Star Trek - Voy - Mosaic

by Mosaic

  But each time his eyes flicked upward, he saw more of the men looking at him, doubt and aggravation etched on their faces. He decided to abandon the hangnail and began walking confidently toward them. So far, the day was most definitely not turning out as he'd planned. As the system's star had risen higher, the heat became more intense, and a cloud of insects had descended on them, buzzing annoyingly and inflicting nasty little bites on any patch of uncovered skin. The bites didn't hurt at first, but gradually turned into red blebs that burned like hot needles. No one's mood was helped by this. It was a time when a good leader reflected certitude and courage, so that his troops would persevere. Sittik clapped one man soundly on the shoulder. "Tonight we'll feast together, my brother. I will pour hock ale for each of you, and carve the roast naggath myself." He smiled at the man, but was disconcerted to receive only a surly glare in return. He moved on. "Teslin, my friend-when we tell Maje Dut what we've accomplished today, he will reward us with a showing of women." He leaned in to the man, conspiratorially. "I know you've had your eye on Kosla, who is under the protection of the Maje. Tonight-she will be yours." Teslin gave him a curt nod and kept firing into the ground.

  Sittik moved through the ranks like this, sharing his vision of the celebration they would enjoy at the end of the day. It was vaguely troubling to him that they didn't respond with more enthusiasm, but he excused them for that because of the heat and the irritating insects. He allowed himself to think briefly of Kosla, a ripe young woman who had caught the Maje's eye when she emerged into womanhood. Dark velvet eyes peered at the world from behind thick lashes; her hair when wound was thick and heavy, and he imagined it, unplaited, as long enough to cover her body. Her body. It was wondrous, plump as a nesting looci hen, always straining against her clothing as though longing to be free. He often thought that if he held one of her firm, supple arms and pinched the flesh between thumb and forefinger, it would burst with juices like fruit that had remained on the vine until it was thick and swollen.

  These erotic visions had so completely invaded his imagination-and led him to decide that it would be he, not Teslin, who would spend the night with Kosla-that he didn't realize Miskk was standing in front of him, glowering. "Yes, Miskk?" he asked pleasantly, still suffused with lingering images of Kosla. Only gradually did he realize the extent of Miskk's ire. "How long do you expect us to continue this foolish tactic? Can't you see it's not working? Don't you have an alternate plan?" Anger had turned Miskk's forehead ridges a striated purple.

  Outrage began to bubble in Sittik, as well, and he felt his blood course strongly through his veins. He could demonstrate purple ridges as well as Miskk. "Are you challenging me, Miskk? Shall we decide here and now who will lead this mission?" And before Miskk could answer, Sittik backhanded him viciously across the face with a fist shrouded in studded leather. Miskk dropped like a stone, stunned and bleeding. Sittik kicked him in the ribs a few times but Miskk didn't move. Sittik reached down and removed his weapon, then turned to the men who had stopped, temporarily, in their efforts to flush out the Federations, and were now staring at him-in fear, Sittik noted ebulliently.

  "That's what happens to those who oppose me. This one will be held in chains until his wrists rot." Sittik nodded at two of the men. "You two-take him to the shuttle and restrain him."

  The two men moved warily toward Miskk, who was now sitting dully on the ground, holding the wound on his head, from which blood was streaming. The men pulled him to his feet and led him away. But as he passed Sittik, he gave him a final look, and in that look lay a hatred so powerful that Sittik was momentarily immobilized. He had not bested Miskk at all. Miskk was planning vengeance.

  Captain Janeway stood by B'Elanna Torres' side, watching as the lieutenant scrolled through schematics of the weapons circuitry. Something was keeping the phaser arrays off-line, but so far the entire Engineering crew had been stumped by the problem. Voyager had been forced to return to the planetary nebula, the only part of space where they could buy some time in safety. The Kazon ship didn't seem to have pursued them into the murky gases this time, and Janeway hoped they'd be able to get the weapons repaired without having to evade the Kazon. The next time she emerged from the swirling gases of the nebula, she wanted to have the full power of Voyager's arsenal at her command.

