THE GROWING
Written by: Susanne Beck and Okasha
DISCLAIMER: Scenes of erotica below. If you find discomfort in this, please read no further. Thank you.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
They enter the house to find Kirsten, white-faced and pacing nervously the length and breadth of the living-room. The door to Dakota’s room is firmly closed, and no sounds emanate from behind it. The rooms are rich with the aroma of heating soup, though it’s obvious that Kirsten is in no way comforted by the homey scent.
Quickly assessing the situation, Maggie walks over to Kirsten, gently takes her arm, and leads her to the couch. “Sit down before you fall down,” she says in a no-nonsense voice that is nevertheless ripe with compassion. “Manny, get some coffee brewing. Make it strong.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Manny replies, all military business as he all but marches over to the kitchen.
“Tacoma, could you….”
“Ate’ will come to us when he’s ready,” the tall man intones, moving over to the other side of the couch and easing his long frame in beside Kirsten. He cups her hand in his much larger one, chafing her skin gently with the other. “She’ll be fine, Kirsten. I promise you.”
“I—.” Kirsten breaks off and gathers herself. “What’s taking so long?”
“It will take as long as it takes, little sister. She will be fine.”
Pulling her hand from his, Kirsten drags it through her hair, tugging on the ends in a gesture of frustration. “I’m a scientist,” she says as if to herself. “I fix things. And I—I can’t fix this!”
“That’s because there’s nothing to fix,” Tacoma replies. Leaning slightly forward, he takes her hand again, his eyes dark and penetrating with the strength of his convictions. “Kirsten, listen to me. This is a part of who my sister is. It’s something you have to accept as part of her. If you can’t, you can never hope to make a life with her.”
Kirsten’s eyes widen in disbelief, then narrow as determination sets her jaw. Tacoma holds up a hand. “I think you will make a life with her. A very long and happy life.” He sighs. “Acceptance comes with understanding, and I’m afraid we haven’t been very forthcoming with you in this regard.”
“You can say that again,” Kirsten mumbles. “It’s like you’re all on the same page, and I don’t even know where the bookstore is.”
“Not all of us,” Maggie interjects, giving Kirsten a little smirk before turning her expectant gaze toward Tacoma.
The tall man blushes, then shakes his head. “Believe me. Ate is much better at this than I am. He’s had to explain it to his ten kids, after all. I haven’t had to explain it to anyone.”
“I dunno,” Maggie drawls. “Should we let him off the hook?”
Feeling somehow better for the conversation, Kirsten nods. “For now.”
“Thank you!” Tacoma exclaims, grinning at her. Then his expression sobers. “The point is, I understand your fears. I’ve been there, and I know what it’s like to feel powerless to help.” Kirsten is looking at him with frank interest now. “I was thirteen the first time it happened. A koskalaka still learning how to be a man and sometimes, like most teenagers, too big for my braids.” He smiles in a self-deprecating manner. “I’d had my First Vision almost six months before, see, and so I considered myself an expert on the matter. Dakota was twelve—not quite a woman, but almost. She’d just started her growth spurt and was almost as tall as me again.”
Smiling in fond remembrance, he lets go of Kirsten’s hand and rises to his feet, stepping around the couch and stretching his cramped muscles lightly. Taking the cup of strong coffee from Manny, he hands it to Kirsten and resumes his tale. “Ate and grandfather planned a sweat for her, just to get her used to the idea. A kind of trial run, actually. No one really expected her to have a Vision. It wasn’t her time yet.”
“But she did.”
“And how,” Tacoma remarks, drawing a hand over his face. “It started off alright at first. I mean, it was kind of surprising that she was being gifted with a Vision, but…. I could tell she was a little nervous, so I, with my six months of vast experience, tried to help her through it. But then….”
“Something went wrong, didn’t it,” Kirsten observes, holding the mug in chilled hands but making no move to drink the coffee inside.
“I thought it did. And worse, I thought I made it happen. Like I’d done something wrong when I was trying to help her.” He shakes his head, causing the long fall of his now unbound hair to ripple and settle down over his shoulder. “I was so scared that I forgot everything Ate taught me.”
“What happened?” Kirsten murmurs, entranced.
“Luckily, Ate had the presence of mind to snatch me away before I did something unforgivable. While he held me tight, Grandfather went in after Dakota.”
