Kitchen first, I think.

A noise stays her feet and she listens carefully to she sound of heavy footfalls, nearly inaudible against the thick carpeting of the hallways. Her nose twitches as she scents a noxious cloud of heavy body odor capped by an overly flowery men’s cologne. Reaching under her jacket, she removes the automatic pistol from its shoulder holster and grips it, muzzle down, barrel pressing against her palm. As the footsteps become closer, white teeth glitter in the gathering darkness.

She waits for the man to pass—it is indeed the bushy haired stranger who had stepped out to speak to the android—and just as his shoulders clear the doorway, she steps in behind him, raises the pistol, and cracks the stock against the back of his head. He falls like a stone, and she catches him under the armpits and drags him into the darkened room.

Settling him on his stomach and turning his head to the side, she pulls out a roll of duct tape, placing a piece over his mouth, and wrapping first his wrists, and then his ankles together, binding him securely. Rising fluidly to her feet, she holsters the gun, knowing it won’t be needed further, and walks back to the doorway, peering both ways down the brightly lit hall.

The hall is empty. Pulling the minicomp from her pocket, she slips back out into the hallway and turns left. Long, unhurried strides take her down the short side of the hallway and into the reception area. The area is empty and quiet. Its cheery décor comforts none.

Stopping at an endtable scattered with parenting magazines slipping rapidly out of date, she pops open the minicomp’s protective lid and sets it down. With a crossing of mental fingers, she presses the tiny power button, and waits—expecting what, she’s not exactly sure.

No flashing lights, no screaming sirens, no humming, no martial music piped from infinitesimal speakers.

No nothing.

She waits another moment, pushing down a temptation to give the thing a whack to get it going. She lets go a soft sigh instead. “Guess I’ll have to do this the hard way, then,” she mutters to herself, hand stealing to the gun at her side—a gun that she knows will be less than useless against the androids. “Ah well. Here goes nothing.”

She heads down the hallway, gun cocked and ready, only slowing when she spies a something rather strange. As she closes in, slowly, she recognizes it as a hand, fingers slightly cupped as if reaching for something, peeping out from one of the doorways. As she approaches, the hand doesn’t move and, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer, she rounds the doorway and stares into the blank eyes of an android frozen in mid step.

A smile slowly spreads across her face. With one long finger, she gently pushes against the chest of the android. It rocks in place like an inanimate object, then settles, making no independent movement of its own. “Ohhhh, Kirsten,” she breathes, grinning. “Very nice. Very nice indeed.”

Her grin falls away as she hears a gasp, and she pivots, gun instinctively at the ready. Two hugely pregnant women scream and duck, throwing their arms in front of their faces.

Koda quickly holsters her weapon and shows them both her empty hands. “It’s ok,” she sooths. “I’ve come to get you out of here.”

The taller of the two women slowly removes her hands and peers at Dakota. “Really?” Her voice is high-pitched and full of doubt.

“I’m sure,” Koda replies, slowly and deliberately reaching for the collar of her jacket and separating it to show her neck. “I’m a friend.”

Slowly, more or less assured by the absence of a droid collar, the women come to their feet. The taller one steps forward, then flinches back at the sight of the android, shooting Koda a mistrustful gaze.

“It’s okay,” Dakota replies in response. “It’s temporarily out of commission.”

Like skittish animals, both women step forward until they are within arms length of the droid. They stare at it, wide eyed, then turn those stares to Dakota. “You do this?”

“I had a little help,” she responds warmly.

“Damn,” the shorter woman—little more than a girl, really, with wildly dyed hair and multiple facial piercings—breathes. “Far out.”

“If you can help me get the others,” Koda intones. “We don’t have much time.”

“Wha—?” The younger woman blinks. “Yeah, they’re all in the kitchen. We just came out ‘cause we heard a noise.”

“Alright, then, let’s get everybody rounded up. I don’t know how long it’s going to stay like that.”

*

Three minutes later, Koda is hustling the women, all very pregnant, down the long hall and back into the waiting area. Scooping up the minicomp, she slips it into her pocket and levels the group with an intense glance. “Ok, everybody stay here. I’ll be back in a minute, alright?”

The silent women stare back at her. A few nod. The rest only stand frozen, torn between the polar extremes of fear and hope.

“Be right back.”

