Mosaic (34 page)

this?" She looked toward the embankment, fearing the sudden

roaring appearance of an outraged picnicker. What she saw

was the figure of a man, somewhat shaggy and rumpled,

climbing toward her over the embankment, shoulder pack

dangling at his side, hair tousled and a bit unkempt. And

so familiar . . . She stared, trying to distinguish the

face in the gathering gloom. Finally, it wasn't the face,

but the loping gait that told her she was right. "Hobbes?"

she breathed, and the man stopped in his tracks, staring at

her.

"Kath-is that you? I don't believe it." And he was running

toward her, swooping her into an old-friends hug, laughing

as he saw his doggy-licked sandwich lying at Kathryn's

feet. "It was my fault," he assured her. "I broke off part

of my sandwich and fed it to your pup. When she snatched

the rest I knew I had only myself to blame."

He backed off from her and stared for a moment, his grave

brown eyes absorbing her intently. "You look terrific," he

announced. "But you look like you've lost a lot of weight."

Kathryn nodded. Eating was something she still had to

force herself to do. But she felt no need to comment;

Hobbes' observation had been just that, not a value

judgment.

"I heard about your dad . . . and your friend. I'm so

sorry." Those words of commiseration from someone she'd

known almost all her life had a potency she was unprepared

for. She felt tears-tears? she hadn't shed tears yet over

the tragedy-flood her eyes, and she blinked them back

desperately. "Thank you.

Oh, Hobbes, it's so good to see you." He took her hand and

they sat on the bench while Petunia gleefully ate the rest

of the sandwich. "What are you doing now?" Kathryn asked,

eager to reestablish the comfortable relationship they had

managed to achieve.

"I'm part of a philosophical symposium that's based in

South America. It's great, Kath-a bunch of us just sit and

think about all the unanswered questions, and talk about

them, and argue, and distribute papers about our arguments.

I've never had so much fun."

"You're part of the Questor Group?"

He nodded, and Kathryn looked at him with deepened

respect. This was an august body of philosophers who

incorporated the most innovative aspects of science and

technology into their formulations. The entire Federation

waited for the distribution of their papers, for they were

always challenging, stimulating, and provocative. Imagine:

Hobbes Johnson-vulky Hobbes Johnson-part of that exalted

company.

"Hobbes, that's wonderful. I can't imagine anything better

suited for you. But you must be the youngest person there."

He laughed, throwing back his mop of unruly hair. "That

part is right. But I've met some people in Curitiba, and

there's a tennis club I spend a lot of time at."

"You still play?"

"As much as possible. How about you?"

"Phoebe's gotten me out on the courts lately. But I'm set

to do a two-year deep-space mission, so I don't imagine

I'll be honing my tennis game for a while."

"We'll have to play before you leave."

"I'd like that." She paused, looking fondly at him. "You

know, I used to hate tennis. But somehow I keep coming back

to it. There's a-satisfaction-to it that I couldn't

appreciate as a child." They sat like that, talking easily,

for an hour, while Petunia, for once, lay quietly at their

feet, belly full of cheese sandwich, dreaming happy puppy

dreams. They talked about their childhood, and their lives

since they'd lost track of each other, and eventually

Kathryn found herself talking about the awful accident on

the ice planet: about the snowy plain, and the dark alien

sea, and the iceberg-particularly the iceberg-all the

images that were seared in her mind as though with a fiery

brand. Hobbes put his arm around her shoulder and she felt

a warm strength flow from him to her, a bit of burden

seemed to ease.

They made plans to play tennis on the next day, and

finally stood to rise, Kathryn snapping on Petunia's leash

so there wouldn't be another runaway attempt on the walk

home. Suddenly awkward, Kathryn extended her hand to

Hobbes. "I'm so glad we found each other again, Hobbes."

He took her hand and smiled, comfortable always.

"Me, too. But you should know-hardly anybody calls me

Hobbes anymore. That's actually my middle name, and I

decided to switch to my first name."

He chuckled slightly at himself. "Maybe if I'd done that

when I was younger, I'd have avoided some unnecessary

ribbing about my name."

"I think it's a wonderful name. But I'll call you anything

you like. What's your first name?"

"Mark. Mark Hobbes William Johnson-all of that is on my

birth record.

My folks, for whatever reason, chose "Hobbes" from those

myriad choices, but I like the simplicity of Mark. I think

it suits me these days. I'm pretty much a simple guy."

"Then Mark it is." And she smiled at him.

HARRY AND KES STARED AS TUVOK, NEELIX, AND THE REST OF THE

bedraggled away team poured through the space which used to

be the chamber wall. It had shimmered away before their

eyes, as it had when they themselves entered, and now their

comrades were streaming in, all looking harried and shaken.

"Sir, I'm not sure it's wise for you to come in here-the

opening might disappear. Maybe we should all take this

opportunity to leave," suggested Harry as Neelix headed for

Kes.

Tuvok looked uncharacteristically perturbed. "I think not,

Ensign," he intoned. "We can only hope this chamber is some

kind of sanctuary." "Have the Kazon found us?"

"No. But it appears we have awakened another nemesis."

At that point LeFevre, the last of the group, plunged

through the opening and stumbled to the ground, his face

and arms a mass of scratches and lacerations.

"They're right behind us," he stammered, and the group

turned in apprehension to the opening, only to see it

shimmer closed once more. They were all contained within

the doorless chamber.

"Sir, what do you mean, "awakened'?" Kes, after a warm

embrace from Neelix, came forward.

