Star Trek - Voy - Mosaic

by Mosaic

  But of course she couldn't not think about them. She found it was easier to envision them dead than to raise the specter of their manner of death. Had they died immediately upon impact? Or were they conscious, sucked under with the fuselage of the ship to drown in icy, brackish water? Or did they lie, injured and in pain, in an air pocket of the ship, dying slowly of shock and hypothermia?

  Better to think of glistening skeletons, quiescent and inert. Daytime brought a hollow-eyed fatigue, which Phoebe steadfastly ignored. They ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner, exercised, and visited The Meadows, their old school. Kathryn dutifully fulfilled each of these requirements, growing more ragged and exhausted with each hour, dreading impending nightfall and her futile battle with memories. She didn't want to tell Phoebe that her plan wasn't working, because she could tell it meant a lot to her mother that she was making this effort. Her mother had never shown her anything except love and generosity, and she wasn't going to be a cause of concern for her. In a few weeks she'd report for duty at Starfleet Headquarters, and she would request a science post on a faraway station; once there, she could sleep when she liked. At dinner, her mother and Phoebe made delicate small talk, and Kathryn forced herself to join in; the relief in her mother's eyes was reward enough for the effort. But then she felt herself staring out at the blizzard and thinking that she could go out and start walking... just as she had walked home from the tennis match so long ago... and be swallowed up. A serenity descended on her as she pondered this, and her mother's voice became mellifluous, a soothing euphony which lulled and pacified. She smiled at Phoebe, and tried not to notice the responsive joy in her sister's eyes.

  "Maybe I'll take a walk," she offered when dinner was over. Her mother turned to her, startled, protesting, "It's a blizzard out there-"but Phoebe interjected quickly. "It's a great idea. Nothing so bracing as a walk in the snow. I'll come with you."

  Kathryn smiled at her again. "We've hardly been apart for the last few days. Isn't it time I ventured out on my own?" Phoebe shrugged. "If you say so. But I wouldn't stay out too long. And take one of the palm beacons."

  And in another five minutes, Kathryn was out of the house, bundled like a polar bear, head down against the driving wind. It was a mean storm, the snow icy and granular, assaulting her face like sand. She plowed forward, wanting to find her willow tree, but already losing bearings in what was a virtual whiteout.

  She walked for some time like that, soon giving up thoughts of finding the tree, content to march forward in whatever direction her feet took her. The swirling snow obscured everything, and soon she felt she was walking on a vast, dead planet.

  Dead planet. Planet of the dead. Snow planet. The unbidden visions leapt to her mind with a quickness and ferocity that took her breath away. She felt an unreasonable anger beginning to form: she had come out here to achieve oblivion, not to have her wounds laid open again. She picked up her pace, as though she could outrun the unwelcome thoughts.

  She proceeded at that brisk pace for some minutes, head down, not knowing or caring in what direction she walked. Finally, she stopped, breathing deeply, and watched her breath crystallize in the air in front of her. She turned slowly in a circle, staring into a void of snow-whirled blackness. If she lay down, the snow would form a blanket for her, gradually piling up like goose down, enfolding her in gentle sanctuary and shielding her from visions of icebergs and hungry fish.

  It was easy. She could bend her knees and sink to earth. It would be so natural it hardly required a decision.

  And yet she remained upright. She was losing body heat, she realized. If she wasn't going to lie down, she should keep moving. And suddenly there was a decision to be made and the ease went out of everything. It was at that point that she heard the noise. The first time, she discounted it, thinking it was a variant of the wind. But the second time, she knew it had an entirely different quality, a plaintive whine tinged with desperation.

  She hadn't yet snapped on her wrist beacon, but did so now, throwing the beam in a circle as she tried to determine where the sound was coming from, but the beam scarcely penetrated the snow cloud. She began moving in the general direction of the soft whine, straining to hear it more clearly. From the corner of her eye, she saw something moving on the ground, and she turned to throw the beam of light on it.

