  38

  Lila Easterlin

  May 26, 2045. Sydney, Australia.

  Their limo let them off in front of the State Theatre, which had dozens of huge glass doors set under a bronze art-deco façade. The marquee announced Richard II, in a limited engagement. Below that, an announcement read, Welcome, Human Global Ambassadors.

  “I don’t believe this,” Bolibar whispered, sidling up to Lila and Oliver as they were led down the aisle past hundreds of defenders already seated for the performance. Lila only nodded, afraid to be overheard. The inside of the theater was beyond ornate—the gold walls were festooned with lush burgundy drapes and crusted with polished metalwork and reliefs carved in marble. Lila guessed it was an exact large-scale reproduction of the human theater it had replaced. It comforted her, that defenders were interested in art, in Shakespeare. What she’d witnessed at the racetrack was less alarming when offset by Erik’s gift and this event. She wanted to see the fine arts museum Erik had mentioned. Even if the art was terrible, it would raise her spirits to see it.

  The defender playing King Richard wore a long white robe with gold inlay, and a crown the size of a bathtub, but if the defenders were attempting to act, it was not apparent to Lila. They recited their lines as if reading, moved about the stage perfunctorily, and as often as not looked at the audience rather than the character they were speaking to.

  “You seem to have especially positive feelings for our hosts,” Bolibar whispered to her as the performance dragged on. He made it sound casual but was probably more interested than he let on. They were all trying to understand the inscrutable beings they’d created.

  Lila felt uncomfortable speaking during the performance, even in a whisper, but it felt rude to shush Bolibar, or ignore him. She kept her answer brief. “I’m so grateful to them that sometimes I feel like I’m going to bust.” She could have elaborated, but their whispering was causing people nearby to glance their way.

  Bolibar tilted his head in a very European gesture. “And your countr
y, along with the Canadians, were grateful enough that they provided the displaced Australians with a new home?”

  He left it a question instead of a statement. The flat, cold region running from North Dakota to Saskatoon that was now New Australia was not prime real estate.

  “Spain didn’t offer anything, as I recall,” she whispered into his hairy ear. “There are degrees of stinginess.”

  He laughed, loud enough to make Lila flinch and nudge his arm. “How very true,” he whispered. “We’re a stingy people, the Spanish.”

  The defender playing Richard stopped mid-stanza. He came to the edge of the stage. Lila sank into her seat, wishing she could hide. “Why are you laughing? Does this seem like a comedy to you? Maybe you think you can do better?”

  Embarrassed, Bolibar shook his head. “I’m—”

  “We’ve worked hard to get this right for you. And you’re laughing at us?” The defender reached out almost casually with its front leg and slashed Bolibar across the stomach.

  Lila sat frozen as Bolibar’s insides slid out. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide with surprise as he slowly tipped forward.

  “Uncalled for!” a defender shouted. It was Erik. He stormed up the center aisle, leaped onto the stage, stiff-armed the defender playing Richard. “Deeply uncalled for.” A dozen defenders followed him onto the stage, roaring. Some attacked Richard; others leaped to defend him.

  As they fought, one of Richard’s legs was torn, or bitten, or cut off, and it fell into the seats, slashing open the Chilean ambassador’s back from shoulder to waist. As she screamed in agony, a few ambassadors crowded around Bolibar, crying out for medical attention as he bled out onto the seat and the polished floor. In the seats behind them, defenders roared and jostled. Lila could do nothing but stare at Bolibar, her jaw working, but no sound coming.

  One of the defenders onstage fell into the seats, his nose nearly severed, blood pouring from the gash in his face. He landed on the Tunisian ambassador. Lila could hear the ambassador’s back snap before he disappeared under the defender.

  “Come on,” Oliver said, grabbing Lila’s arm. She yanked her arm free. “We can’t leave him.” Bolibar was clearly dead, but somehow it felt wrong to bolt. She was in shock, she realized. It had all happened so quickly, so unexpectedly. She’d barely had time to be afraid.

  By some silent assent, the combatants suddenly broke off. Erik, who was mostly unharmed, motioned to Luyten at the back of the theater. The Luyten scrambled to clean up the carnage, dragging away defenders and pieces of defenders. One reached across half a dozen rows and plucked the limp mess that was Bolibar. Lila stumbled to her knees and crawled out of the way.

  She and Oliver joined the rest of the emissaries at the back of the theater as Luyten mopped the blood. A dozen conversations were carried out in harsh, shocked whispers. Lila turned to Oliver, but she couldn’t speak. They only passed a look. It said all they needed to say to each other. This is much worse than we thought.

  As the last of the dead were carried away, Vladimir went to the front, waved his arms at the murmuring crowd, and said, “Please. Quiet, please. Please, sit. Let us continue.”

  Lila was sure she’d misunderstood. Continue? As in, continue the play?

  The lights dimmed. Actors returned to the stage, including a Richard understudy. They waited, looking expectantly at the emissaries.

  “This is insane,” Azumi Bello hissed. “We’re just supposed to sit back down? People are dead. The defenders must allow us to notify their kin, their embassies.”

  “Too much is riding on this,” Priyanka Vadra, the Indian ambassador, hissed. “Let’s just do as they say for now.”

  Dazed ambassadors shuffled down the aisles. Lila looked around, seeking—she didn’t know what she was seeking. The real defenders, maybe—the ones who’d saved her life.

