Defenders (21 page)

Suddenly Lila missed Kai, and their son Errol, so badly it hurt. In the five years they’d been married, they’d never been apart for more than a few days at a time.

“I like poker. Most defenders like poker. It’s war. Nothing but distilled military strategy.”

“I’ve never thought of it like that,” Lila said. “It is kind of like a war, isn’t it? You fight until all but one player is dead.” She didn’t like looking at it in that light. Kai was a free spirit, an utterly nonviolent man. He didn’t even like violent movies.

They were different in a lot of ways, she and Kai, yet they fit together so well. From the very start, she’d loved being around him. She smiled, thinking of their first day together. Kai had tagged along with his dad to a genetic policy conference, mostly as a way to get a free trip to Miami in January. He asked Lila to skip out on the conference banquet and go with him to a high-stakes poker game instead. An illegal game. Never one to miss out on something seedy, Lila had gone. It was exhilarating, something out of a movie. Kai had been so cool, so fearless, taking on the strange and colorful men and women huddled around the table. That time, it had been a war of sorts.

Kai lost money at the game, but on the ride home in a taxi he was in a great mood, almost manic as he deconstructed some of the more interesting hands for her. When Lila asked how he could be so happy after losing however much it had been—twenty or thirty thousand dollars—Kai explained that he never tallied wins and losses in terms of a single game. He said you played differently—defensively—if you were losing, and even good players lost 40 percent of the time. The trick was to take both a longer view and a shorter one. First, approach each hand as a new, discrete game in itself. And second, tally your wins and losses over the course of the past year. If you were a good player, in the long run you’d win more than you lost, and that was the only tally that mattered. When they got back to the hotel, Lila had led Kai down to the beach and banged his brains out.

She filed through the gate, surrounded by giants. As the only human in sight, she felt incredibly self-conscious. Everyone was staring at her. Everyone. They whispered to each other the way humans did when a movie star passed.

Their seats were close to the perfectly groomed dirt track, fringed with the greenest grass. “Wow, what terrific seats,” Lila said. “You must have friends in high places.”

Erik beamed. His smile was a stiff straight line, but wide.

Lila looked up and realized she couldn’t reach her seat. Erik stood when he saw her trying to figure out how to climb up.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“Thank you. That would be wonderful.” She held her hands out from her sides. Erik grasped her sides, lifted her ever so gently into her seat. Lifting her was clearly effortless for him.

Realizing she was blushing, Lila turned her attention to the track. A few defenders milled about by the starting gate, more down by the stable, along with several Luyten. The odds board, set out beyond the track, was active for the first race.

“Wait,” Lila said. “Who rides the horses?” It hadn’t occurred to her until then, because she had zero interest in horse racing. Kai wouldn’t go near a track—he wouldn’t gamble when the odds were against him.

“Horses?” Erik asked.

An electronic trumpet sounded. Confused, Lila looked out at the track. “Well, it’s a race track, isn’t it?”

A dozen Luyten scurried toward the starting gate.

“You race Luyten.” Of course they did. They were too big to ride horses. Luyten didn’t require riders. She should have noticed the starting gate and track were jumbo-sized like everything else, designed to race creatures bigger than horses.

“Which one should we bet on?” Erik asked. An electronic wagering system was built into the backs of the seats.

Lila eyed the Luyten, who were entering their respective stalls along the starting gate. They made her skin crawl.

What the hell, let them race. Why should she feel uneasy watching Luyten race, but comfortable watching horses race? Horses were noble animals. They deserved better treatment than Luyten.

She looked up at Erik. “My lucky number’s always been four.” Actually it had been three. She’d changed it when the Luyten invaded, clustered in groups of three.

“Four, then.” He placed a bet. Lila didn’t have any sense of the defenders’ economic system, but she assumed it was capitalist, probably closely approximating the dominant human system.

The starting bell sounded; the barriers on the stalls swung open, and the Luyten surged out. Lila had to look away. Seeing them run at full gallop reminded her of her bad time. She tried not to be too obvious; she didn’t want to disappoint Erik.