  At first, it seemed to be a short, light brown snake, but it didn't move like a snake; it was actually hobbling on stubby legs. It took a moment for her to register that it was a hairless puppy, no more than a few weeks old, trying to scrabble along the snowy ground on legs that were too weak to lift its pitifully thin body off the ground. The pup was mewling forlornly, a miserable bundle of cold and hunger. It found her boot and promptly collapsed on top of it, as though realizing it had found safe harbor.

  Kathryn scooped it up, feeling the frail bones through the puppy's skin. It had lost a lot of body heat, and had clearly given its last measure of effort to make the trek to her boot.

  She tucked it inside her parka and felt the little thing's tiny heart beating wildly. For a moment she was afraid it was going to die under her coat, its life's last energy spent on the journey to haven. But gradually it calmed, and she even thought she felt it growing warmer. She had to get home. The puppy needed food, and warmth, and medical attention. If it had the grit to survive this long in such wretched conditions, she wasn't going to let it die on her watch. She turned in the still swirling whiteout, trying to get her bearings. She had no idea how long she'd walked, or in what direction. Making the wrong choice could take her deep into frozen fields of farmland, kilometers from her house.

  But purpose honed her instincts. Without quite understanding how, she knew where home was. She set off, walking briskly, unerring, determined to save the fragile life of the tiny being she held to her bosom.

  "Petunia, heel! Heel, Petunia!" Kathryn used her most authoritative tone of voice, but the four-month-old pup paid no attention. Now a healthy, silky bundle of fur-and from appearances a generic black retriever-Petunia had become a sassy, irrepressible being with unlimited energy, insatiable curiosity, and endless tenacity.

  Of course, it was that very life spirit that had helped Kathryn to heal. For days she had nursed the starved, dehydrated puppy back to health, and in doing so, found a reason to connect again with the world. She had reported for duty at Starfleet Headquarters and announced her intention to pursue command; Admiral Paris arranged for a postgraduate training program, which allowed her to remain on Earth for six months before being assigned to a space mission.

  Six months, she figured, would be enough time to properly train Petunia and introduce her to Phoebe's household of animals. But Petunia had other ideas. She seemed to enjoy puppyhood too much to start behaving like a well-trained adult dog. She greatly enjoyed chewing Kathryn's shoes (so much more tasty than dog toys), climbing on the living-room furniture (so much more comfy than her bed), and playing a cunning game of hideand-seek with the padds on Kathryn's desk (so much more satisfying than fetch). Kathryn knew it had been a trying experience for her mother, but she also knew her mother was so glad to have her back among them that she would have welcomed a dozen Petunias.

  Kathryn had brought the dog to the Botanical Park, a sylvan setting of lush flora that was, on this May evening, abundant with spring blooms. Dogwood and magnolia vied for attention with spectacular blossoms, and lilacs cast their heady fragrance on the warm breeze. They'd been coming here in the evenings for several weeks now; she found the lovely setting comforting. The pain of losing Justin and her father seemed as intense as ever, yet she knew it was beginning to recede because some things Petunia, this flowered park-had the power to soothe her and even invoke a sense of well-being, if only for a short time.

  "Petunia, come. Petunia-good girl, that's the way. Now, heel." They were working without a leash, and it wasn't going well. Petunia was enjoying the new freedom from the choke chain and had no wish to confine herself to the restrictive boundaries Kathryn was trying to impose.
She found the acacia bushes fascinating, and enjoyed the feel of damp earth on her paws, and what could be more fun than a headlong romp through a maze of flowering plants? Kathryn sighed, knowing she had to get the upper hand here. If she didn't remain consistent, and firm, a headstrong pup like Petunia could mature into a dog that was out of control. "Petunia, heel. was Her voice took on an additional timbre of authority that she hoped communicated itself to canine ears.

  Petunia fell into line at her left side, keeping pace with her, nose sniffing the scented air curiously, eyes drawn from rustling bush to hovering moth and back again.

