Unknown - The_Growing_589064

Speaking past the rage that threatens to choke her, she continues. “There was also a den within a hundred feet of this trap. Because of the death of this wolf, his mate, who had given birth out of season, was forced to leave her pups to forage. She was shot, though not fatally, at the gates of Ellsworth Air Force Base. Between the trap and the shooting, three out of four of the litter died, a net current loss of four to a still-recovering population. The loss over time, of course, is much greater.

“Finally, she says, “we have a young female bobcat, caught within less than an hour of being found by Lieutenant Rivers and Lieutenant Andrews.” She keys up the slide of the cat backing away from her rescuers, ears flat against her head, nose wrinkled in a snarl. “The injury had not had time to become infected, and no bones were broken. As you may know, lack of fractures is atypical. As it was, several tendons were severed and required sutures.”

“Doctor Rivers?” Another member of the jury, a woman whose long blonde hair is caught into a thick braid down her back and whose hands show the calluses of months of rough work, glances toward Harcourt for permission to speak. When he nods, she asks, “What is the prognosis of the coyote and the bobcat?”

Koda smiles, the knots in her shoulders beginning to loosen. “Very good, in both cases. In fact, both will be released within a week or two.”

“And to what do you attribute their recovery?”

“I attribute their recovery to their rescue by Lieutenants Rivers and Andrews, and to prompt emergency treatment by Sergeant Tacoma Rivers. Had they not been found and treated, both would certainly have died.”

“Da-yum,” someone in the audience drawls. “How many vets you got on that Base? You make house calls, Doc?”

“Oh Doc, I got a pain, real bad,” a young man in the back wails. “Please help!”

Relieved laughter suddenly fills the room, and the Judge raps once, sharply, with his gavel. Abrupt silence decends. Harcourt fixes the speaker with a gaze sharp and bright as a diamond behind his glasses. “Indeed you do, Marc Beauchamp. And if you don’t quiet down and maintain order in this proceeding, I’ll put you and this court both out of it.” Turning to Koda, he asks, “Doctor Rivers, have you anything further to add?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Thank you. Sergeant Tacoma Rivers to the stand, please.”

Tacoma stands and takes an uncertain step toward the stand, then accepts his crutches from Manny with obvious reluctance. “Good human,” Koda says softly as she passes him on her way back to her own seat.

As she turns to sit, movement at the courtroom door catches her eye. The door opens to admit Kirsten, who pauses for a moment to survey the audience and the panel, her eyes finally settling on Koda with a smile. She steps to one side, and a tall man in a buckskin jacket, greying hair caught back in a ponytail, enters behind her. His eyes, shadowed under dark brows, are blue as jay’s wing. With a glance back at Tacoma, who is taking the oath propped up on one crutch, Dakota deposits the laptop in her chair and makes her way up the side aisle as fast as she can without breaking into a run. As a grin spreads across her father’s face and she returns the smile, her suddenly pounding heart slows to normal. Whatever brings Wanblee Wapka to Rapid City, it is not bad news at home.

As she approaches, he holds the door for her and Kirsten once more and lets it fall shut behind them. Without a word, he opens his arms, and she clings to him silently for a long moment, no words necessary. Then he says, “I’m sorry, chunksi. Kirsten told me what happened to Wa Uspewikakiyape.”

Dakota loosens her hold just enough to take a step back and meet his eyes. “I found him still alive. I couldn’t help him.” She hears the catch in her own voice, half-grief, half-anger. “I couldn’t help him.”

He does not attempt to contradict her. “You are helping his mate and his cub. Not to mention his whole species. He would consider that a fair bargain, I think.”

“It’s all I could do.” The words are bitter on her tongue, like gall.

“It is much. No.” He cuts her off as she opens her mouth to contradict him. “I know you don’t think it’s enough. But it is justice, and you have fought hard for it.” He nods toward Kirsten. “So have others.”

“You’ve met?” With a small shock, it occurs to Koda that her father and Kirsten did not arrive together by chance.

“I went to the Base first, looking for you and Tacoma.” He smiles at Kirsten. “We got acquainted on the way into town.”

“Oh.” To her chagrin, Dakota feels the flush spread across her face, her skin growing warm. “That’s—nice.”

His eyes are sparkling now, with the warmth of a summer sky. “Yes, it is.”

Gods, is it written on my forehead? “Mother—?”

“Will adjust.”

“Not without a fight.”

“Probably not. Meantime—”

Manny pushes through the door, using good shoulder. Wanblee Wapka’s gaze shifts, taking in his bandaged hands, but he says only, “Tonskaya?”

“Leksi. Sorry. Koda, the jury isn’t going to go out at all. They say they don’t need to deliberate.”

The jury, which has been huddled in a tight knot with Harcourt at its center, is just making its way back to the table when Koda, Kirsten, her father and cousin file back into the courtroom. Silently, they range themselves along the wall at the back, and Kirsten slips her hand lightly, unobtrusively, into Dakota’s. Koda gives her fingers a squeeze—thank you—and waits for the verdict.

“Mister Chairperson,” intones the Judge. “Have you made a determination of the cause and manner of death of William E. Dietrich, deceased, of Rapid City, County of Pennington, in the State of South Dakota?”

The Chairperson rises. Louie Wang is a youngish man whose eyes are dark behind bottle-bottom glasses; even after Armageddon, his shirt pocket sports a plastic protector for a couple pens and a marker. Before meeting Kirsten, Koda would instantly have labeled him a typical computer geek. “We have, Your Honor.”

“Your findings, Mr. Chairperson, on the cause of death?”

“As determined previously, cause of death was a single gunshot wound to the head, Your Honor.”

“Manner of death?”

“Homicide, Your Honor.”

Koda’s fingers tighten convulsively around Kirsten’s. Kirsten squeezes back, hard, a puzzled look on her face counterpart to the alarm on Manny’s. Only Wanblee Wapka seems unruffled, standing relaxed with one hand holding his hat, the other a jacket pocket.

“Are there any further findings, Mr. Wang?”

“Two others, Your Honor.”

“Your first supplementary finding, please.”

Referring to a yellow notepad on the table, Wang says, “Our first supplementary finding, in the absence of a civilian criminal court and a properly constituted grand jury, is that while a homicide—the killing of a human being—was committed, there is no finding of murder. From evidence given, it is the verdict of this jury that Lieutenant Manuel Rivers acted in defense of his own life and the life of Lieutenant Andrews when he returned shots fired at them by William Everett Dietrich, deceased. The jury calls to the attention of the court the circumstance that the said William Everett Dietrich was in process of commission of a felony when he shot at the Lieutenants with intent to kill, and thereby attempted capital murder, an offense which carries the death penalty in this state.”

Koda feels her breath go out of her in a rush, notes the relief as every muscle in Manny’s body suddenly seems to relax, held up only by the pressure of his shoulders against the wall. A glance at her father tells her that he has never doubted the verdict. It is not, she realizes, so much that he trusts the law as that he trusts her, and Tacoma, and Manny himself. Trusts them to act in honor, trusts their ability to defend those actions.