“But I can do that after—.”

“No. No, you can’t. Don’t you see, Kirsten? Hart’s primary purpose is to destroy you and all the goodness in this world, and he’s not gonna stop until it’s done. Whether it’s this battle, or the next, or the next. He’s got more manpower than we could ever hope to possess, more firepower, more everything. Our only chance, this damn world’s only chance, is for you to cut his troops off at the source. Now. Not later. Because later will likely never come. You need to go. And you,” she says, turning to Koda, “need to guide her.”

Kirsten looks at her lover, horrified when she realizes that Dakota is actually considering Maggie’s insane order. “Koda, you can’t possibly—.”

The rest of Kirsten’s words fade down to a meaningless drone as another voice, one well remembered if little heard, weaves its way through Dakota’s brain, like a mist before the dawn. “I have something to tell you: do not hesitate to flee when the time comes. Victory will follow you. For the sake of all the People, two-footed, four-footed, winged and creeping, you must do what you least wish to, when you least wish to. I will be here waiting when you return.”

“We need to leave.” Dakota’s voice is low, and tortured, as if the words are being forced from her by something, or someone, beyond her control. They set badly in her mouth, but their truth is undeniable in the hard shine of her eyes.

“What? What are you saying? We can’t run!”

“We need to leave,” she repeats, trance-like. “We need to find the answers. They’re not here. Victory will follow us.”

“Dakota, you’re not making any sense!”

Ignoring Kirsten for the moment, Koda looks over at Maggie, eyebrow raised. The general smiles, and nods. “We’ll do okay, I think. I still have a few aces up my sleeve. Aces even Hart doesn’t suspect exist. It’ll be hard, but…we’ll do okay.”

Koda nods, and a subtle transference occurs between the two women; one that Kirsten can’t, to her great consternation, read. Then the blazing blue eyes turn back to her, and the young scientist is once again captured effortlessly within their pristine depths. “This is the right thing to do, my love. It’s the only thing we can do and hope to win in the end. Anything else will only delay the inevitable. I know you know this…deep inside. Look. You’ll see.”

But Kirsten doesn’t need to look. She’s known the truth from the very second Maggie suggested leaving. It sits across her shoulders like a yoke, like a cross, growing heavier with each passing second, each passing thought.

“I’ll help you carry it,” Koda says, reading her effortlessly. “Together, to the end of whatever journey the gods have planned for us.”

“Where will we go?” Kirsten asks, beginning to accept the inevitable.

“It’s your call,” Dakota replies, reaching out and grasping her lover by the hand, a hand that is cold, slightly damp, but strong and steady. “Where is Westerhaus’ inner sanctum? That might be the most direct route.”

“Silicon Valley, but god, that’s so far….”

“We’ll get there. Somehow, we’ll get there. Unless there’s somewhere else that you think is better? You’re the boss here.”

Kirsten thinks for a moment, then nods. “If we want to stop this shit at the source, we need to go to the source. You’re right.”

“Great,” Maggie interjects. “Then it’s settled. Manny will take you out with the Cheyenne.”

“The river?” Kirsten asks, confused. “How will we get past all those droids?”

Maggie smirks. “Just go over to hangar twenty two. He’s waiting for you.”

Kirsten scowls. “You had this planned all along, didn’t you.”

“We knew it would be an eventuality, Kirsten. It’s happening a little sooner than we expected, sure, but the sooner you get out of here, the sooner we can all breathe a little easier.” Her smile softens as she closes the two steps between them, and looks down into Kirsten’s clear, beautiful eyes. “You’re our hope, Kirsten. And I, for one, am glad of it.” Leaning forward, she brushes a soft kiss against her lips, then pulls away. “Good luck.”

*

Maggie’s keys flash in the early sun as she tosses them to Simmons. “Take my Jeep. Take Dr. Rivers and President King home to pick up their things. Then take them out to the flightline. Hangar 22.”

Simmons’s eyes go wide, his eyebrows ascending his forehead in surprise. “Hangar 22?” he squeaks, making a dive for the keys that ends in a two-handed catch.

“You got it. Koda.” Dakota walks into Maggie’s open arms, returning her hard embrace and the chaste kiss on her cheek. “You know what you have to do. Be safe.”

“You’re in more danger than we’ll be,” Koda says, stepping back, letting her hands linger a moment in the other woman’s. “Tóksha aké wanchinyankin kte.”

“We’ll make it. Until then. Kirsten.” Maggie hugs Kirsten tightly, whispering something in her ear that Koda cannot quite make out. It is something that makes her smile, though, and Kirsten says softly. “Don’t worry. I will.”