  It was the fireflies that were her undoing. A flock of the flickering insects suddenly surrounded them, and Petunia was fascinated. All thought of heeling instantly vaporized, as Petunia broke and began leaping in the air, trying to turn herself into a firefly.

  "Petunia, come!" snapped Kathryn, to no avail. Petunia was gone, a leaping dervish, bounding and twisting in the warm evening air. She crested a small embankment and was instantly out of sight. Kathryn went plowing after her, but it was as though the pup had blinked out of existence. She willed herself not to panic; Petunia was immature and overactive, but she also knew who filled the dog dish each evening. She'd be back. Kathryn sank onto a park bench, one of several dotted throughout the gardens, and nodded to some passersby. It was a communal place that people frequented throughout the day, and Kathryn realized she was beginning to enjoy the feeling of connection with other people. She must be on the mend. Now she wrestled with a decision that must be made:

  whether or not to accept a command post on a deep space mission that would depart for the Beta Quadrant in three months. It would be a way to ascend the command ladder rapidly, but it meant being away from Earth, from her mother, and Phoebe, and Petunia, for two years. In the last months, she'd made a nest here, she felt secure with her family and her childhood home; the night devils were at bay.

  And, of course, that was precisely the reason she believed she had to go. Haven is comforting, but it can be an insidious trap. Her bed had been a refuge for months, and she realized now it had actually been a prison. If she was truly going to heal, she had to put herself out there, hiding from nothing, embracing the journey she had chosen for herself. A silky black head appeared over the embankment, and Kathryn smiled. Petunia had, in fact, come back.

  But what was hanging out of her mouth? Kathryn rose, dismayed, to see that Petunia held a half-eaten sandwich in her mouth, gently, as though she were retrieving a duck. Proudly, tail wagging, eyes shining, the pup dropped the sandwich at Kathryn's feet and looked up at her as though expecting praise. "Oh, Petunia-what have you done? Whose is this?" She looked toward the embankment, fearing the sudden roaring appearance of an outraged picnicker. What she saw was the figure of a man, somewhat shaggy and rumpled, climbing toward her over the embankment, shoulder pack dangling at his side, hair tousled and a bit unkempt. And so familiar... She stared, trying to distinguish the face in the gathering gloom. Finally, it wasn't the face, but the loping gait that told her she was right. "Hobbes?" she breathed, and the man stopped in his tracks, staring at her.

  "Kath-is that you? I don't believe it." And he was running toward her, swooping her into an old-friends hug, laughing as he saw his doggy-licked sandwich lying at Kathryn's feet. "It was my fault," he assured her. "I broke off part of my sandwich and fed it to your pup. When she snatched the rest I knew I had only myself to blame."

  He backed off from her and stared for a moment, his grave brown eyes absorbing her intently. "You look terrific," he announced. "But you look like you've lost a lot of weight."

  Kathryn nodded. Eating was something she still had to force herself to do. But she felt no need to comment; Hobbes' observation had been just that, not a value judgment.

  "I heard about your dad... and your friend. I'm so sorry." Those words of commiseration from someone she'd known almost all her life had a potency she was unprepared for. She felt tears-tears? she hadn't shed tears yet over the tragedy-flood her eyes, and she blinked them back desperately. "Thank you. Oh, Hobbes, it's so good to see you." He took her hand and they sat on the bench while Petunia gleefully ate the rest of the sandwich. "What are you doing now?" Kathryn asked, eager to reestablish the comfortable relationship they had managed to achieve. "I'm part of a philosophical symposium that's based in South America. It's great, Kath-a bunch of us just sit and think about all the unanswered questions, and talk about them, and argue, and distribute papers about our arguments. I've never had so much fun."

  "You're part of the Questor Group?"

  He nodded, and Kathryn looked at him with deepened respect. This was an august body of philosophers who incorporated the most innovative aspects of science and technology into their formulations. The entire Federation waited for the distribution of their papers, for they were always challenging, stimulating, and provocative. Imagine: Hobbes Johnson-vulky Hobbes Johnson-part of that exalted company.

