Free Defenders by Will McIntosh Page B

into his lap. Oliver leaped up, jerked open the buttons on his pants, and yanked them down. Gritting his teeth against searing pain he hobbled into the kitchen, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water across his thighs.
    It had spoken to him. There could be no doubt, no mistaking that feeling, which Kai had very accurately described as a scraping.
    Oliver found an ice pack in the freezer. After pulling off his shoes and soaked pants, he pressed the ice pack against his right inner thigh, where the skin was the reddest. Then he returned to the living room and sat on the dry side of the couch in his briefs. “Well, that was clumsy of me. Can we pick up where we left off? Nothing could go wrong, absolutely nothing. We’re just having a talk.”
    Five didn’t respond. Oliver waited, watching the Luyten expectantly, not sure which of its seven eyes to look at.
    When some time had passed, he tried again. “Where do you come from?”
    Nothing.
    “What harm would it do to tell me where you’re from?”
    No harm whatsoever. How does it benefit me to tell you?
    Oliver suppressed an urge to plug his ears, to run to the elevator and get as far away from the Luyten as he could. Instead, he shrugged. “If we only talk about things that benefit you, it’s not going to be much of a conversation, is it?”
    What gave you the impression I wanted to have a conversation?
    “You spoke to me.”
    I had something to say.
    “This is going to get awfully boring if we don’t talk.”
    I don’t get bored.
    “But you get lonely.”
    Using its appendages, it raised itself from the floor.
And you made sure I would, didn’t you?
    “If you’d just communicated with me, I wouldn’t have been forced to take those measures.”
    Oliver waited patiently, but Five didn’t reply.
    “I’m sorry I caused you discomfort.”
    Five only watched him.
    Oliver stepped closer to the mesh dividing them. “Is there something you’d prefer to eat? I can arrange to have it sent.”
    Nothing. Oliver ran a hand through his hair, exhaled audibly. Hundreds of people must be watching the live feed by now. He turned to face the comm link, a silver quarter-sized disk set in the wall, and recounted everything the Luyten had said to him so far. Then he turned to face Five again.
    “We don’t have to talk about sensitive topics. You choose the topic.” Oliver held out his empty hands. “Whatever would interest you.”
    Still nothing.
    Of course the Luyten would be aware that this was standard CIA interrogation procedure. Get the subject talking about anything, learn what makes him tick. Then win him over. The question was, was it possible to win over a Luyten?

11
Oliver Bowen
July 17, 2029. Washington, D.C.
    Sixteen hours later, a text message from President Wood came, encouraging Oliver to try harder, imploring him to find a way to break through. He could imagine what must be happening up there. Some were arguing they pull Oliver, let the Luyten stew a few more days. Others would want to replace him with one of their other experts, who’d tried and failed to get the Luyten talking. Some, at least, were arguing that Oliver needed more time, or else he wouldn’t still be down there.
    Oliver wasn’t sure which argument he agreed with. He didn’t want to give up, yet he desperately wanted to escape this stiflingly claustrophobic bunker and see the sky. The bunker was equipped with plenty of outdoorsy VR simulations, but as realistic as they were, they couldn’t remove Oliver’s awareness of his location.
    He wondered what would become of Kai, now that it was clear he wasn’t the only one able to communicate with Five. Would they continue to house him at the compound, in case they needed him? Would they try to find a home for him? Surely they wouldn’t simply turn him out onto the street. Oliver wouldn’t let them. He’d take Kai in himself if it came to that.
    Oliver poured himself a glass of milk in the kitchen and returned to the living room. Or