Mosaic (19 page)

He had begun to doubt the wisdom of their exploration after

a few minutes, but Kes led the way and seemed energized,

drawn downward as though summoned by an unheard voice.

"Kes, I think we're getting a little far from the others.

Maybe we should turn back." Harry's voice was hollow in the

stairwell, and the condensation from his breath billowed

into the darkness.

Kes turned to him and what he saw made him stop in his

tracks. She was transfixed. Her eyes shone with intensity

and her brow furrowed slightly, as though she were

concentrating on something with every ounce of her tiny

frame. It made Harry uneasy to see Kes like this, for he

realized she was in contact with something that was hidden

to him. "Don't you hear it?" she breathed, those frenzied

eyes holding him fast, as though with a physical grasp. He

couldn't look away. "Hear what?"

"Clicking. Chittering."

Harry felt a chill envelop him. He heard nothing, only his

own breath, which sounded ragged in the cold air.

"It's so odd. I've never heard anything like it.

It c't.be far from here."

And she started down the stairs again. Harry hesitated,

then hit his commbadge. "Kim to Tuvok."

"Tuvok here."

"Sir, Kes and I have found a stairwell; we're following it

to see where it leads. But maybe we're going too far

afield."

"Continue your exploration, Ensign. It would be prudent to

ascertain if there is another exit from this location."

"Aye, sir." Kim started down the stairs again.

He saw Kes far below him, hurrying downward, pulled by

whatever possessed her. Shivering, Harry stepped up his

pace to catch up with her.

"It's very near. I feel as though I can reach out and

touch it." "Touch what?"

"I don't know."

Harry didn't particularly like the thought of reaching out

and touching whatever it was Kes heard. This

whole adventure had taken on an entirely different aspect,

one that seemed even more immediately dire than the threat

of the Kazon. Those enemies seemed far away now, and

ineffectual; the clicking Kes heard had taken on a far more

portentous aspect. And then they were, at last, at the

bottom of this interminable staircase, in the midst of a

small chamber that had no apparent outlet. Harry started

instinctively searching for a symbol that might lead them

to a portal, but Kes had no need. Without hesitation, she

moved to their right and back under the stairs; against a

section of the stone wall she laid her hand.

And the wall disappeared.

The effect was not unlike that of a transporter, Harry

noted. Not magic, he reminded himself, nothing

supernatural-just technology. He understood technology, he

could cope with that. He moved after Kes into the space

that had opened before them, determined to counter Kes'

mesmerized state with the rational approach of a scientific

investigator. The chamber in which they now found

themselves had one unique factor: it was illuminated,

although Harry couldn't find just what that source was. But

the room glowed-there was really no other word for it-with

an incandescent glimmer that seemed to be green one moment,

blue the next.

He looked for a fixture, a sconce, anything that might

account for this ghostly luminescence. There was nothing,

and he decided there must be photogenic particles in the

air. A rational explanation. Kes was turning slowly in the

room, senses heightened, listening, reaching out with her

mind. After a moment, she turned to him, a puzzled

expression on her face.

"I can't explain this, Harry. But-something is coming to

life."

Uneasy, he turned back to the entrance through which they

had entered the room. There was no sign of it; only a blank

wall faced them now. And no matter where they placed their

hands, no matter how they pressed, the surface remained

solid and unyielding.

A GRACEFUL SUMMER NIGHT'S BREEZE

RUSTLED THE DROOPING branches of the weeping willow tree.

On its gentle billows was borne the fragrance of Indiana:

dusky herbs, heady floral scents, the fresh earthy smell of

loam.

As a little girl Kathryn had believed those aromas had

healing powers; they could banish headaches and heartaches

if you breathed them deeply enough.

And now, here she was, an adult of eighteen, still wanting

to believe in the curative powers of those comforting

scents, sprawling in her childhood hiding place and hoping

to recapture some of the solace of those long-ago moments.

She felt dead inside. She was to leave tomorrow morning to

report to Starfleet Academy, the first step in the

fulfillment of her youthful dreams, but anticipation of the

moment held no joy for her. She would go, because she was

dutiful, and she would apply herself, because she was

disciplined. But she couldn't imagine that there would be

any satisfaction in any of it.

The crack of a twig made her jerk upright and peer through

the darkness. Had she imagined it? Or was someone walking

toward the tree through the corn rows?

She squinted, trying to discern a human form among the tall

stalks, which rustled in the breeze and cast dancing

shadows on the moonlit ground.

She heard the sound again, and was sure of it; someone was

coming toward her. She froze, motionless, not fearful

because there was nothing to fear, but resentful of having

her interlude broken. There was no one she wanted to talk

with at this moment.

"Kath?" The voice emerged from the corn rows.

"Are you there? I don't want to frighten you."

Kathryn exhaled. Hobbes Johnson.

Maybe if she held very still, he wouldn't see her in the

tree.

His dark figure emerged from the corn and looked upward.

She couldn't tell whether he could see her or not.

"I don't want to intrude. I just thought I'd say goodbye,

since you're off to school tomorrow." She was silent,

hoping he'd leave. There was a moment's silence.

"Anyway," he continued, "I wish you the best.

