Star Trek - Voy - Mosaic

by Mosaic

  "Whatever's going on with Cardassia has taken a toll on my family for years," she began. "My father was one of the first people Starfleet brought-into x, and now it's taken over his life. He's never at home anymore, it's like his family doesn't exist. And they've got him in some topsecret classification so it can take days just to communicate with him." She paused, glancing over at Hobbes as though to gauge his reaction. He was watching her, listening, impassive.

  "He was supposed to go with me tomorrow, get me checked into the dorm. We'd planned it all summer. Then I get a message that he's had to go to Vulcan for some conference. That's all--just a message. was "Is your mother going with you?"

  "She offered. But it's no huge thing. I can do it myself."

  "Would you like me to go with you?"

  Her head whipped around. She didn't know whether to laugh or not, didn't know if she felt grateful or humiliated. It was one thing to be taken to the Academy by her father, a Starfleet vice-admiral, and quite another to be accompanied by a civilian her own age who knew nothing about Starfleet. "That's awfully nice of you, Hobbes. But it's not as though I'm a little girl. And there will be others going."

  "Okay." As always, he seemed utterly unaffected by rejection. Was he? Or had he learned, through a lifetime of suffering it, how to cope? As she had so many times in her life, Kathryn felt sorry for him. "Tell me about the university," she said by way of a gesture. "I've never even been there."

  "You wouldn't like it. It's very traditional-they still have some of the original buildings, in a square around a small woods. And most of the buildings they've put up in the last fifty years are in that same architectural style. It's not sleek and modern like Starfleet Academy."

  She smiled, remembering their discussions of "traditionalism" when they were younger, when she had to play tennis and study ballet. "Do you still play tennis?" she queried.

  "Sure do. Although not competitively. I'm on the swim team instead."

  "You are?" Again, she was surprised. She didn't equate Hobbes with competitive athletics. She glanced at his thin frame and realized that though lean, he was actually well muscled.

  "Free-style and butterfly. Indiana actually has a long history of excellence in swimming. Of course, now the women are the real stars, but we hold our own."

  "I'll never make a team at the Academy. I wasted all those years playing tennis when I should have been developing skills in Parrises Squares."

  "It wasn't a waste. You can play tennis all your life. That's not so with Parrises Squares."

  "You can play tennis that long-but do you want to?"

  "I do. It's still one of my favorite outlets."

  "Really?"

  They had entered into an easy banter, relaxed and genial. Without her even realizing it, Kathryn's anxieties were dissolving, floating away on the summer breeze along with the heady aromas of green growing things, which Seemed to possess curative powers after all.

  The weather in San Francisco was frequently cold and gloomy; Kathryn had come to terms with the trade-off from Indiana's climate: no freezing winters, but a lot of fog.

  But today a warm sun bathed the city by the bay in a golden glow, and she sat stretched out on a bench on Starfleet Academy's parklike grounds, enjoying the feel of the warmth on her skin. And dreading the interview she was facing. Admiral Owen Paris had a reputation that was legendary, and while no one actually believed he ground up small children and sprinkled them on salads, it seemed a fair description of his demeanor.

  Tough. Demanding. Unyielding. Those words might describe any of Starfleet's officers, but when used in conjunction with Admiral Paris, they always seemed to take on new meaning. The stories abounded: this was the man who demoted his aide, a highly respected full commander, for making a mistake on a padd entry. This was the man who flunked an entire class of cadets because one of them was late to class. This was the man who took cadets on wilderness training so punishing many dropped out of school rather than endure it.

  Kathryn had, however, noted that no one who had ever undergone one of these atrocities had ever been heard from; the stories were all related as having happened to "a close friend," or "my friend's cousin." Secretly she won- dered if this formidable reputation wasn't something Admiral Paris created for himself, a looming, mythic presence in Starfleet annals. Even if that was true, she dreaded the interview. Admiral Paris was no longer on the active faculty of the Academy, having been transferred to Starfleet Command; it was bold of her even to approach him with her request. And if he did agree to be her advisor for her junior honors thesis, she would have to work twice as hard as anyone else, for Paris was that demanding. It was often considered unluckier to be one of his favorites than one of his discards; once the laser-flame of his attention fell on someone, that person's life was forever changed.

  She looked up as a couple strolled by, laughing. The tall young cadet she knew from afar; his name was William Riker and she had spotted him during her first weeks at the Academy two years ago. He looked so much like Cheb Packer she had felt faint for a minute. The dark, tousled hair, the deep blue eyes-the resemblance was uncanny.

  And so Kathryn vowed to keep her distance. She wanted that episode behind her, and didn't want even to be reminded of Cheb. Or risk getting emotionally involved with someone just because he looked like Cheb. So she'd managed to get through two years in school without having met William Riker or had a class with him. Not that he would necessarily have taken notice of herhe seemed always to be attracted to women who were galvanizingly beautiful and supremely confident of their attractiveness. That, she realized glumly, was hardly her. In fact, she'd turned into something of a monk since coming to the Academy. The things that interested her weren't the parties or the dating; she was excited by her studies, by the new disciplines she'd been exposed to. Not only did they challenge and electrify, they didn't break your heart.

