- •The Growing chapter one
- •It’s not a question, and everyone realizes it.
- •I’m not gonna look. I won’t and you can’t make me.
- •It is waiting for her at the bridge.
- •In a related story (a 14) the Palace had "no comment" to Tonight Show host Jay Leno’s remark that His Majesty King Charles is an early, unmarketable Westerhaus test model.
- •I’m going to die.
- •It is what she had intended to do in any case. She had not expected to have allies. Koda nods. "Count me in."
- •In an automatic reflex, Dakota looks over at the nightstand, but of course, the clock that stands there is blank without the electricity needed to run it.
- •I have Asi.
- •I have summoned her here. Watch, and see.
- •It’s Maggie’s turn to sigh. “Much as I don’t like it, I think I’m going to have to split them into smaller squads.”
- •It is not what she has forgotten. It is who she has left behind.
- •It has been so quiet for the last several miles that Kirsten starts at the sound of Micah’s voice. “Pardon? Dragons?”
- •It is much too big to be a fox.
- •It does not explain the familiarity.
- •It is a dangerous mind trap when there is no hope, and Kirsten only manages to scramble out when she notices the shining silver bands around the necks of what she now recognizes to be androids.
- •It is not disabled, certainly not destroyed. Its logic chains have simply returned a null set upon evaluating the possible success of further resistance.
- •I am not strong enough. Not wise enough.
- •I will go back, she says.
- •It doesn’t have to be that way, Little k. Her father’s voice intrudes into her thoughts, frustrating her with its always maddening logic. Nothing’s keeping you locked inside. Nothing except you.
- •It is a peaceful time that appeals to her need for solitude.
- •It’s time to buck it up and call a spade a spade, little k.
- •Ithanchan winan. The thought comes unbidden. This woman is a chief.
- •It seems a lifetime but is perhaps five minutes later that Kirsten raises a hand to her earpiece. “They’re here.”
- •Instantly serious, Maggie snaps, “And—“
- •If she only knew how.
- •Item: Article 120. Rape and Carnal Knowledge
- •Item: Article 128 Assault
- •Item: Article 81. Conspiracy.
- •In Russian.
- •Is there still a United States? If so, is there a Constitution?
- •Insh’allah.
- •It is dismissal. Maggie rises, snapping her attaché case shut. "Thank you for your time, General."
- •It does, though only briefly, and she feels almost faint with relief as it passes on, leaving her untouched.
- •In those eyes, she can see visions; bits and pieces of his life, and hers, and the bond that draws them together closer than kin.
- •It is the silence during a gathering storm. "Fine! You want to kill yourself? Be my guest. I hope you have fun doing it."
- •It is over in an instant of an instant, but when she opens her eyes, she knows that she has been forever changed. Koda is smiling at her, a sweet, tender smile filled with so much, with…everything.
- •It comes, then; a deep, Caribbean blue that nurtures and soothes, and settles over her, leaving nothing within untouched.
- •I’m in love with her.
- •In plain language, Manny had potted the bastard right between the eyes, blowing his brains out. The said bastard had been dead before he hit the ground.
- •Instinctively responding to Dakota’s tone, Shannon relaxes, slumping against the wall and breathing deeply, as if she’s just come out of a trance.
- •In this life, in the next. For all time.
- •In the silence of her mind, a wolf howl rises to the floating moon.
- •If he were right. . . And it seems he is, though not in the way he expected.
- •It had been the third suicide in as many weeks, and people—too many people—were looking to her for answers she didn’t have.
- •It takes twenty minutes, with much grinding of gears and spinning of wheels, but Andrews jerks the pickup to a stop just on top of the slope and just short of the trees.
- •It is nothing, however, to the beatific expression on Manny’s face, framed in the rear-view mirror. "Good bread, good meat," he says reverently. "Good God, let’s eat."
- •Very gently she says, “It’s not going to be the same, no. In some ways, it may be better. Or there may be no one left to care. We just don’t know yet.”
- •Very gently she says, “It’s not going to be the same, no. In some ways, it may be better. Or there may be no one left to care. We just don’t know yet.”
- •I wonder. . . .
- •It is only then that she notices the frightful cold pressed against her right side, melded to her like a block of ice that has melted and refrozen.
- •It is a tone she well remembers, and instinctively heeding it, she begins to do as ordered. After a couple of spoonfuls, however, she pauses, the soup sitting heavy in her belly. “Ate, I….”
- •It is a long almost. But when she walks through the front door, into Asi’s exuberant greeting and Dakota’s arms, she is as well as she has ever been in her life.
- •If they survive this battle, their first priority must be to make contact with other surviving communities and make alliance with them.
- •If her plan works, he will not need to.
- •Voices come to her on the wind of her passing, but she does not heed them. "Surrender," she says.
- •Intolerable.
