Free Defenders by Will McIntosh Page A

Heavier semi-stiff fabric bisected the space, cutting it into a number of chambers at forty-five-degree angles. It was strange, beautiful, and absolutely awful, all rolled together. There was no doubt about what it was.
    Her father took two stiff steps backward, out of the doorway. He was pale, the corners of his mouth twitching.
    “If it was in there, it would have gotten us by now,” Lila whispered, aware of how stupid it was to whisper. If you were close enough to a Luyten that it could hear you, it had known about you for quite some time. Whispering wasn’t going to save you.
    They headed toward the far end of the complex to continue their search, as Lila digested what she’d just learned. The starfish were living in houses. If the starfish won, they’d fill neighborhoods and cities, as if they’d built it all themselves and had been there all along.
    “I didn’t know they lived in our houses. I thought they lived underground, in those tunnel systems they dig.”
    Dad nodded. “I did, too. I’m sure the people in charge know how they live.” He shook his head in sad wonder. “We used to know everything as soon as it happened. Now everything outside our neighborhood is a mystery.”
    Lila’s attention was drawn toward a pile of parts squeezed between two of the units. Some were engine parts; the biggest pieces—leaned up against the side of one unit—looked like wings.
    Lila stopped short. “Hold on.” She trotted over.
    It was a solar ultralight—not much more than an adult toy, but it seated two.
    “If we could put this together, we could fly it to Atlanta.”
    Silently, her father examined it.
    “I can do it,” Lila said. “I can build this.”

10
Oliver Bowen
July 16, 2029. Washington, D.C.
    As the elevator descended, Oliver felt a tingling in his belly, like he’d just hit the apex on a roller coaster and was headed over the drop. It went on and on. It was hard to conceive that he was dropping eight miles below ground. All that stone and earth pressing down on him. Oliver wasn’t particularly claustrophobic, but it was distressing nonetheless.
    The elevator opened onto a conference room, with a long, thin black table and a dozen chairs. Framed pictures of President Wood and Premier Abani Chandar, leader of the World Alliance, were the only decorations.
    The rest of the facility was set up as an apartment, functional and comfortable, but far from luxurious. It was intended to house a team of strategists who knew things even Wood and Chandar didn’t, who communicated with other teams in similar bunkers through sealed, written documents, their minds out of range of any possible Luyten interception. Now it housed Five, whose cage took up half the living room.
    Oliver sat on a couch facing the Luyten’s cage, crossed his foot over his opposite knee. He’d waited five days, hoping that was enough isolation.
    “You know what I’m thinking, so you know I intend to keep you down here until you talk to me. If you do talk, there’ll be no reason to keep you down here any longer, and we can move back to the CIA compound.” He looked up at the low ceiling. “Personally, I’d prefer to be there.”
    He waited, not exactly sure what it would feel like if Five did speak to him. Kai said it was unpleasant at first.
    When nothing came, Oliver went to the kitchen. He paused in the doorway. “Can I get you something? Maybe some tea?” He waited a beat, then smiled. “I’m a tricky one, aren’t I? You’d have to talk if you wanted something. You’re not falling for that, eh?”
    He didn’t really feel like tea, but he made some anyway, brought it back to the couch. Sipping a hot beverage made the place, and this company, seem less creepy. Maybe it was the everydayness of it.
    He was all alone down here, with a creature who evidently knew his every thought. If anything went wrong, no one would get here in time to help.
    What could go wrong?
    The mug slipped from his fingers, spilled scalding tea