- •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 those eyes, she can see visions; bits and pieces of his life, and hers, and the bond that draws them together closer than kin.
She slips free of herself, and for the last time they run together, unfettered and uncaring, into the nightwind, into the hills and valleys of the home they share as the moon, ripe and full, watches on from her perch above. They run for the joy of running, for the freedom of their souls, for their fierce love of the Earth and all who live upon it.
Then, at last, after what feels like hours, she finds herself gently released and in her own body once again.
Breaking herself free from his gaze, she leans down and touches a soft kiss to his head, then whispers into his ear, "Tóksha aké wanchinyankin kte. Wakhan Thanka nici un."
And, not allowing herself to think, she moves her hands to his now-fragile neck, and twists.
His spine snaps. His chest settles slowly, and his eyes grow distant and fixed to a point only he can know.
All of her grief, all of her rage, washes through her with the force of a tidal wave, bowing her back and arching her neck to the uncaring sky. She howls in a voice that none would recognize as human, and all would fear.
Still howling, she jumps to her feet and pries the brutal trap from his leg by brute force. Grabbing the chain, she hurls the trap against the tree again and again and again, screaming incoherently, eyes flashing, glowing as if lit from the internal fires of her rage. The tree shakes, bark flying from its trunk in great spraying chunks.
Kirsten, who has forced herself to stand by and watch even as tears stream down her face unnoticed, finally breaks free of her paralysis, and steps forward. Only to dance back as the trap comes perilously close to bashing her head in. She stands for a moment, undecided, her lower lip caught pensively between her teeth. "Dakota," she tries softly. And then louder, "Dakota!"
Dakota stills abruptly and turns to face the intruder, murder in her eyes. Her lips spread in a snarl as feral as any wolf’s, and Kirsten steps back again, fear delivering a jolt to her heart and belly.
"Nituwe he?" Koda demands.
"I—I’m sorry, I don’t--."
"Iyaya na!"
"Dakota, please. I don’t understand--."
"Letan khigla na!" Winding up the chain, she slams the trap against the tree. "Iyaya na!!" And again. "Iyaya na!!"
And again.
And again.
And again.
Every single instinct inside her is clamoring for her to flee, to seek refuge far away from the madwoman Dakota has become. And yet, something even stronger compels her to stay. Some internal voice that she cannot shut off, cannot turn away from, no matter how much she might wish it. Gathering up every shred of courage she possesses, she steps forward, deliberately into the line of fire, and speaks, "Dakota. Please. Listen to me. I want to help. Please. Tell me what to do." Her tone is as calming and as soothing as she can possibly make it, and she senses, through blind instinct, that it is somehow getting through to the grief-stricken woman.
"Please," she repeats, in a voice just above a whisper. "Tell me what to do."
There is a muted "thunk" as the trap and chain slips from Koda’s hands. She follows it down, collapsing to her knees and burying her face in her hands. Her whole body shakes from the force of her sobs. "Wicate," she murmurs over and over into her hands. "Wicate. Too much. Too much! Wicate. Too much!!" Her head tips back and she howls.
The sound chills Kirsten to the bone. She can feel the wolf-pup still in her grasp respond, struggling weakly against her hold. She looks down, then back at the grieving, howling woman. Gently, tenderly, she unwraps the pup from his blanket and, taking slow, calm, deliberate steps, closes the gap between herself and Dakota. Then, just as carefully, she lowers herself to her knees and waits, the pup held tenderly in her hands.
Dakota’s howl tapers off like a toy whose battery has finally run down. Her head drops, hanging low between her shoulders. Her tears drip into the snow, melting it.
"He needs you, Dakota," Kirsten whispers into the profound silence left behind. "Look at him. He needs to you care for him, to love him." She swallows, suddenly understanding. "Like you loved his father."
After a long moment, Dakota’s head lifts, and she looks down at the tiny, defenseless pup. A trembling hand lifts, hovers, and then drops back down into the snow. "I—can’t."
"You can. Yes, you can."
"You don’t understand!"
"Yes, yes I do. I do understand. Dakota, you’ve never turned away from anyone who’s needed your help. He needs your help now. He needs you."
Their eyes meet and hold. Kirsten feels tears welling yet again as she reads so easily the bone deep grief pouring from Dakota’s soul. Cradling the pup in the crook of her arm, she reaches down and grasps the other woman’s hand, bringing it, palm up, between them. With sure movements, she places the pup into Dakota’s hand, then takes the other one and places it on top, securing her grip. "Help him," she whispers, still staring into the liquid pools of Dakota’s eyes.
Dakota looks down at the tiny life in her hands. Her face dissolves as fresh grief flows through her. Kirsten does the only thing she can. Using one arm to brace Dakota’s own, she slips the other around a slim waist, melding their bodies together.
Dakota stiffens, then relaxes, leaning into Kirsten’s quiet and gentle strength. Her head bows and rests against an offered shoulder as her tears continue to flow.
* * *
Kirsten looks up from the desk, a desk she’s starting to believe she’ll grow old and die in (picturing herself as a gray-haired old lady with hearing aids in her implants and coke-bottle glasses, staring at line after line of code) as the front door slams, shaking the entire house down to its foundation.
"No!" Maggie’s demand rings loudly through the home, obviously continuing a disagreement begun prior to entering. Kirsten cringes a little at the sound of it; not in fear, but rather in pain, as it adds to a headache which has spent most of the past twelve hours building, though lack of sleep and tension enough to fell a rutting elk have supplied more than their share as well. She’s tempted to turn off her implants—both for the fact that she’ll at least have some blessed peace from the noise, and because she half-suspects she might be unintentionally eavesdropping on a private conversation—but something stays her hand.
"Will you at least respect me enough to pretend you’re listening to me??"
Kirsten winces at that one. She deduces that the resulting silence is Dakota (who else can it be?) stopping, turning, and fixing Maggie with a glance so emotionless it might as well be carved from the side of a mountain. Kirsten knows that look, having been on the receiving end of it from the moment they left the small glade the night before.
"Dakota, listen. You—what you’re proposing to do here is—it’s…crazy! No wait! Please. I didn’t mean it like that, okay? It’s just—damnit, Dakota! Think about what you’re doing here!"
"I’ve thought about it." Her voice seems to be coming from the bottom of a very deep, very dark, very cold well.
"And?"
"I’m going."
"But--!"
"I’m going. End of discussion."