Mosaic (20 page)

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 wondered

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