First Dream

[proudambassador]

”What do you want?”

The question came out of nowhere, echoing as if in some vast hallway.
The speaker was standing behind him, a familiar and foreboding
presence. Mister… Mister. That’s all he could remember. His own name
was just as fleeting and unknown.

“You are a lunatic. Go away. Pester someone else,” he said to Mister,
and the scene changed to a dark room where a one-eyed person with a
head covered in spots strangled him even as he strangled the one-eyed
person back. Ambassador was all his mind supplied. Lunacy. But it was
how he would die. He knew it. Another scene, this time of him
reflected in a glass window, watching as… ships? Bombarded a planet
below with guns. Utter and complete lunacy. And somehow both of these
scenes were his fault, his doing. At the same time, they could have
been stopped by the Ambassador too. If not for anger and… A name
floated at the edge of his consciousness. His nephew. He had a nephew,
and it was Ambassador’s fault that he’d been… something. Ambassador
and all of Ambassador’s race was to be blamed. The ----. The hated
----.

”What do you want?” Mister again. They were back in the hallway.

“You are a very persistent young man.” Again not an answer. He didn’t
want to answer. Too many questions. But the hallway was gone. In its
place was an opulent room. The walls were covered with rich curtains
and lush couches were pushed against them. His own picture, framed in
gold, was on one of the walls. Bottles of different drinks filled the
grey counter and gold statues stood all over the place. A young man,
chubby, face the very picture of innocence, his aide, was pleading
with him about a couple being in love. Love. An outdated notion. But
the Aide was persistent anyway, and he felt his mind changing, finding
a way to help. He was not a romantic. Love had no place in the modern
world. But he could help these two, even if his shoes were too tight
and he had forgotten how to dance. And then, maybe the Aide would look
at him with eyes that were not always so disappointed. That would be a
pleasant change from being judged every day.

”What do you want?”

He was starting to get tired of Mister, of the hallway. The room had
been nice. His, perhaps. “This is a silly conversation.”

But silly had a time and a place. Especially if the tables in a
crowded room were filled with alcohol and statues of his people’s
gods. He was almost properly drunk for the celebration, he could feel
it. Grinning at everyone, the one-eyed Ambassador who had two eyes,
the Aide, others, he informed them all that they were, each and every
one, cute. And so was he. Then he passed out on the table, and all was
right with the world.

Until the question was asked again. ”What do you want?”

“To be left alone!”

The shout was hardly done echoing before he was back in his room. He
was holding a triptych of pictures: three women. Famine, Pestilence,
and Death he named them, his wives, and he wondered at the absence of
the fourth symbol. Then he moved to a large area. Grey, with seats in
one end. A waiting area. People milled around, but none of them
mattered. Ahead of him was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen,
bald except for a braid on her head, holding something in her hands he
couldn't quite see. She was leaving, but she would return. He knew
this; he trusted this. But what she held in her hands implied a
connection, said something was important. She was the fourth. Did this
mean she was War? No one that lovely could be war, surely not.

The hallway, again. ”What do you want, Ambassador?”

Hurting, struggling, he turned to face the blurred form of Mister. His
voice shook with emotion. “All right. Fine. You really want to know
what I want? You really want to know the truth? I want my people to
reclaim their rightful place in the galaxy. I want to see the -----
stretch forth their hand again, and command the stars. I want a
rebirth of glory, a renaissance of power. I want to stop running
through my life like a man late for an appointment, afraid to, to look
back, or to look forward. I want us to be what we used to be! I want…
I want it all back, the way that it was! Does that answer your
question?”

Furious, alone, confused, he stomped around the corner, tired of
questions, tired of wanting, tired of hope.