“Went in after?” she repeats. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Tacoma smiles grimly, pondering for a moment. “Dakota told me of the time,” he begins softly, “when you had an unfortunate encounter with an dying android who seemed determined to take you along with it. Do you remember?”
Kirsten nods. Her memories of that time remain, unlike the stuff of her dreams, curiously vivid—though the scientist in her passes those memories off as dreams for lack of anything else to call them. All of her life, she has stood firm in her resolve that the human body and what people liked to call the ‘soul’ or ‘spirit’ are inexorably entwined. As long as one lives, the other lives. When one ceases, the other does as well, world without end, Amen. If she is to accept these memories as something more than the random firings of a brain desperately in need of oxygen, she will have to change some very fundamentally held world views, and though she acknowledges that she is a much different person now than she was then, it is a change that she’s not sure she’s ready to make, in truth.
Tacoma, compassionate to her struggle, remains quiet a moment more before speaking. “Our beliefs are very different,” he remarks softly. “When Dakota realized that you were starting to walk the spirit path, she ‘went in after you’, to bring you back to your body. Grandfather did much the same to Dakota long ago.”
“Why your grandfather and not your father?” Maggie asks, curious.
“Dakota loves my father very deeply, it’s true,” Tacoma answers. “But she worships my grandfather, even now, when he’s been gone from this world for many years. They had a bond that…well, if Grandfather had asked her to take poison for him, she would have done it without a second’s pause.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow. I was a little jealous, to tell you the truth, but….” Tacoma shrugs as if to say ‘what are you gonna do?’
“So, your grandfather brought her back?” This from Maggie who, unlike Kirsten, has absolutely no problem believing in and accepting as truth the spiritualism practiced by Dakota and her family since it closely mirrors her own.
“Well…yes and no.” He laughs as two pairs of questioning gazes meet his. “He helped guide her, yes, but he said later that she’d pretty much figured most of it out on her own. Though she did have some very special help.”
Before either of them can quiz him on the subject, the door opens a crack and Wanblee Wapka peers through. “Kirsten, if you could join us, please?” At her startled and fearful expression, he smiles warmly. “Everything is fine. I promise you.”
With a shuddering breath, Kirsten rises from the couch, hands her mug to Maggie, and all but runs to the bedroom, slipping inside and waiting for Wanblee Wapka to close the door behind her. After a moment, she gathers her courage and looks over at the bed.
There, beneath a heap of blankets, lies Dakota. Though still very pale, thankfully some semblance of color has returned to her face, and she appears to have sunken into a very deep, very peaceful sleep. Having spent so much time imagining various horrible scenarios, Kirsten feels weak with relief. Wanblee Wapka’s steady presence beside her is the only think keeping her from breaking into tears with the force of it.
The older man, reading her like a book, puts a gentle hand on her shoulder and leads her to the side of the bed. “As you can see, she is doing well and resting comfortably.” He gestures to the large bowl and mug that sit on the bedside table. “She is warm, dry, and decently fed. All she needs now is rest. And you.”
Kirsten turns wide eyes to him, and he smiles. “My daughter loves you very much, Kirsten.”
“I love her, too. With all my heart.”
Wanblee Wapka’s smile broadens. “I can see that. It shines from you.” Dakota moans softly. “See how she seeks you out, even in her healing sleep?” Kirsten reaches out and strokes Dakota’s bangs. “And she calms at your slightest touch. She knows you are with her and it helps her to regain her strength.”
“Is that….normal?”
“Normal, yes. Common? No. In fact, it’s quite rare. The bond that is between you is a very strong, very sacred thing.”
“I’m…starting to learn that, I think.”
He laughs softly. “I know it is difficult, Kirsten. Not only are you from a different culture, but your mind, and your beliefs, are as different from ours as night is from day. And yet, Ina Maka has chosen to gift you both with this sacred union. I will help you both to adjust to it as best I can, if it is something you truly wish.”
“More than anything,” Kirsten replies, knowing her words for fundamental truth. “More than anything.”
“I believe you,” Wanblee Wapka replies, his own truth ringing strong in his tone.
Kirsten’s fingers drift down, stroking the cheek of her beloved. “She’s still so pale, so cold.”
“It is an unfortunate side effect of the Vision Trance. She will improve, with rest and time.”
“What can I do?”
“Nothing more than you are doing now. She knows you are here. Your presence will make all the difference.”
Dakota shivers as a great, bone deep chill wracks her body.
“Is it….” Kirsten blushes. “Is it ok if I get under there with her? Maybe it would help her feel warmer?”
