Mosaic - Jeri Taylor [27]
Kathryn won only one game in the entire match, which ended 6-1, 6-0. Her loss allowed the Institute team to win the match and the season. She had let everybody down.
Her teammates had tried to console her, but she was beyond solace. She refused to go to the transport sitewalk by that snotty cadet?-and instead struck out, walking, determined to hike the entire twenty miles back to school, punishing herself for this intolerable defeat. The storm burst only minutes after she started out. There had been a quickening of the breeze, a sudden drop in temperature, and then the first crack of thunder followed only seconds later by lightning. So close so quickly! The noise was unnerving, and she stepped up her pace. But only minutes later the clouds burst open and deposited their abundant load into the wind-whipped atmosphere, and almost immediately Kathryn was drenched and the ground beneath her had turned to soup.
She slogged on, legs covered in mud, mud sucking at her shoes and creeping in to coat her feet. The rain lashed at her even harder, and the wind almost hammered her off her feet. She had to lean into the wind, head down, driving forward with all her strength.
Tears began to sting her eyes, and then they poured freely, mixing with cold rain; great sobs began to rack her. Never in her life had she been more miserable. And yet the very misery was soothing; she deserved to be miserable after today.
Somewhere in the distance, she saw the faint lights of a hovercraft. It shouldn't be out in this storm, she knew; hovercraft were at risk in storms. Whoever it was was probably looking for cover. Then she realized how dark it had become. The wind had died down a little, and the thunder seemed to be moving on, but there was still a steady downpour. And it was night. Kathryn reached automatically for her bicorder, which would give her bearings, then remembered that she was in her tennis uniform. She stopped, turning around in the rainy darkness, and realized she had lost her sense of direction. No stars were visible, no distinctive landmarks stood out. She could make out fields, and rolling hills, and a wooded area, but which way was home?
Her tears dried up as her mind went into gear. What should she do? Stay put, that's what. She'd always been told that if she was lost she shouldn't wander. Sit down and stay there.
The rain was diminishing. She put her tennis bag on the mucky ground, sat down next to it, and then laid her head on the bag, an impromptu pillow. She could sleep right here, and tomorrow when the sun came up she would find her way home. She realized she was exhausted. She closed her eyes, and her mind drifted to analytic geometry and the distance formula. She felt drained of energy and emotion, and her mind became still and calm. And as soon as she stopped trying so hard to get it, the solution immediately became apparent to her.
It lay in antiquity. Nearly three thousand years ago, a visionary mathematician named Pythagoras had developed a theorem that related the sides of a right triangle to the length of the hypotenuse-the distance between two end points. With sudden, vivid insight, Kathryn realized that this was the solution to the derivation of the distance formula. And then her father lifted her up.
She felt his strong arms grip her, pulling her to him, his handsome, sturdy face etched with concern and relief. Kathryn smiled at him and relaxed into the journey, safe in his arms until he had put her into the hovercraft and wrapped her in a blanket.
"I saw lights," she murmured, still drowsy. "Was that you? You shouldn't be out in a storm."
"You were out here, Kathryn. I had to find you."
"I'm sorry, Daddy."
"What were you thinking?"
"I lost my match. I didn't deserve to come home with the others." She felt his eyes turn to her, and he was quiet for a moment. "But guess what?" she went on. "I figured out how to derive the distance formula. It's the Pythagorean theorem, isn't