I hope we can stay friends." There was a moment of silence,

then, "Well, so long. I know you'll do well."

And the figure turned and headed back toward the corn.

Kathryn sat upright. "Hobbes-?"

He turned. "So you are there. I thought you might be. But

if you'd rather be alone, I understand."

Suddenly she didn't want to be alone. She hopped off her

branch and jumped down to the ground.

"Please don't go," she said sincerely. "I'd love to talk."

She saw him smile in the moonlight and move back toward

her. Hobbes wasn't nearly as vulky as he had been as a

child, but he would never make anyone's heart beat 145

harder. He was still thin, though his teeth didn't

protrude any longer and his skin had cleared up.

His hair was still impossible, but then so was hers.

However, he still looked as though he simply didn't care

what people thought of him. His hair was long, and somewhat

unkempt; he kept running his fingers through it to keep it

out of his eyes. "I was thinking about you," he said, "and

I remembered how I was feeling two years ago when I left

for college.

It was kind of scary. And while you don't strike me as

someone who's easily frightened, I just thought I'd say

good luck."

She felt an unaccustomed rush of gratitude.

Hobbes wasn't handsome, and he wasn't exciting, but he was

a good and decent person. She plopped down on the ground

with her back against the tree and gestured for him to join

her. "That's really nice, Hobbes. I guess I am feeling a

little-was She hesitated. What was she feeling, exactly?

Heartsick? Lonely? Scared? Depressed? She laughed slightly

and shook her head.

"I'm feeling something, but darned if I can tell you what

it is." He smiled in return.

"You've been through a lot this summer." Her head jerked

around to him. What did he mean? Was he talking about Cheb?

About her father? About school? She didn't respond. "Let me

say this-the smartest move you ever made was to get rid of

Cheb Packer.

You deserve better than that, Kath."

She felt her cheeks burn. Was their breakup the stuff of

discussion? She supposed so; it was a tight-knit community,

and people genuinely cared about each other. The protracted

on-again off equals again romance had probably kindled all

kinds of discourse.

"1 could have handled it better." She tried to sound

neutral, unemotional. "I could have stuck to it the first

time I told him it wasn't working, instead of taking him

back again and again."

"I know Cheb. He has a silver tongue.

If he'd lived four hundred years ago he would've been a

salesman."

Kathryn smiled. They'd studied about salesmen in school,

about the time in Earth's history when people actually

tried to talk people into acquiring things they didn't

need, just to make money. It sounded so bizarre that she

wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't studied the era and

seen examples of the persuasive techniques such people

used. Hobbes was right-Cheb would have been perfect in a

calling like that.

"When do you go back to school?" Hobbes, she knew, was

returning to Indiana University, one of the most

prestigious non-Starfleet institutions in the country and

one of the hardest to get into.

"In about a week. I'm finishing up an honors thesis I've

been working on this summer."

"In what subject?" Kathryn realized that she'd known

Hobbes since they were children, but had almost no idea of

his interests, his studies, his hobbies.

Did he still play tennis?

"Philosophy. That's my major field."

He chuckled. "Probably not too thrilling to someone on the

science track at Starfleet Academy." "I've always enjoyed

philosophy.

It's just-not very active." "Ah. Then you might enjoy

reading Lat Nadeen, a twenty-second-century Bolian

philosopher.

Let's just say he's not one to sit in an ivory tower. I

think you might be surprised by some of the things he

advocates." "Maybe I'll give it a try." An easy silence

fell between them. Kathryn was surprised at how comfortable

she felt with Hobbes. There were some positive aspects in

being with a person in whom you had absolutely no romantic

interest. They sat for a few moments, enjoying the late

summer evening breeze.

"Did you know my dog died?" She hadn't intended even to

mention this, but found the words on her lips nonetheless.

"No, I didn't. You had him for a long time, didn't you?"

Kathryn felt her throat tighten.

It was still hard to talk about. "Eleven years. But I

thought he'd live a lot longer."

"I lost my first dog when I was six. I'm not sure I'm over

it yet." Kathryn found herself relieved to hear him say

this. She thought she should be able to handle Bramble's

death better than she had.

After all, he had died peacefully and in no pain, after a

long dog's life. But coming as it did in the middle of this

tumultuous summer it had been almost unbearable for her.

"He was my best friend for years.

He used to lick my tears when I cried." She stopped,

feeling tears well even then. "I guess I'll just have to

stop crying."

He reached out and gave her a little pat on the

backperfunctory, brotherly, an odd little gesture that made

her feel awkward rather than comforted, though she

appreciated his bumbling effort. Another silence ensued,

and then Hobbes decided to change the subject.

"What does your father have to say about the Cardassian

situation?" His question dissolved her sense of comfort

instantly. "He doesn't. He won't talk about it. I guess he

must be under orders or something." She wondered if the

bitterness in her voice came through. That question was

answered when Hobbes offered, "Sounds like it's a touchy

subject."

Kathryn took a breath. She didn't mean to leak her

feelings, and she certainly didn't want to talk about it.

But something about the August evening, the fragrant

breeze, and Hobbes Johnson's gentle presence overcame her

inhibitions, and she found herself opening up.

"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