But it doesn’t matter what she thought. Kirsten needs help.
Time to move. Time to get up.
Koda sits up, running her hands over her face. Her skin is sticky with blood still, her hair stiff with it. Her hands burn fever-hot.
Opening her eyes, she gazes down at them. On the palms of both, clear and distinct, are the prints of a wolf’s paws.
Wa Uspewikakiyape. His paws in her hands. Giving her the gift of healing.
Real, then, all of it. It all happened. I died. And now I’m back.
Right.
Worry about that later.
She is stiff. With an effort, she gets her feet under her, levers herself up and turns, steadying herself with outstretched arms. Kirsten sits behind the desk, her face pale and immobile as a mask. Her fingers fly over the keyboard, the only part of her that seems alive. Koda gives a wordless cry and steps toward her.
*
Kirsten feels her body begin to give out just as the last lines of code start their slow crawl across the monitor before her. Her implants have been shorting in and out in brief, painful bursts for the past half hour. Blood continues to trail slowly from her nose, spattering the glass of the table beneath, and she fears her ears are bleeding as well. Her heart is laboring in her chest, sometimes scaring her with runs of abnormal beats that, mercifully, settle back into a somewhat normal rhythm. Just gotta get this last one, she thinks. Just this last one, and then I can rest. Then I can be with…
No. Best not to think about that. Best to simply concentrate on getting the job done. She will have all the time in the world to think about that later…assuming the dead continue to think in some form or other.
The last string comes finally across, and her raw and bleeding fingers pound the keyboard with increasing rapidity, trying to beat the deadline it seems her own body has set for her. She grits her teeth as unconsciousness begins to steal her mind away from her, tapping out the final countermand that, she prays, will turn off the androids forever, beyond any and all hope of them ever being restarted again.
With the last line of code in place, she hits enter, then falls over, not even feeling the pain of her face impacting with the cold, hard glass of the table, and certainly not seeing Adam take a last look at her before becoming completely immobile and lifeless. If she had been able to look, she would have seen a smile of thanks on his face.
*
Some time later—it could have been seconds, it could have been decades for all she’s aware—she feels herself come awake. She tries to take stock of her body, but soon realizes it’s a fruitless proposition. The pounding in her head makes all other points moot. She does realize, however, that she is, once again, deaf. Hmm. I’m dead, I’m deaf, and my head still hurts. This afterlife shit sure isn’t what I heard advertised, that’s for sure. Hope I come back as a hornet. I’d love to sting that pulpit pounding fire and brimstone preacher my mother dragged me to right in the—
Her thoughts trail off as she realizes what it is that has awoken her. A light so brilliant that it shines through her closed lids as if they were thin panes of clear glass. Her lashes flutter as she attempts to coax her eyes open just a crack. They slam closed tightly as the nearly blinding light sears an afterimage across the backs of her lids in brilliant blues and golds.
Oh, shit, I’m not dead. Circuit’s shorted out and we’re gonna have a fire here any second.
Then I will be dead. Works. She raises an arm to cover her eyes and shut out the blinding light.
Burning’s a bad way to go. A really bad way.
I can die when I get outside.
Reluctantly, Kirsten forces her arm away from her face and rolls to get an elbow under her. She forces open her eyes on the same shimmering brilliance. The circuitry hasn’t blown. Her mind has. Koda stands over her, cloaked in light like the sun.
She stares dumbly at the apparition for a moment, then a tide of joy washes through her. She’s waited for me, like she promised! And now she’s come to take me…well…somewhere. As long as we’re together, the rest of it can go to Hell for all I care.
Then she sobers. The blood on Dakota’s shirt, it’s still there; she can see the minute ends of the threads where the bullets ripped through the fabric. This is a dream, then; nothing changed, her love still lost. Her grief returns, and with it rage at the waste of a good life, waste of one more human, the ruin of her own life.
Dakota is hard-pressed not to take a step back as the weight of Kirsten’s emotions pushes against her like the tide. She can feel them, taste them almost, spiced with the bitterness of her lover’s grief. Her smile falters and she takes the final step separating them.
“My love….”
Instinctively, Kirsten recoils, leaning back against the credenza behind her. “I….” The word comes out as a croak which she, even deaf as a stone, can hear. She clears her throat, dry as dust, and tries again. “You…you’re not real.”
“I am,” Koda replies, dropping to one knee and slowly reaching out to grasp Kirsten’s hand. Kirsten makes a half-hearted attempt to pull away, but Dakota holds on strongly. “Don’t be afraid.”
“No!” Kirsten cries out, struggling anew against the implacable grip on her hand. “No. This is nothing but a dream. Or…or a hallucination brought on by lack of oxygen.” That’s the answer, and she knows it. Her dying mind, latching on to one last shred of hope.
“It is no dream, cante mitawa,” Koda counters, raising her lover’s hand and brushing her lips against the reddened knuckles. “No hallucination.” She changes her grip as she uses her free hand to rip away the remains of her ruined shirt. “Look,” she whispers. “Feel.” She places Kirsten’s hand over her unmarred chest, willing her to feel the heart beating beneath, and covers it with her own. “I’m alive.”
Kirsten moans. Her face twists in an expression of negation. “But…I saw you die! I saw…blood…so much blood…so much….”
Dakota closes her eyes against the pain, all of it coming from her grieving lover. “I know,” she replies hoarsely. “I know.”
With a sob, Kirsten throws herself forward into Koda’s arms. Dakota catches her easily and wraps her tenderly into a tight embrace, bearing the brunt of her young lover’s grief as best as she is able, and returning what peace and love she can through her touch, holding steady through the surges of emotion that batter her soul. Kirsten’s emotions. I’ll have to learn to shield from this, and soon, or I’ll be no help to either of us.
After a long moment, Kirsten gathers herself and pulls away, scrubbing away her tears. Her mind feels loosed from its moorings, fluttering wildly between the chasms of belief and disbelief. “How?” she asks finally. It’s the only word her mouth can seem to form as blue eyes, shining with wisdom old as the ages, lock into her own, piercing her. Awe sweeps through her. This must be what it is like to meet a god, the raw power of divinity beyond human understanding.
“I was given a choice. I chose to be with you.”
“I…but…you…that’s not pos—....” Frustrated, she closes her eyes, shutting out the sight of her love so near. Her ears useless, she does the one thing she has never done before. She listens with her soul.
And believes.
Dakota can feel Kirsten’s sudden leap of faith as if it were her own, and her soul fills with the joy of it. She grins, skin stretched tight against muscle and bone. Her hands lift, cradling her lover’s head and she leans forward to feather a kiss over the fair brow. Her eyes close suddenly as she feels her palms grow hot and a pulse of energy, far more powerful than any she’s ever felt before, surges through her. She feels a moment of fear, and then the energy fades, leaving her palms tingling and slightly sore. Quickly yanking her hands away, she opens her eyes to see Kirsten looking at her, wide eyed and slack jawed. “What?” she asks. “Did…did I hurt you?”