Mosaic (31 page)

billowing in the wind, and she knew she was about to faint;

but this strange desperation to verify her observation

superseded everything. Was this an iceberg?

Gradually the world stopped fluctuating and she forced her

eyes to focus on the area around the-the object she was

trying to verify.

And, indeed, there was water surrounding it.

It protruded from a dark, glassy pool, which seemed to lap

and roil around it in unusual agitation. Another strange

thing: the pool was small. There was no sea here, no ocean,

just the ring of agitated black water that bubbled around

the tall shard of ice.

Then, could the object in fact be an iceberg?

Was it possible to designate it as such in the absence of

an ocean? And if not, how should it be designated?

She felt her mind move into a frenzied Socratic dialogue,

feeding on itself and becoming ever more urgent. She must

determine if there was, in fact, no ocean. Empirical

evidence. Prove it for certain, one way or another.

She took a step and very nearly collapsed.

Something was broken-leg, ankle . . . something-but it

couldn't be allowed to stop her. She would use the pain,

turn it to her own ends, create from it a focusing lens

that forced her to concentrate on her quest. With each

agonizing step, her mind would fixate more intently on the

task at hand, narrowing the beam of determination until it

was an unstoppable laser point. And so, in that cruel way,

she made her way forward. Several truths began to reveal

themselves.

The first validated her single-minded undertaking: there

was a body of water present-probably a vast body of water-that was frozen over. The iceberg (yes, now definitely

deserving that definition) jutted from its depths, but she

could see surrounding it other holes in the ice sheet,

holes and cracks, long, ragged gashes through which the

dark liquid below was seeping, as though a giant had

plunged a massive pick through the ice, over and over,

cracking it open in an orgy of destruction, and the more

she looked the more holes she saw, larger holes, huge

holes, holes that were smoking as though the water were

boiling from below, over some unseen flame.

The second truth was that her mind wasn't working

properly. More than her body had been injured; she must

have sustained a concussion. What was this mad

determination to prove an iceberg was an iceberg?

She was losing rationality. She had to begin functioning,

to treat her wounds and get shelter; she'd be dead from

hypothermia before long if she simply stood and stared at

her iceberg.

She tried to reason through this strange conundrum in

which she found herself. Something had broken through the

ice sheet. That's why the water was turbulent, why the ice

was so mutilated. Parts of the ship she'd been on must have

rained down on a vulnerable section of the frozen sea and

ripped it apart, superheated from flaming entry into the

atmosphere, steaming the water into a huge, heaving

cauldron.

Parts of the ship she'd been on. What ship was it?

She looked around her at the scattered debris; only one

section, the empennage she'd been sitting on, was intact.

She noted a console that still flickered, partially

functional, but the rest of the rubble that was strewn

about was in pieces smaller than a meter square.

Where was the main cabin?

Who was the pilot?

What was the last thing she remembered before standing

alone in this vast, ice-shrouded wilderness in front of a

steaming vat of black water? Suddenly she wondered if the

lionfish was in that water, parboiled now, flesh flaking

off the bone, sightless eyes running like jelly. And then

the third truth, like a hideous specter that looms in a

nightmare, stood dancing before her, monstrous and obscene.

Her father. Her husband-to-be. They were in the cabin of

the ship. They were now entombed beneath that ravaged sheet

of ice. Her mind instantly became lucid and crystalline.

She knew with awful clarity what she must do next. She

lifted her broken leg and began to stamp it on the ground

beneath her, gently at first, then harder and harder, because only the excruciating pain that she was inflicting on

herself stood any chance of offsetting the third truth.

Brutal physical torture could demand her full mind and keep

it from acknowledging the third truth; and in that way, she

kept the specter dancing in front of her, at a distance,

unable to overwhelm her, until the pain obliterated her

consciousness. As she sank to the ice, just before blacking

out, she realized that her iceberg was gone. It had melted

from the heat of the smoking water, disappearing forever to

join Justin and her father in their dark and lonely grave.

TRAKIS THE PHYSICIAN STARED

CALMLY INTO THE EYES OF MADE Dut.

He felt strangely composed, considering what would seem to

be the seriousness of his situation. Maje Dut was not known

to be magnanimous toward those who had failed him. But

Trakis knew that the Maje was also somewhat deficient in

intellect (like most Kazon, in his opinion), and he felt

confident he could weather this latest mishap. The Maje, it

was true, was furious, his forehead ridges dark and his

eyes red-rimmed. He gestured toward the prisoner, lying

motionless on the examination table.

"You've accomplished nothing. We know no more than we did

before you began your inept examination. And now you've

butchered him." "It's you who's butchered him.

You insisted that he be continually narcotized. I warned

your minion that the drug might kill him, and now you see I

was right."

At least, thought Trakis, the prisoner hadn't suffered. He

simply proceeded from oblivion to death-and what, after

all, was the difference?-without even being aware of it.

Of course, he had no idea if the being had anything

approaching awareness, anyway. The Kazon's foolish

insistence on narcotizing him had precluded any of the

sophisticated testing that might have allowed Trakis to

ascertain if the species was sentient.

All he had was a catalogue of anatomical and physiological

data-not particularly helpful for the Maje's purposes, he

suspected. "Careful, Trabe. That tongue could be pulled

from your head if it's not kept in check." The Maje

glowered at him for a moment, but Trakis merely held the

look with an even stare.