Around her defenders shouted encouragement or curses. The veins at Erik’s temples were bulging as he shouted, his fist in the air, his eyes blazing with what might be excitement, but looked more like bloodlust or rage. As the shouting reached a crescendo Lila caught a glimpse of the Luyten crossing the finish line. Erik howled with pleasure. He thumped her on the back so hard it almost sent her tumbling out of her seat.

“You did it. We won.”

Lila tried to smile as she struggled to breathe.

Defenders clamored past them down the aisle. Dozens of them pushed through a gate in the fence that surrounded the track as those still seated stomped their feet, creating a thundering that caused the concrete grandstand to tremble. One of the Luyten on the track took off, fleeing toward the stables. The defenders who’d come out of the stands chased it.

“What’s happening?” Lila asked.

Erik pointed at the fleeing Luyten. “It finished last, and some of the bettors aren’t happy with its effort. Watch what they do.”

What they did was beat it. They could have used the razor-sharp shards along their sides, but instead they punched, kicked, and stomped it. Then defenders grasped each of its limbs and lifted it into the air.

“My God.” Lila watched through her fingers. The spectators went wild as they pulled the Luyten apart.

“Why am I doing this?” Oliver said to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’d been waiting in the bathroom for two hours; for all he knew, he could be waiting another four. He had no idea when the rooms were cleaned; all he knew was they were, and he could not picture a defender making a bed with those stiff-clawed hands, so it had to be cleaned by a Luyten.

It could prove extremely advantageous if Oliver was able to contact Five. Beyond that, he wanted to speak to Five for personal reasons. He felt as if they had unfinished business, things that needed to be said.

The door opened in the other room. Oliver heard the muffled thud of something large walking on the carpeted floor. He took a couple of deep breaths, still looking at his reflection in the mirror, then turned toward the room.

The plum-colored Luyten gave no indication it noticed Oliver; it collected the damp towels he’d left folded on the dresser and headed toward the trash can.

“You know I’ve been waiting for you,” Oliver said aloud, but softly. “Do you know where I can find him?”

The Luyten straightened, walked toward Oliver, then turned sideways to slip past him. It disappeared into the bathroom.

“Can you at least let him know I’d like to speak to him?” Oliver asked.

There was no response.

Oliver went to the bathroom door. The Luyten was cleaning the bathtub. “This is ridiculous. I know you understand me. I know you can answer if you want to.” He turned his palms up. “Can you at least show me the courtesy of answering, even if your answer is ‘no’?”

The Luyten went on scrubbing, as if Oliver weren’t there. Maybe this was the Luyten’s way of expressing their rage at the human race for signing a treaty and almost immediately breaking it. Oliver had to admit, it was well deserved. “I was against breaking that treaty, though,” he said to the Luyten. “I’d like to speak to Five for personal reasons, beyond my role as an emissary.”

The Luyten looked into the toilet, evidently judged it clean enough, and stepped toward the doorway.

Oliver stood his ground, blocking its path. “Say something. Lay out my deepest fears and insecurities. Tell me to fuck off and die. Say
something
.”

It waited, perfectly still.

Oliver stepped aside.

The Luyten brushed past, collected its supplies, and closed the door behind it.

It was strange, to feel so small all of the time. Everyone on the pedestrian walk towered over her. The stone wall that ran along the river was waist-high to the defenders, but Lila couldn’t see the river at all.

She watched defenders hurry to work clutching satchels, others stop into Perks Coffee, clutching giant Styrofoam cups on their way out, or sitting at tables outside. It could almost be a human street scene; the only thing missing was the occasional sound of laughter.

She spotted Erik a little way off leaning against the wall, looking out at the water. Lila called his name; he saw her, smiled, and headed toward her carrying something wide and flat, wrapped in brown paper. Under his arm it looked to be the size of a magazine, but it would come up to Lila’s waist if he set it beside her.

“My special friend. Hello,” Erik said, loud enough for passersby to hear. He looked around, as if seeking a reaction.

“Ready?” Lila said. She checked the time on her phone. “We don’t have much time before I have to meet the others.”

