And then, like an insect wafted by a breeze, it would flitter away from him before he could quite wrap himself around it. He tried to chase it, as if he were capable of actually laying hands on a passing thought, and then he collapsed while at the top of a small hill. He tumbled forward, rolling down gravel which shredded his abused body even further. By the time he lay at the bottom of the hill, he was beyond caring.
He might have lain there for hours or days. He wasn't sure. He wasn't interested. All he wanted was for the pounding to go away, for the heat to leave him, for the pain to cease. How much was he supposed to endure, anyway? How much was he supposed to take?
He was tired. Tired of people depending upon him. Tired of people looking to him for decisions. All his life, as far back as he could remember, he had been fired with determination and singularity of vision. Obsession, some would likely have called it. Still others would have dubbed it insanity.
But behind the obsession or insanity or whatever label some would attach to it was his own, deeprooted fear that he would be "found out." That deep down he was nothing more than a frightened young man, rising to the demands or expectations held by himself and others. As he lay there, feverish and dying, all the midnight fears visited themselves upon him, boldly displaying themselves in the heat of the midday sun. Fears of inadequacy, fears of not measuring up to the task he had set himself and the standard others now held for him.
It had been so easy at first. There had been no expectations. He had fired up his followers based solely on conviction and charisma. He had predicted success in battle, and then provided it. He had told his people that the Danteri would soon find themselves on the defensive, and he'd met that promise as well.
But as he'd taken the Xenexians step by difficult step closer to their goal, paradoxically that goal became more and more frightening even as it drew constantly closer. For two fears continued to burn within him. One was that, after all the effort and striving, the goal would be snatched from them at the last moment. And the second was that, if the goal was achieved . . . if the Xenexians won their freedom from the Danteri. . .
. . . then what?
He'd never thought beyond it. Indeed, the fact that he never had thought beyond it was enough to make him wonder whether he himself, secretly, deep down, didn't consider it a true possibility.
Get up.
His eyes flickered open, wondering at the voice within his head. It was the first thing he'd detected inside his skull in ages aside from the pounding.
His father was standing nearby, standing in profile. His back was raw with whip marks. The sun shone through his head, and a small creature scuttled uncaring through his foot. He didn't seem to notice. Get up, damn you,he said, his mouth not moving.
"Go away," said M'k'n'zy. "Go away. Just want to sleep."
Get up. I order you to . . .
"Save your orders!" snapped M'k'n'zy. At least, that's what it sounded like to him. Truth to tell, he was so dehydrated, his lips so swollen and cracked, his tongue such a useless slab of overcooked meat, that anyone else listening would have been able to discern nothing much beyond inarticulate grunts. "I begged you to stay! Begged you! Where were your orders, your pride, when I needed you, huh? Where? Where?"
Get up.
"Go to hell," he said, and rolled over, turning his back to his father.
There was a woman next to him. A naked woman, with thick blond hair and a mischievous grin on her face. She was running intangible fingers across his chest.
Get up, sleepyhead,she said. There was a playfulness in her voice, and something told him that it wasn't her usual tone. That it was something she reserved for him, and only for him. That in real life, she was tough, unyielding, uncompromising. Only with him would she let down her guard.
He blinked in confusion. He had never seen her before, and yet it was as if he knew her intimately. It was as if she filled a void that he didn't even know he had. "Who—?"
Get up, Mac,she admonished him. We have things to do. . . .
He stared at her. She had a beautiful body. A flat stomach, firm breasts. M'k'n'zy had never, in point of fact, seen a naked woman before. Oh, there had been women, yes. But it had always been rushed, even secretive, under cover of darkness or with most clothes still in place. He had never simply relaxed with a woman, though. Never lain naked next to one, never idly run his fingers over her form, tracing her curves. Never been at ease . . . with anyone. . . .
What are you thinking, Mac?she asked him.
He reached a tentative hand over to cup her breast, and his hand passed through and came up with sand. There was no sign of her.
With a howl of frustration (or, more realistically, a strangled grunt) he lunged for the place where she'd been, as if he hoped to find that she had sunk straight into the sand and was hiding just below the surface. Some sand got in his eye, and it felt like someone had jabbed pieces of glass into his face. He blinked the eye furiously until the obstruction was gone, but now his vision was clouded.
The world was spinning around him and this time he did nothing to fight it off. All he had to do was get some rest and he'd be okay. That was the one thing of which he was absolutely positive.
Yes . . . yes, just a little rest. . .
The ground seemed softer than he'd thought it would. Everything was relaxing around him, beckoning to him to relax, just . . . relax. That was all he had to do.
That's not an option.
It was a different voice this time, and it certainly wasn't female. He looked up in confusion.
There was a man standing there, shimmering as if from a far-off time and place. He wore some sort of uniform, black and red, with a gleaming metal badge on his chest. He was more or less bald, and his face was sharp and severe. Yet there was compassion there as well.
"Go away," whispered M'k'n'zy.
You're a Starfleet officer. No matter what you are now. . . that is what you will always be. You cannot turn away from that.
M'k'n'zy had absolutely no idea what was happening, and he certainly was clueless as to what this . . . this transparent being was talking about. "What's . . . what's Starfleet? What . . . who are you? What . . ."
You have adestiny. Don't you dare let it slide away. Now get up. Get up, if you're a man.
There was a gurgle of anger deep within M'k'n'zy's throat. He didn't know who this shade was, didn't comprehend the things he said. But no one questioned M'k'n'zy's bravery. No one . . . not even hallucinations.
M'k'n'zy hauled himself to his feet, adrenaline firing him. He staggered forward, and the bald taunter didn't disappear as the woman had. Instead he seemed to float in front of M'k'n'zy, M'k'n'zy steadily pursuing him. He continued to speak to M'k'n'zy, but M'k'n'zy wasn't really paying attention to the details of his words. Indeed, they all seemed to blend together.
And he heard ghosts of other voices as well, although he didn't see the originators. Voices with odd accents, saying strange names . . .