Lila was confident she’d remember this moment for the rest of her life, because in this moment she’d found the blueprint for what was to come, and it felt so, so right.
“I wonder if they’ll have any good music at the parade, or if it’ll be all marching bands,” Alfe said.
Lila rolled her eyes and sighed. “It’s not about music. It’s about honoring the defenders.” She enunciated every word, like she would if she were speaking to a child. “If it wasn’t for them, we’d all be dead.”
“I know that,” Alfe said, annoyed. “I’m not saying the music is the important thing. I was just wondering.”
Lila didn’t hear Alfe’s last words. Another voice drowned him out—a voice in her head that felt like a razor blade dragged across her brain.
I’m sorry I killed your father.
Lila sunk to her knees.
Very sorry.
All around her, people shrieked, cried, clutched their ears. It wasn’t just her—they were speaking to everyone.
Sorry for your loss. Indeed.
This was a different voice, although she didn’t know how she knew that. Their voices felt horrible, like spiders had gone into her ears and were crawling around inside her head.
People were fleeing toward the road, where buses were parked, waiting to take the crowds home.
She looked at Alfe, who was plopped in the grass, his head between his knees. Cheena grabbed her by her tunic from behind, tugged her to her feet.
“Let’s get out of here.” She was shaking her hands, as if she’d gotten something disgusting on them and needed to wash. “Let’s go.”
Lila tugged Alfe up and they ran, letting the crowd carry them toward the buses.
I’m truly sorry. It was the first voice again, the voice of the monster who’d killed her father. It was speaking to her. Lila suspected the sound of that voice might drive her insane. She had to get out of there. She tried to run faster, but the crowd was setting the pace, and not everyone in it was young.
Her gaze was drawn down into the pens, toward one particular Luyten, a smallish, crimson one pressed close to the fence. There was no way to know for sure that it was the one who was speaking to her, but somehow she felt sure it was.
27
Oliver Bowen
October 21, 2030. Washington, D.C.
They loaded Five into a semi. It was marked as a Killer Donuts truck, leading Oliver to wonder if the Killer Donuts Corporation was a government front. They made surprisingly good donuts, if that was the case.
As two men rolled down the back door of the semi, Oliver resisted the temptation to wave. Enough people thought his relationship with Five was sick and weird—no need to throw fuel on that fire. Oliver imagined Five would miss tormenting him.
Having you as company is about as fulfilling to me as the company of a goldfish would be to you.
Although Five had given no indication he was joking, Oliver couldn’t help laughing. He turned away, headed into the shade of the oak trees on the side lawn of the compound, where he could speak aloud in peace.
“You’d really prefer to be in a camp? I could argue that you’re more valuable as a liaison.”
I prefer to be with my kind.
“All right.” Oliver wondered what sort of reception Five would get. If he’d been telling Kai the truth back when they first met, Five had violated a basic rule set down by the Luyten leadership: no communication with the enemy.
Luyten don’t shun their own. Even those who’ve made terrible mistakes.
“But in the end, it allowed you to be of some use to your kind.”
To facilitate our surrender. Yes, how useful.
Oliver realized the direction of their conversation provided an opportunity to broach the subject many people were curious about. “Of course, there are lots of Luyten talking now.” Oliver watched the truck pull away. “Can I ask why that is?”
You already know the answer.
“I suspect the answer. Given that Luyten motives are way beyond my comprehension, how could I possibly know I’m right, unless you tell me?”
In this case, our motives should be utterly transparent, even to you. We’re engaging in a campaign to “humanize” ourselves, because your kind are less likely to carry out genocide on a species that seems somewhat human.
“You’re scaring the shit out of people.”
That can’t be helped. By communicating we become less alien. By sending a consistent message of kindness and contrition, we become less threatening.
Oliver had to admit it made sense. In human wars, countries went to great lengths to dehumanize the enemy so their soldiers would feel less guilty killing them.
“Can I make a suggestion? Tell your kind to take on names, and introduce themselves when they contact someone. Names humanize.”
Five didn’t respond. Oliver frowned. “Five?”
The truck must have carried Five outside his telepathic range. He was gone.
His hands in his pockets, feeling somewhat melancholy, Oliver headed back inside. If not for what happened with Vanessa, Oliver could honestly have said he would miss Five.
28
Oliver Bowen
October 24, 2030. Washington, D.C.
The defenders just kept coming. They were marching three abreast, and that was all that would fit across Pennsylvania Avenue. The crowd cheered, waved flags, tossed flowers and wreaths at the defenders, who crushed the offerings underfoot until the pavement was hidden beneath a layer of multicolored mulch. Many carried weapons as they marched briskly, eyes front, their long faces proud, unsmiling.
They just kept coming. And these were just the defenders who’d been in the D.C. vicinity at the end of the war. There were hundreds of parades going on all over the world. Oliver wondered what all of these defenders would do now that the war was over. They could guard the Luyten, but that would require only a small fraction of them.
“How many defenders are there?” he asked Ariel. “Do you know?”
Ariel touched a finger to her lip. “You know, I don’t. Millions. Several million. Maybe ten. We made as many as possible, as fast as we could. Every new defender meant fewer human lives lost.”
“What are they going to do, now that the war is over?”
Ariel shrugged. “I don’t think that’s been discussed yet, not at the highest level. I guess they could be retired, given barracks and pensions. They could relax, watch jumbo TVs. Or they could be retrained to work in law enforcement, maybe construction?”
“Hmm.” Oliver caught a glimpse of Kai, near the front of the crowd, waving at the passing defenders, who did not wave back.
“Why? Do you have an idea? I doubt anything’s been decided.”
“I was just curious.”
Oliver leaned forward, tried to see if the end of the line was in sight, but the crowd was too thick.
The defenders just kept coming.
Oliver craned his neck to look in the other direction. “Where are they going, when they reach the end of the parade route?”
Then he remembered: His comm was working, the satellites were back in orbit. His comm located a camera farther down Pennsylvania Avenue and provided a link so he could see.
The defenders were turning onto Rock Creek and Potomac Parkway, and exiting along the long stretch of parklands. He linked to a camera in the park.