I,Q

by John de Lancie

  It was then I heard the first small buzz of alarm at the back of my neck, my first inkling that something was indeed wrong. I immediately tried to stop the movement of the water. This endeavor should have required no great effort. A simple willed command from me should have been enough to bring the water to a halt. I am Q, after all. If I couldn’t calm the waters, I wouldn’t have been worthy of the letter. I would have been a P or an R. But I was a Q, and how could the water simply ignore my desires?

  And yet that was exactly what it was doing! What began as a casual command developed into a contest of wills. I ordered the water to stop, and when that didn’t work, I alternately commanded, begged, sobbed, howled, and an assortment of other stratagems that I can’t now bring myself to admit. And all of this happened, you should understand, within the space of a few seconds.

  Nothing helped. Nothing slowed the water, or even came close to slowing it. The ocean around me had simply gone berserk, and nothing I could do seemed to persuade it to act in a manner that was remotely sensible.

  That was when I heard a scream.

  It was the Lady Q. My “antics” with the fish had dragged me out of their sight, but I heard the cry of alarm distinctly. There was an accompanying shout from my son as well, and in those two screams I heard something that was utterly unthinkable as far as the Q Continuum is concerned: fear. Pure, stomach-wrenching, gut-twisting fear.

  My immediate instinct was simply to rematerialize myself at their sides, but I resisted the impulse. Whatever they were facing, I didn’t want to appear right in the middle of it, thereby leaving myself open to ambush. Besides, I would get there fast enough by simply allowing nature to take its course. The current of the water was a fearful thing, and it sent me spiraling straight back toward where I had left my family. The fish I had been trying to haul in was long forgotten. Indeed, for a moment I thought I saw him some yards away being pulled along with me, but this was no time to dwell on the fate of sea creatures.

  The water was dark ahead of me, forming itself into a huge black funnel. Down, down, the water swirled . . . into an enormous crevice—and my family with it. Even though I no longer heard their screams and cries, even though I couldn’t see them, I knew that they had been swept into the void. My every instinct told me so, and my instincts were never wrong.

  They must have been standing near the fissure when it opened. Under ordinary circumstances, the Lady Q would have been able to propel both of them to safety, but this had all happened much too quickly, and the circumstances were far from ordinary.

  I reached out with my mind to communicate with my missing mate and son.

  Nothing. Nothing at all. They were gone, swallowed up.

  I was alone. The concept was even worse in the reality than it was in the abstract.

  I remember thinking, I need help, I need . . .

  That was when I started to hear other screams. For a moment, I imagined that the yawning pit below me was the gateway to an afterlife of eternal punishment which I had always believed did not exist.

  Upon closer examination I now saw creatures, thousands, perhaps millions, caught up in the whirlpool like ants circling a drain. I looked in vain for any trace of my family, but the Lady Q and q were not among them. They had already disappeared into the pit.

  I snagged an outcropping of rock and held on for all I was worth. I watched in horror the spectacle before me, watched as millions were swept down. I gave up any notion of trying to save these poor souls. Instead my full concern was focused on my missing family. I had to get them back, no matter what it took. I was frantic with worry, and that was peculiar, since worry was not usually a part of me.

  It was then, by the purest fluke, that I spotted . . . them.

  Perhaps what caught my eye was that they were still on a boat. Picard, in a dazzling display of single-mindedness, was desperately trying to steer his yacht out of the whirlpool even though it was already heading down into the abyss. Data was there as well, pitching in to the best of his flunky capacity.

  The first thought that occurred to me was that I was going to be rid of two irritants. It also happened to be the second thought, as well as the third.

  The fourth thought brought with it a tired and frustrated sigh, because I knew precisely what track this train of thought was roaring down.

  Perhaps I lacked the power to control or influence my immediate environment, but I was still Q. I shut from my mind the image of the Lady Q and q vanishing into the abyss, their cries for help that went unanswered, their outstretched arms . . . such images would only impede what I now had to accomplish. I reached out, just as Picard and Data’s vessel disappeared into the trench, and plucked them back to safety. I suppose the move served my ego as much as any interest in their well-being because at least I got to feel that I’d accomplished something. They now crouched next to me, balanced precariously on a cliff overlooking the maelstrom below.

  Picard immediately demonstrated his complete ignorance and ingratitude by glaring at me and saying, “Q! So this is your doing! I should have known!”

  Some humans are so naturally boorish, they don’t even have to work at it. I was in no mood. “Shut up, Picard!” I shot back at him. “My wife and son just disappeared into that thing, and if I hear one more word out of you, one more word, you’re going to be next! Do I make myself clear!”

  Picard had never seen me angry, not . . . really angry. Truth to tell, he didn’t see me really angry at that moment either. If he ever did witness such a spectacle, it would most likely sear his retinas. He was clearly taken aback, and I heard Data say to him in a low voice, “It would seem that Q is as powerless in this situation as we.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Data,” I retorted. “If I were as powerless as you, you would be down there!” And I pointed to the abyss.

  “What’s causing this, then?” Picard said, a touch less arrogant than before. “Someone, something, must be behind it. Is it a natural phenomenon? What is it? Do you have any idea, Q?”

  A half a dozen answers immediately came to mind. But I said “No,” which was extremely bothersome. The notion of being as much in the dark was odious to me. “No, I don’t know.” I waited while Picard coughed up water from his lungs. “It just started . . . happening . . . while I was fishing.”

  “But where are we?”

  “Well, I was on Dante IX. You were on the holodeck. . . .”

  Picard looked dumbfounded. “How did you know?”

