Suni sat at her workbench, the ink slowly drying on her paintbrush. Robert came in, and sat down in front of her. “Davis is gone?” he asked.

She barely moved the lips on her tear-stained face. “He said he misses the flowers, the scent of his own sand, the feel of beads in the sunlight on our land.”

“I am not surprised,” said Robert. “My heart pines for the res.”

“Then why aren’t you there?” Suni asked.

“I am needed here. I am learning many new skills. I have young ones, including Zuni ones, to teach. I have elders who want to teach me. I go on rides and see parts of the country I have never seen. I am safe here, and recovering. I am healing.”

Suni wiped one side of her face, then another. “I am torn.”

Robert nodded. “This is not our home.”

“You are my home,” she said, with a slight smile.

“Davis is your heart,” said Robert.

She looked at him, startled. “How do you know this? What has made you so wise, little brother?”

“Getting body parts blown off you tends to focus your attention on what is important. I was dying on the res, without a purpose. Here, I have found several.”

They sat for a while, so long that Robert rose, and brought back little glass bottles of the herb (and fruit-infused) teas that Nantan and Vi experimented with. They washed and reused the bottles. He popped the top and took a deep swallow. They sat there in the room, the sun shining through the glass.

“I will finish what I am doing here, finish the orders,” said Suni.

“You’re going back,” said Robert.

“I must be with my heart,” she said. “And now that you have that fancy bike, you can visit me, many times.”

“Not in the winter, I think,” he said. “You will visit me here.”

She snorted. “What will happen to the kiln?”

“The pottery one can go with you,” he said. “I will gladly buy it for your business.”

“It is too large of a gift,” she said.

He snorted. “It’s an investment. “You will be taking care of me in my old age, so you need to earn money now, for this big event.”

She snorted. “I will do this? You presume much.” She wiped her eyes some more.

He laughed. “I do? Very well.” He stood. “Paint your pots, sister. Complete your work. I will complete my own.”

She snorted. “Motorcycles. Loud things.”

Robert laughed. “I am refinishing bikes for the Nighthawks to use in their Off-Road, Harley Training Program. I will keep one for myself, of course.” He was silent for a long moment. “I am very excited that Harley-Davidson wants to make electric motorcycles. I will eventually learn to build them, and make them for people on the res. We can build windmills, or get power from the sun, and ride anywhere we choose.”

“You would make bikes for people on the res?” Suni asked.

“They must be off-road,” he said. “So many still live on dirt or rock roads.” He nodded. “I know some people. People who could benefit from this.” He smiled to himself, then nodded. “And the artistic collectives you have told me about. Will you work to help our people sell things online?

“Chayton has helped us with a website,” said Suni. “Go away, little brother. I have work to do.” She wet her paintbrush and began again.

Robert went to his garage, put on his coveralls, and began singing ancient songs. Soon, he lost himself as he tore apart a tired, off-road bike, and made notes about which parts needed to be replaced and which were still usable. He envisioned the bike as it should be. That was the key; the vision. Seeing what should be and making it real.

Tam and Little Nico came over for their break, and they played rock and finished taking the bike apart. He took them in for lunch, and they ate barbecued chicken sandwiches, homemade chips, and watermelon. He helped clean up, then went upstairs to help Vu finish off another Zuni children’s book. David made a beaded T-shirt with Hu, her laughter beautiful, like tiny beads of joy. Damia seemed content to have Hu in the room as she read, and did her math lessons followed by math games, and ancient history, as well.

The girls were chased out to prepare snacks together, and they soon came up with little bits of a dark brown bread and a dipping oil, shredded carrots and cabbage —all put together in a spicy sauce, and rolled into tiny tortillas, accentuated by cubes of cheese. The Owl Pack and the kids devoured the snacks in minutes. Then, Hu and Damia went to go and do the afternoon chores, and took a plate down with them.

“They are amazing,” said Robert, his voice hushed.

“They are like hummingbirds,” said David, carefully putting the beaded T-shirt away. “They flit from place to place, and brighten the lives of everyone around them.”

“What’s going on with Grace?” asked Robert. “She’s a little thundercloud.”

Vu nodded. “Her precious sister decided to separate from her. They are all on a spectrum. Damia is our silent one, Hu in the middle, but closer to Damia than Grace, and Grace is loud and brash (and always ready to go). She is actively trying to tone herself down.”

“She doesn’t know the line between bright spark and sandpaper,” observed Jake.

“Exactly,” said Vu. “Once she learns to adjust the brightness, she’ll be just fine.”

Robert left the Owl Pack, who were all busily working on their project, and went to the kitchen. He helped Vi put away plates, and then headed over to talk to the Wolfpack. The van pulled up, Chayton opened the door, and five spilled out. Five more ran out the door and hopped in, Hu amongst them. Robert went to the hydroponics lab, and found Mike there.

They picked cucumbers, radishes, beets, and strawberries. “How are you doing?” Robert asked Mike, as he cut the heads off the strawberries and put them in reusable containers.

“I’m good,” said Mike. “We adjusted the romaine a bit, got a mix that makes them more ‘happy.’ Gotta listen to your plants.”

It pleased Robert to no end to hear a man that used to be a defeated, broken shell, speaking so happily about listening to plants. “Good,” he said. “How do you listen to them?”

Mike showed him an app on his cell phone. “They talk to us through the sensors. They like to be sung to, too. I sing in the morning. Nantan usually has the afternoon, but he switched because Nantan is taking the kids on a volunteer thing, playing soccer and other stuff with the Special Olympics kids.”

“Whoa,” said Robert. “I wanna…”

Mike laughed. “We’ll go together. Yumi and Ian will be here in ten.”

“Good,” said Robert. “Let’s get this cucumber shredded.”

“Half sliced, half shredded,” said Mike. He handed Robert a knife. They attacked the vegetables.

They had all the food sealed in containers by the time the Wolfpack members showed up. “I ride with you?” asked Mike, as the men spilled outside into the sun. They slid on their shades.

“Of course,” said Robert. They grabbed Robert’s Zuni-painted bike, and they went to the park with the ducks and the huge white swans. They did races and played volleyball —and bought breadcrumbs that they could help the players feed to the swans. They spent the day laughing, once so hard that they sprayed Coke out of their noses.

They headed to a wings restaurant, and drank beer and ate chicken wings in various flavors, and watched a baseball game. Gregory showed up, as did Tito, along with half of the Soldier Pack. They watched another game, arm-wrestled, and exchanged stories about their various jobs.

“Had a client, wanted a driver/bodyguard, and to be driven around in a bulletproof vehicle. Turns out he was an insurance adjuster from Omaha who wanted to look good for the ladies,” said Thandie. “Got him lots of dates. Turned out the car had to be detailed afterward, if you know what I mean.”

“Ugh,” said Saleem. “Idiot.”

“It gets worse,” said Specialist Peter Pompa, who they called “Pomp.” “I was responsible for fixing firewalls, that sort of thing. You’d be amazed the viruses hidden in pictures, it’s unreal.”

“Really?” asked Robert.

“Just information,” said Pomp. “Anyway, this guy’s got pictures on his hard drive. So, I went through it, looking for viruses. Stuff that the virus software isn’t looking for. Guy had dirty pictures on his website, normal stuff, heavy breathing, some spanking.” There were laughs around the table. “Anyway, there were viruses to slowly send stuff off his hard drive in a trickle, at work and home, at the times he would normally be on the computer in either place. Turns out it was his ex-wife looking for hidden assets. The thing is, she was wrong, and she spent more on hiring a guy to do the deed than she would have gotten to increase the settlement. Plus, she and the hacker she hired broke several laws. They’re both doing two to ten in prison.”

“Whoa,” said Specialist Barch, (HELO repair specialist turned motorcycle repair specialist). He was making a lot of money repairing custom bikes. They called him the “Harley Specialist.”

Sayan took a drink of his Coke and got more wings. “Worse story,” he said. “Found kiddie porn on a client’s computer. Finished the job, a simple thing, beefed up his internet security, then the FBI got a little call. Left a cute little backdoor for them. They busted twenty-two people, saved six kids.”

“What the fuck!” said Mike. “Shit, guys, I’ll stick to plants. They don’t want to be driven places in armor-plated limos, or commit crimes or anything. They just… grow. Very, very quietly.”

“You found your thing,” said Sayan. “More power to you. Most people search their whole lives to find their thing, their passion, their heart.”

“I did, too,” said Robert. “Feeling a bike go from mangled to gorgeous under your hands. Selling it to someone who sits on it and loves it, gonna clock a thousand-million-gazillion miles on it. No better feeling.”

