Defenders (47 page)

Out on the street, a Luyten bridged the rise, heading toward Lila. After a glance back at Errol, who was hard at work with the shovel, she went through the gate to meet Five halfway.

“I’m sorry,” she said when she reached him.

Come on.
Five led her back into the yard, sidled up beside Errol. Errol looked at Five, held up the shovel. Five accepted it and began to dig.

“I really am sorry.”

There’s no need. I know what’s in your mind, what’s in your heart. I don’t care about what you felt yesterday, only what you feel now. If you do lose Kai, you’ll have one friend, at least.

“He’s still alive, then?” She’d been afraid to ask.

Yes. He’s wounded, but should survive.

Lila broke down then. Out of relief, out of grief for Oliver, out of gratitude, out of despair. She hated crying, but too much had built up; there was no holding it back.

Errol came over and wrapped his little arms around her legs, and that made her cry harder. She knelt and squeezed Errol to her. “Tell him to get his ass home, right now. Why are you digging?”

The grave was three feet deep. The only thing slowing Five was the human-sized shovel; he carved through the hard-packed earth like he was digging on a beach.

He’s already on his way. So are Dominique and Forrest.

Only then did it occur to her to ask the most obvious question.

Yes
, Five answered before she could ask.
It will be weeks before the defenders realize they’ve lost—bloody weeks, awful weeks—but they’re taking too many losses. Whatever brilliant military maneuver they attempt, we’re always a step ahead of them, and they can’t figure out why. Thanks to you.
Five climbed into the grave, because it was too deep to dig from ground level.

Only the top third of the Luyten was visible as dirt flew out of the grave. Errol was mesmerized.

“What will we do when it’s over?”

In theory, that’s up to you, up to the human race. As we said, we’ll accept any reasonable arrangement. So the question is, what kind of world do you want? Humans and Luyten can try to forge an integrated society, or we can go to Australia, where we’re too far away to read your minds.

“I want you to stay.”

You do, and I appreciate that. I know how hard a climb it’s been for you to trust us.
Five pulled himself out of the hole. His movements were slightly awkward, because of his missing limb.

“You said, ‘
in theory
, it’s up to us.’ Why in theory?”

Because we know what you’ll decide.

The answer startled her. “What will we decide?”

You’ll want us to go away. Australia won’t be far enough, but if that’s as far as we can go …

Lila nodded. It wasn’t what she felt—not anymore, anyway—but she could understand why people would feel that way. “We’re afraid of you.”

If it makes you feel any better, we’re afraid of you, too.
Five headed toward the sliding glass doors in the back of the house.
Do you want to take Errol around front while I do this?

Lila didn’t bother answering aloud. Death was everywhere; there was no way to protect Errol from it. Better he see it like this first, rather than bulldozers and mass graves, or bodies in the streets.

Moments later, Five dragged Erik into the yard. He’d wrapped him in bedsheets, and as he approached the grave he slowed, took one single step at a time, as if he were a pallbearer. It made Lila smile. As Five eased him into the grave, Errol pulled his hand free from Lila’s and took off.

“Daddy!”

Lila turned to find Kai limping toward them. She rushed over, took in the gash in his side, the bloody, ruined boot. Wrapping an arm around his waist, she led him toward the house.

“No,” he said. He gestured toward the grave. “Let’s finish first. I can wait.”

They gathered at the edge of the grave in silence. Lila stared down at Erik, his form visible beneath the sheets, and remembered the day she’d discovered him walking beside her, wanting to be her friend.

Five picked up the shovel.
I can take it from here. Why don’t you and Kai go inside so you can help him?

Lila led Kai inside as Errol, fascinated by the filling of the hole, stayed behind with Five as the daylight began to fade.

“Can you see anything yet?” Kai moved his head left and right, trying to see past Lila and Errol, out the tiny window.

Lila tried to see past Errol, who had his face plastered to the window, his hands cupped around his eyes to reduce glare.

“I don’t see anything,” Errol said. “Just clouds.”

Lila suspected they would hear from Five, or some Luyten official, before they saw Australia. She hoped it was Five; she’d feel more comfortable peppering him with questions, starting with the rumor the Luyten had begun construction on a new starship. If the Luyten picked up and left, it would present some serious problems for Lila and Kai, given they’d de facto renounced their citizenship.

“Do you think there’ll be a reception committee on the tarmac to greet us, or just some Luyten holding a sign with our names on it at baggage claim?”

“I kind of doubt they have a baggage claim,” Lila said laughing.

“What’s a baggage claim?” Errol asked, turning from the window.

“It’s where you pick up your suitcases,” Lila answered.

“Why wouldn’t they have one?” Errol asked.

“Because Luyten don’t have many possessions, and humans don’t visit Australia very often.”

Errol thought about this for a moment, his big, dark eyebrows pinched. “If we’re not traitors for coming here, how come not many people come?”

For the hundredth time, Lila wondered if they were making a terrible mistake. It was too late now; she might as well stop worrying about it. If they tried to go back to the United States, Willis would hang them for treason. “They’re afraid, that’s all.”

“The whole damned country. Most of the
world
,” Kai muttered.

Lila wondered if Kai muttered the words because he didn’t want Errol to hear them, or out of habit. There was nothing General Willis and his henchmen could do now that they’d made it this far.

She wondered if the crimson Luyten’s sacrifice had led her to swing too far in trusting the Luyten. Willis was a paranoid xenophobe, yes. But no one could deny the Luyten were manufacturing weapons, and had an active genetics program under way. Lila couldn’t blame them, given the mistrust and hatred for Luyten that was resurfacing among humans. Still, Lila had no idea what the Luyten felt. No one did.

