Will McIntosh - Defenders

“Others such as who?” Wood asked.

“Such as your secretary of defense.”

Scowling, Wood turned to Oteri. “Is this true?”

Oteri nodded tightly. “Yes, sir. That would be my counsel.”

Wood moved a half step closer, pointed at Oteri’s nose. “Another half billion people will die before this war is over. If we can save a half billion innocent lives by commuting a death sentence to life in prison, we’ll take that deal every time. Erase any thoughts of going back on our word once we make an agreement. Wipe them out of your fucking mind right now.”

He turned back to Five. “Is my secretary now on board with this agreement?”

“Yes. It may prove more of a challenge to convince other world leaders, including the premier.”

“I’m supposed to convince all of them?”

“Ninety percent will do.”

Wood grunted. “Only ninety percent.”

Oliver couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Somehow he’d imagined they would strike a deal then and there. It was a step in the right direction, though.

Don’t flatter yourself. There are dozens of these meetings being held.

Right now? He thought it, rather than speaking it aloud.

Now, or soon, or they were recently completed. The other meetings were conducted without the drama of face-to-face interactions. Leaders within range were contacted telepathically.

How are the meetings going? Oliver thought.

Mixed. That was all Five would say on that, or any other topic. He fell back into silence as he was wheeled out of the Oval Office, onto the front lawn of the White House.

October 10, 2030. Washington, D.C.

Everyone would remember where they were when it happened. Oliver was tossing a football with Kai in their backyard. It was two hours before the news would go public. His comm alerted him to an incoming call from President Wood, indicating that full security was required to take the call.

“Holy crap.” Oliver dropped the football. “I have to take this.” He activated his phone’s security protocol.

“Oliver.” The president stretched his name into three syllables, as if relishing the sound of it. “I have news.”

“Good news?”

“The best news.”

Oliver let out a whoop. “It’s over? Please tell me it’s over.” Kai had come over to stand close to him.

“The terms of surrender were signed ninety minutes ago. If you want to call what the starfish do with a pen ‘signing.’ More like doodling.”

“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.

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.