“An excellent suggestion. But remember, she will be like this for some stretch of days. Do not feel obligated to stay with her the entire time. You have needs which must be met as well.”
“Right now,” Kirsten remarks, reaching for the bottom of her tank top, “this is what I need.”
With a final, proud smile, Wanblee Wapka inclines his head, then turns and leaves the two of them alone, closing the door softly behind him and plunging the room into twilight.
Kirsten strips down to her undergarments and slides beneath the covers. “It’s okay, my love,” she murmurs as she stretches out full on her back and guides Dakota to her, resting her lover’s sleek head on her shoulder and smiling when one long, strong arm immediately wraps itself around her waist. “That’s right. I’m here. You rest now. I’m here.”
A moment later, she closes her eyes and, like her partner, falls deeply asleep.
********
Tacoma half-rises to his feet as his father re-enters the room. “Ate? How is she?”
“Resting easily. Kirsten will stay with her.” He half turns toward the hall that leads to the kitchen. “Is that coffee I smell?”
“I’ll get you some, Leksi.” Before Wanblee Wapka has a chance to protest, Manny is on his feet and headed toward the back of the house. A smile crosses his father’s face, and Tacoma feels an answering pull at his own mouth. “You must be getting grey, Ate. Would you like a warm blanket for your knees? A cane?”
At that Wanblee Wapka laughs outright. “Not yet, boy. Not yet.” He folds down easily to sit on the chest that serves as a sofa table. In a curious reverse of his movements, Asi rises joint by joint from his place on the hearth, yawns hugely and comes around to lie at Wanblee Wapka’s feet. “Hey, fella,” he says, ruffling the big dog’s fur. Then, returning his attention to Tacoma, “I mean to see my youngest’s youngest before I begin to slow down. You’ll have some grey hairs of you own by the time we get there.”
The words are casually spoken, but Tacoma feels an undercurrent of wakan in them, truth rooted in power. Still he notes the weariness that shows in the creases about his father’s eyes, the cold prickles that rise along the skin of his forearm rested casually across his knee. He glances up to meet Maggie’s eyes, dark with concern and a depth of knowledge that he has seldom seen in anyone not of his own people. “Hey!” he shouts toward the kitchen. “Room service! Move your backside, bro! ”
A clatter in the kitchen announces Manny’s reappearance with a mug of steaming coffee in one hand, a bowl of soup in the other. The rich aroma of chicken broth and sage rises from it. “Here you go, Leksi.”
“Pilamayaye, Tonskaya,” Wanblee Wapka says and applies himself to the food. When the bowl is empty, the last drops soaked up with a piece of frybread, he says, “Maggie, I think you have a few questions.”
“More like a few dozen,” she answers wryly. “But let’s start with the big one. What did Koda say? Can you tell me if it’s not personal? I thought I heard something that sounded like your name.”
Wanblee Wapka nods. “You did, but it wasn’t a name.” He pauses a moment. “I can tell you her words. She said, ‘Red. Red earth. Red rivers. Red all over.’ And she said, ‘Death. Death everywhere.’”
Maggie sits back against the back of the sofa with a visible shiver, her arms crossed over her body like a woman caught in an icy wind. “That’s cheerful,” she says. “Is it a prophecy?”
Tacoma feels the chill course through his own blood, rushing like a stream at spring thaw. He knows the answer to Maggie’s question, knows that his father knows. He cannot explain his certainty, but he is no less certain for that. Wanblee Wapka, though, says carefully, “Until she wakes and speaks to us, we can’t say for sure. We don’t know where she was, or when she was. She could be describing what has happened back east, in Europe, in Asia. She could have been seeing the past in this very place.”
“But?” says Maggie, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped loosely before her , looking Wanblee Wapka directly in the eye.
After a moment, he says, “But yes, I think it was prophecy. I think she was talking about something yet to come.”
“Tomorrow?” she presses. “A year from now?”
A lift of his shoulders answers her. Wanblee Wapka says, “Time runs strangely along the spirit road. One does not always see things in the order they assume in our world. Duration is problematical, at best. We were in the Inipi ceremony for less than an hour. Yet Dakota may have spent half a year, or half a lifetime, on the other side, as time is measured there.”
For a moment, Maggie turns her head to stare out the window. Tacoma follows her gaze to the big oak tree that will shade the house in summer, where a squirrel sits placidly eating one of last season’s acorns, turning it over and over in dainty paws. The plain white curtains stir with the breeze, bringing the scent of new grass. Finally she says, “Can you tell us what you think it means?”