  William Riker walked on by, laughing with a beautiful cadet, and Kathryn's mind turned back to Admiral Paris. What was the proper attitude to take with him? Deferential and submissive'! Outgoing and assertive? Warm and likable?

  She realized she couldn't begin to answer the question because she didn't know what she wanted: on the one hand, landing Admiral Paris for a junior honors thesis would be an incredible coup; on the other, it would provide an entire set of difficulties that would be obviated if she simply asked one of her major professors. The more she thought, the more she began to wonder why it had seemed like a good idea. Suddenly she felt faintly queasy.

  Leaning over to get some blood to her head, she found herself looking into two dark eyes. A fat puppy had waddled over to her bench and was gazing at her expectantly, as though assuming she would provide for whatever needs it had. It was a golden retriever, still an off-white color that gave it the appearance of a round, fluffy snowball.

  Kathryn looked around for its owner. No one was in sight except a couple of cadets walking in the opposite direction. She reached down and scratched the puppy's ears; he responded by rolling over on his back and extending all four pudgy paws into the air and wriggling in ecstasy. She stroked his silky stomach, which was almost distended with baby fat, and the pup wriggled even more.

  Then he suddenly regained his footing and tried to put two paws on the bench, but he was still too short and he flopped on the ground. Eagerly he tried it again, seeming not to make any connection between his efforts and his failure.

  Kathryn scooped him into her lap, stroking him and murmuring softly to him. "Where'd you come from, fella? Do you belong to anyone? What's your name?" The pup snuggled in her lap and plopped his head down on her leg. As she scratched and caressed him, his eyes began to close, and in seconds, he was asleep.

  If no one claimed him, she would keep him. Pets were forbidden in the dorm, of course, but as a junior she could live off-campus. She'd get an apartment for herself and the puppy, and she'd train him and brush him and comfort him. He'd never be unfed, or alone, or unhappy. A profound peace settled over Kathryn.
The warm sun, the soft presence of the puppy in her lap, the pastoral setting of the Academy's grounds-all combined to bring her to a condition of imperturbability that was almost nirvana-like. Her eyes closed, and she imagined she was back in the cornfields of Indiana, with Bramble on her tummy, sleeping in the sun.

  "There you are, you naughty thing. I can't let you out of my sight, can I?" Kathryn's eyes snapped open and she saw Commander Ruah Brackett heading toward her. The commander was a handsome woman in her thirties, a full professor in mathematics. Kathryn hoped to take her differential geometry course in her senior year; Brackett had a reputation as an inspired teacher.

  Now she was reaching for the puppy, pulling him from Kathryn's lap and slipping a collar and leash around his plump neck. "He slipped right out of his collar, the little devil. I named him Chomel, which means "peace," but I suspect he has more of the devil in him."

  Kathryn reached out for a final stroke of the puppy's satiny fur; an ineffable sadness came over her. "He's a beautiful pup. Where did you get him?" Maybe he has a sibling, she thought, maybe I could find his brother or sister.

  "He adopted me. I was in Golden Gate Park one evening and he came out of the woods and sat down next to me. He couldn't have been more than five or six weeks old. I took him home and fed him, cleaned him up. He slept on my bed that night-and that's where he's still sleeping. I don't know what I'll do when he's fully grown."

  Kathryn could see that Commander Brackett's eyes were shining as she told this story. She adored this puppy. Kathryn's eyes stung as she experienced her own sense of loss, and gratitude that the puppy had found such a loving friend.

  It was after the commander had left, puppy in ungainly pursuit, that it occurred to Kathryn that perhaps she needed something to love.

  Admiral Paris wasn't in his office when she arrived for her appointment. His aide, Lieutenant Commander Klenman, a dark-haired, gracious woman with a British accent, explained that he'd been called to an emergency meeting but he was expected in ten or fifteen minutes. Would she care to wait? And so she sat in the admiral's office and studied the pictures on his walls and on his desk.

  The walls were adorned with pictures of various groups of Starfleet personnel: Starfleet on Mars, on Vulcan, on Bole, on Risa. Meetings, conferences, commemorationsall showing at least one officer named Paris: Argonne Paris, James Paris, Caroline Paris, Bailey Paris, Mackenzie Paris. It was a display of some of the most revered names in Starfleet history, generations of brilliant, selfless officers who had dedicated their lives to the service of others.

  The pictures on the desk were different. They were recent family pictures-a pretty, laughing woman Kathryn took to be Admiral Paris' wife, and several pictures of children of various ages. Kathryn determined there were three, a boy and two girls, who were depicted from their babyhood until what must be their present ages: the girls in their early teens, the boy-who had a particularly impish smile-around ten. They were all handsome, happy children, tow-headed and blue-eyed. If Admiral Owen Paris was an ogre, this laughing family seemed to flourish under his cruel ministrations. She heard the whoosh of the door opening behind her and sprang to her feet. "At ease, Cadet. After keeping you waiting for half an hour, I don't expect formalities."

