“Let me.”

There is not room to turn around, but, Kirsten hands the sponge and the bottle of soap backward, laughing. “Who’d have thought the woman waving an M-16 in my face would turn out to be such a hedonist? Just goes to show first impressions aren’t all they’re racked up to be.”

Koda chuckles, deep in her throat. “Who’d have thought the cute little android taking a leak in the snow would be such a sucker for it?” Kirsten opens her mouth to protest, but closes it abruptly. Koda’s hands, slick with the soap, pass over her shoulders in long, slow, circles, slip down her spine and up her flanks, the pattern repeating again and again. Through the film on her skin, she can feel Koda’s nipples harden as they brush against her back. Koda’s hands continue to spiral across her shoulders, down her flanks, sweeping across her thighs, circling her belly. They rise to cup her breasts, thumbs lightly brushing her own nipples, the touch and the cool air tightening the flesh around them. Koda’s mouth moves along the back of her neck, nibbling at her ear. Kirsten presses herself back against the strong body behind her, her own hands gliding over the long legs that arch beside her. “Nun lila hopa,” Koda whispers. “Cante mitawa.”

“Cante mitawa,” Kirsten echoes, her breath catching as Koda’s hand slips between her legs, then, fingers parting the labia to find the nub of her clitoris. Fire catches under her touch, strikes along the nerves of Kirsten’s legs, flares to life up the column of her spine. “Cante mitawa,” she says again, while she can say anything at all, and her head falls back as release takes her and she feels her pulse hammer against Koda’s hand that still cups her sex, shuddering through her again and again.

When she can move, she turns to kneel between Koda’s thighs. Dakota’s eyes, wide and unfocused with desire, draw her down and down, until it seems that she glides slowly through dark water, while shapes move along the verge of the pool above her, slim-legged and swift, slow and lumbering, moving on four legs or two or none. Around her she hears the darting passage of bright fish, the roll and tumble of otters. Then they are gone and she is back in the world she knows, her lips seeking Koda’s in a long, lingering kiss as her knee presses against her lover’s center and Koda comes, the blood pounding in her throat under Kirsten’s mouth, beating frantically, then slowing as the after-languor takes them both. For a long moment they remain still, holding each other. Then Kirsten says huskily, “You remember that ring I saw in my vision?”

“Mmm,” Koda answers, her head still against Kirsten’s shoulder.

“Well, then, are you gonna marry me?”

“Are you proposing?”

“I am.” Kirsten smiles against the dark hair that coils over her own shoulder and Koda’s. “One of us had better.”

“Since you put it that way—” Koda raises her face to Kirsten’s, claiming her mouth in a kiss that takes Kirsten’s breath. Then, “Since you put it that way—yes.”

“How—that is, I don’t know what the Lakota custom is? How do we do it?”

A glint of mischief comes into Koda’s eyes. “Well, first, you take Wanblee Wapka a string of ponies. Say about a dozen, you being President and all. Then you get a courting blanket and come calling. Then—”

“Then we elope,” Kirsten says succinctly. ‘When does the Judge get back?” A shadow crosses Koda’s face, and a stab of regret goes through Kirsten. “I’m sorry, love. I’m worried, too.”

“I know,” Koda answers. “But we’ll make our own rules. It’s a new world. We’re something new. We just need to get through this fight. Then we can plan.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Kirsten leans forward into a kiss. “Hold you now and forever.”

CHAPTER FORTY SIX

KIRSTEN SITS CROSS-LEGGED on the springy, cool grass beneath the heavy boughs of fragrant trees that dot the residential area of the base. At her back, the waters of the stream chuckle merrily as if listening to a joke only they can hear.

The scent of the rendered fat in the bowls before her doesn’t exactly rival perfume, and she resists the urge to sneeze just to get the smell out of her sinuses. She settles for what she hopes is innocuous mouth-breathing instead, flushing slightly at the look she receives from Tacoma. A touch to her knee draws her attention back to Dakota, who is sitting with a bowl of yellow paint cradled in her lap, and a small twig laden with the same held up, elegant eyebrow raised slightly, questioning.

Kirsten nods, almost shyly, and, smiling, Koda brings the loaded twig to her lover’s cheek, painting a design with sure, deft strokes. After several moments, she pulls the brush away and tilts Kirsten’s chin, eyes raking over the design she’s just created. A quick touchup, and she nods, satisfied with her work.

“Iktomi zizi.”

The words bring smiles to the faces of Manny and Tacoma, and a frown of puzzlement to Kirsten’s. “Excuse me?”

