Mosaic (33 page)

I promise I'll stick with you."

Eyes squeezed shut, reeling in the cold sunlight, stomach

raw and nauseated, Kathryn reached out and clutched

Phoebe's hand, holding as tightly as she could to safe

anchor.

Four nights later, a fierce winter storm came sweeping

across the plains. The sky had turned leaden in

midafternoon, and the temperature dropped precipitously.

Snow began falling as Kathryn, her mother, and her sister

were eating dinner, and they gazed through the broad

windows of the dining room onto a blizzard of white.

Kathryn had stayed out of bed during the daylight hours

all four days, going to the bedroom only to sleep. Except

that now, irony of ironies, she couldn't sleep, but lay

awake in silent agony, trying not to think of Justin and

her father lying in the dark frigid waters, flesh now

devoured by water creatures, white bones settled in the

silty residue of the alien sea.

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 248

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 thingsPetunia, 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 252

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