“I feel that way about feeding people,” said Mike. “Real food, we grew it right there, no pesticides, no gunk or weird stuff. Just real food we chop up and make into sandwiches, or little pizzas, or soups, or desserts. Real stuff.”

“Dude, sign me up,” said Sayan. “Sounds heavenly.”

Mike pulled out his cell phone, gave them the website, and six people signed up then and there. “This is so cool,” said Specialist Stella “Star” Lan. “I work the night shift, don’t wanna deal with cooking. I eat at a diner most days. Great diner, but I need healthy stuff.” She pointed to her middle. “This stays flat due to a lot of running before work, but from ten to eleven at night, not good eating. Good food would make keeping this flat much easier.”

Robert laughed. “Try helping a little girl feed horses in the morning,” he said. “Damia knocks on my door at five thirty in the morning to help her carry the heavy hay and feed bags. Those horses love me now.”

“They know who has the food,” said Mike.

Sayan laughed. “You think they will let me ride their horses?”

“You could probably pay Inola for riding lessons,” said Robert.

“Better still, get in on helping the rescued horses,” said Mike. “Turn a trembling, starving wreck into a happy horse that’s dancing in the paddock.”

“Horses dance?” asked Star.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” said Robert. “You should see how they are with Damia. The ponies love her. They are so happy just to see her.”

“Cool kid,” said Mike. “She’s autistic, so you gotta be real quiet around her, but she’s whip-smart. Just gotta listen to her. Like you listen to the plants.”

“Plants talk?” asked Sayan.

“Yep,” said Mike. He pulled up the app on his cell phone. “This app has a dashboard which tells us how the plants are doing. Temperature, nutrient mix, and the like.”

Sayan held out his hand, and looked at the dashboard. “I wonder if we could use something like this to help clients.” He passed it back. “Maybe for panic rooms, or repositories for art.”

“Dashboards are cool,” said Pomp. “Just gotta decide what information you actually need, and how you want to see it at a glance, anytime you need it. Then write the code, of course.”

“Code jockeys,” said Star. “I can do it, but don’t want to do it for my entire life.”

“Gonna join us?” asked Sayan.

“Want to learn a Harley, inside and out. Rotate through Ghost and Killa’s stuff. The three-wheelers, off-road bikes, the straight-up projects that the Iron Knights are into, the weird-ass custom jobs the Gearheads do. Learn it all. Take me a year, I think. Then, circle back, decide if I want to do the Harleys, or go into security.” Star flagged down a server, and ordered a platter of honey-mustard flavored wings and fries —and another beer.

“Whoa,” said Mike. “Planner. Good idea. I’m taking hydroponics courses. Thinking of getting my degree.”

“Do it, dumbass!” said Star. “G.I. bill will get you through it for free. Might as well get an education in exchange for getting shot at.”

“Taking courses myself,” said Sayan. “Pomp and I have been asked to teach a course on network security at our online university. We’ve been teaching stuff to our professor.”

“Fucking do it,” said Star. “Idiots. Be great on your resume.”

“But it takes me out of the lab,” said Pomp.

“Record it in the lab,” she said. “Just cover up anything you want covered. Making video isn’t that hard. Get you some lights, a green screen background. You can get those online in a package. And a good mic and camera. From what I’ve been told, iPhones are good enough. I’m working with Bonnie, Ghost, and Killa on audiovisual to record builds, teardowns and rebuilds. Got some great video.”

“The woman has chops,” said Pomp. “I raise my glass to you.” They all raised their glasses, and drank.

“Pomp,” said Sayan, “You’re slow. Star, I, we… would be happy to pay you to record our stuff.”

“You write it, I film it,” said Star. “Still working on learning how to edit. Right now, it takes for-fucking-ever. Steep learning curve.”

“I fucking love our Soldier Pack,” said Sayan. “We keep each other going, and we move forward together.”

“Ooh-rah,” said Sayan.

Yuki came in and sat down. “Ooh, wings,” she said, and stole Star’s basket of food.

“Girlfriend, you’re lucky I love you. Down home, you’d be dead,” said Star.

Yuki grinned. “I’ll buy the next round.” She stretched, and her back audibly popped. “So, we gonna go on a ride soon, or what?”

“Let’s plan our own,” said Star. “Most of us are done with our own bikes. Let’s go someplace awesome.”

“Grand Canyon,” said Sayan.

“Bryce Canyon,” said Yuki. “Great hiking.”

“San Juan Mountain Skyway,” said Robert. “Mountains of Colorado. Be cooler in summer. Plus, it’s a loop, so you can start anywhere.”

“Texas,” said Sayan. “There’s these ranch roads called the Twisted Sisters.”

“I’m thinking about the Blue Ridge Parkway,” said Pomp.

“Other side of the country,” said Sayan.

“Could take Route 66, or what’s left of it, to get there,” said Pomp.

“Too long, a two to three-week trip,” said Sayan.

“West Virginia in the fall,” said Pomp.

“Gotta be sure you don’t hit snow,” said Yuki. “Weather’s getting weird.”

“Word,” said Star. “Gotta avoid hurricanes in the southern US, too. Those things are getting nasty. Like hammer blows to a whole region.”

“Ooh, ooh,” said Yuki. “Gotta join the soldiers that go in and clean up after disasters.”

“Okay,” said Star. “Set your alarm to remind us in an hour, and we’ll sign up.” Yuki set the alarm on her phone. “But, we’ve gotta stick close for now. How about the Black Hills of South Dakota?”

“Sacred spaces,” said Robert. “And you could get up and close with bison. Don’t make them angry. You wouldn’t like them when they’re angry.”

“Beartooth Pass, Wyoming,” said Sayan. “Wait, I rescind that. Gonna have a lot of noobs with us. Don’t wanna actually kill them. Same as Tail of the Dragon, in North Carolina.”

“The Cherohala Skyway is in Tennessee. Got lots of fishing and canoeing,” said Pomp.

“Okay,” said Star. “Got enough info. Let’s do two. Bryce Canyon, and the San Juan Mountain Skyway, this summer. We can consider the cool forest changing-trees, one for fall, later.” Everyone looked at her, and nodded. “All in favor,” she said, and they all raised their hands. “Okay, let’s do some planning.” She took out her tablet, and they started figuring it out.

Robert, high on caffeine and trip planning, felt like he was flying on the road home in the dark. He had bugged out early; the others wanted to go dancing. He did a round of salsa, and gave up. He expected a knock on his door at “oh-god-thirty” in the morning, and he wanted to be ready. Damia fascinated him, the planes of her face, the light in her eyes. She was coming out of her autism shell, and was much more willing to interact with the world.

The mom made him nervous, though. Ivy looked gut-shot since her daughter Damia had moved out, looking for a quieter place, living over her beloved ponies. Damia loved their every chuff, their little hooves dancing in the stalls in the morning. Ivy wasn’t a horse wrangler, and she liked the loud life. He’d been to her club, and seen her dance and sing. The woman could peel paint off a wall. She was as opposite to her daughter as she could possibly be (and still living on the same planet). Damia was a quiet, down-home girl, and her mom was a wild child. Grace was like Ivy, wild and brash and free. The moms loved her half to death, but didn’t know what to do with her because she kept driving her friends away. Hu was a very quiet diamond. Gifted to the core, and that drove Grace insane.

He watched them all, his new family. Helped where he could, and stood back when he couldn’t. Vi in the kitchen, making everyone full and happy, cutting off squabbles with a look. Callie trying to teach them all, keep them together, make the dinner table a time of laughter. The in-jokes, the side-eye. The Wolfpack, coming and going at all hours, like a dance Nantan and Chayton and Cocheta and Chogan, oversaw. Nantan and Chayton and their four boys, such a tall-standing family, the boys looking at them with shining eyes. Vu’s quiet words and a thousand stories, Jake’s dry humor, and the Owl Pack and their obvious love for the children. Inola always ready to talk about horses or trail rides, to put meat on a grill or pass a dish with a funny comment. Bella, with her wild optimism. Henry, passing around babies, listening in wonder as the girls described their day. David, with the love he poured over them all, like a never-ending fountain.

He wondered how he ended up on a dusty farm just outside Las Vegas. It was a wild, complex, ready-made family —already in play. He felt tears flying past him, and realized he was crying over simple Davis. He remembered the man forging glass beads, wrapping the glass around a rod, then cutting and annealing them. His laughter, silent as the man. The iced tea on the porch, the silent nights under a million stars. His sister with him, holding hands. Their words without words, touches, glances. Tiny movements of their eyes. They breathed each other’s air, lived in each other’s skin. She’d follow him, right down into the earth at the end. He cried for his lovely sister, who would take her pots and paints, and go home in her ancient truck, with the new kiln in the bed. He smiled to think of her there. Happy on the res, making her pots in her house, low to the ground, and under the desert sun. Davis would move his glass to be near her. They would sell their wares online and on the res as art.

