“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 see 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.