“What does red suggest to you?” Wanblee Wapka asks quietly.
“The obvious?”
”Nothing wrong with being obvious. The whole context—“ A wave of his hand encompasses the Base, the lands beyond, the continent stretching away to the circle of the horizon. “—is obvious.”
“Blood, then. Blood everywhere. Death everywhere. More fighting, more killing, more human casualties.”
“We always knew we weren’t done at the Cheyenne,” Manny says, his voice flat. “The droids won’t leave us alone. They can’t.”
“If there were ever any doubt, the ‘suicide bomber’ that attacked the convoy bringing back the wind turbines put paid to it,” Maggie says dryly. “We’re a rallying point for the population. We’ve got the guns. And we’ve got the President, who also happens to be the one person with the technical knowledge to put the whole fucking lot of them out of business. From the moment she comes out of that room, I don’t want Kirsten to set foot out of the house without a guard on her. She’s got a goddam bullseye painted on her forehead.”
“Want a volunteer?” Manny raises his hand. “If you do, you got one.”
Maggie nods. “Get Andrews. Find two more to spell you, and bring me their names for approval. Twelve hours on, twelve off. We still have some wireless field sets with working batteries. Check out one apiece. And pick out an armored transport. I don’t want Kirsten going off Base any other way from now on. Get it together by suppertime.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Manny snaps her a salute, grinning. “I always did want to be a Secret Service agent if I couldn’t fly.”
Tacoma stares down at his hands. He cannot volunteer and knows he will be turned down if he does. His skills are needed elsewhere. Wanblee Wapka says quietly, confirming his thought, “Manuel will do what needs doing, chinkshi. You’re too valuable as an engineer and ground field commander.”
“You should have officer rank,” Maggie adds. “I’m going to ask Kirsten to brevet you Captain.” Tacoma looks up, startled, but she waves away his protest before he can make it. “I know it doesn’t matter to you. And it doesn’t matter to the men and women who have fought with you and know you. It will matter to others, eventually, particularly to any other military who may link up with us. You’re getting promoted, soldier. Deal with it.”
There is nothing else for it. “Yes ma’am,” he says. “Thank you.”
A wry grin cants across her face. “Thank me when you have the headaches that go with the job and there’s no more aspirin.”
“There’ll still be willow bark,” Wanblee Wapka says, smiling. “The old ways have gotten our people through a few thousand years or so. Others can learn to use them, too.”
“That could be what Koda saw, too, couldn’t it?” Tacoma meets his father’s gaze steadily. “Red all over. Red people, red ways. The buffalo will come back, and the people with them, just as White Buffalo Woman said.”
“And Wovoka, and others since.” Wanblee Wapka leans down to ruffle Asi’s fur again. “We don’t know yet how much we have lost, or how much we can recover. We don’t know yet how much we want to recover. But you’re right. We—Lakota, Americans, all people--have an opportunity to choose our paths in a way that has not been open to us for centuries. That will be part of Kirsten’s challenge.”
”And Dakota’s,” Tacoma adds.
“And your sister’s. Very much so.” His father levers himself up to his full height, giving Asi’s collar a tug so that Asi comes to his feet, too, tongue lolling in a hopeful grin. “I’m going to walk this guy here, then I’ll be back to stay with them for as long as needed.”
Asi praces to the door, quivering from ears to tail. When it opens he is out like a shot, Wanblee Wapka following more sedately. Maggie looks from Tacoma to Manny and back. “And you two are still sitting on your butts because . . . ?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tacoma says, smiling and getting to his own feet. “We’re on it.”
*******
When Kirsten awakens, her body is in a full state of arousal. At first, her eyes still closed, she passes it off as the remnants of a wonderful, if unfortunately unremembered, dream. The hand laying hot on her naked belly, however, convinces her of an entirely different reality. Her eyes flutter open, and she moans softly, her body arching as that hand makes a slow, deliberate circle over her belly before reaching up and brushing tender fingers over her already hard nipples.
Before she can say a word, her lips and mouth are taken in a kiss that is hot, and deep, and wet. Dakota’s taste and scent floods her senses, and she latches on to strong shoulders with both hands, taking what is offered and giving back her own, spiraling desire.