Erik blew air through his nose, a signature defender gesture that Lila had learned signaled anything from frustration to sadness to anger. “Are you sure you can’t sit next to
me
?” His eyes were flat and emotionless, but his feelings were clearly still hurt from her unavoidable snub.

“I really wish I could, but Vladimir had a row of seats constructed just so the emissaries could sit together at the front.” The performance had been planned for months, in their honor.

“Vladimir.” His tone was surly. Then he seemed to remember the package he was holding. “I have something for you. Shall we sit?”

Pigeons flapped away from the bench they found facing the river. With Erik’s help, Lila climbed into the seat. Erik propped the package on the seat between them. “I made this for you.”

Lila canted her head at Erik, smiling. “For me? That’s so thoughtful of you.” She slid her finger under the spot where the paper was sealed, unsure what to expect. What would a defender
make
for someone? Pulling off the brown wrapping, Lila had to mask her reaction. It was an oil painting—a truly terrible painting, of a defender standing beside a human figure. There was little background to speak of, beyond smears of purple and green.

“It’s you and me.”

Lila inhaled dramatically. “It’s
wonderful
. I love it.”

“Do you really?” There was an undertone of desperation in Erik’s voice. The gift obviously meant a lot to him.

And despite how awful the painting was, she did love it. She loved what it represented, found herself choking up. She sniffed and said, “I really do. It’s the most beautiful gift anyone’s ever given me.”

Erik smiled, his mouth almost—not quite, but almost—curling at the corners. “That pleases me. I made it very small, so it would fit in your house.”

“That must have been a challenge.”

Erik raised his hand, looked at his three clawed fingers. His hands reminded Lila of
Tyrannosaurus rex
claws. “These aren’t made for painting. I lash the brush to my hand with bonding tape.”

“Do you do a lot of painting?”

Erik nodded. “It’s my hobby. Everyone is encouraged to pursue a hobby.” He grunted. “My work isn’t good enough to merit display in the Defender Museum of Art. At least, that’s the curator’s opinion.”

“Well, I think he’s an idiot.”

Erik beamed, his brow and mouth smoothing, giving him an almost serene countenance. “Our special friendship is…” He struggled for words, squeezed his hands together. “…it’s the finest thing.”

Lila wished she could go back in time to show her sixteen-year-old self this moment. She stood, brushed off her skirt. “Well, I should get going.”

Erik stood. “Can I walk back with you?” He sounded desperate. “I can carry your painting for you.”

“Absolutely. Thank you.”

Lila felt safe walking beside Erik. On a conscious level, she knew the Luyten padding around were no threat, but she could never seem to convince the primitive part of her mind to relax. Each time one of them came into sight, she jolted, tensed to run. Just the sight of them felt wrong. Walking with Erik calmed that feeling.

“There’s a defender named Ravi who’s written a book that’s becoming very popular,” Erik said. He cleared his throat. “He writes that the fewer legs a creature has, the more value it has.” He looked at Lila, as if trying to gauge her reaction. Lila nodded for him to go on. “Humans made defenders with three legs, because you see us as valuable, but not as valuable as humans. Mammals have four legs, insects six, and Luyten either six or seven. So killing a Luyten means nothing, but you should only kill a dog if you intend to eat it. Do you think this makes sense?”

“No, of course not,” Lila said. “We engineered defenders with three legs so they’d be fast, because Luyten are fast. Believe me,” she said with a laugh, though it was a little forced, “we weren’t thinking about things like relative status when we designed you. We were thinking about survival.” She thought about those dark days, before the defenders appeared. “It’s hard to describe just how utterly the threat of extinction pushes aside everything else. Thoughts of who’s better than who just stops mattering.”

Erik frowned, clearly wrestling with what she’d said. The question had thrown Lila, left her flustered and uncomfortable, because she wasn’t being completely honest. She had answered honestly, but there’d been more to his question than whether this wacky theory of leg count was correct. Erik was probing, trying to understand what humans thought of defenders
now
, and although no one ever said it aloud, Lila suspected that deep down, most humans viewed defenders as inferior.