Maje Dut circled the examination table, gazing at the body

of the prisoner. "It was a miracle that we found any of

these beings. We have no access to another. This was our

one opportunity to study the species." He glanced back at

Trakis. "It would seem your usefulness is at an end,

physician." The implication was clear, but Trakis wasn't

cowed. "You're wrong about that, Maje. I can perform a

necropsy. I'm likely to discover a great deal more from

this specimen dead than I was able to alive."

Maje Dut's eyes flickered with renewed interest. "Such

as?" "Brain structure. Neural architecture. Synaptic

integration. I can probably determine just how the Krett

were able to control them."

The Maje's arm snaked out and grabbed Trakis by the

throat, holding him firmly. "You'd better do just that,

Trabe. And quickly. Once the Federations are dispatched we

must act quickly."

"If you want me to do this with any efficiency, then keep

the Control out of here."

"Nimmet? He hasn't been empowered to harm you."

"His presence is harmful. He's a nattering fool who 236

constantly interrupts my thought processes with inane

comments or superfluous commands. I could complete this

project much faster without him."

Maje Dut stared at him for a moment, and Trakis knew he

was weighing the request.

Trakis smiled ingenuously and spread his palms.

"After all, Maje-where could I go?"

Dut finally nodded curtly. "Very well. But I want hourly

reports from you. And I expect those reports to be

substantive."

Trakis inclined his head in acquiescence. "I think you

will be most surprised, Maje."

Dut swept out and Trakis turned back to the carcass on the

table. The eyes, in death, were as dark and unfathomable as

they had been in life. "I'm sorry, friend," Trakis

murmured. "I would rather not have harmed you. But perhaps

we can still be of use to each other."

And after invoking a brief blessing for the dead, Trakis

began to lay open the creature's brain.

Never had Neelix been so grateful for Tuvok's unflappable

bearing. It was possible that panic might have overcome the

group under other leadership, but Tuvok simply proceeded as

though this enigmatic situation were a routine mission,

easily accomplished. His superior Vulcan eyesight had

quickly adapted to the darkness, and he was able to read

the faint markings of his tricorder.

"Take the hand of the person in front of and behind you.

Each of you, with the exception of myself in front, and

Ensign LeFevre in back, should be joined with two others."

There was a hasty shuffling in the dark as the crew

members followed his order. "All set, sir,"

came LeFevre's voice from several meters down the corridor.

"Very well." Tuvok's rich voice rang through the

passageways. "Mr. Neelix, you're directly behind me. We

will proceed."

Neelix put one hand in Tuvok's; the other was held by

Greta Kale. Almost subliminally, he registered that Tuvok's

voice had sounded different as he called out the last

command, but he couldn't put his finger on just what had

changed.

Tuvok kept up a fairly steady accounting of his plan and

the route they were following-largely, Neelix suspected, to

function as a calming presence for the group. "I am reading

signs of Kes and Ensign Kim's progress through this

passageway,"

he intoned. "We are most assuredly following the path they

charted."

Tuvok's voice definitely sounded different.

There was no question about it. Closer. More-muffled. What

had caused this change? Neelix spoke out himself, curious

if his voice would sound similar. "Are you reading any

signs of Kes and Harry themselves, or just their trail?" He

sounded strange to himself. His voice seemed to be absorbed

into the air and hang there, as though he were inside a

thick cocoon. "At this point, I am only detecting their

trail. I have yet to detect any life signs." As Tuvok

spoke, Neelix pinpointed what had changed: the Vulcan's

voice didn't echo. The bare stone walls of this underground

structure had heretofore bounced the sound of their voices

in several directions, resonating hollowly through the

passageways. Now sound wasn't reflecting. It was being

absorbed.

"We will be turning to port," announced Tuvok, but he did

so before Neelix had registered the order, and his shoulder

grazed the stone corner. But it didn't feel like stone

anymore. It had yielded to his grazing touch. He didn't

want to alarm Ensign Kale by dropping her hand, so he

maneuvered close to the wall, then raised the hand that

clenched Kale's so that he could feel the surface.

It was sticky. Gelatinous, like a thickly textured Yasti

pudding. Neelix recoiled at the feel, and instinctively

scrubbed his knuckles-and Kale's-on his trousers. "Mr.

Vulcan," he said, with his voice sounding in his ears as

though he were underwater, "I believe something is

happening to the walls."

Tuvok halted immediately. "Feel them,"

Neelix implored. "It's almost as though-they're melting."

Neelix dropped his hand and could sense the Vulcan, in the

inky darkness, reaching out to touch the wall. Then he saw

the faint glow of the tricorder as Tuvok scanned.

"The wall does in fact seem to be metamorphosing," the

Vulcan intoned. "Further, the organic readings in the

material have increased significantly."

"What does that mean?" asked Neelix, decidedly

apprehensive about this turn of events.

Stone that changed texture and exhibited organic signs was

not stone that he cared to have surrounding him thirty

meters underground. "I cannot be certain. I would suggest,

however, that it would be advantageous for us to increase

our pace. Join hands and follow." They did so, and Neelix

felt himself begin to perspire. Was it nervousness, or was

it, as he suspected, because the air was becoming warmer?

And is that why the walls were beginning to melt? And if

the former was true, how hot would it get and would the

walls melt completely? And if they did, what would happen

then?

Burdened by questions, Neelix was grateful when Tuvok

discovered a stairway-undoubtedly the one Kes and Harry had

reported-and they started downward. It would be taking them

closer to Kes, and with any luck, away from the disquieting

presence of the melting walls.