He had begun to doubt the wisdom of their exploration after
a few minutes, but Kes led the way and seemed energized,
drawn downward as though summoned by an unheard voice.
"Kes, I think we're getting a little far from the others.
Maybe we should turn back." Harry's voice was hollow in the
stairwell, and the condensation from his breath billowed
into the darkness.
Kes turned to him and what he saw made him stop in his
tracks. She was transfixed. Her eyes shone with intensity
and her brow furrowed slightly, as though she were
concentrating on something with every ounce of her tiny
frame. It made Harry uneasy to see Kes like this, for he
realized she was in contact with something that was hidden
to him. "Don't you hear it?" she breathed, those frenzied
eyes holding him fast, as though with a physical grasp. He
couldn't look away. "Hear what?"
"Clicking. Chittering."
Harry felt a chill envelop him. He heard nothing, only his
own breath, which sounded ragged in the cold air.
"It's so odd. I've never heard anything like it.
It c't.be far from here."
And she started down the stairs again. Harry hesitated,
then hit his commbadge. "Kim to Tuvok."
"Tuvok here."
"Sir, Kes and I have found a stairwell; we're following it
to see where it leads. But maybe we're going too far
afield."
"Continue your exploration, Ensign. It would be prudent to
ascertain if there is another exit from this location."
"Aye, sir." Kim started down the stairs again.
He saw Kes far below him, hurrying downward, pulled by
whatever possessed her. Shivering, Harry stepped up his
pace to catch up with her.
"It's very near. I feel as though I can reach out and
touch it." "Touch what?"
"I don't know."
Harry didn't particularly like the thought of reaching out
and touching whatever it was Kes heard. This
whole adventure had taken on an entirely different aspect,
one that seemed even more immediately dire than the threat
of the Kazon. Those enemies seemed far away now, and
ineffectual; the clicking Kes heard had taken on a far more
portentous aspect. And then they were, at last, at the
bottom of this interminable staircase, in the midst of a
small chamber that had no apparent outlet. Harry started
instinctively searching for a symbol that might lead them
to a portal, but Kes had no need. Without hesitation, she
moved to their right and back under the stairs; against a
section of the stone wall she laid her hand.
And the wall disappeared.
The effect was not unlike that of a transporter, Harry
noted. Not magic, he reminded himself, nothing
supernatural-just technology. He understood technology, he
could cope with that. He moved after Kes into the space
that had opened before them, determined to counter Kes'
mesmerized state with the rational approach of a scientific
investigator. The chamber in which they now found
themselves had one unique factor: it was illuminated,
although Harry couldn't find just what that source was. But
the room glowed-there was really no other word for it-with
an incandescent glimmer that seemed to be green one moment,
blue the next.
He looked for a fixture, a sconce, anything that might
account for this ghostly luminescence. There was nothing,
and he decided there must be photogenic particles in the
air. A rational explanation. Kes was turning slowly in the
room, senses heightened, listening, reaching out with her
mind. After a moment, she turned to him, a puzzled
expression on her face.
"I can't explain this, Harry. But-something is coming to
life."
Uneasy, he turned back to the entrance through which they
had entered the room. There was no sign of it; only a blank
wall faced them now. And no matter where they placed their
hands, no matter how they pressed, the surface remained
solid and unyielding.
A GRACEFUL SUMMER NIGHT'S BREEZE
RUSTLED THE DROOPING branches of the weeping willow tree.
On its gentle billows was borne the fragrance of Indiana:
dusky herbs, heady floral scents, the fresh earthy smell of
loam.
As a little girl Kathryn had believed those aromas had
healing powers; they could banish headaches and heartaches
if you breathed them deeply enough.
And now, here she was, an adult of eighteen, still wanting
to believe in the curative powers of those comforting
scents, sprawling in her childhood hiding place and hoping
to recapture some of the solace of those long-ago moments.
She felt dead inside. She was to leave tomorrow morning to
report to Starfleet Academy, the first step in the
fulfillment of her youthful dreams, but anticipation of the
moment held no joy for her. She would go, because she was
dutiful, and she would apply herself, because she was
disciplined. But she couldn't imagine that there would be
any satisfaction in any of it.
The crack of a twig made her jerk upright and peer through
the darkness. Had she imagined it? Or was someone walking
toward the tree through the corn rows?
She squinted, trying to discern a human form among the tall
stalks, which rustled in the breeze and cast dancing
shadows on the moonlit ground.
She heard the sound again, and was sure of it; someone was
coming toward her. She froze, motionless, not fearful
because there was nothing to fear, but resentful of having
her interlude broken. There was no one she wanted to talk
with at this moment.
"Kath?" The voice emerged from the corn rows.
"Are you there? I don't want to frighten you."
Kathryn exhaled. Hobbes Johnson.
Maybe if she held very still, he wouldn't see her in the
tree.
His dark figure emerged from the corn and looked upward.
She couldn't tell whether he could see her or not.
"I don't want to intrude. I just thought I'd say goodbye,
since you're off to school tomorrow." She was silent,
hoping he'd leave. There was a moment's silence.
"Anyway," he continued, "I wish you the best.
I hope we can stay friends." There was a moment of silence,
then, "Well, so long. I know you'll do well."
And the figure turned and headed back toward the corn.
Kathryn sat upright. "Hobbes-?"
He turned. "So you are there. I thought you might be. But
if you'd rather be alone, I understand."