When the kiss is finally broken, Kirsten looks up into eyes fully dilated and black with need. Only a small sliver of brilliant blue surrounds each pupil, like a corona around a total eclipse.
“Lila waya waste mitawa,” Koda purrs, her voice rough with sleep and yearning. “My beautiful woman.” Sliding her fingers down the silken bra, she cups Kirsten’s breast, feeling the strong heart beat quickly, forcefully against her flesh. “Like a drum,” she whispers. “Calling me to worship.”
Heeding the summons, she lowers her head, brushing her cheek against the smooth fabric covering Kirsten’s firm breast before using the tip of her tongue to inscribe wet circles around the straining nipple. A long breath of warm air almost sends Kirsten through the roof, and her cry is loud as warm lips engulf her breast, working it through the silky material of her bra. Dakota’s free hand glides slowly down Kirsten’s side, past her hip to her knee, then reverses its course, cupping her mound briefly before meandering over to the neglected breast and fondling it gently with her palm and fingers.
Kirsten squirms beneath her, hands now clenched in the bedsheets, her head turned to the side, chest heaving as she draws in deep breaths of much needed air. A gentle nip gets her attention; a harder one earns a groan, long and languorous as her hips twitch in response.
Smiling, Dakota pulls away, then leans in for another deep, probing kiss as her hands trail down to work the fabric of Kirsten’s briefs. The smaller woman lifts, and the garment comes free and is tossed to the side of the room, immediately forgotten. “So beautiful,” Koda murmurs, tracing her fingers the middle line of Kirsten’s belly to stroke through the thick, damp hair framing her sex. Long fingers dip lower, swirling through the abundant moisture as Kirsten gasps and moans in pleasure of her lover’s touch.
“So good, tehila, so good.” Stroking softly, she shifts her body until she is off the bed and kneeling on the floor. Grasping Kirsten’s hips, she pulls her young lover forward, hot breath playing over the weeping jewel so beautifully exposed to her. She lifts her gaze up to find brilliant emeralds staring down at her, and she smiles. “Watch me, canteskuye. Watch me love you.”
Lowering her head, she drinks of her lover’s desire, its taste finer by far than any nectar. Her strokes are long, and firm, and swirling, leaving no bit of the slick, swollen flesh unloved.
Straining to keep her eyes open against the waves of ecstasy rising and breaking against her body, Kirsten releases her grip on the sheets and lowers an unsteady hand to the glossy, shining mass of her lover’s hair.
Removing her mouth for just a moment, Koda slides one finger deep within her lover’s center, then removes it slowly, savoring the velvet tightness that grips her so lovingly. Then she returns to her task as her glistening finger trails down until it is pressed familiarly against the small, puckered entrance to the rear. Kirsten lifts her head at the sensation, her eyes showing a little fear. “Koda? What--?”
She collapses hard against the pillows as Koda’s tongue redoubles its swirling strokes and her finger begins a firm massage designed to relax and pleasure.
“Jesus!” Kirsten pants. “That’s—incredible!” she breathes out as Koda enters her to the top knuckle, stimulating nerve endings she never knew she had before.
Koda laughs softly in her chest as she gently eases her finger forward until it is fully sheathed. Then, with a motion that matches her tongue, she swirls and thrusts, ever so gently, reading her lover’s body like a book as Kirsten’s muscles tense and relax, tense and relax, and her breath becomes short, almost agonized pants.
She curls her finger within as she bites down gently on the flesh in her mouth concentrating solely on the swollen head, bathing it with staccato touches of her tongue.
Kirsten explodes with a force that takes her breath away. Her muscles seize in an incredible spasm and she can do nothing but ride out the waves of utter passion that carry her along into the unknown.
When she is at last borne upon the land, Koda is there, holding her gently in her mouth, warming her, grounding her, bringing her home.
And then, another thrust, and she feels herself, impossibly, driven forward again on the wings of an excitement she’s never even dreamed.
“No!” she cries out when she feels her lover leave her. Her eyes open to find Dakota standing, naked, smiling down at her.
“Spread your legs a little more, canteskuye, a little more. Yes, perfect.”
As Kirsten watches, Dakota uses her clean hand to spread her own lips, then leans forward, sealing them both together in the most wonderful of ways. Their slick, slippery, swollen flesh rubs together, setting off sparks throughout Kirsten’s body and she cries out, once again, at the sensations.
