The Growing by Susanne M. Beck & Okasha Skat'Si

Author:Susanne M. Beck & Okasha Skat'Si [Beck, Susanne M. & Skat'Si, Okasha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Lesbian, General, Lesbians, Fantasy, epic, Science Fiction, adventure, Androids, Shamans, Women Scientists
ISBN: 9780975436691
Google: fwg5AQAACAAJ
Amazon: 0975436694
Publisher: P.D. Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2006-04-21T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

KODA CHECKS HER watch as she takes the steps of the Rapid City courthouse two at a time. With her other hand she steadies the laptop where it thumps against her side, drumming counterpoint to the rhythm of her feet. To her disgust, she is late; the complete lack of loiterers and smokers on the arched portico tells her that she is very late. Swearing quietly to herself, she flings open the heavy glass doors that have by some miracle been spared by both uprising and vandals. Or—and it’s an encouraging thought she has no time for—they have been replaced in an awakening of civic responsibility. Score one for the rebirth of democracy. She jogs across the foyer with its semi-circle of bronze Great South Dakotan busts, boot heels ringing hollowly in the emptiness, then up more stairs. Even if it were not cordoned off by yellow tape, she would not gamble on the elevator when the electrical supply to the building is as iffy as a politician’s honesty.

Two stories up, she barrels out of the stairwell at speed, slamming the swinging door back against the wall. In the hall outside the courtroom a portrait of the (probably) late President Clinton hangs crookedly over the door, smiling out from behind cracked glass. Martinez and another corporal she does not know stand rigidly at attention on either side of the entrance. That other corporal apparently knows her, even if she does not know him; instead of blocking her path, each man grabs a door handle to let her through without slackening her stride. Koda tosses them a smile and a quick "Thanks, guys!," jerking her hat off just as she passes under the lintel.

She is not as late as she feared. With a rustle of cloth and a scraping of feet, the audience is just seating itself as Harcourt settles into his own chair. In this court, designed not for trials but for coroner’s inquests, there is no high bench or witness stand. Instead, Harcourt sits behind a long meeting table on a low dais, bracketed by state and national flags, six citizens ranged down its length beside him. A single chair beside the table faces the audience; a smaller desk, beside it, houses a recorder and a laptop computer, operated by the same Sergeant who has acted as clerk of the court in the ongoing rape trial. The arrangement is deliberately informal, designed to reassure those who fear incipient martial law or outright military takeover of the city.

While the preliminary paper-shuffling occurs, Dakota takes in the set-up, her eyes raking over the packed rows of seats, seeking her cousin and brother. It seems as though half the surviving civilian population have come to make their own judgements in Dietrich’s shooting, as have a substantial number of Airmen and soldiers from the Base. These are conspicuously not in uniform, but the prevalence of buzz cuts, half a dozen sitting together here and there in the crowd, gives them away.

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