  B'Elanna's face was smudged and her eyes were hollow. She hadn't slept since the Kazon attack, and every muscle in her body ached with tension, but she was determined to get them weapons again. "It's something in the plasma distribution manifold," she told Janeway. "The EPS flow regulators are functioning perfectly, but when energy is released into the manifold, it isn't getting into the prefire chambers in the right sequence. If we try to use the phasers, we could end up with a backfire explosion."

  "Have you tried recalibrating the magnetic conduits and switching gates?"

  "Several times. And I've run a diagnostic on the command processor, just to make sure the glitch isn't in the computer. Now we're remachining the nadion injectors, in case there's an undetected burr in the valving assembly."

  B'Elanna looked over at Janeway. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this, Captain," she promised.

  "I know you will. Keep me posted."

  B'Elanna turned again to the schematics, and Janeway headed again for the bridge. Her shoulders ached with tension, and she kneaded first the right, then the left, trying to unloose the tightly knotted muscles. When the weapons were ready, she had to be at her best.

  CHAPTER 18

  "WOULD YOU CARE FOR ANOTHER BROWNIE, LIEUTENANT?" Gretchen Janeway smiled at her guest as she held the plate in front of him. Kathryn smiled as she saw Justin hold up a fending hand against the platter of rich desserts. He'd already had two, in addition to several helpings of corn stew and tomato salad. "Thank you, ma'am, but I won't be able to eat for several days as it is. I must say, I don't think I've ever tasted a meat like that."

  "Mother cooks from scratch, Justin. We almost never had replicated food when we were growing up." This from Phoebe, now twenty-three and still in school, studying fine arts, painting, and generally enjoying life. She was a beautiful young woman, with a mass of dark, curly hair and her father's clear, gray eyes, and a personality that might have come from an alien planet. From this family of steadfast, responsible workers had emerged a free spirit, an irrepressibly buoyant individual who blew through life like a whirlwind, radiating energy and enthusiasm.

  Edward Janeway sat at the head of the table, listening to the banter with amusement. Kathryn was ecstatic that he was here; he had actually canceled an important conference in order to meet the man he suspected would become his son-in-law.

  "The girls didn't particularly appreciate it at the time," he offered. "Everyone they knew had replicated food, and they found their mother's cooking distasteful."

  "Not all of it," said Kathryn. "I always liked the brownies." She turned to her mother. "Is there any coffee made?"

  "You drink too much coffee," said her mother gently. "It's my only vice," Kathryn retorted, rising. "Would anyone else like some?" No one did, and Kathryn went into the kitchen to pour herself a cup. As she did, a warm presence lifted itself from the floor and rubbed against her legs. It was Blanca, Phoebe's dog, a fluffy Samoyed mix, belly noticeably swollen with pregnancy.

  Kathryn leaned down and took the gentle face in her hands, nuzzling Blanca's cheek. "You shouldn't be banished to the kitchen, girl," she murmured. "Come out and be with us." She poured herself coffee and held the door open for the fluffy white dog.

  "Hello, mamma," squealed Phoebe, spreading her hands wide to welcome the dog to her. Blanca waddled obediently toward her and laid her chin on Phoebe's knee. Phoebe scratched her head as she prattled on. "She's due in three weeks. The vet says there are four pups, two male, two female. I want to give you and Justin one as a wedding present. You'll have your pick of the litter."

  "Phoebe, how sweet. I'd love to have one of Blanca's babies." Kathryn was genuinely pleased. She had been trying to
develop a closeness with Phoebe that had eluded them when they were younger and seemed to be in constant conflict. The offer of a puppy was interpreted by Kathryn to be a welcoming gesture on Phoebe's part. She turned to Justin. "What do you think? Male or female?" But she saw hesitancy on Justin's face, and suddenly felt something unpleasant flutter in her stomach.