“A long, slow ride to bring us home, cante mitawa.” Koda purrs as she plants her fists on the bed and begins to thrust against her lover, circling her hips in a maddening, captivating way. Kirsten licks her lips as she sees Koda’s breasts sway above her, their nipples proudly swollen a deep red. She reaches up to stroke them as Koda continues her long, slow thrusting, grunting softly with the effort of each stroke.
“Harder,” Koda gasps as Kirsten pulls and tugs. “Yes, harder, like that, oh yes….”
Dakota increases her rhythm, leaning closer over her lover, her long fragrant hair forming a curtain over them both. She feels her climax rushing toward her. “Han!” she shouts, tilting her head back, displaying her neck as she continues to thrust into Kirsten’s willing, open body, sweat pouring down her face and neck. “Han!” she shouts again, and begins to shudder as her orgasm overtakes her with great bursts of light and pleasure.
A moment later, she collapses down over the body of her lover. Her fingers move quickly, thrusting themselves into Kirsten’s welcoming body, and grunts with each thrust into the slick, velvet glove. “I love you, canteskue,” she pants out between grunts. “I love you. Gods, how I love you.”
It takes no more than that for Kirsten to burst free from her body once again, her spirit enfolded in brilliant colors that lift her so high and hold her there for a seeming, blissful eternity before easing her gently back down into the embrace of the woman she loves.
She comes back to herself to find her face and eyes and hair peppered with kisses, and it is all she can do just to collapse, completely spent, into Dakota’s strong and loving arms. She manages to lift her shining face to her lover. The kiss they share is warm, and soft, and loving.
Then both fall down into slumber, still pressed tightly against one another as the sweat from their bodies slowly cools.
*******
When Kirsten next awakens, it is the morning of the third day after the events of the sweat. She finds herself cocooned beneath Koda’s dead weight just as another soft knock comes to the door. “Just a minute!” she calls, her voice sounding as harsh as a frog’s dying croak. “Koda. Sweetheart, could you--? Unh. Okay, that’s not gonna work.” Her deeply sleeping lover is as boneless as a ragdoll, and it takes all of her strength just to free one leg. With some leverage, she is able to roll Koda to her back, where she stays, head lolled to one side. In the dawning light of the new day, Kirsten carefully looks her lover over. Most of the deep color has returned to her face, but dark circles continue to take up residence beneath her eyes. Despite the heat of the room, her flesh still retains a disturbing chill, and as Kirsten rises from the bed, she carefully tucks the scattered quilts around Dakota’s still form.
The knock sounds again.
“I’m coming!” She finds herself blushing deeply at the words. “That’s what I’ve spent the past two days doing,” she murmurs under her breath, then blushes again. Her body is sore, but it is the pleasant soreness of one well and wonderfully loved. “Jesus,” she whispers, shivering as the memories pass in a merry parade through her consciousness. “Alright, Kirsten, deep breath in, deep breath out, good. Now….” She raises her voice. “Who is it?”
“It’s Tacoma. Lieutenant Jimenez, one of your techs, is here to see you. He has something from that suicide bomber android he needs to show you.”
“Ok,” she says, her eyes darting around for clothes, or a robe to cover herself with, and coming up empty. “I’ll be right out. I have to—.”
“Take your time. We’ll be in the living-room when you’re ready.”
“Thanks.” Lifting an arm, she takes a quick sniff, then winces and coughs. “Shower. Now.”
The master suite contains a tiny half bath with enough room for a toilet, sink, and a stall shower. The spray is bitter cold as she turns on the tap, and, gritting her teeth, she steps inside. “I gain more respect for you military types every day,” she mutters, shivering as she grabs the soap and begins quickly working up a lather. Longing for the days when a steamy hot shower was both luxury and necessity, she completes her washing in record time and gratefully turns off the tap.
A thankfully non regulation towel is her reward and she dries off quickly, then wraps it around herself as she stalks back into the bedroom. “Damn,” she murmurs, looking down at the scattered pile of clothes she’d worn three days before, wrinkled beyond salvaging. “Now what? I’m certainly not gonna entertain guests in a towel.”
Shrugging, she steps over to the battered dresser where she’d seen Koda draw forth clothes. Opening a drawer, she rummages through until she comes up with a plain black t-shirt—overlarge, which is good since her bra has been reduced to two matching strips of useless cloth—and a pair of cargo shorts that, once she pulls them on, resemble Capri pants given the difference in height between herself and her lover. “Ah well. They’ll just have to learn to deal with it.”
