String Theory_ Fusion (Book 2) - Kirsten Beyer [90]
As Naomi fell into a restless slumber, Neelix reached beyond his doubts and silently asked the spirits of his mother, his father, and his beloved sister, Alixia, to watch over his goddaughter in the days to come. If they were truly as dark as Dagan had foretold, and if Voyager was now to play a part in those days, they would need all the help they could get. To know eternity might be a good thing, but for his sake, and the sake of the angelic little girl who now possessed the largest part of his heart, he hoped they would not have to face it for many, many years.
For the exhausted Talaxian, bathing in the warmth of Naomi’s soft, rhythmic breath, only this moment mattered.
Eternity could wait.
Kathryn stood on the porch of her mother’s house. A replica of an ancient architectural form called “craftsman,” the home was extravagantly large by the utilitarian standards of the Federation. But her mother had taken such pride in her meticulous maintenance of the house, and filled it with so many loving reminders of the people who inhabited it, that few who ever entered were cognizant of its size. What was overwhelming was the coziness of each room, the subtle patterns in the wallpaper bringing out the framed images of seascapes and snowcapped mountains that were her mother’s favorites. Most of the furnishings were also antiques. There was no sofa as comfortable in the quadrant as the one in her family living room, which Kathryn had fallen asleep on countless times as a young girl and teenager, usually with a book or padd lying across her chest.
But among the home’s most welcoming touches were the aromas that always lured one from the entry hall straight through the dining room to the large kitchen. It was filled with the best the past and present had to offer in terms of appliances.
As Kathryn threw open the front door, she hoped that the first smell that would meet her nose would be Gretchen Janeway’s famous caramel brownies. If the fates were really smiling on her, Phoebe would also be visiting, and waiting with a pot of coffee made from freshly ground beans.
The first thing she noticed, however, once she had closed the door behind her, was the absence of all sound.
“Mother?” she called curiously.
Only the stark incongruous silence answered her.
Stepping past the foyer into the living room, she saw that her mother, wherever she was, must have been doing her spring cleaning. Long-forgotten drawings, toys, and padds from Kathryn’s childhood were strewn about amid half-packed boxes and plastic storage bins.
As she moved toward a box that was overflowing with soft plush animals, her face broke into a wide grin of reminiscence. She pulled from the pile a small green and purple mouse she had once named Sneakers. A favorite toy, it had been a gift from her father when she was four… perhaps five years old. For many months, Sneakers had accompanied her everywhere, perching at her small desk while she played basic math games on her padd, sitting on her shoulder while she read her first stories, and nestled into the crook of her arm when she curled into a ball of sleep at night.
The flood of pleasant memories was overwhelming. Turning toward the bay windows that lined the back of the room, she called again, “Mother, where are you?”
But again, there was no answer.
Instead, the panes of the window began to shimmer. Indiana summers could be ruthlessly hot, and on many occasions, seated beneath one of the shade trees in the backyard, Kathryn had watched fascinated as the heat rising from the earth became visible in flowing waves.
But the windows weren’t the only things shimmering with heat. Turning to the closed doors that separated the living room from her father’s study, she saw a small figure emerge from the doors before her. Though at first glance it seemed that this delicate being had walked through the