  Lila was sure she wouldn’t make it through the rest of the performance. Surely she would faint, or be unable to stifle her overwhelming urge to run. The seats around Bolibar’s bloodstained one were empty; ambassadors were glancing around, eyes wide, afraid to move or speak. Lila risked a glance back at the section where defenders were seated. They were watching the performance as if nothing had happened.

  Vladimir was not happy when their small contingent insisted on walking home, rather than riding in the limo. They told him they needed air, and time to mourn their friend.

  “They’re insane,” Azumi said as they waited for the light—an enormous red moon hovering far above them—to change. “Did you see their reaction?” He shook his head, his arms folded tightly. “They’re insane.”

  “They have less regard for life than we do, I don’t disagree,” Oliver said, “but ‘insane’ implies their thinking and behavior is incoherent. I have to disagree.”

  “They’re insane,” Azumi repeated.

  “Poor Bolibar,” Galatea whispered.

  “Let’s set their mental state aside for now,” Sook said. “We have to decide what to do.”

  The red light blinked, turned green.

  “We should demand they lift the cloak so we can contact our governments,” Galatea said.

  “We should leave,” Azumi said. “This is a madhouse.”

  Lila shushed him. Half a dozen defenders were trailing behind them.

  Azumi lowered his voice. “They kill like it was nothing.” He gestured toward a Luyten operating a bulldozer on a construction site they were passing. “Starfish everywhere. And this ‘special friend’ nonsense. I have a wife; I don’t need a brigadier general defender at my side every minute of the day.”

  “We can’t leave yet,” Lila said. “Even if it’s dangerous, we have to know what we’re dealing with, why the defenders invited us here.”

  “I agree,” Oliver said.

  Azumi sighed theatrically. “Fine. Then let’s demand we get down to business. We’re here on a diplomatic mission, so let us proceed with the diplomacy. No more plays. No more special friends. I’m telling General Baxter I’m not available for any more films, or lunches, or cocktail parties.”

  “You’re breaking up with General Baxter?” Galatea asked, in mock shock. Everyone burst out laughing.

  “Yes,” Azumi said, “I’m breaking up with him.”

  Lila didn’t have the heart to do the same with Erik. In any case, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. His violent nature disturbed her, but hadn’t they made him that way? The human race was alive because Erik and the other defenders killed so efficiently, without fear. All humans bore some of the responsibility for that. In some real sense, the defenders were the blameless ones; they were simply expressing what they’d been engineered to be.

  The question was, since there was now no need for killing, could the defenders extinguish their violent instincts, or channel them into socially appropriate behavior? There was no alternative, really, unless the defenders decided to stay isolated. Lila thought they could do it, given time and guidance.

  “Let’s not forget, they have positive qualities,” Lila said.

  Sook laughed harshly. “Were you just in there?”

  Lila ignored her. “This special-friend thing is a good sign. They crave close relationships, especially with humans.” She glanced at Sook. “Yes, I was in there, but what about them?” She gestured toward the defenders following. “Most of the defenders adore us.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to encourage these close relationships.” Azumi made a chopping gesture. “We should keep our relationship with the defenders strictly professional.”

  Up ahead, a Luyten was loading a delivery truck with pallets of oversized milk cartons. It was crimson, on the small side. Lila slowed, studied it as they passed.

  She couldn’t be sure.

  “Are you all right, Lila?” Azumi asked.

  Her heart was pounding. She wanted to ask the Luyten if she was right, if it was the one, but there was no point. It knew she was asking, and it chose to stay silent.

  She continued past it. Had it shown
itself to her on purpose? If it was the Luyten who’d killed her father, wouldn’t it go out of its way to avoid her? Maybe it wasn’t the same one. There were millions of Luyten, and even if the crimson ones were rare, there still must be thousands of them.

  39

  Lila Easterlin

  May 27, 2045. Sydney, Australia.

  Lila couldn’t reach the doorbell. She considered taking it as a sign to leave while she still could, but hope and fear drove her to keep this dinner date. The hope was that Azumi and Sook were wrong, that the defenders were, at their core, human. The fear was that Erik might get angry if she didn’t show. Lila was afraid of them. All of them, even Erik. She couldn’t deny that. But unlike Azumi and Sook, she saw good in them as well. It was incumbent on her—on all of them—to get to know these creatures, to understand what they were capable of, not only when they were at their worst, but when they were at their best, too.

  Having convinced herself to go through with it, Lila knocked. The heavy door hurt her knuckles and made almost no sound. She pounded the door with the side of her fist. That produced a tiny thump.

  Footsteps approached the door from the inside; it swung open.

  “Please come in and admire my home.” Erik held the door open for her.

  It was a modern-looking house, sparsely furnished save for the walls, which were covered with enormous paintings that Lila had no doubt were Erik’s work.

  Erik led her into the dining room, which was dominated by a simple but solid rectangular table and four chairs. Erik helped her into her seat as a Luyten approached holding a bottle of wine.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have a smaller glass. I should have asked you to bring one from your hotel room.”

  “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” It was a fishbowl. The Luyten filled it a quarter of the way.

  She considered the painting closest to her. It was a portrait of a defender’s face floating on an otherwise empty canvas. “Are you part of an art community? Do you talk technique with other artists, share ideas and such?”