Unknown - The_Growing_589064

“Part of that rule of law is our justice system. Note that I say ‘justice system,’ not ‘legal system.’ Our laws do not exist for their own sake, just to give police and uniformed services like mine something useful to do. They exist to establish and mete out justice, fairly and impartially. And they do that through citizens like yourselves. You are the government, the true law enforcers of our society.

“My question to you, therefore, is a bit different from that asked by the prosecution. It is this: can you, with all you have suffered in the android uprising, all you have lost, including friends and members of your families, hear the evidence in this case and make your determination of guilt or innocence on that basis alone?”

The room is silent for a space, each of the prospective jurors given time to question his or her own conscience. Then, as the Bailiff begins to call them forward one by one for individual questioning, Kirsten rises and slips unobtrusively from the room. Tacoma is due to leave for the wind farm in half an hour, and Dakota may—no, she is not quite ready to say that Dakota may need her—but she wants to be there all the same. It is where she needs to be.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

VERY GENTLY DAKOTA peels back the last of the bandaging under the soft cast, exposing the bobcat’s paw. The jagged scar of the wound still shows an angry scarlet, the paired dots of the suture pricks running parallel to it on either side like an abstruse pottery design. The skin around the injury, though, is healthy pink. A soft down of new fur, golden ground and umber whorls, covers it up to the edge of the scar. She feels the cat tense against her as she flexes the joint. “Easy, Igmú. Easy, girl,” she croons into one tufted ear, tightening her hold to press the cat’s body close to her own. “Still a bit stiff, there, aren’t you?”

Raising her voice, she calls, “Shannon, would you come here a moment, please?”

The thud of jogging footsteps in the hall precedes the tech into the examining room, and the bobcat starts at the sound. It is hardly the first time that Koda has been the object of a crush-cum-hero-worship, but the young woman’s eagerness to impress is beginning to get a bit overwhelming. When Shannon opens the door, though, she is all professional calm. “Dr. Rivers?”

“Set up the X-ray, would you? I need a radiograph of Igmú’s right forefoot; it’s still tight. I can’t feel anything out of alignment, but let’s be sure.”

“She’s about ready for release, isn’t she?”

“Almost. But she’s got to have everything working. She’s a runner and a pouncer, and without that ‘spring’ in all four feet she can’t hunt effectively.”

Shannon steps out of the room to ready the machine, and Koda returns to her examination. Other than the torn tendons, now almost fully healed, the cat is in excellent condition, better than if she had spent the last lean months of winter in the wild. The fur under her hand is soft and sleek, rich with oils from the fish Koda has added to her diet of red meat and fowl. Firm muscles ripple beneath it. She is up to a solid twenty pounds, not bad at all for a young female with her full growth yet to come.

Every ounce of that twenty pounds balks, though, when Koda reaches for the syringe lying ready on the counter. “Easy, girl. Easy . . . easy. . . . Shit . . .”

The slick surface of the examination table works with her reluctant patient as she squirms and slides backward out of Koda’s one-handed hold. “Come on, girl, this is the last one, I promise . . ..”

” Funny, I never believed the doctor when he said that, either.” Koda looks up to find Tacoma standing in the doorway. He has changed his fatigues for jeans and flannel shirt, his belt festooned with tools, a hard hat dangling from one loop. “Let me help.”

Koda nods, and he crosses the space between the door and the table at a single stride. At the first touch of his hands, the struggle stops cold. From deep in Igmú’s chest comes a rumble like low thunder, and she butts her head against his chest, her great golden eyes half-closed in pleasure. He scratches her gently under the chin while Dakota lifts her scruff and administers her third and last feleuk vaccination. The purr never falters.

Koda strokes her now complacent patient’s ears as she pitches the empty hypodermic into the red biohazard pail hung under the table. “Do you have time to help with the radiograph? It’ll only take a moment.”

“Sure.”

Scooping the bobcat up, Tacoma follows her into the tiny X-ray room. A click and a couple whirrs later, he carries her back to hospital, leaving Koda to develop the film. When he returns, she has it up on the light box, staring intently at the bone where the torn tendons anchor. There is no abnormality, and she breathes a small sigh of relief. “Have a look,” she says. “Everything’s in place; she just needs a bit of exercise to strengthen the paw. I’ll move her out into one of the outdoor kennel runs during the day, and—”

“Dakota.”

“—she’ll be ready for release in a week or so.”

“Tanksi.”

“I know you’ll want to be there.” Very deliberately Koda unties her lead-lined apron and hangs it up. “Do you think you’ll be gone long?”

Tacoma’s hand moves in a small half-circle that Dakota knows means frustration, but he answers evenly, “Five or six days, depending on how much we can do on this first trip. Melly Cho is going with us to determine whether we can get Rapid City hooked back up to the grid.”

“She’s that electrical engineer the census turned up?”

“Yeah. We may have one of the electric company linemen, too. They’ll be a big help.” There is a small, strained silence, then he says, “Harcourt wants to hold an informal inquest on Dietrich when we get back. As soon as it’s over we can do what is right for Igmú Tanka Kte.”

“Where’s Dietrich? Is he in a freezer somewhere, too?” Koda cannot keep the bitterness out of her voice; she does not try.

“Yes. At the morgue. His family want to bury him now that the ground has thawed.”

“Well,” she says shortly. “That’s understandable.” She turns away from him and begins to arrange ampoules of antibiotics and vaccines on the shelf above the counter.

There is a long silence. Then, softly. “Look— Damn, Koda, I know I’ve done this all wrong— I’m sorry. I don’t know anything else to say, though. I’m sorry.”

Dakota turns to face her brother. “I know you’re sorry. I accept that. What I can’t accept is—” Her voice catches for a moment, then steadies. “How would you feel if it were your teacher? If it were Igmú Tanka in there?” She gestures toward the back of the clinic where the freezer holds the wolf’s body.

“It would tear my heart out,” he says simply. “But I would be glad to bring her killer to justice. I would be glad her children would live. And I think she would be, too.”

An old story tells that the black marks at the corners of a puma’s eyes are the tracks of tears shed long ago, in the time before time, in mourning for her stolen young. And that, she knows, is the heart of the matter. It is the one thing she has not allowed herself to consider.

It is not only the bobcat who will be ready for release in a little time. Day by day, the she-wolf grows stronger, grows closer to the time when she will be able to hunt and provide for her young. The pup, whose blunt features hold the promise of his sire’s features and coloring to come, waddles about the run on stubby legs, splashing through the water bowl in pursuit of drifting paintbrush petals blown in on the spring winds. If law is allowed to lapse, if the trapping of wolves and bobcats and coyotes becomes a normal part of life again, then the pup could die the same way his father did. And no one would be there to spare his suffering or claim justice for him.