Washington, D.C. - October 27, 2012
Thex wondered when the humans would return to D.C. The city had been important to them, sure, but so was landing on the moon, and they'd lost interest in that for decades. As long as D.C. was known as the site of an alien invasion and the mass poisoning of humans, he thought, plans to repopulate the area should fail. Without Adams, the U.S. government would be ill-prepared to fight the Drudge. The little niche Thex had carved out on Earth was surprisingly sturdy.
"Overseer Thex!" Lieutenant Kihta shouted from the hallway. Kihta was a speedy messenger dressed in lightweight beige armor and a jet-black visor. In the post-Adams era, she'd mastered the human motorcycle. She bounded through the doorway. "Intruders near the beltway, sir. Humans-Destroyers."
Could it be Ford, the Liberator? Precautions needed to be taken, regardless. Diplomacy was vital for maintaining the Drudge city's fragile independence. "Tell the Highway Guards not to shoot. We can't afford to spill human blood," Thex said. "Take them to Madam's Organ."
Kihta saluted. Thex returned the salute, then glanced out the window. Raindrops began pelting the glass. They reminded him of the bullets Destroyers had brought down upon his kind. Of the bullets he'd brought down upon his own kind, before Adams died.
He walked to the 12th floor elevator entrance, just around the corner from his office. Among the first modifications his people had made to the building was replacing the elevators. The doors on each floor had been ripped out, and the cars sealed to the basement floor. Thex leaped into the shaft and grabbed a cable with both hands. He swung his feet to the left and onto the wall of the shaft to slow his descent. Still, he crashed into the first floor with force that would have broken human legs. He stood and entered the lobby.
"Djukor, ready my escort. We'll want to look presidential if there are Destroyers in town."
"Where to, sir?" Djukor asked.
"Madam's Organ."
"Presedential indeed! Do we have business to conduct?"
"Only the unfinished kind, I suspect," Thex said.
D.C. Outskirts - October 27, 2012
The Destroyers approached the beltway: Kennedy at point, Ford on the left, and Lincoln behind. On the right was Martha Griffiths, the first female Destroyer Ford had seen. Unlike Andromeda's armor, Griffiths's was very similar to his own, save for a battle scar across the legs and two vertical bars spray-painted in yellow on the upper back.
"Drudge, three o'clock!" she shouted. Four motorcycles swooped down the beltway in a single-file line. The first Drudge raised an arm, and the other three slowed. Approaching the end of the exit ramp, the first Drudge picked up speed and then went into a hard skid. The Destroyers braced for a wreck and raised their weapons. There was no need, though; the Drudge came to a flawless halt, 30 or so feet from Griffiths.
"Destroyers! We mean you no harm. Lower your weapons." The Drudge was unarmed, and the Destroyers complied. "We wish to escort you to our leader, Thex," the Drudge said. "Is the Liberator among you?"
Ford was hesitant. "Yeah, I'm right here."
"Thex will be pleased. Each of you will ride with one of my trainees over there. Liberator, with me," the Drudge said. The others picked a trainee and hopped on behind them. Ford eyed his driver: taller than most drones, plain armor, and an unusual visor. He was grateful his driver was the most skilled.
"I'm not so sure I should be the passenger," Kennedy remarked. "How long have you been driving?" Lincoln and Griffiths chuckled.
"I have been driving for two weeks," the head Drudge said. It occurred to Ford that the others probably didn't know much English yet. "I might remind you that as half-progenitors, we learn quickly. My associates will follow my path through the ruins."
Kennedy nodded and the Drudge took off. Ford watched the buildings whiz by: some without roofs, some without walls, and some that he recognized clearly missing entire floors from the top. It was uncanny to see the city so still, too. But none of that was as unsettling as watching the road. The Drudge slalomed through abandoned cars and patches of rubble. At one point, where part of the highway had been knocked out, the Drudge had constructed makeshift ramps in each direction. Ford's driver slammed the throttle and launched the bike over the gap. Ford regretted glancing down at that particular moment. They landed with a bone-jarring thud that must have rearranged Ford's insides.
When they exited the highway for the city, they hopped a ramp's sharp curve, where a barrier used to be. All four motorcycles landed, one after another, on a cleared side street below. There was more debris in the city, and the motorcycles slowed to weave around it. Craters engulfed some roads; on others, concrete and steel was piled two stories high. Ford scanned the tall buildings and spotted Drudge snipers, in pairs, eight or nine stories up, all across the neighborhood. None of their strike rifles were charging, though.
The sun was setting, but aside from the motorcycle headlights, the city was nearly dark. Ford started to feel electronic dance music pounding nearby-he still couldn't hear anything over the sound of the motors. The Drudge passed the building with the thumping music and made one last right turn, into an alley. The lead Drudged raised an arm again, and the four bikes came to a rest.
"What's your name?" Ford asked his driver.
"Kihta," The Drudge responded.
"You're a hell of a driver, Kihta. Where are we?"
"Welcome, Destroyers," Kihta said, "to Madam's Organ."