Will McIntosh - Defenders

“Television on.”

CNN anchors Conchita Perez and Arthur Figgins materialized on the wall, reporting on the year’s sea level rise figures.

“Entertainment. Comedy.”

Oliver didn’t recognize the television program, but he didn’t watch much television, so that wasn’t surprising. Maybe the link had been installed in their rooms so they’d feel at home, but Oliver didn’t think so. The defenders watched human television.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come on in.”

Smiling tightly, Lila said, “Ready?” It was obvious she wanted to talk, compare notes, but who knew if their rooms were being monitored? It would surprise Oliver to learn they weren’t. They may not have an opportunity to speak privately all day; their hosts had scheduled a full slate, all of it chaperoned.

First up was a tour of the countryside, to Adelaide and back. Oliver was hardly in the mood for a quiet ride through the country, and for the life of him he couldn’t imagine why the defenders had scheduled it. Had they genetically engineered giant trees to match their giant buildings? Would they encounter wallabies the size of dinosaurs?

Everyone seemed tense as they boarded the high-speed train. Their host was waiting for them.

“Hello, Vlad—” Oliver began, but Lila squeezed his elbow.

“I’m Lila Easterlin, US ambassador. This is Oliver Bowen, science and technology emissary attached to the US contingent.”

It wasn’t Vladimir. They all looked the same to Oliver. Evidently Lila was able to distinguish one defender from another. Maybe that wasn’t surprising; sometimes Oliver had trouble recognizing people after he’d met them a half dozen times. He wasn’t good with faces.

“My name is Erik. I’ve been assigned as liaison for the North and Central American emissaries, because I have exceptionally good interpersonal skills.”

Under other circumstances Oliver might have smiled at the oxymoronic nature of Erik’s proclamation, but he only nodded while he studied Erik’s face, trying to find a way to distinguish it from all the other long, angular faces.

“Please choose a comfortable seat and make yourselves…” Erik paused, frowned. “…comfortable.”

Oliver and Lila sat across from the British contingent, Ambassador Galatea McManus and a military expert, Alan Nicely. Galatea was in her fifties, slim bordering on bony, with a lean, elegant face and red hair streaked with white. Alan was pudgy, impeccably dressed in a tight white tunic with tied lace cuffs and a matching bowler hat.

The train whisked them out of the city, into the exurbs of Sydney (much of the suburbs had evidently been consumed by the oversized version of the city the defenders had created). Massive new defender construction gave way to dilapidated human towns. Far fewer defenders lived in Australia than there had been humans, so it made sense the defenders’ renovations left off in the outlying areas.

Erik joined them as they hurtled through the eerily deserted human towns.

“Erik, how many defender cities have been constructed?” Oliver asked as soon as he sat down.

“Several,” Erik replied. An awkward silence followed, as Oliver digested the evasive answer.

Lila finally broke the silence. “Where were you stationed during the war, Erik?”

“I led the Eighth Airborne Battalion in England. My rank is colonel.”

“Ah,” Galatea said. “Did you spend any time in London? I might have passed you while running for my life.”

They all chuckled except for Erik, whose flat expression didn’t change. With serotonin absent from their biochemistry, the defenders would have a difficult time with humor. Lila had a better grasp on the defenders’ limitations than Oliver. He made a mental note to avoid joking. Better to keep communication formal until they developed a better understanding of the defenders’ psychological makeup. In many ways they were dealing with another alien species, although hopefully they would prove easier to comprehend than Luyten.

“I was in London late in the campaign,” Erik answered. Abruptly, he turned to Lila. “I understand you studied under Dominique Wiewall.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Oliver watched Lila adjust to the abrupt shift in topic. They’d been surprised, when the defenders requested Lila. She’d been fifteen when they left for Australia. For the past thirteen years humans had been incapable of monitoring the defenders, because of the cloak, but clearly the defenders had been watching them closely, and not just their television programs.

“What can you tell me about her?” Erik asked.

Lila tilted her head to one side. “What do you want to know?”

Erik leaned toward her. “ Anything. Anything other defenders wouldn’t know. What are her hobbies? Does she paint?”

“Um, no, she doesn’t paint.” Lila pressed a finger to her lips for a moment. “She’s not exactly the hobby type. She runs, a lot. And plays volleyball.”

Erik folded his arms. “She’s no-nonsense. Hardworking. Pragmatic. I suspected as much.”

Lila grinned. “You’ve got her pegged. She holds herself to very high standards. If you want to find Dominique, day or night, look in her lab.”

“Excellent. Excellent,” Erik said.

There was something strange about Lila that had been nagging Oliver as he watched her, and Oliver finally put his finger on what it was: She was glowing; all of her irony and sarcasm had melted away when the defender singled her out for attention. Sometimes when the three of them were together, Oliver felt like Lila and Kai were speaking a different language, punctuated with odd tonality and wry non sequiturs. Suddenly Lila was back to speaking straight English.

As Erik went off to mingle with his other charges, the exurbs gave way to open country—alternating farmland and forest.

“So, Oliver,” Galatea said, “I have to admit, I did quite a bit of research into you before the trip. I’m fascinated by your interactions with the Luyten, Five. I’m hoping you’ll be willing to share some details I wouldn’t be able to find in books.”

“It was a long time ago, but I’d be happy to—” Oliver stopped speaking. The woodland the train had been traveling through had given way to open space again, only instead of farmland, all was blacktop, surrounding an immense factory. It must have been a mile long, fit with dozens of steel smokestacks, each hundreds of feet high. The paved lots surrounding the factory were filled with shiny, brand-new weapons: huge fighter jets that resembled manta rays; muscular tanks on four sets of treads on squat legs, sporting three independent turrets; building-sized winged monstrosities that might have been bombers. Chrome and silver sparkled in the sunlight, as if the weapons had recently been polished.

Alan stood, pressed his nose to the window. “Holy Christ.”

“What sort of weapons are those?” Lila asked, her voice just above a whisper.

Alan didn’t answer immediately. He studied the machinery passing by. “Those look like amphibian craft.” He pointed at rows of chrome shovel-shaped vehicles. “But they have wheels. They may be dual-purpose. One thing’s for certain: They’re heavily armed. Heavily armed.”

Oliver looked at Erik, who was leaning in their direction, eavesdropping. This was the reason for the ride in the country. The defenders didn’t want to show them trees; they wanted to show off their military might.

Ten minutes later, they passed another factory.

Then another, twenty minutes after that.

Aircraft, artillery, guerrilla craft. Oliver’s insides felt like liquid as he surveyed seas of shining metal. They must have a weapon for every defender alive. Unless they were making more defenders as well. Surely, surely, that was well beyond their technological abilities. Machines were one thing, genetic codes another.