  "Hobbes, that's wonderful. I can't imagine anything better suited for you. But you must be the youngest person there."

  He laughed, throwing back his mop of unruly hair. "That part is right. But I've met some people in Curitiba, and there's a tennis club I spend a lot of time at."

  "You still play?"

  "As much as possible. How about you?"

  "Phoebe's gotten me out on the courts lately. But I'm set to do a two-year deep-space mission, so I don't imagine I'll be honing my tennis game for a while."

  "We'll have to play before you leave."

  "I'd like that." She paused, looking fondly at him. "You know, I used to hate tennis. But somehow I keep coming back to it. There's a-satisfaction-to it that I couldn't appreciate as a child." They sat like that, talking easily, for an hour, while Petunia, for once, lay quietly at their feet, belly full of cheese sandwich, dreaming happy puppy dreams. They talked about their childhood, and their lives since they'd lost track of each other, and eventually Kathryn found herself talking about the awful accident on the ice planet: about the snowy plain, and the dark alien sea, and the iceberg-particularly the iceberg-all the images that were seared in her mind as though with a fiery brand. Hobbes put his arm around her shoulder and she felt a warm strength flow from him to her, a bit of burden seemed to ease.

  They made plans to play tennis on the next day, and finally stood to rise, Kathryn snapping on Petunia's leash so there wouldn't be another runaway attempt on the walk home. Suddenly awkward, Kathryn extended her hand to Hobbes. "I'm so glad we found each other again, Hobbes."

  He took her hand and smiled, comfortable always. "Me, too. But you should know-hardly anybody calls me Hobbes anymore. That's actually my middle name, and I decided to switch to my first name." He chuckled slightly at himself. "Maybe if I'd done that when I was younger, I'd have avoided some unnecessary ribbing about my name."

  "I think it's a wonderful name. But I'll call you anything you like. What's your first name?"

  "Mark. Mark Hobbes William Johnson-all of that is on my birth record. My folks, for whatever reason, chose "Hobbes" from those myriad choices, but I like the simplicity of Mark. I think it suits me these days. I'm pretty much a simple guy."

  "Then Mark it is." And she smiled at him.

  CHAPTER 21

  HARRY AND KES STARED AS TUVOK, NEELIX, AND THE REST OF THE bedraggled away team poured through the space which used to be the chamber wall. It had shimmered away before their eyes, as it had when they themselves entered, and now their comrades were streaming in, all looking harried and shaken.

  "Sir, I'm not sure it's wise for you to come in here-the opening might disappear. Maybe we should all take this opportunity to leave," suggested Harry as Neelix headed for Kes.

  Tuvok looked uncharacteristically perturbed. "I think not, Ensign," he intoned. "We can only hope this chamber is some kind of sanctuary."

  "Have the Kazon found us?"

  "No. But it appears we have awakened another nemesis."

  At that point LeFevre, the last of
the group, plunged through the opening and stumbled to the ground, his face and arms a mass of scratches and lacerations. "They're right behind us," he stammered, and the group turned in apprehension to the opening, only to see it shimmer closed once more. They were all contained within the doorless chamber.

  "Sir, what do you mean, "awakened'?" Kes, after a warm embrace from Neelix, came forward.

  "I cannot think what else to call it. As we moved through the passageways, the walls began to metamorphose, revealing the presence of alien beings who had been somehow embedded within."

  Harry and Kes exchanged a look. "The reawakening," she breathed, and as if in response, the hologram of the winged humanoid glimmered into view. There was a collective murmur from the members of the away team, who had not seen this apparition before, and Tuvok instinctively reached for his phaser, but Harry gestured for him to withdraw it. Kes moved directly in front of the creature, concentrating on receiving his telepathic message. There was a hushed silence as she stood looking up at the magnificent hologram, whose great wings, as before, beat gently, stirring the close air of the chamber. Finally, the hologram disappeared once more. "Apparently the hologram is triggered when someone enters the chamber. It happened when we came in, too," said Harry, turning to Kes. "Was the message the same this time?"