- •It is only when the dynamic duo has left the office and the door closes quietly behind them that she lets the smile bloom fully over her face. With a jaunty little whistle, she turns back to work.
- •I miss him, she says without sound.
- •It's not a question, and she doesn't have it within her to demur. Not now. Instead, she nods.
- •It is a better one to live.
- •I am on your ground, Igmu-tanka. Teach me patience.
- •It is what she does not know that frightens her. "All right!" she shouts, stepping up to the crest of the ridge. "Move out!"
- •I’m hallucinating.
- •It is over.
- •In the guardshack above, Kirsten’s jaws clench tighter and a thick vein throbs to prominence at her temple.
- •Very carefully, she lets go of Simmons' gun, handing it to Koda. She meets her lover's eyes. "Don't worry. I'm not going to give him anything."
- •In its wake, a silence so profound that not even the ever-present wind soughing through the boughs of the large pines surrounding them can penetrate, descends, and Kirsten shivers.
- •I’d kill for a hot bath. No, not kill. Maybe maim somebody, though. Starting with Hunk-boy here.
- •It is either dry humor or stupidity; Koda opts for the former. "We aren’t. We are hungry, though. Chasing that antelope right into your sights was hard work."
- •I made it, though. Made it without help.
- •I would know you in the silence between the stars. The thought is her own, and not. And with it comes another. I see you in the darkness, like a flash of lightning. And the darkness cannot hide you.
- •In the west, where the stone holds a raven’s wing and a bowl of Kirsten’s irises and gentians, another priestess raises her hands and makes the invocation.
- •Ina Maka, Koda prays as the women disperse to feast and celebrate. Give us strength and wisdom to do what we must do. Let the death end. Let the life come forth again.
- •It is not a small honor, and Koda says quietly. "Thank you. But we can’t stay."
- •It is that tone, even more than her words, that confuses him and causes his steps to slow. "You wouldn’t…."
- •In the end, it is mercifully easy. Where you go, I go, she thinks, lowering the rifle and setting it on the cold, gray floor.
- •It ends here, she thinks, opening her eyes to the still monotonous view of the security screens. It all ends here.
- •It will not stop them. It will force them to break the door or go around the building to the other stairwell, and that will buy her time. Buy Kirsten time.
- •Venous blood.
- •Ina Maka says, "Every soul that passes from the Earth comes to Me. Not all come here, to this place—only My chosen ones. But for them, as for the others, a reckoning must be made. You know this."
- •I can die when I get outside.
- •Virgilius’ termination had been evidence of Kirsten’s success. This is confirmation. "You did it," Koda breathes, marveling. "It’s over."
In Russian.
And she can’t read Russian.
She doesn’t hear the clatter of her glasses hitting the far wall and coming to rest in a forlorn twist of glass and metal atop the threadbare carpet. With her implants switched off, her world is blessedly silent. Not that there would be anything to disturb the silence if her implants were on, of course. Maggie and Dakota had left the house early this morning; the Colonel undoubtedly off making the world—or what remains of it—safe for Democracy, and Koda tending to the animals thrust suddenly into her more-than-capable hands.
Or maybe not, she thinks as she lifts her head and takes a deep breath through her nose. The scent that lingers there takes her back to a time of cold winters and warm blankets, the love of her family, and the adventures of Katrina Callahan—Intergalactic Cop. A smile steals unnoticed over her face. Mmm. Chicken soup. My favorite.
Casually flipping her implants back on, she listens expectantly for the sounds of life within the house, then frowns, disappointed. Beyond her half-closed door, it’s as silent as a tomb. With a soft sigh, she pushes back from the desk and rises somewhat stiffly to her feet, shaking her legs to restore some feeling into the seemingly deadened nerves.
Padding softly across the small room, she peeks through the opening, smiling in surprised delight at the sight of Dakota propped on the couch, face mostly hidden behind the cover of a thick book. Asi lays sprawled half-across her lap, blissfully asleep. The scent of simmering soup is much stronger here, and she takes it in on a satisfied breath, squinting slightly to catch the title stamped into the thick leather hide of the book Koda holds.
Der Untergang des Abendlandes by Otto Spengler.
“Wow,” Kirsten remarks softly, “and they call me an egghead.”
So confident that her remark was unheard, she almost misses the brief flash of pain that crosses Dakota’s striking features as she looks up from her book. She masks the expression quickly, but Kirsten feels her heart plummet somewhere in the region of her stomach and she takes an involuntary step forward, arms at her sides, palms outspread. “I’m….”
“It’s okay,” Koda intones, pulling up a genuine smile. “Taking a break?”
“Kinda,” Kirsten replies, relieved. “That soup smells delicious.”
“Unfortunately, it’s got several hours to go yet. I just put it on.”
“Ah well. There’s always the mess.”
The women exchange quiet laughs.