“Go, now. We’re going to stall them as long as we can. We’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

With an arm around each of their shoulders, Maggie half hugs, half pushes, them both out the door. Koda’s last sight of her is a straight-backed silhouette at the view slit, raising the binoculars again to her eyes.

They pass the ride home in silence. Kirsten, regardless of Simmons in the front seat, leans into Koda’s arm, clinging to her. Her hand in Dakota’s feels cold as the frozen dead of the Hurley farm, all those months ago. And with reason. It comes to her that this is the second time Kirsten has been forced out of a place of safety and purpose and thrust into the unknown with the fate of her world and her species riding squarely on her shoulders. At least for her brief sojourn at Shiloh, and again at Ellsworth, that burden had been shared. “Hey,” Koda says softly. “We’ll make it. We’re a hell of a team.”

“What about Maggie? And Tacoma? How—”

“The best way they can, cante sukye. They’re warriors, blood and bone. They’ll hold.” Her fingers tighten involuntarily on Kirsten’s shoulder. “However they have to, they’ll hold.”

“However,” Kirsten repeats, her voice flat.

The words hang in the air between them, unspoken. Kirsten will not say them; neither will Dakota, who knows that words have power. Even at the cost of their lives. Even if they can only hold the enemy temporarily.

The Jeep buckets up into the driveway, and Koda gives her lover’s hand a last squeeze. “Take Asi out to pee. I’ll start packing.” To Simmons she adds, “Fifteen minutes.”

Dakota shoves the kitchen door open, Kirsten on her heels. Tacoma stands at the table, stuffing a backpack with MRE’s and various more palatable items; Koda’s quick glance takes in oatmeal, a plastic zip bag of sugar, salt, what must be the last of their meager stash of coffee. Her brother looks up from his task for a second, smiling. “I packed up some clothes for you. Not much, but I figure you can get more on the road. Go check if I’ve missed anything.” To Kirsten he adds, “Asi’s done his duty. You just need to get his leash on him.”

“Thanks,” Kirsten says, bolting for the living room and the seldom-used lead hanging on the hall tree. Koda follows, veering off into the bedroom where a small rucksack stands open on the dresser. A quick inspection shows that Tacoma has packed a pair of jeans and a shirt apiece, all their socks and underwear, extra boots. A Colt .45 automatic and its ammunition belt lie on the bed, with her bow and quiver. A soldier’s choices. She adds toothpaste and brushes to the pack—no need to go without until they have to—a couple bars of soap, a bottle of aspirin and an elastic athletic bandage from the medicine cabinet. They will have to be prepared to go on foot at least some of the time; a pulled muscle or a turned ankle cannot be allowed to slow them down. She straps on the gun, shifting its weight to lie comfortably against her thigh.

She zips the bag and hoists it onto one shoulder, testing the weight. She slings her bow and its arrows over the other. Not bad. Not bad at all. In the hall, a sharp bark registers Asi’s protest at being collared and leashed, together with Kirsten’s murmured, “Sorry, guy. But we’re gonna have to strap you in when we get to the chopper.”

“Ready?” Koda emerges from the bedroom, shutting the door carefully behind her. The house is no one’s home now, but her memories, and Kirsten’s, deserve a kind of privacy. Say goodbye.

Asi whines again, this time plaintively. He knows something is not right. “Easy, boy,” Kirsten says again, “easy.”

In the kitchen, Tacoma stands ready with their provisions. Koda reaches for the pack, but Kirsten forestalls her. “I’ll take that,” she says, and slips quickly out onto the carport, Asi tugging on his leash.

Tacoma’s face is solemn, but a glint in his dark eyes betrays a flash of humor. “You’re marrying a tactful one, tanski.”

Dakota takes his hands in her own. “Promise me—”

“I’ll be careful,” he says quietly. “That’s all the promise I can make.”

“I know.” She looks away for a moment. Then, “When we went to scout the battleground, Igmu Tanka spoke to me. She said that we must do what we least wish to, when we least wish to. That victory would follow.”

The lines around Tacoma’s eyes deepen, and the smile spreads to his mouth. “She’s a warrior spirit, with a warrior’s honor. If she says you will be successful, then you will.”

“She said we would come back, that she would be waiting.”

He touches her cheek lightly. “Then you must be careful, too, and not only for Iktomi Zizi.”

Koda raises her hand to cover his, not willing to lose the contact. “I will.”

“I dreamed last night. I saw all of us back at the ranch, with Ate and Ina. You and Kirsten. Me and—” He breaks off abruptly, a dark flush spreading across his face.