26

Lila Easterlin

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.

The crowd began to cheer again. It was a large group this time—thirty, forty starfish, clustered in their usual groups of three, forming triangles. One of them was crawling with baby starfish. The first time one of these momma and babies had appeared out of the trees, Lila had been mortified. Everyone had been mortified.

Lila threw up her fist and hooted, wondered if one of these was the one who’d killed her father. She felt the familiar stab of his loss, the aching sadness that was never far from the surface, no matter how drunk she got. He was really gone; she would never, ever see him again. It didn’t seem possible.

And on the last day of his life, just before he ran out of the school to confront monsters, she’d argued with him. Along with the horrible moment of his death, she’d always carry the memory of him slapping her awake, asking her if she understood the situation, and her oh-so-clever answer. We’re going to die. That’s the situation. Would it have killed her to say, “I’m sorry”?

“Are these things going to be allowed to fuck?” Cheena asked, mercifully interrupting her thoughts. “I mean, are they going to be having kids in there, so there are more and more of them for us to feed until one day they bust out?”

Evidently Cheena wasn’t much for listening to the news feeds. “Part of the treaty is the starfish agreed not to breed.”

“They can control that?”

Lila shrugged. “I guess so, I don’t know. I don’t want to know any more about them than I have to. Let them rot.”

More cheering, as more starfish appeared and took their perp walk.

Alfe leaned over to speak into her ear. “The defenders’ parade’s been announced. It’s on Friday.”

“Vascular. I can’t wait.”

Looking down at the defenders, at their stately, serene, strangely beautiful faces, their lean, powerful bodies, Lila had an epiphany. Now that her future was open, that’s what she was going to do with her life: She would become a genetic engineer. She would study at the feet of the people who created the defenders.

Lila was confident she’d remember this moment for the rest of her life, because in this moment she’d found the blueprint for what was to come, and it felt so, so right.

“I wonder if they’ll have any good music at the parade, or if it’ll be all marching bands,” Alfe said.

Lila rolled her eyes and sighed. “It’s not about music. It’s about honoring the defenders.” She enunciated every word, like she would if she were speaking to a child. “If it wasn’t for them, we’d all be dead.”

“I know that,” Alfe said, annoyed. “I’m not saying the music is the important thing. I was just wondering.”

Lila didn’t hear Alfe’s last words. Another voice drowned him out—a voice in her head that felt like a razor blade dragged across her brain.

I’m sorry I killed your father.

Lila sunk to her knees.

Very sorry.

All around her, people shrieked, cried, clutched their ears. It wasn’t just her—they were speaking to everyone.

Sorry for your loss. Indeed.

This was a different voice, although she didn’t know how she knew that. Their voices felt horrible, like spiders had gone into her ears and were crawling around inside her head.

People were fleeing toward the road, where buses were parked, waiting to take the crowds home.

She looked at Alfe, who was plopped in the grass, his head between his knees. Cheena grabbed her by her tunic from behind, tugged her to her feet.

“Let’s get out of here.” She was shaking her hands, as if she’d gotten something disgusting on them and needed to wash. “Let’s go.”

Lila tugged Alfe up and they ran, letting the crowd carry them toward the buses.

I’m truly sorry. It was the first voice again, the voice of the monster who’d killed her father. It was speaking to her. Lila suspected the sound of that voice might drive her insane. She had to get out of there. She tried to run faster, but the crowd was setting the pace, and not everyone in it was young.

Her gaze was drawn down into the pens, toward one particular Luyten, a smallish, crimson one pressed close to the fence. There was no way to know for sure that it was the one who was speaking to her, but somehow she felt sure it was.