"I cannot think what else to call it. As we moved through

the passageways, the walls began to metamorphose, revealing

the presence of alien beings who had been somehow embedded

within."

Harry and Kes exchanged a look. "The reawakening," she

breathed, and as if in response, the hologram of the winged

humanoid glimmered into view. There was a collective murmur

from the members of the away team, who had not seen this

apparition before, and Tuvok instinctively reached for his

phaser, but Harry gestured for him to withdraw it.

Kes moved directly in front of the creature, concentrating

on receiving his telepathic message.

There was a hushed silence as she stood looking up at the

magnificent hologram, whose great wings, as before, beat

gently, stirring the close air of the chamber. Finally, the

hologram disappeared once more. "Apparently the hologram is

triggered when someone enters the chamber. It happened when

we came in, too," said Harry, turning to Kes.

"Was the message the same this time?"

She nodded. "He said he assumes the time has come, he's

gratified for the help of whoever has come into the

chamber, and hopes that some of his kind is left to witness

the reawakening of the Tokath."

"I detected energy readings emanating from this chamber,"

added Harry. "It's possible that when we entered, we

triggered a mechanism which set some kind of program in 259

motion. It got really hot in here about half an hour

agothat might have been evidence of the metamorphosis you

mentioned."

"It was as if the walls were melting," said Neelix, in

support of this theory.

"The Tokath," said Tuvok solemnly. "That must be the name

of the alien species contained within the walls."

"In some kind of stasis?" wondered Harry.

"It would appear so. But for what reason, and in what way,

and by whom-those are unanswered questions."

"You said they were a nemesis. What made you call them

that?" asked Kes. Greta Kale answered, indicating the torn

sleeves of her uniform. "They were grabbing at us, clawing

us as they began to emerge from the walls. If they hadn't

still been stuck in that gelatinous mess, they could've

ripped us apart."

"There was one more thing the hologram said." Kes looked

around the group, as though uncertain whether to purvey

this part of the message. "It said that if there were none

of their kind to watch over the Tokath, then whoever had

come into the chamber should stay here. It would be the

only place that was safe."

And hearing that portentous statement, the group surveyed

the now crowded room with apprehensive eyes.

When the ground began to fall, Jal Sittik felt a momentary

consternation. were the Federations mounting some kind of

offensive? Had they formulated a plan to take him by

surprise? But the anxiety quickly changed to a premonition

of triumph: the Federations had simply been flushed from

their lair by the incessant pounding from his weapons. Now

it was just a matter of picking them off as they emerged.

"Stand ready!" he called to his men, who were already

poised, weapons lifted, anticipating the battle. The

ground, he realized, was sinking in a circular pattern, in

four triangular wedges that eventually formed ramps, up

which, Sittik presumed, the Federations would rush in their

desperate and headlong dash for freedom.

The four wedges settled onto the floor of the underground

cavern, and Sittik tensed, waiting for the war whoop he

presumed would announce the charge of the doomed

Federations.

But there was only silence. Puffs of dust rose from the

wedges of earth and suffused the stifling air of the

planet. Sittik was aware once more of the annoying insects,

who had suddenly swarmed around them again, nipping and

stinging in a frenzy. Did they sense the impending battle?

were they trying to become part of it?

Sittik had a sense that all the forces of nature were

joining him in this epic encounter.

Where then, were the Federations? Did they think he was so

stupid that he would have his men venture down into what

could only be a trap? He shook his head in disbelief,

savoring the quiver of the ornaments in his hair. "Come

out, Federations," he bellowed confidently. "If you

surrender your death will be swift and painless." He

listened carefully, but there was no answering call, and he

began to grow impatient. His moment of glory was being

postponed by these stubborn foes. He nodded toward his men

to fire into the pit, and the air was laced with the sound

of their weapons. After a few minutes, he gave the signal

to cease. Dust now rose in heavy clouds from the pit, and

Sittik waved the acrid mist from his face, peering downward

to see what effect the weapons burst had had. He thought he

detected, through the dust, a bit of movement at the bottom

of the pit. It had worked! They were coming forth to assure

his triumph. Tonight he would 261

sit at the Maje's right hand . . . would watch Kosla

parade before him, hoping for his notice . .

. would feel the supple curves of her flesh beneath his

lips.

Now there was definitely a figure coming from the pit.

Rising from it. Rising?

Confusion clawed at Sittik's mind. There was something

perplexing about the situation. Granted, it was difficult

to see clearly through the cloud of dust raised by their

weapons, but the figure he saw didn't seem to be climbing

the ramps-as he would have thought the Federations must-but

was rather ascending through the air. Had they developed a

new technology which allowed them to fly like insects? He

had never heard any intelligence which suggested the

interlopers had such an ability. And yet, here they were

(for there were now more of them visible in the dust

cloud), most definitely rising from the pit, closer and

closer, a growing band of them hovering, inspecting the

assembled Kazon troops in silent assessment.

It was not the Federations.

The beings that hovered before them were huge brown

parasectoids nearly half a meter long, with fierce-looking

mandibles and an elongated snout that contained a large,

powerful jaw with sharp, wicked teeth. Their underbellies

were a mottled green, and they were coated in a coagulated

substance that dripped from them like thick jelly. He

realized they must be the Tokath, but was unsure as to the

significance of their appearance. Had the Federations found

these beings and made use of them as an advance unit? were

they intended as a diversion, allowing the Federations to

escape? Or was this Miskk's doing, his vengeance? Sittik