His sister had always wanted little ones. Maybe they would have fat babies, grow them in the sun, running around the flowers. He had to have himself together by then, his motorcycle business strong enough to support them all, come what may. He smiled then, at the thought. And if they couldn’t have their own, they could find someone needing help, a place to stay, a place to be safe, like those Wolfpack. Hell, they could start their own Wolfpack. Tell Zuni stories and do crafts, and work on motorcycles, and grow things, and spin off businesses. Keep people from having to leave the res to find work. His tears dried as he made his plans, zipping home in the dark.

He awoke to a tiny hand patting on his door. Patting, not knocking. He arose, put on his jeans and boots, and followed her down the stairs. He lifted the hay bales with the hay hooks, put the hay in the stalls, filled up the feed bags, and fed the horses. Inola came in to muck out the stalls with him. They moved as if they’d worked together for years. He broke a sweat, felt his muscles bunch and move.

He kissed Inola’s cheek. “Get on with you,” she said, laughing. He kissed a lock of Damia’s hair, then ran upstairs to change from jeans to shorts, boots to running shoes, and a water in a little side pack.

He ran downstairs, and the boys Josh and Nick met him for an easy lope around the paddock, then a run along the trail. “Wait up!” said Tam.

He burst in amongst them and Robert ruffled his hair. They set into a good pace, mindful of rocks that could turn a heel. They ran up the hill and back down, circled out to the far pasture, and hit one of the most beautiful side trails. They pounded out, then slowed to a lope on the back run, then to a jog, then a walk when they could see the house. They chuffed, heaved, and drew in breath on a hot breeze. They all went to shower, and met back at nearly the same time on the ranch house’s porch.

Breakfast was blueberry or strawberry pancakes, then bacon, sausage, fruit salad, butter, syrup, and orange juice. They ate like wolves, and all the boys went with Robert to tear apart two bikes he had ordered. There was a third nearly ready, needing every single bit of chrome polished. They set to, playing music that made Suni come out and stick her tongue out at him. The kiln had already been fired up, and Suni put her pots in the back, and people came in on trucks to fire their work. Robert pulled out his phone and ordered another one.

The boys rotated through the bikes, including the teardown, chrome detail work, and their lessons, going into the cool of Suni’s shop to do their lessons on their tablets, all with the smells of clay and sage inside their noses. Little Nico showed up, and they had him on chrome detail and lemonade-bringing duty. They kept up an easy conversation about bikes, horses, the planned ride to Bryce Canyon and the long hikes they would take there, pitching tents, and grilling things over fires. They were all for it. Robert sent a text to Nantan, who officially gave permission for the boys to go on the Soldier Pack trip, and asked if he and Chayton could come along. Since Chayton was ex-military too, Robert invited them. The boys were excited, and high-fives went out all around. Robert set the boys with a task to make a list of things they needed, from mosquito repellent to tents. They made a spreadsheet, and a good-natured argument broke out about who added the best things to the list.

“Remember, we won’t have a van. All this shit gets on the saddlebags of the bikes.” The boys then argued about what was absolutely necessary, and worked their way back from there.

Henry came out. “I hear you’re stealing our boys.”

Robert nodded. “Got a mess of Soldier Pack, want to go out on their own trip.”

“Sounds great,” said Henry. “Got a mess of tents and other stuff you might want to take with you.”

“Tam, Josh, you’re on inventory,” said Robert. “Find out where the stash is, and check it off on your list.”

“On it,” said Tam. They boys ran off, tablet in hand.

“Damn,” said Henry, as the boys ran past him. “You say ‘jump’ and they say ‘frog.’”

“It’s not like that,” explained Little Nico. “Robert is real-calm. Kinda like a stream. He keeps us grounded.”

“He’s also kinda sad. We are too. We miss Davis. He made awesome glass,” said Nick.

“Suni’s gonna go, too,” said Robert, surprised at the boys’ perceptiveness. “She’ll finish up her current orders, but those two belong together.”

“Well, that sucks,” said Little Nico.

“You going, too?” asked Nick, worried.

“Not for a long time,” said Robert. “When Suni has little ones, I’ll go. But, until then, I’ve got a job to do.”

“What job?” asked Little Nico.

“I know almost nothing about Harleys,” said Robert. “I am still a little fish. But, someday I will grow into a bigger fish. Until then, it’s my job to grow.”

“Humility,” said Henry. “Learn from this man.”

“Wow,” said Little Nico.

“Exactly,” said Henry. “It is far too easy to puff yourself into a fat balloon. One tiny little thorn and…” He made a popping sound. The boys made popping sounds too.

Henry dragged the other boys back to Chayton for their coding. Robert got a cherry water and sat for a while in the sun.

Damia came up to him. He smiled at her, and touched the tip of one clump of her wavy blonde hair. The roots were covered in sweat. “Heya,” he said. She smiled. “Love,” he said, “I get your silence. It’s really cool.” She grinned. “Could you do me a favor?” She nodded, once, like an adult, not the bobblehead nod of younger kids. “Your mom needs your words. Just little ones. Your truth. ‘I love this pony.’ ‘I liked the pancakes.’ Just a little truth. Once a day, if you can pull it off.” She nodded, once. “Good,” he said. She grinned again, then vanished into the sunlight. He smiled, and called to Suni. They sat in the sun, and talked in tiny sentences, just relaxing, letting the sun bake their muscles a bit.

He put away his tools, stretched, went upstairs, took a shower, and went to the Big House. He spent the rest of the afternoon recording Zuni songs in the room with the Owl Pack. His voice rose and fell, singing about the buffalo dance, and the sunrise call, the lullaby, and the blanket song. The last two made everyone smile. The last one was going into an adult book he was writing on his own. Vu was very excited, and helped him with creating the book with a vigorous joy. He wondered how he could ever leave the Owl Pack. Their wisdom soothed him.

He bathed in the pool, swimming back and forth. He did exercises under the water, stretching out tired muscles. He dried himself, and sat in an Adirondack chair. Little Nico brought in cherry water and little mushrooms stuffed with sausage. Vi brought in little fish tacos and lime, and a muddled lime tea. People trickled in. Some swam; some chatted.

Alo brought in more chairs. “Need any help packing or something?” asked Robert.

Alo laughed. “Got more help than I know what to do with. We’re making money. They crack jokes about making rabbit food all day long. But, we make really good pony and rabbit —and horse food. Some big farms are taking a look at us. Nantan is squealing at me about having to set up new hydroponic beds, which is expensive. Tito is so sick of adding onto the farm that he’s threatening to boycott us. Says he has other stuff to do with his time.”

Robert laughed. “You may have to move into your own barn.”

He laughed. “Then I’d be done. That’s a long, involved process. Actually, we’re building up. Using a kind of cherry picker thing to get up and down. The plants don’t care. The LED lights are right over them. Doubled the capacity. Mike is in absolute heaven. He wants to grow stuff that sells, like acai palms. The seeds sell. But, they grow up to thirty meters high. So, he’s looking at amaranth and quinoa. We already make breads and hot cereals, just add hot water to them.”

“Good,” said Robert. “Mike is the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”

Damia came in, Ivy right behind her, and the conversations turned to just above whispers. She stood in front of Robert, then turned to her mother. “Mom, the tacos were awesome tonight,” she said, clearly, her voice light.

“That’s awesome,” said Ivy, trying not to cry. Damia let her mother touch the ends of her hair, and then grinned. Then, she ran away.

“Whatever the hell you’re doing with my daughter, keep doing it,” said Ivy.

“Stop feeling guilty,” said Robert. “She can see it, and she doesn’t understand it. She’s happy.”

Ivy stepped back as if Robert had punched her in the stomach. “Alright,” she said, then let the tears fall. “On it,” she said.

Alo turned and looked at him, his jaw on the ground. Robert smiled, and Alo nodded.

