Even so, it was unnerving. Janeway hated the feeling of
powerlessness, just sitting, waiting, hoping, depending on
luck that the plasma flares wouldn't hit them, or if they
did, that the damage would be minimal. She preferred to be
on the move, active, taking charge and doing things her
way. But sometimes that wasn't an option. She'd learned
that over the years, the way she'd learned most of the
lessons of her life: painfully. So she hunkered down in her
chair, trying to quiet her mind, listening to the muffled
explosions of the Kazon flares, and trying not to think
about those she'd left behind.
CHEB PACKER PUT HIS HAND ON HER
ARM TO HELP GUIDE HER through the darkness, and Kathryn
felt a thrill ripple through her, ending in her fingertips,
which tingled intensely. She still felt that sensation
every time he touched her, every time he looked at her,
every time he smiled his funny crooked smile at her.
She loved everything about him. She loved his dark hair
with the one funny lock that kept falling over his
forehead. She loved his eyes, which were the deepest shade
of blue she'd ever seen. She loved his broad shoulders and
strong arms. She loved his intellect, which was as
formidable as any she'd ever encountered in someone her
age.
She still couldn't believe that of all the young women at
the Academy Institute-all of them the best of the be/cheb
was attracted to her. She was not the most beautiful; she
frankly thought she looked like a tomboy with her angular
features and her whippet-thin body. She was not the most
brilliant; though she always ranked near the top in her
classes there were always those who surpassed her. She was
not the most talented or the most athletic. And yet, in
this, their senior year, Cheb had pursued her.
Until she'd begun dating Cheb, she never thought of
herself in comparison to other girls. But now she found
herself thinking of them in a competitive way: Bess Terman
had a much better figure; Allie Keagle had better skin;
Nath Malone had a better sense of humor. Everybody had
better hair. What did he see in her?
Ahead, in the cold dark woods of southern Ohio, Anna Mears
giggled, and immediately Cheb hissed a "Shhhhhh" at her.
Why he felt the need to be quiet, she wasn't sure. The
chance of anyone's being out in these particular woods at
this time of year was remote. It was frigid, and the ground
was covered with icy snow that crunched under the footsteps
of the four young people who walked, single-file, along a
barely visible path among the trees. Only the moon, radiant
in a starry sky, illuminated their way.
They had made the transport-completely unauthorized, of
course-from school. Cheb claimed to know how to cover
evidence of their maneuver so no one would realize they had
commandeered a transporter for a purely personal, nonschool
function. He had set it to bring them back in two hours
from their beam-in site.
That had been less than a kilometer from their ultimate
destination: the Magruder Mansion, an abandoned structure
deep in the woods of a southern Ohio farm. Cheb had told
them about it, how he had once gone with his older brother
and his pals to see it, how intriguing and spooky it was,
and how easy it would be for them to use the school's
transporter to get there. He had made all the arrangements
for this clandestine visit. It seemed as if they'd been
walking forever; the air was cold enough to burn her
nostrils, and her feet were numb. 111
But Kathryn felt warmed by the touch of Cheb's hand on her
arm. She gazed upward, looking for familiar stars, and saw
leafless branches arching upward toward the sky, stark and
desolate. Orion dominated the sky, and Sirius shone
brilliantly above the southern horizon. Castor and Pollux,
the Gemini twins, hung close to the zenith.
"There it is," she heard Cheb whisper, and the group drew
up behind him, peering through the darkness toward the huge
dark shadow that loomed ahead of them.
"It was built in the twentyfirst century,"
breathed Cheb. "But it was modeled after castles in Ireland
and England over a hundred years before that."
Kathryn had seen pictures of such castles, but seeing one
in person was a different matter. It was set on a knoll,
and loomed above them, four stories towering into the night
sky. Crenellated gables, turrets, and pinnacles jutted from
different levels, gradually building up to a massive
central tower. She was awed by its power and majesty.
"Let's go." Cheb started toward the mansion.
"How do we get in?" asked Blake Thomas, a thin, serious
boy who was Captain of the Parrises Squares team, and one
of the academic standouts of the senior class. His
acceptance into Starfleet Academy was a foregone conclusion.
"Through the basement," said Cheb, leading the small band
of adventurers through drifts of crackling snow to the back
of the house, where he disabled motion sensors and opened a
ground-level window, then helped them climb down into the
basement.
Now, they could use their lights. Cheb and Blake turned on
palm beacons and played them around a cavernous room that
was elegantly appointed, with wood paneling and vaulted
ceilings. Running the length of the room were two wooden
alleys, separated by deep grooves.
"What are they?" she asked Cheb, and he smiled at her.
"Bowling alleys," he answered, but that told her nothing.
"It's a game that was. popular until about a hundred years
ago. You rolled a heavy ball down this wooden alley and
tried to knock over an arrangement of ten pins."
Kathryn shook her head. It sounded ludicrous.
But people had played some very strange games in the past.
"Whose mansion was this, Cheb? And why was it abandoned?
Does anyone own it now?"
"It was built early in the twentyfirst century by a
wealthy man who was an amateur historian.
He wanted an authentic Irish castle for the woman he loved,
who came from Ireland. So he spent a fortune having it
built here, in Ohio.
But she was never happy here-too isolated, too far from
home. She wanted to leave him, but he begged her, pleaded
with her, even threatened her. One day, she vanished,
leaving a note that she was going home.
