Mosaic (29 page)

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

offline, 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.

"WOULD YOU CARE FOR ANOTHER BROWNIE, LIELITENANT7"

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 219

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 220

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.

"1 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 222

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