Suddenly she didn't want to be alone. She hopped off her
branch and jumped down to the ground.
"Please don't go," she said sincerely. "I'd love to talk."
She saw him smile in the moonlight and move back toward
her. Hobbes wasn't nearly as vulky as he had been as a
child, but he would never make anyone's heart beat 145
harder. He was still thin, though his teeth didn't
protrude any longer and his skin had cleared up.
His hair was still impossible, but then so was hers.
However, he still looked as though he simply didn't care
what people thought of him. His hair was long, and somewhat
unkempt; he kept running his fingers through it to keep it
out of his eyes. "I was thinking about you," he said, "and
I remembered how I was feeling two years ago when I left
for college.
It was kind of scary. And while you don't strike me as
someone who's easily frightened, I just thought I'd say
good luck."
She felt an unaccustomed rush of gratitude.
Hobbes wasn't handsome, and he wasn't exciting, but he was
a good and decent person. She plopped down on the ground
with her back against the tree and gestured for him to join
her. "That's really nice, Hobbes. I guess I am feeling a
little-was She hesitated. What was she feeling, exactly?
Heartsick? Lonely? Scared? Depressed? She laughed slightly
and shook her head.
"I'm feeling something, but darned if I can tell you what
it is." He smiled in return.
"You've been through a lot this summer." Her head jerked
around to him. What did he mean? Was he talking about Cheb?
About her father? About school? She didn't respond. "Let me
say this-the smartest move you ever made was to get rid of
Cheb Packer.
You deserve better than that, Kath."
She felt her cheeks burn. Was their breakup the stuff of
discussion? She supposed so; it was a tight-knit community,
and people genuinely cared about each other. The protracted
on-again off equals again romance had probably kindled all
kinds of discourse.
"1 could have handled it better." She tried to sound
neutral, unemotional. "I could have stuck to it the first
time I told him it wasn't working, instead of taking him
back again and again."
"I know Cheb. He has a silver tongue.
If he'd lived four hundred years ago he would've been a
salesman."
Kathryn smiled. They'd studied about salesmen in school,
about the time in Earth's history when people actually
tried to talk people into acquiring things they didn't
need, just to make money. It sounded so bizarre that she
wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't studied the era and
seen examples of the persuasive techniques such people
used. Hobbes was right-Cheb would have been perfect in a
calling like that.
"When do you go back to school?" Hobbes, she knew, was
returning to Indiana University, one of the most
prestigious non-Starfleet institutions in the country and
one of the hardest to get into.
"In about a week. I'm finishing up an honors thesis I've
been working on this summer."
"In what subject?" Kathryn realized that she'd known
Hobbes since they were children, but had almost no idea of
his interests, his studies, his hobbies.
Did he still play tennis?
"Philosophy. That's my major field."
He chuckled. "Probably not too thrilling to someone on the
science track at Starfleet Academy." "I've always enjoyed
philosophy.
It's just-not very active." "Ah. Then you might enjoy
reading Lat Nadeen, a twenty-second-century Bolian
philosopher.
Let's just say he's not one to sit in an ivory tower. I
think you might be surprised by some of the things he
advocates." "Maybe I'll give it a try." An easy silence
fell between them. Kathryn was surprised at how comfortable
she felt with Hobbes. There were some positive aspects in
being with a person in whom you had absolutely no romantic
interest. They sat for a few moments, enjoying the late
summer evening breeze.
"Did you know my dog died?" She hadn't intended even to
mention this, but found the words on her lips nonetheless.
"No, I didn't. You had him for a long time, didn't you?"
Kathryn felt her throat tighten.
It was still hard to talk about. "Eleven years. But I
thought he'd live a lot longer."
"I lost my first dog when I was six. I'm not sure I'm over
it yet." Kathryn found herself relieved to hear him say
this. She thought she should be able to handle Bramble's
death better than she had.
After all, he had died peacefully and in no pain, after a
long dog's life. But coming as it did in the middle of this
tumultuous summer it had been almost unbearable for her.
"He was my best friend for years.
He used to lick my tears when I cried." She stopped,
feeling tears well even then. "I guess I'll just have to
stop crying."
He reached out and gave her a little pat on the
backperfunctory, brotherly, an odd little gesture that made
her feel awkward rather than comforted, though she
appreciated his bumbling effort. Another silence ensued,
and then Hobbes decided to change the subject.
"What does your father have to say about the Cardassian
situation?" His question dissolved her sense of comfort
instantly. "He doesn't. He won't talk about it. I guess he
must be under orders or something." She wondered if the
bitterness in her voice came through. That question was
answered when Hobbes offered, "Sounds like it's a touchy
subject."
Kathryn took a breath. She didn't mean to leak her
feelings, and she certainly didn't want to talk about it.
But something about the August evening, the fragrant
breeze, and Hobbes Johnson's gentle presence overcame her
inhibitions, and she found herself opening up.
"Whatever's going on with Cardassia has taken a toll on my
family for years," she began.
"My father was one of the first people Starfleet brought-into x, and now it's taken over his life. He's never at
home anymore, it's like his family doesn't exist. And
they've got him in some topsecret classification so it can
take days just to communicate with him." She paused,
glancing over at Hobbes as though to gauge his reaction. He
was watching her, listening, impassive.
"He was supposed to go with me tomorrow, get me checked
into the dorm. We'd planned it all summer. Then I get a
message that he's had to go to Vulcan for some conference.
That's all--just a message. was "Is your mother going with