He was so distraught he packed up, moved out, closed the
house, and never came back. The castle has been empty for
three hundred years. It's kept up through a provision in
his will, but it's never to be occupied again." They all
reflected silently on the strangeness of this tale. It was
grand and romantic, and perfectly suited the ambience of
the imposing structure. It seemed neither improbable nor
far-fetched. "Of course," continued Cheb, "there were
rumors that he killed her. Buried her somewhere here, in
the house. Maybe in this basement."
Kathryn shot him a glance. "Are you trying to scare us
with ghost stories, Cheb?"
He shrugged. "Just telling you what I know."
"Let's see the rest." Anna had found the stairway up and
was heading toward it; the others followed, climbing upward
in the darkness. Cheb and Kathryn were last, and she felt
him pull her back, holding her behind for a moment. Then he
moved close and kissed her.
Kathryn was amazed that her knees suddenly felt wobbly and
jelly-like. You really could get weak in the knees! That
was the effect Cheb Packer had on her, and she liked the
sensation, enjoyed the stirring of such powerful feelings.
Her fingertips were an explosion of sensation; tiny,
intense firecrackers danced within them.
They followed the others upstairs, and discovered them in
a huge, paneled dining room, whose table and chairs were
covered with sheets, lending a ghostly presence to the
room. It was a once-elegant room, boasting of a huge marble
fireplace at one end and a ceiling that was stenciled in a
faded design of shamrocks and thistle.
The young people removed the sheets from the furniture,
opened the duffels they'd been carrying, and began to set
up the picnic dinner they'd brought. That had been their
plan-to hold a feast in an Irish castle. They'd brought
soup and sandwiches and Kathryn's mother's caramel
brownies. Blake lit candles and they sat in the flickering
light around a carved wooden table with bear claw legs.
"You realize," said Cheb, "that probably every one of us
is going to end up at Starfleet Academy next fall. I
propose we repeat this dinner-next February in San
Francisco."
Cheb searched in his duffel and extracted a bottle of wine.
"A toast to the occasion."
"Is that real?" asked Anna. "It's synthehol, isn't it?"
"This is an authentic Pinot Noir from northern California,"
said Cheb, pouring some into a cup and sniffing it with the
elan of a wine steward. Kathryn wasn't sure how she felt
about real alcohol. She'd never actually tasted it; she had
experimented with synthehol because it was a substance over
which one had 114
control. Alcohol was not, and she'd always considered it
somewhat subversive because of that.
Cheb tasted it, pronounced it satisfactory, and then moved
around the room, pouring for each of them.
Kathryn watched to see if anyone else would refuse, but no
one did. When he reached her, she found that she couldn't
be the only one in the group to say she didn't want it. She
watched as Cheb poured her some of the dark red liquid.
Well, one cup couldn't hurt-and it did seem in keeping with
the romantic atmosphere they were creating. Cheb raised his
cup, held it high, said solemnly, "Next year in San
Francisco," and they all took a sip of the wine. It tasted
like liquid velvet to Kathryn, dark and pungent.
They munched sandwiches and sipped hot, fragrant soup,
talking softly as they gazed around the shadowy room.
Ancient damask wallpaper was threadbare, peeling in places,
lending to the air of faded grandeur. The house was like an
aging doyenne, trying to present the elegant faqade of
youth, but
showing instead its wrinkles and gray roots. One bottle of
wine split among four of them gave each a little less than
two cups apiece.
Kathryn found herself wishing there were more; a rosy
warmth had permeated her body, a pleasurable sensation that
enhanced the glow she always felt when she was with Cheb.
"All right," he announced, "time to explore the rest of
the house. Wait till you see the bed on the third floor.
It's a huge four-poster with this incredible brocade
canopy."
Cheb led them into a huge entrance hall, around which
wrapped an ornate carved staircase that climbed four
stories to a central skylight high above. It was
intimidating and foreboding, but utterly inviting at the
same time. The young people moved toward the stairs, ran
their hands over a burnished wood banister that, strangely,
was polished and dust-free.
Kathryn inspected her fingers.
"You'd think it would be covered with dust. It's almost as
if someone has polished it." She sniffed at her fingers and
caught a faint scent of pine oil. "And not long ago."
Cheb shrugged. "Magruder's will provided for the house to
be kept up. There may have been a cleaning crew in here
recently."
But now Kathryn detected another vague scent, a woody,
smoky trace that was there one moment, then gone. "Do you
smell that?" she asked.
"It's like . . . like a fireplace that's been left to
smolder."
The others stared at her. She realized that she was the
only one of the group who would have had any experience
with a fireplace. There was one in her house, and her
parents lit a fire frequently. But that was because they
were traditionalists; most families whose children attended
the Institute would not have such an archaic feature in
their homes. They had climbed to a landing which held a
huge, elaborately carved armoire. It, too, had been
recently polished, and gleamed in the reflected light of
their palm beacons. Again, Kathryn couldn't resist running
her fingers over the lustrous wood, as though by doing so
she could make a connection to the former inhabitants.
But Cheb pulled her on. As they climbed upward, their
lights created strange, ghostly shadows, elongated
patterns, distorted and eerie. Kathryn found herself
feeling apprehensive. She was not a fearful person, and
gave absolutely no credence to ghost stories-and yet she
found herself remembering what Cheb had said about the
former mistress of this castle. Had she met her death here,
at the hands of a willful, possessive husband? Did her
bones lie silently within the walls of this edifice? Had it
become not only her monument but her tomb?
She tried to shake off the feeling. She was now a little
light-headed, a sensation she owed to the wine, and it