Dakota pelts down the hall until she comes to the special care unit. The doctor is almost in the doorway, two groggy women at his side. “Thank God,” he says upon seeing her. “You’re going to have to help me with this one. She began having contractions as soon as I turned her infusion off.”

“Will she lose the baby?”

“She might, if we can’t keep her on the medication.”

“Alright. Does that pump run on a battery?”

“Yes.”

Nodding, Koda brushes by the small group and deftly unclamps the pump from the pole. Wrapping the cord around the clamp, she pulls down the bag of fluid, walks back to the woman, and reconnects the tubing to the IV still in her arm. “Rate?”

“Are you a Nurse?” the doctor asks, surprised.

“Vet. Rate?”

“Um, fifty cc per hour.”

“Fine.” Within seconds, the meds begin once again infusing into the pain-wracked woman. A moment later, she straightens with relief. “Bless you,” she whispers, then nearly collapses as a wave of weakness overtakes her.

“Hold this,” Koda orders, all but tossing the pump to the startled doctor, while steadying the woman with her free hand. Then, in a smooth motion, she tucks her other arm beneath the woman’s knees and lifts her into her arms. “Let’s go.”

“But—.”

“Now.”

Supporting the second woman with an arm around her waist, the physician hurries after Dakota, the pump tucked against his body and the tubing stretching taut between them.

They reach the reception room quickly to find the rest of the group in the same positions Dakota had left them in. Giving them a nod, Koda leads the pack to the front door. Through the glass, she can see the second android standing motionless on the tiny porch. She pushes the door open, and when this action garners no response from the droid, she breaths another silent sigh of relief, and steps through.

“You,” she orders over her shoulder to the punk-haired girl. “Grab that gun. It can’t hurt us without its weapon. Not once we get far enough away.”

“Right on.” The woman does as ordered, then, for good measure, gives the android a mighty heave, sending him toppling from the porch and into the snow where it once again settles, motionless. “Take that, you fucking tin-plated shitheap! Hah!”

“Alright, all of you, let’s go. Walk as fast as you can. Transportation’s just beyond that tree line. Move.”

A moment later, the troop carrier comes into view, and the women break into a run, babbling with excitement and happiness. Koda tosses the keys to one of the women and orders her to unlock the rear door. That done, the women file inside, sliding along the bench seats that line the vehicle. Koda gestures for the doctor to enter, then lays her bundle in the aisle between the seats.

Finished with her task, she looks at the shining faces of the women. “Alright, we’re moving out. This isn’t the most comfortable truck you’ve ever ridden in, but I promise to be as gentle as I can with it, ok?”

The women nod. From the back, a soft voice asks, “Who are you?”

She smiles tightly. “A friend. Now hold on. We’re out of here.”

Slamming the door and locking it tight, she moves alongside the carrier to the driver’s side door. As she’s about to slip inside, she hears the long, mournful howl of a wolf. Tears immediately sting her eyes, and she swipes them away with an angry hand.

“I miss you, my friend,” she whispers into the chilled air.

The howl follows her, filling her ears and soul as she climbs into the truck and drives away.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

KIRSTEN LETS HERSELF into a silent house. Tentatively she calls out, “Dakota? Maggie?”” There is no answer except for a soft whine from Asimov. Soundlessly she crosses the hall and flicks the light switch. The warm glow of the lamps with their old-fashioned pleated linen shades reveals books ranked on their shelves, Koda’s copy of Spengler neatly closed on the coffee table. The house smells faintly of lavender and lemon wax, no supper on the stove, no fire on the hearth. She has the place to herself, and is content.

She is accustomed to solitude, needs it from time to time as she needs air. Too much has happened in the last two days—too much just in the hours since setting out on a walk with Asi—to tolerate another human presence with any ease. True, she knows that worry will niggle at the back of her mind until Koda returns safely from her raid on the birthing center, but she also knows that the woman who led the charge across the Cheyenne is more than a match for a couple androids and one or two human stooges. Drifting through the living room, her fingers trail over the venerable edition of The Decline of the West. A bit of history, read in some random book or article and never discarded, drifts up from her memory. The great Oglala war chief, Crazy Horse, took the only scalps in his adult life on a raid against the Crow, sparked by his wild grief over the death of his daughter. And Dakota has adopted his blazons of hail and lightning and red-tailed hawk. A shiver runs over her skin; Tshunka Witco had been born somewhere near the bend of the Cheyenne where they had stood down the android army.