People exchanged hugs and high-fives, but only briefly, because there were eleven battles still raging, and not all were as clean and beautiful as Manhattan. London, especially, was a mess. Teams of Luyten had each defender surrounded, while other Luyten had penetrated the human defense perimeter. There were no cameras inside the facility, but it appeared the Luyten were already inside.
“What’s happening in London?” Oliver asked.
“They had only two platoons of defenders ready,” Ariel said. “It looks as if there were too many Luyten.”
“If the London facility is the only one we lose, this will be a very good day,” Wood said.
21
Oliver Bowen
May 29, 2030. Washington, D.C.
Although he hadn’t slept in two days, Oliver had never felt so alive. They had a chance, a real chance, to win the war. The feeling of impending annihilation sitting on his chest like a gorilla for the past year had lifted, replaced by images of defenders swooping into cities, fighting like crazed superheroes. He couldn’t get over how fiercely they fought. They seemed to hate Luyten more than humans did. When the last of the Luyten were dead, the defenders seemed downright frustrated that there were no more to kill.
Oliver passed Five’s holding area. He paused. Five had been mostly forgotten; he was fed and watered, and otherwise left alone. Even Oliver hadn’t spent much time thinking about Five recently.
Oliver activated a retinal scan that allowed him access to Five’s room, and stepped inside.
Five was curled in a ball. Oliver had never seen a Luyten in that position. He had no idea what to say. He hadn’t come to gloat. Honestly, he didn’t know why he’d come. Five probably knew.
“You underestimated us,” he said.
Five didn’t move, didn’t reply. Oliver wondered what he was feeling. Was he mourning their dead? Given their psychic bonds, they might all be emotionally closer than human brothers and sisters, parents and children. That is, if they loved at all.
The war was far from over; maybe Five was strategizing with his kind at this very moment, plotting their next move. The perimeter around D.C. had decayed enough that there were certainly Luyten close enough to Five for communication to be possible.
Oliver was tempted to get a rubber band and shoot some paper clips at Five through the barrier, to see if he could get him to at least move. It was a childish thought, but Oliver was feeling giddy. Odds were, Five wouldn’t react to anything less than a blowtorch.
Studying the Luyten, Oliver wondered what it must be like, to be in constant contact with thousands of minds, some human, some Luyten, all at once. Could Five turn them off, or were they always chattering in his head? A human mind could never tolerate that.
“I guess you’re not in the mood to talk.” He paused a moment longer, then headed for the door.
22
Kai Zhou
June 11, 2030. Washington, D.C.
A little boy in pants way too big for him ran past Oliver and Kai on the sidewalk, shouting, “A defender! A defender!” He disappeared through an open doorway, still shouting.
They paused, waited until the boy reappeared clutching a grocery bag of what looked to be carrots and potatoes to his chest. As he ran, hiking his pants with one hand, potatoes dropped out of the bag and rolled along the sidewalk.
“Oh, no,” the boy said. He squatted to retrieve the fallen potatoes, causing even more to roll out. “Oh, no,” he wailed.
Grinning, Kai went to help the boy secure the bag while Oliver retrieved the fallen potatoes. As soon as he was set, the boy took off again, down Third Avenue, still tugging to keep his pants up.
“Shouldn’t we take the defender something?” Kai asked. He was eager to get back to their poker game, but he was also aware of their duty. The premier had made it clear, right after the defenders were released: How can you help? Feed them. They eat a lot, because they’re big and they work hard. When a defender needed food, all it had to do was go find humans. It made sense.
“You’re right, we should,” Oliver said.
They stopped in a bread shop, bought two large loaves of wheat, and headed in the direction the little boy had gone.
As they walked in silence, Kai occasionally looked at Oliver, still half expecting him to say something, to ask Kai questions the way his father used to. He wasn’t at all like Kai’s real father, who’d laughed and goofed around and played jokes on Kai. Most of the time Oliver didn’t say much. It was strange to eat dinner mostly in silence, but it felt good to have dinner to eat, and a table, and someone taking care of him. Kai had had a nightmare the night before, where he woke up to find his bed had been moved outside, into the woods, while he slept. When he woke for real, in his own room, he’d felt such relief.
There were three defenders, actually. They were standing in the shadow of the Vietnam War Memorial, accepting food eagerly from kids and adults alike, their assault rifles leaned up against the memorial. They ate fiercely, the way they fought, showing no preference for any particular food, and no pleasure in eating it. The people feeding them were clearly enjoying themselves, though.
Kai held up his loaf until a defender plucked it away with two clawed fingers. He felt a thrill as the defender ate it like it was nothing. It felt good to do his part.
When the defenders had eaten their fill, they retrieved their weapons and left without a word. They weren’t much for conversation, didn’t say please or thank you, but as they trotted off to rejoin their company Kai and Oliver joined in when the humans applauded, shouting out lyrics from the defenders’ song the band Hot Button had just released. Kai loved the song, played it all the time.
As they headed out of the park, Kai looked up at Oliver, who seemed lost in thought, as usual.
“Do you like football?” Kai asked.
“Sure.”
“Maybe when the war is over and the NFL starts back up, we could go to a game?”
“Okay. I’d like that.”
Oliver sounded a little hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he’d like it but was willing to give it a try.
“What team do you like?” Kai asked. When Oliver hesitated, Kai added, “I like the Broncos.”
“Me, too,” Oliver said.
Kai suspected Oliver didn’t know a touchdown from a ground-rule double, but he appreciated that Oliver was willing to lie to make Kai feel like they had something in common. It was a good sign. He was a good guy. Maybe one day it would feel natural to call him Dad.
23
Oliver Bowen
August 23, 2030. Washington, D.C.
Oliver watched a cardinal perched in a tree outside his office window. He wondered what birds thought, when they were flying around in deep woods and came upon a Luyten. Were they at all surprised? Did they sense the Luyten were something different that didn’t belong?
“Dr. Bowen?”
It was Carlotta Marcosi, carrying a screen. “You said you wanted to see the fMRI. Is now a good time?”
“Sure. Yes.”
Marcosi set the screen on his desk. Oliver studied the fMRI video, trying to make sense of it. Brain activity was not his area, but he could read an fMRI well enough to know Five’s brain activity was beyond bizarre.
“I don’t understand what I’m seeing,” Oliver finally said. “Do you?”