We feel sad, but we haven’t given up hope. Your decision to come here, to show the world that humans and Luyten can live together, keeps that hope alive.

“Hello, Five.”

At Lila’s words, Kai sat up straighter in his seat, looked at Lila expectantly. Then he chuckled, evidently receiving a communication of his own. He went on chuckling softly, shaking his head.

“What did he say?” Lila asked.

“He said, ‘Welcome, Boy Who Betrayed the World.’”

Before you ask, there’s no starship under construction. It’s just wishful thinking on the part of humans.

Lila was relieved, but also a little disappointed. It would make things a lot simpler if the Luyten left. “Why not? I mean, why stay on a planet with an intelligent species bearing a grudge?”

Because the trip here was awful, and it took generations. The nearest potentially habitable planet from here is three times as far. And who’s to say that one isn’t inhabited?

“Good point,” Kai said.

I’d like to say hello to Errol. Can you prepare him, so he won’t be startled?

“Errol, Five wants to say hello to you,” Lila said. “Is that okay? It’s a little scary at first.”

Errol’s eyes widened. He drew his legs up to his chin, clapped his palms tightly over his ears, then nodded eagerly. “Okay, go.”

Watching Errol grin, and then answer Five with a string of “Yeses” and “Okays,” Lila thought maybe everything would be okay. If they could just manage to get along for a generation or two, maybe this would all seem normal, and people would stop being afraid.

Dr. Jim Pugh played a huge role in helping me map out this novel, on napkins at Moe’s Southwest Grill in Statesboro, Georgia. I dedicate this novel to him with thanks for his help, and more important, his friendship.

I’m deeply grateful to my father, Brigadier General William F. McIntosh, for his assistance with the military aspects of
Defenders
. Before I began writing, I didn’t know a platoon from a division, an M-16 from an M1918A-1. I do now.

Sincere thanks to Ian Creasey, a terrific writer and one of the most insightful critiquers on the planet, for providing invaluable feedback on the first draft.

Thank you to Jacob Robinson for reading the first section of this novel early on, and making a few very crucial suggestions. You spared me from a great deal of backtracking, Jacob! And special thanks to Jacob, Donald De Line, and Michael Prevett for their encouragement and support in this project.

I’m grateful to John Joseph Adams, who bought “Defenders,” the short story, for
Lightspeed
magazine, and got the ball rolling.

Orbit Books took a chance on this novel before I’d written a word. I’m extremely grateful for their faith in me, and in
Defenders
.

As always, a shout-out to Clarion and Taos Toolbox, writing workshops that were crucial to my development as a writer.

Love and gratitude to my wife, Alison Scott, for her support and patience as I talked out plot and character over countless car rides and dinners.

Finally, thanks to my agent, Seth Fishman, who read the short story this novel is based on, and saw potential in it.
Defenders
would not exist if not for him.

www.orbitbooks.net

Hugo Award-winner
Will McIntosh
lives in Williamsburg, Virginia, after recently leaving a career as a psychology professor in southeast Georgia to write full time. He still teaches as an adjunct professor at the College of William and Mary. His debut novel,
Soft Apocalypse
, was a finalist for both a Locus Award and the John W. Campbell Memorial Award. His novel
Love Minus Eighty
was published in 2013 by Orbit Books.
Defenders
is his fourth novel.

Find out more about Will McIntosh and other Orbit authors by registering for the free monthly newsletter at
www.orbitbooks.net
.

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by

The body lay naked and facedown, a deathly gray, spatters of blood staining the snow around it. It was minus fifteen degrees Celsius and a storm had passed just hours before. The snow stretched smooth in the wan sunrise, only a few tracks leading into a nearby ice-block building. A tavern. Or what passed for a tavern in this town.

There was something itchingly familiar about that outthrown arm, the line from shoulder down to hip. But it was hardly possible I knew this person. I didn’t know anyone here. This was the icy back end of a cold and isolated planet, as far from Radchaai ideas of civilization as it was possible to be. I was only here, on this planet, in this town, because I had urgent business of my own. Bodies in the street were none of my concern.

Sometimes I don’t know why I do the things I do. Even after all this time it’s still a new thing for me not to know, not to have orders to follow from one moment to the next. So I can’t explain to you why I stopped and with one foot lifted the naked shoulder so I could see the person’s face.

Frozen, bruised, and bloody as she was, I knew her. Her name was Seivarden Vendaai, and a long time ago she had been one of my officers, a young lieutenant, eventually promoted to her own command, another ship. I had thought her a thousand years dead, but she was, undeniably, here. I crouched down and felt for a pulse, for the faintest stir of breath.

Still alive.

Seivarden Vendaai was no concern of mine anymore, wasn’t my responsibility. And she had never been one of my favorite officers. I had obeyed her orders, of course, and she had never abused any ancillaries, never harmed any of my segments (as the occasional officer did). I had no reason to think badly of her. On the contrary, her manners were those of an educated, well-bred person of good family. Not toward me, of course—I wasn’t a person, I was a piece of equipment, a part of the ship. But I had never particularly cared for her.

I rose and went into the tavern. The place was dark, the white of the ice walls long since covered over with grime or worse. The air smelled of alcohol and vomit. A barkeep stood behind a high bench. She was a native—short and fat, pale and wide-eyed. Three patrons sprawled in seats at a dirty table. Despite the cold they wore only trousers and quilted shirts—it was spring in this hemisphere of Nilt and they were enjoying the warm spell. They pretended not to see me, though they had certainly noticed me in the street and knew what motivated my entrance. Likely one or more of them had been involved; Seivarden hadn’t been out there long, or she’d have been dead.