Unknown - The_Growing_589064

Without bothering to reply, Koda moves her gaze from the weapons in a casual sweep around the house. It’s the same as she remembered it; the domain of a single, proud man, a lifelong bachelor with only two passions in life: the law—evidenced by the rows and rows of leather-bound tomes that take up residence on the huge floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering three of the four walls, and birds—or, more accurately, the watching, cataloguing, and photographing of them. Evidence of this passion can be seen on the remaining wall. Beautiful framed photos fill the huge space over the stone fireplace’s mantle.

Drawn to them, as always, her eyes scan the photos, appreciating their beauty, when she notices one sitting on the corner of the mantelpiece itself, and she finds herself smiling. It is a picture she knows well, especially since she is one of the main subjects of it.

It shows a winter field, blanketed in heavy snow. One lone tree stands in the background, adding perspective. In the foreground, Dakota, clad in leather, holds a gauntleted fist out as a swooping Wiyo, massive wings spread out to their widest point, comes to land.

“I remember that day,” the Judge reflects, drawing a finger across a weathered cheek. Fenton Harcourt is a tall man, still strapping despite his advanced age, with a shock of snow-white hair and a face filled with stern lines that only the occasional twinkle in his deep brown eyes seems to belie. “It was colder than a witches’ mammary and twice as harsh.”

Chuckling, Koda draws her finger lightly across the picture, not quite touching the glass that protects the paper from the elements. It was the first time Wiyo had come at her call and landed on her wrist. She can almost feel the deadly strength of those talons on her arm now; a grip so strong, and yet somehow so tender, that she knew at the time that even if she hadn’t been wearing the gauntlet, her skin would not have been pierced.

Dakota turns from the photo finally, meeting the older man’s deep-set eyes. They share a moment of perfect understanding. Judge Harcourt loves Wiyo almost as fiercely as she does. Just as he had loved, and cared for, Wiyo’s brother, who was brought down by a drunken idiot with a penchant for shooting birds. That man would have been dead by Harcourt’s own hand, judge or no judge, if he hadn’t jumped into his pickup truck and promptly driven it into a tree, turning himself into hamburger flambé.

The Judge had mourned the loss of the bird, mourned as he never would for a fellow human. It was as if he had lost a part of himself in the death of the wild one he had helped to raise from a hatchling. And that loss changed him, profoundly and permanently.

“So,” he says finally, breaking the silence between them, “I assume there’s a purpose for this visit beyond assuring yourself of my current state of liveliness?”

Koda snorts. “You’re too evil to die, old man.”

Harcourt tries to look offended, but the glitter in his eyes once again belies the stern, craggy lines of his face. “Alas, you’ve discovered my secret. Whatever will the Society of Crazed and Evil Immortals (you’ll notice the particular emphasis on certain words there) think? We’re the only group to have survived this latest human debacle intact, you know,” he adds in a mockingly conspiratorial stage whisper.

Koda rolls her eyes, then turns serious. “I need your help.”

The Judge’s bushy eyebrows raise, like two white caterpillars perched atop his glasses. “My help? Whatever for? In case you haven’t noticed, Ms. Rivers, I’m rapidly approaching 80. I’m afraid my days of heroic derring-do are long over.”

“I’m not asking for heroism, I’m asking for help,” Koda bites off as she breaks his gaze and looks out into the springtime day. “Look. I’ve moved down to the base to try and help take care of this mess. Women are being kept in prisons all over this country, raped repeatedly, and forced to bear children for reasons we haven’t figured out yet. We’ve managed to survive another android skirmish, and the survivors are coming through the gates in a never-ending stream.” She sighs, slipping her hands into her pockets. “At first, we just had the usual ‘settling in’ problems, but lately things have been getting worse, in a big way.”

“Yea, verily, I say unto you,” Harcourt’s dry voice intrudes, “wherever two or more are gathered, they’ll spend their time bashing the stuffing out of one another.”

Koda’s smile is faint, and disappears quickly. “That’s becoming the size of it, yeah.”

“I’m failing to see the problem here,” Harcourt remarks. “Surely there are enough military types still alive on that base to adjudicate their own affairs with reasonable swiftness and accuracy.” He holds up one arthritis humped finger. “You’ll notice my use of the word ‘reasonable’, here. I, myself, wouldn’t trust a military court to judge whether my shoes were tied or not. However, it is their domain, is it not?”

Cutting her gaze from the window, she eyes him evenly. His eyebrows go up again. “I’m missing something, I presume.”

“Did you ever hear a state of war or emergency declared?” she asks simply.

He ponders for a moment. “I don’t believe so, no.”

She continues to stare at him until his eyes finally widen in comprehension. “No. No, my dear, and no again. I will not be a party to a pitiful and doomed attempt to prolong the last gasp of a species who should have become extinct before they were allowed to breed. Humankind has finally heard the Judgement Trumpet blown, and I say it’s about damn time.”

“Judge…”

“No, Dakota. No. The body of Man is getting exactly what it deserves. And I, for one, fully intend to enjoy what is left of my life here on this planet in a state of peaceful relaxation, free from the petty concerns of a dying society. I have my books. I have my birds—I spotted a Cassin’s Sparrow just yesterday, by the way. Only the second sighting in this area, I’ll have you know. Too bad there’s no longer anyone around who gives a whit. No, I’m quite afraid you’ll have to find someone else to aid you with the postmortem. I’ve retired from the species.”

Dakota’s gaze goes far away, and Harcourt feels a sense of disquiet niggling its way into his hardened heart.

“Wa Uspewicakiyapi is dead. He was caught in an illegal trap, and attacked by predators. I noticed his mate first. She was looking for help and a couple of drunk assholes were taking potshots at her for shits and giggles. I was able to rescue her. She was starving, bleeding, and had obviously dropped an early litter. When I found the pups, all were dead save one. Wiyo led me to Wa Uspewicakiyapi. There was…nothing I could do for him. His life was….” Pulling her hands out of her pockets, she stares at them as if they are foreign objects. “I killed him.”

Harcourt’s eyes close in sympathy, his face set and grim.

Koda’s jaw clenches, the muscles in her face pronounced. “And now he’s locked up in a freezer on the base…for evidence.” The word comes out like evacuated poison.

“Evidence? For what?”

“Manny and a friend killed the trapper. He’d snared several other animals in his illegal traps. They were rescuing them when he found them and drew a bead on them. They acted in self-defense, and Tacoma believes that Wa Uspewicakiyapi’s body is needed to prove their innocence.”

Such is her state of agitation that she doesn’t see or hear the Judge move, and stiffens slightly as a large, warm hand is placed on her shoulder in a gesture of support. “I need your help, Fenton. Humanity might be dying out, but it’s taking a lot of others as it goes. Innocents who don’t deserve what’s being done to them. I need someone I can respect and trust, and that someone is you.” She turns fully to him, feeling his hand slide away. “Please. Help me.”