Bryce Canyon

They all took off work, and came to the main house to survey the organization. The boys did a great job of figuring out what they needed. They laid it all out, from insect repellent to tents, and split it up. They packed it before dinner, then ate like pigs —sausage and egg biscuits sandwiches, fruit, and carrots. They took turns showering, and Robert washed the clothes and Little Nico helped roll them up to repack them. Henry had bought cots for the sheer number of people that liked to sleep over. They rolled out their sleeping bags, and put their cots in rows. Then, they went outside. Henry, David, and Numa were sitting by the fire, trading off singing and drumming. Robert and Inola pulled the chairs out of the pool area and arranged them around the fire. Inola and Robert took turns singing. Suni showed up, and she sang as well. The soldiers drank beer, sodas, and flavored waters, and listened.

“Wow,” said Star.

“Awesome,” said Pomp.

“Never get tired of hearing that,” said Wild Bill.

“I hear you are going to Bryce Canyon,” said Inola. Bella sat next to her, using a stylus to draw on her tablet.

“Whatcha doin’?” asked Star, nodding at Bella.

“Book covers,” said Bella. “Gotta pop on a very tiny screen. Gotta be able to read the title.”

Robert smiled. “She has done book covers for some of our books. She uses the illustrations for some covers.”

“Wow,” said Star. “How hard is it to write a book?”

Robert laughed. “Write out your storyline or plot first in bullet points. Makes writing much faster. There’s lots of podcasts, books, and the like about writing, some separated by genre.

“Podcasts!” said Star. She whipped out her phone, and started pressing buttons.

“I’ve got audiobooks on my phone,” said Reynolds. He was on the Iron Knights’ side. He had brown hair that was so dark it was almost black cut high and tight, with rippling muscles, and was a whiz with engines.

“Jane’s?” asked Yuki, referring to a series of military and aerospace books.

Reynolds laughed. “They don’t go to audio well. Everyone buys them for the pictures.” The military people laughed.

“We’ve got great road song compilations,” said Henry. “Ivy made them for us.”

“Give me the lists,” said Robert. “I’ll be in charge of that.”

“We don’t have mics for everyone,” said Sayan.

“Gregory’s bringing them,” said David. “He must put his babies to bed before coming over.”

“That Katya,” said Yuki. “She’s fucking amazing.”

“She is,” agreed Henry. “She is pregnant with an infertile couple’s baby.”

“So is Killa,” said Yuki. “You guys have a lot of baby-makers.”

“We do,” laughed Bella, moving to make the baby happy. “Nantan knocked us up,” she said. The boys looked sick. “Sorry, boys,” she said. “Turkey baster.”

Tam put his hands over Little Nico’s ears. “He’s just a boy!” he said. Everyone laughed.

“So, where are you hiking?”

“We’ll take the 15 to the 14 to the 148 to the 89. Then, we’ll walk the short Hoodoo Trail to wake up, then the Mossy Cave Trail, then the Riggs Springs Loop Trail. We’ll hit up the campsite, then do the Navajo Trail, Queens Garden loop, and Peekaboo Loop Trail the next day. Maybe one more if we have time. Then, we’ll be tired, and back to camping. Then we’ll ride to Medicine Hat, on the 95 and 275, then down to the biggest of them all, the Grand Canyon.”

“I will go with you,” said Inola. Henry, David, Bella, and Numa all stared at her. “I have business with the Navajo and Hopi,” she said.

“Oh-kay,” said Bella, slowly.

“Then, we’ll take the 64 to the 40, then back up the 93. Thought we’d camp at Lake Mead, then come back,” said Nico. “Can I ride behind you, Inola?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Inola. “And, I worked as a civilian on Nellis Air Force Base, said Inola. “Paid my way through college.”

“You have a degree?” asked Robert.

“Have a vet tech degree,” said Inola.

“Well, hot-damn,” said Yuki. “Girl power!” The women bumped fists.

“We gonna get hot on the trail,” said Pomp. “We gotta load up on water.”

“Absolutely,” said Sayan. “We’ve got collapsible poles for walking, water filtration bottles, all sorts of things. We’ve gone as light as possible, too. This isn’t Baghdad.”

“Amen to that,” said Thandie.

They all sat in silence for a moment. “I cannot imagine what you saw and heard,” said David, softly. “I was not there. But this is a different desert, a quieter one. There are beautiful things here.”

“My desert is even more beautiful,” said Robert. “More things grow on Zuni land. It is surrounded by the Painted Cliffs. It has the ruins of an ancient pueblo, the Hawikuh Ruins. Perhaps… but it is a bit out of the way for this trip.”

“Dude, I think ‘out of the way’ is the point of this trip,” said Sayan.

Gregory came out onto the patio. Yancey and Jasperson (called Jas for short) were with him. “Do I need to drag out some chairs?”

“I’ll get them,” said Thandie. They brought out more chairs, and sat down.

“What did we miss?” asked Gregory.

“The mission briefing,” said Mike. He brought them up to speed.

“Sounds like a fun trip,” said Gregory. “My wife actually sounded genuinely happy to get me out of the house.”

Henry snorted. “The woman worships your footsteps.”

Gregory laughed out loud, accepted a beer, and sat next to Mike, who made a place for him and his chair. “I worship her. She needs something, I try to get it, including my time.” He groaned. “Bannon is doing the client hand-holding for a few days. The man deserves a medal.”

Sayan chuffed laughter. “You have that right. The teen band were all wanting to snort coke and screw any passing… um, person. We got them to learn to drive race cars, while not high, and got them to their rehearsals, studio time, dance practice, and performances. We kept them sober until they got back on their plane. Yes, certain substances are legal here, but they’re underage.”

Yuki perfectly mimicked a bored, angry teenager. “You know, weed is perfectly legal. You’re violating my, like, human rights.”

“Like, man, you’re lowering my cool,” said Sayan. He took his sunglasses and put them on, and lowered his head to a mulish angle. “You get it?”

Everyone laughed. “They flew out today,” said Gregory. “The can do that shit on their private plane.”

“With three hundred pieces of luggage,” Yuki exaggerated. “Those boys must have two makeup bags each.”

“Private plane,” reiterated Gregory. “If their pilot allows it… they can bring it.”

“Unless someone investigates the plane,” said Yuki.

“Not my jungle, not my monkeys,” said Gregory. “I’m not calling the DEA to waste resources on a few lines of coke and a couple of spliffs of weed. They’d be out of jail in six minutes, anyway. And the pilot’s plane would be seized.”

“I like the ‘not my jungle, not my monkeys’ philosophy,” said Inola. “I got some animal rights activists all hot and bothered this week when I told them an eleven-year-old girl was my best pony wrangler ever. Some thought I was working a child into the ground. One old biddy got in my face. I told her this particular girl had autism, and the ponies were part of how she saw the world. How she related to it, what she could reach out and touch, and really understand. I told her to keep her jumping to conclusions and judgmental mindset to herself. She actually went white. I then told her our latest vet bill, and how much it actually cost to rescue horses and ponies. I then asked her how much she was really willing to pay to rehabilitate abused animals. She took out her checkbook and wrote us a check. I told her we do the same with teens and oldsters —and anyone else who needs to find a place to get (and feel) useful, like where you can have a purpose.” Mike wiped tears from his eyes. Gregory rubbed his back.

“Gregory’s PA is amazing,” said Yuki. “I want her for my PA.”

“So is mine,” said Bannon. The tips of Yuki’s ears turned red. “He’s awesome, but he’s coming undone a little. Having a teen in the house is making him a little psycho.”

“Have ‘em in the house, right where you can see ‘um,” said David, smiling at the teens across the fire from him. “Tell him to have Netflix, and video game consoles. Keeps their butts where you can see ‘um.”

Tam said, “I vote yes on the game consoles.”

“How will you survive without Nintendo on the trip?” asked Gregory, putting a sad look on his face.

Little Nico laughed, and held up his cell phone. “Got games here, too.”

“But power outlets will be few and far between,” observed Sayan.

Nico and Tam both pulled out battery packs. “We’ve filled ours up,” said Nico.

“Good move,” said Gregory. “Looking ahead. That’s good.”

“The boys came up with our packing list,” Mike told Gregory. “They’re learning to be prepared.”

Gregory laughed. “Boy Scout motto.” He held up two fingers.

“We were doing those things centuries before you did,” said Little Nico.

“Point to the peanut gallery,” said Gregory.

“We learned it in the military,” said Star. “We learned to walk it, talk it…”

“Eat it, drink it…” said Wild Bill.

“And do it day in, day out,” said Sayan.

“Getting out, where people don’t live like we do, and have no fucking idea what we sacrificed for them, has been a tad hard,” said Mike.

“Just a tad,” said Pomp, dryly. “Those people didn’t lose hands or feet, or legs or arms.”

“Or have any idea how it is to live without them,” said Mike, quietly.

“Some do,” said Inola. “We’re thinking of buying the Wolfpack a 3D printer, so they can print limbs for kids without them.”

