The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [96]
I stumble. Any step now, I stumble.
He willed himself to wake up, to stop from reliving the humiliation of that one false step. The last few minutes of the race stretched out before him like a rack. How many times had he tortured himself with these memories?
All the false sympathy, all the pity.
But they were relieved to see me fail. I came too close to winning.
Now only Stemon remained. He had a Vulcan’s superior muscular strength and stamina, but the humidity of the Delula atmosphere clogged his lungs and reduced their efficiency. If his keen hearing picked up the sound of Picard’s approach, he was still unable to summon more speed. The gap between them narrowed.
Now? Two steps from now?
Picard tried to brace himself for the sharp jolt that would signal his loss of footing, but he could no longer control his body, could hardly even feel it, and thus he could not avert the disaster about to happen.
The scenario varied. Sometimes the jarring fall landed him at Chiang’s feet, at other times he actually took the lead before dropping to the ground, breath knocked out of his air-starved lungs, as the four upperclassmen thundered past him. The countless variations had plagued his sleep so many times and for so many years that he couldn’t remember when the real fall had actually taken place. Doubtless any number of his classmates at the Academy would remember the true accounting of events.
Even fifth place would have been a cause for celebration … if not for my boast.
That was the true misstep. Perhaps his subconscious had searched for a metaphor to frame his arrogance. Certainly this was no less plausible an explanation for tripping on a smooth path than the imaginary pebble he had conjured afterward to explain his sudden failure.
His body passed Stemon.
Now. It must come now. I’ve never gone beyond this point.
But he crested over the hill and began the descent at a breakneck speed that would have tangled his feet if this hadn’t been a dream.
Physical sensation returned, and the rush of air against his outstretched arms felt like the lift of wind on the wings of a hawk flying through the sky.
The cheering that had sent him up Mount Bonnell to overtake the other runners was nothing compared to what met him on this side. He was buffeted by the clamoring sound of massed voices.
The white ribbon over the finish line rippled and waved a greeting to him, waiting for his embrace.
He closed his eyes, too sick with dread to watch any longer.
No. This is more than I can bear. To lose when I’m this close …
Then the ribbon cut across his chest.
Picard woke screaming in the dark. He threw himself forward to a sitting position, his chest heaving.
His undershirt and pants were drenched with sweat, as were the sheets wrapped around him like the torn tails of the ribbon at the finish line.
I won.
He gulped for breath and mopped his face with the sleeve of his tunic. Sweat was still trickling down into his eyes; he rubbed his hand over the smooth scalp of his head.
Of course I won. I only lose the race in my dreams … or is it the other way around?
The two memories battled for predominance in his mind, shimmering back and forth from one reality to the other, each remembered with a clarity that was unsettling.
“Computer …”
His hoarse whisper was too garbled to activate the system. Picard cleared his throat and tried again. “Computer, who won the Starfleet Academy marathon at Delula II in the year 2324?”
The whir of access links was followed by the answer.
“The Academy Marathon of Delula II was won by Freshman Cadet Jean-Luc Picard.”
Yes. Of course. Had he actually doubted it?
Throwing back the damp covers, Picard scrambled out of bed to search for some clean, dry clothing. His walk through the cabin brought back another flood of memories. He had collapsed two steps beyond the finish line, only to be lifted high into the air by Jack Crusher and Walker Keel and seemingly every other cadet in the freshman class. Even Commander Hansen had