Approaching the couch, Kirsten looks down at her dog, who looks up at her without a care in the world. His tail beats a lazy tattoo against the arm of the sofa as his head continues to rest across the top of Koda’s thighs. “You’re a slut, you know that?”
Dakota laughs as Asi gives Kirsten a rather affronted look but deigns not to move from his appointed spot. Rolling her eyes—and secretly envying Asi his prime location—Kirsten perches on the couch’s other arm, peering again at the thick tome in Koda’s hands. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone read an actual book for pleasure.”
Looking down at the book in question, Koda lifts one broad shoulder in a shrug. “Disktexts never were my thing. I like the feel of a book in my hands.”
Kirsten nods, though she really can’t relate. She can, and has, read books when she must, but to her nothing compares with a minidisk filled to the byte with her favorite literature. She smiles. “In German, too. I’m impressed.” She touches the book’s binding. “How many languages do you know?”
“Twelve,” Koda replies, “though I can’t really take credit for most of them. Tali had a Master’s in Linguistics and Foreign Languages.” She smiles slightly, sweet memories surrounding her. “It got to be that if I wanted to talk to her at all, I’d have to learn the language she was currently studying.”
“Tali?”
The look of pain flashes briefly again, then is gone. “My wife.”
“Wife?” Kirsten echoes, stunned. A barrage of emotions run through her, none staying long enough for her to identify, though she knows that a bit of anger, shock, and disbelief are somewhere in the mix.
“She died seven years ago. SARS IV.”
“Oh, Dakota. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks,” Koda replies, noting the obvious sincerity in the smaller woman’s tone. She hesitates a moment, then deliberately lowers another internal wall, needing to share some part of herself with this woman she is quickly coming to cherish. “We married when we were sixteen.”
“Sixteen?” Kirsten asks, though her voice is hesitant. She is fully aware of the precious gift she is about to receive, and is loath to have that gift taken back due to an inauspicious interruption on her part. To her vast relief, however, Koda doesn’t seem to mind.
“A little young, I know, but it was pretty much expected.” At Kirsten’s questioning look, she continues. “We grew up together. Her family owned the ranch next to ours, and we were born only three weeks apart. We were best friends from the cradle on, and when I got old enough to know what love was, I knew that I loved her.” Her sudden smile is lopsided and fond. “When I asked for her hand, let’s just say that no one was surprised.”
“It sounds like something out of a Fairy Tale,” Kirsten remarks quietly.
Koda laughs softly. “Maybe a little, yeah.” Her voice becomes serious. “We went off to school the week after we got married. We were both accepted at UPenn, on scholarship. I went to the Vet school, she studied linguists and foreign languages. When we graduated, we moved back here and refurbished our home. I had my clinic and rehab center, she had her students, and we had each other.” She pauses for a moment, her thumb rubbing on the book’s worn spine. “We were happy.”
Kirsten lays one hand almost reverently on Koda’s bowed head, brushing her palm against the silken strands of her thick, jet hair. “How…how did she get sick?”
“As near as anyone could tell,” Koda begins, comforted by the stroking hand, “it was a student who’d just come back from Asia. The epidemic was just starting up at that time, and quarantines weren’t in force. She went to school hale and healthy one morning, and was hooked up to a ventilator that same night.”
“But the treatment…!”
Koda shakes her head. “She wouldn’t take it.”
“Wouldn’t--? But why?”
As Koda looks up, Kirsten reads the answer within the fathomless grief in those too-blue eyes before Dakota even speaks a word.
“She was pregnant.”
* * *
Ellsworth is a large installation, and as Maggie makes her way from the brig back toward the base housing and home, the pain in her leg returns full force. Official rationing of gasoline has not begun, but unless they can find fresh supplies to exploit in Rapid City and the surrounding area, the time will come when all petroleum products will grow not just scarce but extinct.
Dionsaur thou art; to dinosaur thou shalt return. Amen.
She makes a mental note to have someone check on foot-driven transportation already available on base and to send a couple squads to raid the remaining inventories of bicycle shops in town. She will need to speak to Koda and the Mss. Tilbury-Laduque about the possibility of acquiring horses. She will also have to think about how—no, goddammit, somebody else can think about something. Let Boudreaux and the other goddam surviving CPA’s earn their keep.
She shifts that problem firmly off her desk. The bean counters will have to figure out how to pay for such things.
Then the rest of us can fill out the forms in triplicate. Requisition: individual personnel transportation and supply hauling unit, quadruped. Translation: horse.
The feeling that time is slipping out from under her returns: years, decades, centuries tilting drunkenly away as they did the morning of the battle of the Cheyenne. The armature of a whole civilization has collapsed, sending them back to . . . where? When? Maggie shivers a little under her uniform jacket, hunching her shoulders both to hoard the warmth and to ease the weight of her brief case. The most taken-for-granted, everyday facts of life have all suddenly acquired question marks, and she’s not sure there are good answers to all of them.
Maybe not to any of them.