Gregory pulled out his credit card, and silently handed it over. Inola blinked back her tears, pulled up a website on her telephone, and made the order.

“Well, that’s awesome,” said Sayan. “Cutting-edge technology and helping little kids at the same time.”

“They’ll need them printed again as they grow,” said Mike. “Teach me how to do it. I’ll do it, too.”

“Hell,” said Pomp. “I’ll contact the organizations that do that. There’s two that I know of. Do it for soldiers, too. Get a bigger printer for them.”

“Record what you do,” suggested Gregory. “Every damn-move you make. Make it replicable, so people can do, rinse, then repeat.”

“Gonna eat up materials,” said Pomp.

“We can all work extra shifts, and fund it,” said Star.

“We’re fixing to grow more veggies,” said Mike. “But we’ve got to pay back the new beds. Be a while.”

“If you want to bank an hour or so with us a week, do it, and I’ll flag it for this project,” said Gregory. “But I don’t want you putting in an extra twenty. Be smart and strong. Driving yourself into the ground doesn’t help us, our clients, or our bottom line. We’ll do this as a tax write-off.”

“Fun,” said Tam. “Looking forward to doing it.”

“Awesome,” said Pomp. “Should be here when we get back.”

“I think we need s’mores,” said Vi, coming out with a box of chocolate graham crackers and one of cinnamon. Then, candy bars, marshmallows, and metal spiked sticks. Gregory and Tam both stood up to help her. They passed around the crackers and chocolate. Inola and Henry spiked the marshmallows on the sticks, and passed them around. Vi went back in, and left them to their fun. They joked, laughed, and had to send Little Nico in for tissues.

Inola sang, Stay with Me. Afterward, Bella sang, You’re All I need. Their voices melded as they sang together. A Sam Smith song; the one with a great chorus. It was so beautiful that everyone went silent. They kissed, and Inola took away Bella’s tablet and took her back into the house.

“Those are two of the best women on the planet,” said Thandie.

“Damn right,” said Gregory.

Henry looked at David and smiled. David smiled back. Henry stood, and said, “Stay up as long as you like,” he said. “But, keep in mind that you probably want to be up early.”

“Yes, Grandfather,” said Little Nico.

They waited until David and Henry had gone back in, then Pomp let fly with an impressive stream of curse words. Everyone laughed.

Gregory was confused. “Rope-braiding butt-thumper?” he said, making everyone laugh again.

“One thing about Pomp,” said Wild Bill. “He makes shit up. Impressively so.”

“We bet him once to curse for three minutes without repeating himself,” said Star. “Cost us a pitcher of beer.”

Gregory laughed. “He curses with our clients. Makes them laugh. Most of the people we take care of aren’t choirboys. There’s usually a reason they’re afraid for their safety. The thing is, Pomp had an entire soccer team come by. Irish. Cursed with them in Gaelic.”

“Well, fuck a duck,” said Star.

“Not now,” said Pomp. “I’m a little busy.” Everyone laughed.

“So,” said Gregory, “you’re the king of cursing.”

“Nope,” said Pomp. “Learned it from Sargeant Jenson. He was the greatest person at cursing in the world.”

“He didn’t make it?” asked Star.

“He got married,” said Pomp. “Cleaned him right up.” Everyone laughed.

“Da-da-da,” sang Yuki.

“Da-da-da,” Wild Bill responded. They then sang 500 Miles together by the Proclaimers.

Gregory stole David’s drum, and Tam ran back in for the guitars they had left just inside the door. They sang the Kongos’ Come with Me Now, and The Cranberries’ Zombie. They finished off with Gregory’s haunting version of Lonestar’s I’m Already There, and a very quiet version of Aerosmith’s Dream On. They packed up, put the drum away, and filed in to sleep. Bannon went home, and he would run the business while Gregory took the trip.

* * *

They were up at oh-god-thirty. They decided to hit up a diner on the way, and they took off as the sun rose. Their bikes roared under them. Inola had Tam, Pomp had Josh, Gregory had Nick, and Robert had Little Nico.

Little Nico had the first hour of music, and kept them in Psy’s Gagnam Style and Luis Fonsi’s Despacito, bouncing all over the charts. Tam took over with Aerosmith’s Sweet Emotion and Angel, pleasing the group to no end.

They hit up a coffee shop, and the pancakes, bacon, biscuits, honey, and sausage were all served on platters, to keep up with growing boys. They also went through three pitchers each, of orange juice and coffee. They then hit the road again. The boys traded riders, although there was some competition to have Gregory or Robert. Robert’s calm and Gregory’s enthusiasm were big draws. Gregory got Little Nico, and Nick went to Inola. Tam got Robert, and Pomp got Josh.

They rose in elevation, and the air went from hot, windy, and dusty to cool and quiet. They smelled the evergreens. Everyone had smiles on their faces as Josh took over, and played Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run and Whitesnake’s Here I Go Again. They flowed with the curves. The boys whooped when heading down hills, making the soldiers grin.

They parked under the trees, and went on the first hike. Gregory took the lead and Robert was last, and the boys were spaced out in between. They had collapsible walking sticks. At first, they enjoyed the silence. Then, the giggling boys sang 500 Miles, and then the military people took turns with various chants. Gregory did a chant about a drill instructor that a young ranger had the audacity to call old. Another one was about monkeys with no tails in Zambonga, an old Navy cadence song: O, the monkeys have no tails in Zambonga. O, the monkeys have no tails in Zambonga. O, the monkeys have no tails, ‘cause they were chewed off by the whales. O, the monkeys have no tails in Zambonga. The boys made up other things that whales could chew off, making everyone laugh.

They got to the overlook, and all songs stopped. They gaped, and looked out at the sandstone, the thousand colors of red, ochre, brown, and black were mesmerizing. The rocks looked painted. Inola took a small pipe out of her pack, piped, and sang. Everyone was silent, looking out. Then, they walked to the next trail. Inola sang at the overlooks, and piped, and they were respectful of the view, and of the mountain. They kept a net trash bag, which Robert carried, to be taken back for recycling.

The boys tired, and they made it back to the bikes. They went back out to a taco stand, and ate until they were stuffed full. They recycled the trash, and rode to the campground. They found a campsite, with an actual platform. They pitched their tents, made a fire, and grilled hot dogs and burgers. They also had chips, sodas, and waters. They sang songs and played counting games like Buzz Nantan and Chayton Taught Robert. The kids had to say “Buzz” instead of a number while counting… like, 1, 2, buzz, 4, 5, 6,7,8,9, 10, 11, 12, buzz, and so on. If you missed a “buzz” you dropped out. Robert altered the game for addition and subtraction. Inola and Gregory both did rounds. Then, they did more songs, and the boys listened (wide-eyed) to Inola’s stories of the road, and the soldier’s highly edited stories of desert roads and basketball games. And of horrible pizza, tea and goats with friends, this guy from Arizona —and that woman from Connecticut. They cooled down the jokes, and, luckily, quite a few of them went over the kids’ heads. They dragged the sleeping bags out, and the younger boys crashed out. They sang Billy Joel’s Goodnight Saigon, and the Kongos’ Come with Me Now. They exchanged more stories, then went to bed.

In the morning, the boys complained about the cold. The soldiers good-naturedly ribbed them. The desert heated up quickly. They had camp coffee and oatmeal, and went hiking again. They sang more cadence songs, avoiding the ones about yellow birds, and whips and chains. Robert taught them the pararescue one his friend taught him about being raised by a bear, covered with hair, on a mountainside. The boys loved it. They went on a long looping hike, gaining and losing altitude. Inola stopped to sing from time to time, and on one ridge, she did a foot-stomping dance as she sang. They ate lunch on the trail, then did some more hiking. The boys got back to base. They were tired, sore, a bit scraped from a spill or two, but happy, and took turns in the camp showers. They cooked more hot dogs and roasted potatoes in the coals. They laughed, and drank sodas and beer (the kids were denied the beer), and told tall tales of impossible missions. The kids thought the ex-soldiers were all spies with superpowers by the end.

They woke up and hiked in the dark, to the point where Inola sang the sunrise. They stood there in silence, awed by the scenery. They hiked back down, got on the bikes, and roared down to the highway. They found a truck stop, and ate like kings. They then headed to the north rim of the Grand Canyon. They stared out, stunned, into the silence. Eventually, Inola sang. Then, they went to the west side, and walked on the Skywalk. They met with the Hualapai and Havasupai elders for lunch —of fry bread and stew, and the older boys spent time with their mom.

