Mosaic - Jeri Taylor [89]
He looked at her in abject puzzlement. "Kathryn, I am proud of you. There aren't words to tell you how much. Ask anyone I work with-I'm afraid I drive them crazy talking about my daughter."
"You do?"
"I've told my colleagues about every honor, every accolade, every commendation you ever received. And there were a potful of them. I'm a terrible braggart about my Kathryn."
"Admiral Paris talks about his son all the time. I wanted you to feel that proud of me."
Her father threw back his head in a snorting laugh. "Are you kidding? Owen talks about Tom from time to timebut he isn't in the same league of gloating fathers as I am."
Then he turned to her and rubbed her cheek softly. "How could you think I wasn't proud of you? How could you imagine it?"
"You never told me," she said simply, and saw his face crumple. He rose abruptly, moving away from her, fists clenching and unclenching in distress. He stood like that for a horrible moment, then turned back to her.
"War takes many tolls, Kathryn. I'm all too aware of the massive ones-slaughter, torture, misery, starvation..." He moved to sit next to her again. "Those things you can't ignore. I guess I didn't pay attention to some of the others. I was asked to help prevent war from befalling the entire Federation, and I never hesitated. I'm still trying." He looked solemnly at her, his gray eyes burrowing into her, those kind, loving eyes, urging her to listen, to believe him, to accept his absolute sincerity. "You and Phoebe, and your mother, paid the price. I simply wasn't there when you were growing up. I knew your mother had enough love to give you, and I thought-I hoped-that would be enough. But I swear to you, I thought of you every day, every hour, missing you so much it was like a physical pain.
"And it seemed as if you were flourishing. You excelled at everything. We were more worried about Phoebe-she lacked direction, she wasn't motivated. I was relieved when she found she loved painting, because it gave some focus to her life. But you-you were never a concern."
Kathryn couldn't ever remember her father talking to her like that, talking about personal things. She felt as though she had been unburdened of a huge tumor, one that had melted into the million tears that had flowed out of her body, leaving her weightless. She snuggled into her father's arms again, and they sat for another hour, talking about her childhood, about Phoebe, about Justin, and about whether she should take Admiral Paris' advice and switch her career track to command. Her father was strongly in favor of the idea because "the best of the best should be in command-and that's you, Goldenbird."
Kathryn made popcorn and hot chocolate, and they ate bowl after bowl, washing it down with the velvety sweet liquid. And later that night, after they'd gone to bed, she woke, and with the house dark and quiet, her mother and father sound asleep, she crept downstairs to the study and curled up in the kneehole of his desk, where she sat contentedly until the sun rose.
A month later, she, Justin, and her father were seated in the prototype ship Terra Nova as it entered the Tau Ceti system. It was an impressive vessel, small and lean, highly maneuverable-and heavily armed.
It was Starfleet's necessary response to the mounting threat of war with Cardassia.
Edward Janeway had been working on its design and construction at the Utopia Planitia shipyard for two and a half years, had test-flown it himself on numerous occasions, and was now overseeing its first long-range flight-a three-day journey to the Tau Ceti system, where it would undergo a series of experimental flights conducted in a variety of spatial environments. Lieutenant Justin Tighe was the pilot. They had spent the previous night at Mittern Station, enjoying a festive meal with Admiral Finnegan, whom Kathryn had first met years ago on Mars Colony. His red hair was now mostly gray, but his sense of humor was as keen as ever, and they had lingered over coffee,