Mosaic - Jeri Taylor [59]
Kathryn had, however, noted that no one who had ever undergone one of these atrocities had ever been heard from; the stories were all related as having happened to "a close friend," or "my friend's cousin." Secretly she won- dered if this formidable reputation wasn't something Admiral Paris created for himself, a looming, mythic presence in Starfleet annals. Even if that was true, she dreaded the interview. Admiral Paris was no longer on the active faculty of the Academy, having been transferred to Starfleet Command; it was bold of her even to approach him with her request. And if he did agree to be her advisor for her junior honors thesis, she would have to work twice as hard as anyone else, for Paris was that demanding. It was often considered unluckier to be one of his favorites than one of his discards; once the laser-flame of his attention fell on someone, that person's life was forever changed.
She looked up as a couple strolled by, laughing. The tall young cadet she knew from afar; his name was William Riker and she had spotted him during her first weeks at the Academy two years ago. He looked so much like Cheb Packer she had felt faint for a minute. The dark, tousled hair, the deep blue eyes-the resemblance was uncanny.
And so Kathryn vowed to keep her distance. She wanted that episode behind her, and didn't want even to be reminded of Cheb. Or risk getting emotionally involved with someone just because he looked like Cheb. So she'd managed to get through two years in school without having met William Riker or had a class with him. Not that he would necessarily have taken notice of herhe seemed always to be attracted to women who were galvanizingly beautiful and supremely confident of their attractiveness. That, she realized glumly, was hardly her. In fact, she'd turned into something of a monk since coming to the Academy. The things that interested her weren't the parties or the dating; she was excited by her studies, by the new disciplines she'd been exposed to. Not only did they challenge and electrify, they didn't break your heart.
William Riker walked on by, laughing with a beautiful cadet, and Kathryn's mind turned back to Admiral Paris. What was the proper attitude to take with him? Deferential and submissive'! Outgoing and assertive? Warm and likable?
She realized she couldn't begin to answer the question because she didn't know what she wanted: on the one hand, landing Admiral Paris for a junior honors thesis would be an incredible coup; on the other, it would provide an entire set of difficulties that would be obviated if she simply asked one of her major professors. The more she thought, the more she began to wonder why it had seemed like a good idea. Suddenly she felt faintly queasy.
Leaning over to get some blood to her head, she found herself looking into two dark eyes. A fat puppy had waddled over to her bench and was gazing at her expectantly, as though assuming she would provide for whatever needs it had. It was a golden retriever, still an off-white color that gave it the appearance of a round, fluffy snowball.
Kathryn looked around for its owner. No one was in sight except a couple of cadets walking in the opposite direction. She reached down and scratched the puppy's ears; he responded by rolling over on his back and extending all four pudgy paws into the air and wriggling in ecstasy. She stroked his silky stomach, which was almost distended with baby fat, and the pup wriggled even more.
Then he suddenly regained his footing and tried to put two paws on the bench, but he was still too short and he flopped on the ground. Eagerly he tried it again, seeming not to make any connection between his efforts and his failure.
Kathryn scooped him into her lap, stroking him and murmuring softly to him. "Where'd you come from, fella? Do you belong to anyone? What's your name?" The pup snuggled in her lap and plopped his head down on her leg. As she scratched and caressed him, his eyes began to close, and in seconds, he was asleep.