They took the back highways, riding past the trees, and made their way to the Zuni lands. Robert led the way, Inola at his side. His heart sang, a thundering melody of joy at seeing the roads of his home.

The elders met them at the ingress. They spoke to him in Zuni, welcoming him on his return. Robert introduced everyone. They took them to a good spot to camp, just by the river. They set up camp, and had a tremendous amount of fun visiting many people, and participating in learning Zuni arts. Davis met them with open arms; Suni already had her pottery wheel going, and the kiln running. People paid her to use the kiln, coming from all over.

She gave Robert his cut, and he laughed. “My mogul sister,” he said.

They left the comfort of their house to come down to pitch a tent on the river. Many people came out, and cooked on the grills. Laughter spilled out. People wore their good jeans and silver jewelry in their ears, at the throat, and on rings and bracelets. Dancing and singing in multiple languages ensued. The boys spoke in their own polyglots, and ran around with the kids on the res. Getting the kids to bed was deemed impossible, so they made a smaller fire —and tents for them to share. The laughter spilled out into the night.

Robert took the kids on a night hike with Davis and Inola, just to look at the stars. “Life is like this,” Robert told the boys. “Beauty, if you will stop and look. If you don’t stop and look, it will be ugly, sad, and short. Count the stars, fish the stream, hike the land. Ride horses, and grow flowers, and make beautiful things, like Davis, here, and my sister.”

Tam stared up at the stars. “I want to walk the stars.”

“Learn 3D printing and metallurgy,” suggested Inola. “And fuels. The lighter things get, the easier it will be to walk the stars.”

“Coding, too,” said Davis. “Just remember to walk in beauty. See it, walk it. Do it.”

“See it, walk it, do it,” said Robert. Tam and Little Nico took up the refrain.

They drove everyone insane the next day until Robert told them to take their phones and record what they wanted to see, walk, and do. They went on walks, fished the river, wandered about the res, and helped cook, clean, and do crafts like jewelry, painting, and pot making. They ran all over. The soldiers went on hikes, and Inola spoke one-on-one with the elders. Robert visited his sister and Davis, when they weren’t keeping an eye on some wild-eyed boys. It was quite difficult, but they got everyone corralled and showered.

They grilled fish that they caught, and ate fish tacos. They cleaned up camp, and prepared to leave the next day. They went on night hikes. They spent one more night under the stars. In the morning, they were up early, and ate fry bread and stew at Davis and Suni’s home. They hugged everyone, got Nick and Josh back from their mother, and headed out. Robert put himself in charge of the music, and they listened to Aerosmith’s Dream On and The Eagles’ Take it Easy and (of course), Hotel California.

They ate lunch at a barbecue restaurant in Kingman, Arizona; pulled pork sandwiches and fries —and Cokes. They were exhausted, dusty, and laughing like loons.

Robert stood up to go. His hand was in his pocket, ready to pull out his wallet, when Treista walked in. Her face had lines around her mouth from laughter. Her hair was pulled back and braided in a blue-black fall, over her shoulder. She was wearing faded jeans and a loose aquamarine shirt, her motorcycle jacket over her shoulder. She was Zuni, and had come to several of the cookout/singalongs. His jaw hit the floor. She had been polite, respectful, aloof. He thought her very far out of his league. She had just come back from getting her master’s degree in Native Languages and jewelry-making, with a minor in Business.

She smiled at Robert, a wide smile. She walked up to him, and said in Zuni. “I hear you have a shop for me to work in, with a place to stay overhead.”

“Be careful,” he said. “A silent wolf cub will wake you at dawn to help her feed the horses.”

She smiled. “I look forward to meeting this little wolf.”

“Good,” he said. “Are you hungry?” He pulled up a chair, and she sat.

She smiled, and called over a server. They had dessert while she ate her way through her own pulled pork sandwich and fries. “How did you know where we were?” asked Gregory, amused at Robert’s discomfort.

“I heard you and Mike talking last night,” she said. “I decided that it would be delicious.”

“Are you coming home with us?” asked Tam.

“Of course,” said Treista.

“Excellent!” he said.

Inola nodded at her. “We could use some help,” she said. “These ones do some chores, but…”

Little Nico started singing, “These are the chores that never end…” The others took up the song. Everyone laughed, and they went back to their Harleys.

“Nice,” said Robert, looking it over.

“I brought my tools,” she said. “Putting this baby together kept me from killing my thesis advisor.” He laughed. They put on their helmets, and rode toward home.

Rescue

Gregory woke to find his wife on top of him. He laughed softly into her hair, and groaned into her neck as she expertly guided him into her. He drove himself into her, and she clamped on him so hard that he fought to keep from screaming. Katya rode him, surrounding him with softness, and perfect wetness. He was careful, the baby inside her coming between them. She moaned, bending over to scream and grunt into his ears. She came hard, fast. Pregnancy made her need him, something he neither took for granted, nor sought. Pregnancy had its dangers, but he understood her compassion that was combined with her Russian stoicism and “let’s do-it” nature. She wanted to help those who could not give birth to children like she could; she was of strong, “Russian peasant woman” stock; she had children of her own. So, she would help. He loved her for it, and he worried about her. He let the worry go as she nibbled at his ear, then bit his ear lobe as she came in a rush, her wetness rushing over him. He let himself go with a grunt. She rolled off of him, cleaned them both up, and they put on their nightclothes in the dark, and slept.

He awoke to little boys crawling into the bed. Luka had learned how to kamikaze out of his crib by falling out on his head, and his brother had learned to follow suit. He was scheduled to switch them over to regular beds, because he didn’t want either son to get a concussion or a broken neck. Luka had his arm firmly wrapped around his throat, half-strangling him. The other slept cradled in his mother’s arms. He smiled, and slipped off into sleep again.

His pillow vibrated, his usual “5:30 open-your-eyes” shake, woke him. He slid into sleep again, and came fully awake at six. Both boys were staring at him in blue-eyed wonder. They smiled at him, and he carried them out of the bedroom, one under each arm, giggling. He got them changed and into day clothes, and took them down the stairs. He put them down long enough to start the first load of washing in the washer. He put the boys in their high chairs, and they had bananas and Cheerios while he had coffee and a fat banana-nut muffin his wife had cooked the night before —with a little butter. He sang songs about trains and planes to the boys, making them laugh. He wiped everything down, including the boys, and put them in their gated playroom. They giggled as Lily came in with hers. He hugged her, and helped her get them on the floor on blankets.

Elena came down, grabbed cereal and a juice, and did a quick sweep and mop of the kitchen, then breezed in to kiss all the babies. “Be good,” she said to them, and blew on their stomachs, making them laugh. She gave her papa a bear hug, and rushed off to catch the school bus.

Rudi of the Wolfpack came breezing in, Redina right behind her, bearing coffee. “Bless you,” said Lily, taking a caramel macchiato. She snuck out, keeping her babies, Rose and Colin, from seeing her.

“I love you,” said Gregory, and kissed Rudi’s cheek. She laughed.

Katya came downstairs, and pretended to smack him. He laughed, and she kissed him. She kissed him, picked up a baby carrier, and strapped one of Lily’s babies (Colin) to her stomach. The baby sat on her rounding belly, and giggled. Katya took a coffee, and went to heat up her own breakfast muffin. She grabbed a basket of clean laundry on the way.

Gregory slipped out, leaving his family, and part of Lily’s family, in the loving care of three formidable women. He drove off in what Elena called the “company mobile.”

Sayan, Pomp, and Thandie were all waiting, and they hopped in when he clicked the SUV open. They rocked out to Bohemian Rhapsody on the way. They did the head-pounding part as they drove into the office.

“Bohemian Rhapsody?” asked Richland, as they strode in.

“What gave it away?” asked Thandie.

“Those of you without high-and-tights are a little obvious,” she said. “You have an hour before the trials.”

Gregory accepted a very dark coffee, a Kenyan roast, in his sealed mug. “Bless you. And let the best person win.”

“Ooh-rah,” said the ex-soldiers behind him.

They were ready in an hour, and Gregory drove one car, Bannon the other. The Air Force brats were there in the peanut gallery. Thandie, who was naturally small, put her hair in ridiculous poofs, wore a miniskirt, and acted like a complete idiot in the Urban Environment. She ignored the instructions of her handlers, tried to sneak off, stepped directly in front of windows and other easy lines of fire, and even tried to sneak off into an alley to score drugs. Three teams of three walked her through, and two got her killed —or, she got herself killed. The air officers ran bets, and the winning team got paid. They set up again, and the airmen “landed” in pairs, complete with parachutes, on rooftops. Bannon and Gregory’s people attempted to kill them, from a passerby with a shiv, to a nice lady with a poisoned stew. Two teams out of four made it out alive. More money changed hands.