  She was looking into blue-gray eyes that were remarkably intense, that seemed to have the capacity to burrow into her brain and go probing around in there, discerning just what she was about. She took a breath and tried to shed the sensation. Those disconcerting eyes were set in a genial face of regular features, with a straight, narrow nose and a puckish mouth that seemed to have to fight not to grin. Once-blond hair was now streaked with gray, all of it an unruly gnarl of waves and cowlicks.

  The dreaded Admiral Paris reminded her of the cheerful farmers she had grown up with.

  He waved idly at her. "Sit down, sit down. Let's get to it. I have the feeling you want me to rekindle my days as an Academy professor." Kathryn was stunned. She had told no one about her plan. It was so unlikely that she didn't want to appear foolhardy. Could this man actually probe her mind? Was he a telepath? She felt her heart beating in her chest. "It's remarkable you should say that, sir. I hadn't mentioned it to anyone, but I was hopeful that you would consent to being my advisor for a junior honors thesis."

  The ever-present smile tugged at his mouth. "Junior honors thesis, eh? I might consider a senior thesis. Maybe you should wait until next year."

  "Maybe you should wait until you hear what the thesis is about." The words were out of her mouth before she thought, and she realized they sounded impudent. But the admiral seemed amused, and he didn't fight the grin. "Touche. Tell me, Cadet Janeway, what your thesis concerns."

  "Massive compact halo objects."

  The smile disappeared from his face, to be replaced by that first scrutinizing stare. Once again, Kathryn felt that he was scanning her brain. This time, he didn't seem to be getting results. "I see. And just what is it you would propose to offer about halo objects that provides new insight?" Halo objects, she knew, were a special interest of the admiral's; he had spent years trying to formulate a theory on the origins of these enigmatic and elusive space phenomena. Kathryn leaned forward, feeling on surer ground now. "I've developed a new hypothesis concerning their origins. One that might revolutionize all the thinking that's gone into them so far."

  "Very ambitious. Just what is this hypothesis?"

  "With all due respect, sir-if you want to find out, you'll have to read my thesis. Which I can't write until I have an advisor."

  He laughed out loud. "I like you, Cadet. Your reputation precedes you, you know. You're the young woman who reported finding a chordate in the caves of Mars. Stirred up a whole hornet's nest of scientific controversy." Kathryn sighed inwardly. It was true that her claimwhich she had considered carefully before making, since it would mean an admission of having gone cave-divinghad startled Starfleet's scientists. Well-equipped diving parties were immediately launched, but no fossil other than the one she had spotted had been found, and there was vast disagreement in the scientific community as to whether the find was in fact a chordate. Her admission had earned her a rebuke from her mother, but so far as she knew, her father was unaware of the escapade. He was too busy to care. "I think we'll get along well," Admiral Paris continued. But then he leaned toward her over his desk and fastened her with those piercing eyes. "But I warn you-everything you've heard about me is true. I don't suffer slackers. You'll work harder for me than you've ever worked for anyone. You'll learn to live on four hours of sleep a night. And if you complain or whine or, God forbid, burst into tears, we're finished as of that moment. Are we clear on that?"

  "Yes, sir."

  He held her gaze, unblinking, for another full minute. She returned it firmly. Finally he leaned back, picked up one of the pictures from his desk. "What do you think of my family?"

  "Very handsome, sir."

  "Thank you. I'm proud of them. The girls are quite independent and have informed me in no uncertain terms that they don't intend to follow the family tradition and enter Startled. I respect that." There was a pause, then he continued. "But I'll admit I'm pleased that young Tom seems to have his heart set on the family career. I wouldn't push my children, but it would have taken something out of me if mine were the last generation of Starfleet officers."

  "I understand, sir. I think my father feels very much the same." Mention of her father seemed to sober the admiral. "I imagine you haven't seen much of your father lately. I ran into him on Deep Space Four a few weeks ago. He's working very hard on the Cardassian situation. I'm sorry to say it's not looking good."

  "He doesn't talk about it. But I know he's worried." Kathryn didn't want to talk about her father; it made her feel uncomfortably vulnerable. She moved a bit in her chair, hoping Admiral Paris would pick up the cue and dismiss her.

  But he seemed to want to talk. "Part of the problem is that we don't know much about the Cardassians. They've always been somewhat suspect, but of course we prefer
to think they're people of their word. And they claim not to be interested in expanding their territory. But there've been some unexplained incidents near their borders that are a bit disconcerting."

  "Yes, sir." What he wasn't saying was what no one wanted to say: the specter of war hung over the Federation.

  It was a word everyone hoped had become obsolete, for there hadn't been armed conflict in the Federation for decades.

  But in a distant part of space, a new enemy seemed to be stirring, and Starfleet's upper echelons were scrambling to try to avoid combat. Diplomatic endeavors were under way. But at the same time, Kathryn knew that strategic and tactical discussions were being held as well. She assumed her father was involved because of starship design, but she didn't know for certain. That was how far he had shut them out of his professional life.

  Admiral Paris seemed to pick up on her reluctance to discuss the issue. He stood, offered her his hand, and dismissed her. "I believe your first step is to hand me a thesis proposal. I'll expect it on my desk by Monday morning at zero-eight-hundred. Understood?"