Reaching up, Dakota gently touches Kirsten’s face, then lays two fingers on her partner’s chest, right above her heart. “Iktomi zizi.” With her free hand, Koda lifts a bowl of clear water and hands it to Kirsten, gesturing for her to look into it.

The surface of the water ripples, and Kirsten watches her reflection waver in it, squinting as the image slowly comes into focus.

An intricate web design covers most of her left cheek. A similar one, though smaller, dots her right. She raises her head slowly, looking up at Dakota, wide-eyed. “A spider? You’re calling me a spider?”

“Iktomi zizi. Yellow spider.”

Kirsten’s face wrinkles. “I don’t think I—.”

“Hey!” Manny interrupts, chuckling, “I think it’s perfect. Spiders might be small, but some of them can bring down a man, or even a full grown horse with just one bite.”

“Yeah, but they’re—.”

“Crafty and intelligent,” Tacoma intones. “Creators of incredibly complex designs, and absolutely fearless.” He grins. “The name fits you perfectly.”

Kirsten eyes the three steadily. “Yeah, well just remember something else about us spiders.”

“Yeah?” Manny asks. “What’s that?”

“We eat our mates.”

There is a moment of absolute silence as her words are absorbed. Then Tacoma and Manny both blush, their copper skin tinting toward tomato red as they break into laughter and smack Dakota on the shoulder with good-natured teasing.

Kirsten looks on, a bit confused with the reaction she’s receiving. It is only when she spies Dakota’s rakish, eyebrow waggling grin that the subtext of her words blooms fully in her mind, and the blush that crawls up from her shoulders is so deep and dark that her pale eyebrows stand out in vivid relief against its heat. “Oh my god,” she moans, dropping her face into her hands. “I cannot believe I just said that!!”

Chuckling, Koda rubs her back. “Just relax, love. We know what you meant.” After a moment, she eases Kirsten’s hands away from her face and checks to make sure the designs aren’t smudged. “One last thing. Close your eyes.”

Said eyes narrow. “Why.”

“Relax and just close your eyes. Trust me.”

Sighing, Kirsten lets her lids slide closed over her eyes. “I’d better not regret this.”

“Just keep ‘em closed.” Taking another bowl, this filled with thick black paste, she dips three fingers in, coating them liberally. Lifting her fingers, she tilts Kirsten’s face toward her, then draws them across her lover’s eyes, from temple to temple, creating a crude, but effective black mask. “Ok, you can open your eyes now.”

Dakota grins as vivid green eyes open, their color all the more striking when set against the black paint surrounding them, like emeralds in a black-velvet jeweler’s box. “For Wika Tegalega. Look.”

Kirsten glances down into the still water, then back up at her lover. “I look like the Hamburgler.”

A moment of silence, and then the group roars in laughter. Kirsten merely rolls her eyes. “Can we get on with this, please?”

The others eventually sober, and Dakota takes back the water bowl with a grin that is slightly abashed. Her face has already been painted with the symbols of Crazy Horse, and the backs of both hands bear stylized wolf prints done in black and red.

A piercing cry spears the silence, and the four of them look up to see Wiyo circling down toward them. With a great beating of wings, she lands upon Koda’s outstretched forearm. A leather pouch dangles from one of her legs, and Kirsten eyes it curiously. “What…?”

“A note,” Dakota intuits, using her free hand to untie the simple slipknot. She hands the pouch to Kirsten. “Get it out of there for me, willya?”

The bag’s laces are tight and slippery, but Kirsten finally manages to fumble them open. Upending the small pouch, she shakes out a tiny, tightly rolled slip of paper, which she proceeds to unroll. Without her glasses on, the tiny writing is just one big blur, so she hands the scrap off to Dakota, who peers down at the message while Wiyo looks on, placidly. “It’s from Fenton. He found Toller.”

“Oh yeah?” Tacoma asks. “Where?”

“Just outside of Grand Rapids.” Dakota raises her eyes from the note. “Dead.”

“No shit!” This from Manny, who looks on, wide-eyed. “How?”

“Single gunshot wound to the back of the head.”

“Sounds like an execution,” Kirsten murmurs. “Did the judge say who he thought did it?”

“He’s guessing androids. There was talk in town about a small group of them in that area over the last week or so.”

“Any sign of Hart?”

“None.”

“Bet the metalheads took him,” Manny observes, raking a hand through his hair. “He’s the fucking commander of the base they’re about to attack. Jesus Christ.”

Kirsten rubs at the back of her neck. “Well, he’s been kept pretty well isolated from our plans for awhile now, so while it’s not the best news in the world, I’m not sure it’s the worst, either.”