Running Dakota’s brush through her hair, she deems herself as presentable as she’s going to get, and makes a final check on Koda, who is sleeping peacefully, burrowed beneath the layers of blankets covering her. “I’ll be back soon, sweetheart,” she whispers, gently touching Dakota’s cheek before turning and leaving the room.
******
Jimenez and Tacoma come to their feet as Kirsten steps from the bedroom. She waves them back down, not one to stand on protocol in her own home—and truly, for the first time, that’s what she thinks of this place. She gives each as much of a smile as she can muster, then comes around to the couch and gingerly perches on one arm, hoping neither can see the slight wince she gives as she does so.
“So, what do you have for me, Lieutenant?”
Jimenez lifts his briefcase and props it on the table, sliding the latches and exposing the interior. Picking up a small, labeled plastic baggie, he hands it to Kirsten, who swipes her glasses from the endtable and slips them on. A pair of tweezers follows, and Kirsten accepts them with a nod and opens the baggie, drawing out a tiny object no bigger than the half moon of a fingernail. She turns the blackened object this way and that, a smile blooming over her features. “Oh, this is good. This is very good.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Jimenez says, beaming with pleasure.
“Was this separate from the other pieces or did you extract it?”
He lifts another baggie from the case and hands it to her. “We took it out of this, Ma’am.”
The metallic square he hands her is half the size of a pack of cigarettes and weighs less than two ounces, by her reckoning. Kirsten feels her heart race at the discovery. Though blackened, melted, and quite damaged, the piece she holds is the nerve center of the android; something no one save Westerhaus and his flunkies has ever seen. “You may just have made the second biggest mistake of your life, Pete,” she murmurs, grinning a shark’s grin. Then she looks up at Jimenez. “Any other nice surprises for me, Lieutenant?”
“Back at the lab, Ma’am,” he says, chest so puffed with pride that Tacoma spares a brief second to wonder if he’ll soon burst, leaving Air Force blue bits of himself scattered about the house. He stifles a chuckle in deference to the man’s obvious sincerity, though his eyes share a wicked grin with Kirsten, who’s successfully hiding her own mirth. “Will you…uh…will you be returning with me, Ma’am? To the lab, I mean. Corvallis and I really could use your expertise. Ma’am.”
“I’d like to, Lieutenant,” Kirsten remarks, carefully slipping the square back into the baggie and zipping it closed, “and I will, but right now, I have to….”
“…get yourself to the lab with this young gentleman,” Wanblee Wapka states, stepping through the door. Asi, who he’s been trying to entertain, pushes past him and, yodeling with joy at finally seeing his Mistress, all but leaps into Kirsten’s arms as he covers her face with wet, sloppy dog kisses. “Dakota should be awakening soon. I’ll keep an eye on her while you tend to your own needs.”
“But--.”
“Go. Please. She will be fine, and it will do you good to get out for awhile.”
Kirsten still looks unconvinced. Oh, she believes that Wanblee Wapka speaks the truth; he knows about these things much better than she does, after all. But there is a churning, gnawing feeling inside of her which makes her wonder if, rather than Dakota being okay without her, she will be okay without Dakota.
“Go,” Wanblee Wapka repeats, smiling. “You don’t have to stay long.”
Finally, reluctantly, she nods and, with a final pat to her lovelorn canine, slowly rises and follows the young Lieutenant from the house.
When she leaves, Tacoma also rises from his place on the couch. “If it’s alright with you, Ate, I think I’ll head back to the power plant. Bernstein and Jove are just about to do the first test with the windfans we’ve installed. I’d like to be there if anything goes wrong.”
Wanblee Wapka nods.
“She will be alright, right?” Tacoma asks, eyeing his father closely.
“She’ll be fine, chinkshi. But you know that already. You’ve always been closer than cekpapi.”
“I do know,” Tacoma admits. “But it’s always nice to have it confirmed.” He smiles. “Thanks, Ate. I’ll be back soon.”
“Be off with you then,” he orders, lowering his long frame onto the couch and patting his lap. Asi obligingly puts his head in the indicated spot, and begins to groan as his ears are firmly scratched.
*******
Ok, so that little update was a bit warm in places.*G* Ah well. Since we made you wait so long, we figured we’d give you a little more to enjoy…or not, as the case may be. In any event, we hope that you did enjoy it enough to tune in next week for another chapter of The Growing. Until then, stay safe, be good, and drop us a line at swordnquil@aol.com . Hasta!
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