Lila stood in the gutter an extra moment to allow the throngs to unclog, then stepped back into the flow of people on their way to work. She waited for the light and crossed Victory Avenue, which was a hundred feet wide at least, one of the new defender streets. The city was transforming into an enormous visual illusion. On one block everything looked normal; on the next everything was triple in size.
There was a new indoor rifle range on Ichiro Street, bearing the familiar NO HUMANS sign. She’d never seen a NO LUYTEN sign; evidently even while target shooting the defenders needed someone to fetch their iced tea.
She was so tired. Typically her insomnia would get a little worse each night, building to a crescendo where she was too exhausted to think, and that would break the cycle and she would sleep fifteen hours straight. This time it just kept getting worse. She was beyond exhausted, but her thoughts kept spinning, as if they’d discovered their own power source independent of her sleep-deprived brain.
She was so afraid of what might happen if this resistance turned out to be more than a bunch of posturing blowhards. What was it about humanity that always led it right back to killing as the solution to its problems? If someone would just listen, she was sure she could get them out of this mess without firing a shot. The defenders had weaknesses; their ability to respond to a physical attack wasn’t one of them. Why couldn’t other people see that?
If only there was some way to jump-start the process, to get the defenders to see that they’d be better off if humans were in charge, or at least sharing power. That would mean getting them to be less paranoid. Saner. Happier.
Lila laughed out loud. Couldn’t they all use that? She certainly could. The problem with the defenders was that they were engineered to be paranoid and unhappy. The only way to change it was to alter their genetic code.
She slowed her pace. What if she did it now, subtly? There was no one checking the new defenders’ genetic coding at this point. Would the existing defenders notice if the new ones were less disordered? If she could somehow reintroduce serotonin into the design, the new ones would still be violent and have negligible social skills, but they’d be less empty inside.
It would be incredibly risky. Her defender superiors had expressly instructed her to make the new defenders exactly the same as the existing ones. If they caught her messing with the formula, they’d pull her legs off, then stomp her to jelly. But if she made the alterations at the source codes, and no one checked her work, she’d be the only person on Earth who’d know.
Up ahead, the back of a parked semi rolled open, and a Luyten climbed out. Lila stopped walking and waited for it to cross the sidewalk and head down an alley between two shops. She would never get used to them; they would always make her skin crawl…
With a jolt, she realized that if she were to introduce serotonin into the brain chemistry of defenders, the Luyten would be able to read their thoughts. How could she have overlooked that fact, even for a minute? The thought gave her chills. Jesus, what if she’d gone ahead with it, not realizing what she was doing?
“Lila?”
Lila turned to find a beefy guy and a skinny blond woman keeping pace beside her. She didn’t answer, because she wasn’t sure she wanted to confirm her identity to these people. They were clean and relatively well dressed, not the sort of people she associated with the threats and hate messages she occasionally received.
“We need you to come with us, please,” the guy said. He had a heavy New York accent—Brooklyn, or the Bronx. In fact, he was wearing a New York Yankees Windbreaker.
“And why would I want to do that?” Lila shot back. Now Lila wasn’t sure; these people might be a threat after all. She looked around, saw two defenders within earshot. If she screamed for help, would they respond? They might if she made clear who she was.
“We’ve been authorized to speak to you in private, by the president of the United States.”
That got her attention. Usually when people lied, they tried to keep it plausible. “Oh, really? How did you contact him, through a Ouija board?”
“He’s alive. They’re both alive, actually. Anthony Wood is back in charge.” The man stepped in front of her; when she tried to walk around him he stuck out an arm to stop her, but stopped short of grabbing her. “Please, Dr. Easterlin. We need your help. We’re all on the same side here, aren’t we? You’re only helping them because they’re not giving you a choice. Right?”
She knew he was playing on her insecurities, but the words still stung. “What is this about?”
“It’s about exactly what you think it’s about.”
Lila looked at the woman, who had yet to utter a word. She looked to be about Lila’s age, late twenties. “Did you agree ahead of time that he would do all the talking?”
“My work comes later,” she replied. There was something about her, a nervousness, or maybe just too much caffeine.
Lila eyed them both for a moment longer, then shrugged. They’d sparked her curiosity. “Okay. Let’s go.”
The big guy stuck out his hand, introduced himself as Clete. The woman was Danika. As the three of them headed down Monticello Avenue, Lila tried to guess what they wanted. They must need her expertise for some sort of attack they were planning. Wouldn’t it be bizarre if they’d come upon the same idea as she, about altering the newly produced defenders in some way? But what sort of alteration would possibly help them? Whatever it was they wanted, she wasn’t sure she would help. If they were simply planning to blow shit up, kill a few defenders, then no way was she sticking her neck out even an inch.
They led her to the Renaissance Hotel. Lila had had lunch there once, back when it was a four-star gem; now it was in serious decline. The carpet in the lobby was stained and threadbare, the walls in need of a paint job. Few humans traveled for business, none for pleasure, and the place was too small for defenders.
There were no suitcases in Clete and Danika’s room, no indication that anyone was staying there save a briefcase lying closed on the bed. A slimy, unidentifiable lump sat on top of it. Danika went over to the lump, bowed her head as if in prayer. Clete hung back near Lila.
Danika picked up the lump with a quivering hand. She held it high, looked up at it, and stifled a sob. “I used to be a high school teacher. I taught algebra and trig.” Still holding the lump, she looked at Lila. “I don’t know why it’s important to me that you understand, but it is. Maybe it’s because I’m going to be you for a little while.”
“What do you mean, you’re going to be me? I haven’t agreed to go along with anything yet, and given how weird this is beginning to look, I doubt I’m going to.”
Clete took a step back, placing himself between Lila and the door. Suddenly Danika was the chatty one, and he was the introvert.
“I had a child, just like you. She and her father were killed when the defenders invaded Los Angeles. When I found out, I promised myself I’d join them in heaven as soon as I could. But I wanted my death to count for something first.”
Danika lowered the lump toward her face. She opened her mouth, pushed the lump between her lips.
“Wait. What is that?” Lila asked. Lila thought Danika must be eating poison, but how would that make her death count? The lump was slick on the outside, like it was sheathed in stretched plastic—a deflated balloon, or a condom.
Danika slid it farther, into her throat. She gagged, pulled it out. Whatever it was, she was trying to swallow it.