Katya and Richland brought lunch, a selection of sandwiches, veggies, and drinks. They passed around the babies —Gregory’s two; Lily’s babies were asleep at the house. Katya strapped on Luka, and all the paint and rubber-bullet guns were taken away; laser sights only. Katya was now being escorted through a danger zone, and the various teams were responsible for either keeping her alive, or killing her. She got a break, and they switched babies. Two teams got her from one side of the “city” to the extraction point alive; both were Bannon and Gregory’s. Both winners and losers paid Katya and the babies for their time. Katya took the money, and gave her love a smoking kiss that curled his toes and provoked catcalls and cheers from the others. Then she took the babies home.

Everyone showered at the facilities, and Gregory got into what he called his “biker togs”—black jeans, dark shirt, vented summer jacket, motorcycle boots, and shades. He drove his people back to the office in his company car, then had Sayan drive him home to pick up his Harley. He didn’t go inside, afraid of interrupting baby naps. He headed to the Caesar’s Hotel, and picked up his client, Danny Richert, in the parking garage.

Danny had ridden up from Palm Springs. He was a retired dot-com coder and engineer, and wanted to take Henry’s course. Some people actually wanted him dead, because he’d perfected a process that made 3D printing even faster. He’d sold the process, giving all his employees massive parachutes, so they weren’t after him. His competition was absolutely terrified he’d invent something that would render their businesses and processes moot.

Gregory had two of his Soldier Pack to guide them in, one in front, one behind. Thandie was on a bike; she was considering joining the Valkyries. Sayan was in the “moose vehicle,” as the bikers called it; a bulletproof ride. They got to Henry’s training facility just fine.

Bonnie came out to meet Danny, her fingers clean for once. “Nice Softail,” she said, circling his brand-new —new line; a Harley Sport Glide in matte black. It looked like dark, muscled sin. “I’ve been aching to get my hands on one of these.”

Gregory grinned. “Don’t worry, Danny. She’ll walk you through every part on her, then how to change the oil and clean your chrome and such.”

Sayan and Thandie kept their faces impassive at the “clean your chrome” comment. Bonnie didn’t; she let out a mass of laughter. “The bike, honey, the bike. Now, let’s talk about her. What’s her name?”

“It’s a he,” said Danny. “Grinder.” He smiled. “Not in a club yet, so no special name for me.”

“Well, then,” said Gregory.

Henry came up, and bumped fists with everybody, and shook Danny’s hand. “You’re paid up, so have fun learning everything about your bike with Bonnie. These new Harleys are lighter, faster, with better engines, with hidden suspension. They are amazing to ride.”

“You getting one?” asked Danny.

“Sadly, not anytime soon,” said Henry. “I spent a fortune to get this place up and running, get you an experience you’ll love.”

“Had a Harley engineer pass through, stopped by,” said Bonnie. “Got to pick his brain. He loved the place, and you will too.”

“Have a track, a garage, and classrooms,” said Henry. “We order the best food —for lunch and dinner. But now, I’m sure Bonnie has a lot to tell you.”

Danny turned, the laser-like focus he used for engineering turned onto Bonnie. “Tell me every damn word the Harley guy said,” he said to Bonnie. “And then you get to play with Grinder.” They shook on it, and got started.

Thandie and Sayan followed. “No fair,” said Gregory. “They’re getting a free Bonnie lesson, a look at a brand-new Harley, and I’ve got tons of work to do.”

Henry turned to Gregory. “You’re not leaving.”

“I’m not?” he asked.

“This place cost me a fortune. I’ll pay you, or your company, or whatever, but I need a defensive driving class.”

“What to do if you’re riding a bike and someone starts shooting at you? Yeah, I can do that,” said Gregory.

“Right now,” said Henry. “Classroom first, then ride.”

Gregory thanked his lucky stars he had a brain, and had input all of the information into a slideshow, online. It was part of how he trained his own people. He entered, shook hands with four women and two men, all with top-of-the-line vented summer jackets draped over the back of their chairs, along with cooling vests. Gregory had left his cooling vest at home; he sent Jackson, of the Soldier Pack, to get it. He taught the class, teaching how to spot dangerous situations without lapsing into active paranoia where you saw a threat everywhere.

“That’s not helpful,” he said. “They may be trying to kill you, but if you can’t spot them, you’ll be jumpy, not focused.”

He turned on the computer and the overhead, and showed pictures of a “right” scene and a “wrong” one.

“See this guy? Walking? Head down? His head is tilted —toward this guy on the bike. His hands are in his pockets. One hand is on a gun.” He circled the outline of the pocketed gun with his finger. “Learn what a gun looks like in a pocket.” He showed another still, obviously camera footage. The biker on a Harley spotted the guy, leaned, sped up, and got out of the line of fire. The bullets harmlessly hit a statue across the street before a passerby took him down and knocked the gun out of his hand. “That’s one of our operatives. Shooter was hired by the woman’s husband to kill her. The person on a bike was one of our operatives, too, a little misdirection as to where she was. Husband’s now sitting in jail for twenty to life, because he took another shot at her and we shot back.” He smiled a predatory smile.

The lesson went well. He had the full attention of his students. He loved talking to them, and teaching. He had the knack.

“The new Harleys have a lot more power, entire bike lengths more. I’m not a shill for Harley, but I love mine. I have a Sport Glide on order. One of today’s clients has one.”

“That would me me,” said Danny, coming in and sitting down.

Gregory gave a quick review to catch Danny up. “Today we’ll learn how to spot bad guys, how to get clear, fast. Better to let a professional take these assholes down. Despite what the movies show you, it is incredibly hard to hit anyone while firing a gun on a Harley; the speeds are very fast, and you have wind resistance. And, accuracy is vital. This is a crowded town. You don’t want to hit some soccer mom walking her kid down the street. Or the kid.” There was absolute silence in the room. “Evade and escape, the two E’s. Let us bring down the nasty baddies. Any questions?” Every hand shot up.

Gregory took them out for track maneuvers, first just evasion techniques, then with his people with laser pointer “guns.” He would never point a gun at anyone, especially clients, even if the gun was supposedly unloaded, unless he intended for someone to die. He was lucky that Henry had some laser pointers on the premises. He ended the class with a primer on lightweight body armor.

As he made his way towards the bike, Bobbi showed up on her brand-new Sports Glide. She came to a stop directly in front of the class, took off her helmet, and shook out her blonde hair.

“My name is Bobbi Granger. I have a Harley dealership just up the road. This is a brand-new Harley Davidson Sports Glide, with removable gear for when you want to go light. Anyone want to test drive one?” Every hand except Danny’s shot up.

Gregory laughed, waved to Bobbi, and got on his bike. His new one was coming soon enough. He guessed that it was a win-win for both Bobbi and Henry, with Henry receiving a cut of her sales. He thought a minute, and guessed it had been Lily’s idea to help Henry pay off the facility, faster. He swung by Sonic, waited on his peanut butter shake, chicken strips, and cheese fries, and answered numerous emails. He made it to work alive.

“Gregory,” said Bannon, “Meeting in ten.”

In order to protect himself from bodily harm, Gregory held up the payment for the defensive driving class. “We have a new account. Got a defensive motorcycle driving class.”

“Well, quit teaching it. Send someone else, one of the Valkyrie Soldier Pack.” Bannon swung a file at Gregory as if to punch him in the stomach with it.

“I am sorry,” said Gregory. “Henry sprung it on me, and the money was excellent.”

“Go,” said Bannon. “We both need clones.”

“We do,” agreed Gregory.

He changed clothes in his office. He took the meeting for a new client, corporate security. A mass shooting out of a hotel window some time back had terrified both hotels and corporations. They were jumping trying to get everyone trained to a higher level, and to have better screening procedures for both employees and guests. Everyone was a little jumpy, and Bannon and Gregory were kept hopping —filling the need to make businesses safer. He went over everything from a shooting that had involved a divorced woman, her new boyfriend, and a jealous ex —to the mass shooting, explaining how he would train people within an organization to spot guns, sound alarms, increase cameras, and other ways of spotting and tracking evildoers. They clients signed up.