  "I guess... either one. But how do you imagine we can have a dog, with both of us spending so much time in space?"

  "I can take care of it when you're both gone," answered Phoebe practically. "Maybe Justin should get the chance to decide whether he even wants a dog," suggested Gretchen amiably, and Kathryn realized it had never even occurred to her to ask. She'd assumed that everyone liked dogs. But she realized that Justin was looking uncomfortable and a bit embarrassed. "I've never had a pet," he acknowledged. "When I was growing up, it was all we could do to feed the family. Giving food to an animal was unheard of. I've just... never gotten used to the idea of living with a... a furry creature."

  Phoebe was staring at him as though he were mad, an uncomfortable silence fell on the group, and Kathryn jumped in to appease. "It's my fault, I should have asked you. I just didn't think..."

  "Who would have imagined anyone could fall in love with Kathryn and not like dogs?" queried Phoebe, clearly irritated. "Never mind, I'll give you a pair of candlesticks or something."

  Edward rose and gestured to Justin. "Would you come into my study for a few moments, Lieutenant? I've got some schematics for a test vessel I'd like you to look at."

  "Yes, sir." Justin rose, face somewhat flushed, and followed Edward out of the room, looking neither at Phoebe nor Kathryn. When they had gone, Kathryn turned on Phoebe.

  "How could you do that? Embarrass him in front of everyone? Phoebe, that's so rude."

  "How can you think about marrying someone who doesn't like dogs? Maybe you've learned something important tonight, and you have me to thank." Kathryn was furious. Why had she thought Phoebe had changed? She was as stubborn and self-involved as ever. "Maybe someday you'll grow up, Phoebe, and learn that in a relationship, the other person's needs are at least as important as yours."

  "If I have to have a relationship like that, I just won't have one. I won't change who I am just to accommodate someone else."

  "Girls," interjected Gretchen, "please don't blow this out of proportion. You can settle your argument doing the dishes. Just like when you were little."

  And she left the room. Kathryn turned back to Phoebe, unable to quell the anger she felt. "I want you to apologize to him for the way you behaved."

  "I certainly won't. You're making an issue out of nothing."

  For a brief second, Kathryn realized that might be so, but a fierce protectiveness of Justin had risen in her, and she couldn't stop herself. What did Phoebe know of him? How he'd grown up, how he'd lived, how he'd made something of himself single-handedly? "What right do you have to judge him-over a dog, for heaven's sake? He's an extraordinary man, and he's going to be your brother-inlaw."

  Phoebe dug her heels in, unwilling to back down, and Kathryn realized they were locked in an ageless pattern, one they'd played out a thousand times or more. Would it always be this way between them? Why was Phoebe so stubborn, so willful? Couldn't she ever yield a point?

  "I'll do the dishes, Phoebe. I'd really rather do them alone."

  "Fine. I'm taking Blanca and going back to school."

  "All right."

  "All right."

  And Phoebe was gone, leaving Kathryn shaking and angry, but not sorry she'd stood up for her husband-to-be.

  "You have to say something to her. You're the only one she'll ever listen to, and she has to realize how rude she was."

  She was with her father in his study after Justin had left, the study where she had spent some of the most golden moments of her childhood. Memories of those times flooded over Kathryn now, producing both joy and pain: she wished for a moment she were a tiny girl again, back in that shadowed past when she knew Daddy loved her, before the Cardassians caused so much trouble and made him spend all his time dealing with them. It was urgent that he support her now, that he take her side and reprimand Phoebe, who was so clearly in the wrong. But it didn't seem to be working that way. Her father listened carefully, neutrally, to her, but didn't quite see things the way she wanted. "Phoebe has a capricious personality and often says things that sound worse than she intends them. You mustn't let yourself get drawn into unnecessary turmoil because of it."

  "How can you say that? The way she behaved-it was awful. Cruel."

  "I was with Justin for almost an hour after that. He didn't seem particularly upset."

  "You don't know him. He'd never let anyone know he was upset. He handles things without inflicting them on others-which is more than can be said of Phoebe."