After back-to-back meetings, some new clients, some involving hand-holding, some with him gently insisting that they get paid for their work, Gregory was exhausted. He put on his biker togs, and took the elevator down. Bannon was still working, a long-distance phone call. Gregory pulled out of the garage, and turned on the street. The distinctive throaty growl of Harleys had him looking. It was someone on the brand-new Harley he’d seen that morning, with the distinctive black vented jacket and red helmet he’d seen that morning, on Danny. The jacket was distinctive, precisely because it didn’t have patches like his own Nighthawks emblem. There was a bike in front, and the company moose car in back. He saw something that shouldn’t be, someone with a long coat in summer. He slowed, pulled out his gun, and saw the others rabbit away in an almost-on-the-ground turn in his rearview mirror. He focused as the gun came out of the trench coat, a blonde, the hint of a hand. He shot, twice; one-two, then lowered the gun and parked the bike. The woman was down, gun fallen to her side, blood coming out of her arm, a hole from back to front, at waist level. He pulled off his helmet and stalked toward her. The Harley in front, circled back, gun on the downed woman.

His earphone beeped. “Got her, I see,” said Bannon. “Sit tight.”

“Stay down!” said Sayan.

“One woman; early thirties… wait.” He got closer, then saw the wig. “Still a woman, not blonde. Brown hair. Still alive.”

Sayed touched the woman’s throat. “Alive.”

“Bus and cops two minutes out. I suggest holstering the weapons,” said Bannon in his ear. Gregory holstered his gun, and Sayan did the same.

They took out their IDs, and held them up, as the cops came up, guns out but pointed down. “Shooter,” said Gregory. “Got it all on camera. We’re security for a VIP. Sayan, where is our VIP?”

“With me,” said Bannon. “We’re on lockdown.”

“My boss says the VIP is upstairs. This woman needs medical attention, and should be under arrest.”

“We’ll see,” said the first cop, Montoya. “You the shooter?”

“She’s the assassin, I shot her twice,” said Gregory. “My gun’s in the holster. Be happy to put it in an evidence bag if you’ve got one.”

“Luis,” said his partner, a very small, dark-haired woman named Rew. “Got lots of weaponry under here. I see a knife in her boot, another gun in the other boot. Another gun holster, small of her back.”

“Well, then,” said Montoya. “Let’s disarm her, shall we?”

Sayan and Gregory went in to the substation for questioning after being relieved of their weapons. They were dead-silent until their company lawyer, Austen Heitland, showed up. He was ex-military, with blonde hair, blue laser-like eyes, and a fast walk, and he was one hell of a lawyer. They told their story —twice. Bannon sent over the security camera footage. Sayan and Gregory clammed up and refused to talk, demanding that they be let go, and that Sayan get his gun back, as it hadn’t been fired. They got the gun and left.

They remained silent until Bannon and Star showed up in a company car. They got in. “I will personally pay for a third of the new Harley you want,” said Bannon. “They towed your old one. Good luck on getting it back. That tape’s all over law enforcement, and our client has seen it. He’s ecstatic that he’s still alive, and that whatever the hell you taught him today worked.”

“Evade and escape,” said Gregory. “Standard stuff.”

“Fuck that,” said Sayan. “He made a shot he swore in class you can’t make, firing on a bike. Hit her twice, including the gun hand.”

“I noticed,” said Bannon, dryly. “Woman’s name is Belle Fiero, Beautiful Fire, street name X. She’s a shooter, a very good one, great at blending into crowds and disappearing. Makes daylight shots like that all the time. The FBI is very, very happy to have her in custody. They gave a shout out to the locals, made them let you go.”

They pulled up at the Doghouse, and ordered beers, jalapeno poppers, stuffed mushrooms, and sliders. “What a day,” said Thandie. “Got to hear about the brand-new Harleys for free, almost from the horse’s mouth.”

“What?” said Bannon.

“Bonnie pigeonholed one of their designers,” said Gregory.

“Good god,” said Bannon. “Do tell.”

They had an extensive discussion about what Bonnie said, and Gregory and Bannon listened, mesmerized. They ate their way through the sliders and half the mushrooms before getting to the poppers and recounting the shooting to each other.

“I saw her,” said Thandie. “Who the fuck wears a trench coat in the desert in the summer? Either an insane person, or a shooter. Hair too nice for a crazy. So, I turned and leaned hard, and Danny did what I did, on a dime. Perfect. Right into the garage. Ran some evasion, but got us to our elevator fast. Got him in and on lockdown.”

“Kept the principal safe. I’ll drink to that,” said Bannon. They all drank.

“I whipped back around,” said Sayan. “Once I saw her go down, I figured one, it was over, and two, my squealing around behind them in the moose car wouldn’t help. They needed to be sure she was down, and that there were no other shooters. If she had a spotter, I didn’t see one.”

“No glint. Nothing I could see,” said Gregory. “He’s right. Neither one of us saw a spotter.”

“Richland literally dragged me to the window,” said Bannon. I saw you, and her down. Made Richland watch while I pounded to our elevator. Sent a few down the stairs. Still had another client in the building, late meeting, finishing off paperwork. Saw our fast response. Added on a few lines to the contract, upped our fee.” He took a drink. “Can’t buy publicity like that.” The waitress came to refill their beers, and they all switched to water or Coke. “Hate to eat and run, even with the adrenaline, but I’ve got stuff to do,” said Bannon. “Stay and eat, talk, whatever, on me.”

“We’ll head out,” said Sayan and Thandie.

“Got a wife and kids,” said Gregory. He really wanted to stay and chat, but, like the others, he was wiped out. Bannon paid, and they all went out to the parking lot.

“Need a ride?” Thandie asked Sayan.

“Can use one,” he said. “No helmet.”

“No problem,” she said, putting hers on easily, and handing him a second one from just inside her seat. “Never know when you need to take someone for a ride.”

He laughed. They rode for a while. She took the long route. They lived in the same apartment building. Bannon owned the building and gave his employees a twenty-five percent discount on the rent.

She parked. “Still adrenalized,” she said. “Wanna come up? This is gonna sound weird, but how about the kickboxing gym?”

Thandie nodded, put her helmet back on, and took him to the gym. Both of them had clothes there. They suited up in sleeveless shirts and shorts, and warmed up with jump ropes and the heavy and speed bags. They watched some sparring, then they went at it. Somewhere along the line, they let the adrenaline coursing through their veins give them speed and power. They weren’t holding back much, and both were trained soldiers. She got a split lip; he got a bloody nose. They kept at it. Soon, activity slowed as people showed up to watch. They moved fast, light on their feet, ripping in and darting away. He called a halt, and held up her arm. They stood, gasping for breath, as a ripple of applause and some cheers went by. They got down, gasping for breath.

They showered, and she took him to a basement bar with a dance floor. They had shots, and danced, and found themselves fondling each other’s hips. He kissed her, tentatively, and she pummeled him with her lips. She dragged him out, and they were kissing, pushing each other away, gasping for breath, and kissing again. They switched to Cokes, and danced off the alcohol. She drove them home. She took the curves, tight and low. They stowed the helmets, and she dragged him up to her place.

Staci was playing a protracted video game, shouting into her mic. Ikram was in her room, the door shut tight, blaring music to cover the sounds of Staci’s yelling. No one noticed as Thandie and Sayan slipped into her room. She shut and locked the door, and didn’t bother turning on the light. They kissed up against the door. She pushed him away, stepped over to the dresser. Took out a box of condoms, took one out, and stuck her hand down his pants, making him gasp. They ended up against the door again.

They dropped their jackets, ripped each other’s shirts off and over their heads. He pulled off her camisole, and the globes of her breasts fell into his hands. Impatient, she dragged down his jeans, then hers, and they kicked off their shoes and pulled off their socks. She let him find her center with his fingers, clawing and gasping her way through her orgasm. She dragged him onto her queen-sized bed, impossible to miss in the small room. She straddled him, rolled on the condom, then slid onto him. She tightened, held him, making him moan, and then she rode him as hard as she could. She clawed his shoulders, and leaned down to nip at his neck and earlobes. He came, and she used wet wipes to clean them both up. They laid there, gasping.

“You’re not Muslim,” said Sayan.

“I noticed,” said Thandie.

“My mother will kill me if I marry a non-Muslim,” said Sayan.

“Then, we will fight, and fuck, and work together. Sometimes on, sometimes off, for when we get busy. Keep each other company until… whenever. No strings.” Thandie looked at him, stroked his face, kissed him, and grabbed his ass.

“When you put it that way…” he said, and rolled over on top of her. Both of them were still gasping. “Woman, you’re going to kill me, I don’t want to lose you!”

She hummed a ZZ Top song as he kissed her neck, her breasts. Then, they worked their way through the box of condoms. It was heaven.

“Loss happens. It’s how you handle it that shows whether or not you are an adult, or just posing as one.”