  Edward ran his hand through his hair (hair that was thinning, Kathryn noted, and flecked with gray; when had that happened?) and took a breath. "I don't want to take sides on this, Kathryn. You and Phoebe have to work out your relationship. You're both adults now and I can't reprimand her as though she were a little girl. This is your issue, not mine." Kathryn stared at him. She felt betrayed, bereft. Old pain bubbled up in her. "You're taking her side, just like always. She's your pet, she has been since she was born. And because you let her get away with everything, she's turned into a thoughtless, ill-mannered brat."

  "Kathryn, I want to drop this. I'm sorry you're so aggravated, but I think it will look a lot different in the morning." He reached for the schematics on his desk. "Let's move on to pleasanter subjects. I've spent a very worthwhile hour with Justin, going over these plans, and I'm quite taken with him. He's smart, sensible-and he's tough." His eyes flickered with humor in an attempt to bring levity to the situation. "He'll need that, to be married to you."

  But his words pierced her like a stiletto plunging to the bone. Is that what he thought of her? Someone so difficult that a mate required strength in order to endure her? She heard her voice quaver a little as she tried to answer. "He's a very special man, Dad. He's hard to get to know, but once you do, you'll see how remarkable he is."

  She realized her father was staring at her with concern, then felt stinging in her eyes. Tears were overflowing the lids, and she swiped at them in embarrassment. "Kathryn-what is it?"

  She started to make an excuse, but when she took a breath, it became a gulp of air that triggered a huge sob. And then she broke down, weeping, racked by long, shuddering wails, covering her face with her hands, crouching over in her anguish, tears coating her face. Her father, stricken, rushed to her and pulled her into his arms. He patted her back and whispered, "There, there," over and over, a helpless mantra against this unexpected and frightening demonstration as Kathryn disgorged years of loss and pain: the birthdays, the graduations he'd missed; the months-long absences; his departure from her life-each of those wounds poured from her in an expiation of mucus.

  Presently, the sobs abated to an occasional gurgling shudder, and gradually she regained control, able to breathe only through her mouth, eyes swollen and nose stopped. By then, they were sitting on his couch, her head on his chest, where his shirtfront was now wet with her tears, his arms still holding her firmly. He was stroking her hair and making soothing sounds. It felt as good as being four years old again. When every gasp, every shudder, every sob had spent itself, she pulled herself away and went to his desk to get a tissue. Where the aquarium had once sat was a Starfleet console; she realized she didn't remember when the lionfish had been replaced.

  Wiping her face, she returned to the couch. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I guess I've been under some stress."

  He looked gravely at her, putting his fingers under her chin and tilting her head up. "What is it, Goldenbird?" he asked gently. "What is it, really?"

  She struggled with the decision. She'd never complained to him, never let him see her weakness. It was important that he regard her as beyond weakness, someone who wouldn't be a burden to him, or make demands on hi
m, someone strong enough to-

  To ignore.

  She looked up at him now through scratchy and swollen eyes. "Oh, Daddy, I just want you to be proud of me."

  He looked at her in abject puzzlement. "Kathryn, I am proud of you. There aren't words to tell you how much. Ask anyone I work with-I'm afraid I drive them crazy talking about my daughter."

  "You do?"

  "I've told my colleagues about every honor, every accolade, every commendation you ever received. And there were a potful of them. I'm a terrible braggart about my Kathryn."

  "Admiral Paris talks about his son all the time. I wanted you to feel that proud of me."

  Her father threw back his head in a snorting laugh. "Are you kidding? Owen talks about Tom from time to timebut he isn't in the same league of gloating fathers as I am."

  Then he turned to her and rubbed her cheek softly. "How could you think I wasn't proud of you? How could you imagine it?"

  "You never told me," she said simply, and saw his face crumple. He rose abruptly, moving away from her, fists clenching and unclenching in distress. He stood like that for a horrible moment, then turned back to her.