  “Because I’m Q, that’s how. What part of ‘omniscient’ is unclear to you?”

  “Save the attitude, Q. Now is not the time.”

  That was true enough. I had slipped automatically into old habits. We stood there, the three of us, in silence, my power still maintaining our safety zone. I was becoming truly apprehensive. I didn’t know how long I would be able to sustain the protection, but I was already tired from doing so. I wracked my brain for alternatives, and that was the moment Picard decided to become compassionate. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  “Sorry? For what?”

  “I had no idea that you had either a wife or a son. This must be . . . very painful. . . .”

  “Picard, you’ve no idea what I’m experi . . .”

  It was Data who interrupted us. “Sir,” he said, pointing upward, “it appears the whirlpool is . . . draining the ocean dry.”

  “Impossible,” said Picard, but he didn’t sound completely certain.

  “Not only is it not impossible, sir, but it is occurring at an accelerated pace.”

  That last comment was obvious, as the water that threatened to suck us down like so much debris was now moving ever faster. I strained myself to the utmost, Picard and Data clutching the rocks just in case my “comfort zone” evaporated and we found ourselves exposed to the ravages of the sea. Water swirled around us, faster and faster . . .

  . . . and then it was gone.

  It vanished with a loud popping sound, as if someone had just released the cork from a bot
tle. A few stray puddles of water remained . . . but all around us was land—land that until a few moments ago had been covered by the ocean. Mountain ranges, and wide plains as far as the eye could see, thick with marine vegetation and very much exposed.

  The sky was dark, the sun just barely peeking through. Even so, it was certainly the first time the sun of Dante IX had ever shone upon that world’s seabed.

  The water was gone, and what lay beneath us, in full view, was a huge trench. It stretched as far as the eye could see, and its depth was unknowable. What I did know was that I had witnessed countless poor devils from a variety of dimensions being hauled into that abyss. Picard and Data had seen it too. They had been, after all, in the midst of it.

  And the victims were hardly local, or even limited to a couple of races. I’d seen humans, Andorians, Vulcans, Tellarites, Klingons, Cardassians, Borg, on and on, with the maelstrom giving no preference, making no distinction between peace-loving and warmongering. All were equal, all were helpless, and all were gone . . .

  . . . except us.

  What seemed an eternity passed before I rose unsteadily to my feet and said, “All right . . . now . . . I’m going in after them.”

  “What?” Picard said.

  “I’m going in. Understand me, Picard,” I said and turned to face him, “you and your entire species can go hang, along with the rest of the universe. But someone took my wife and my son, and I’m going in there to get them!”

  “It’s foolishness.”

  He said it with such deathly calm that I couldn’t quite believe it. “Did you hear what I said? My family”—I pointed at the abyss—“is down there!”

  “Look at your hand,” Picard said quietly. “The one you’re pointing with. Look at it.”

  Despite my better judgment, I did as he instructed. I noticed that it was trembling. I tried to steady it. I couldn’t. A hand that could collapse a planet with a gesture, and I was unable to keep it still.

  Picard, however, was the picture of cool.

  “Before you embark on any sort of rescue mission, you have to calm yourself. If you do not, you will rush headlong into a situation that could prove fatal to you, and then of what benefit will you be to your family?”

  “But . . . but . . .” The “but” came easily; everything after that simply hung there, unspoken.

  “I know you’re frustrated,” Picard continued. “I know that you want to charge to the rescue. But you’ll be serving yourself, your wife, and your son far better if you take some time to investigate the situation.”

  “I can conduct a full scientific analysis,” Data offered. “Certainly by computing the events and studying samples of the—”

  I gestured impatiently for him to be quiet. “That’s going to take too long!”

  As much as it galled me, however, Picard was right. I needed to find out what was going on before jumping to conclusions. I turned away from the abyss. “And what of you?” I asked after a moment. “Do you want to come along? Or shall I find a way to get you back to your starship?”

  Picard looked up at the sky, and then once more at the trench. “If something this widespread is happening, it’s only a matter of time before the Enterprise is affected . . . before everything in existence is affected. If it’s possible to head it off now, so much the better. Besides,” he said smugly, “I’m getting the impression that you need us.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, Picard.” I clapped my hands and rubbed them briskly. “So . . . the way I see it, there’s only one sensible place for us to go.”

  “Where would that be . . . ?” Data asked. He actually seemed interested. Perhaps androids are programmed to enjoy going to new places.

  “The Q Continuum,” I said. “They would know what’s going on.”

  “But . . . but how do we get to—?”

  “Leave it to me,” I said, snapping my fingers for dramatic effect. We vanished in a flash of light.

  I have an . . .

  I have an intense dislike of crowds. The reason is quite simple: one tends to get lost in crowds, and I find that notion deplorable. I don’t like blending in. I prefer to let the universe know that I’m “on deck” and “ready for action!”

  Occasionally, I find myself in crowds, nonetheless. So I turn it into an opportunity to study what happens when a large number of sentient beings gather and try to engage in some sort of celebration or ritual.

  I remember one occasion on a Rigel colony composed largely of humans. They were in the midst of celebrating a holiday, which had its origins on Earth, called “Fat Tuesday.” It seemed an odd choice of name. I’ve never thought of the days of the week as being either fat or thin, but I have long ago learned that trying to discern coherent or rational thinking in humans is an utter waste of time.

  By the way, this particular event took place right on the heels of my very first encounter with Picard at Farpoint. Between you (whoever that may be) and me, I found everyone on the Enterprise remarkably stuck-up and completely incapable of having anything approaching a good time . . . with the possible exception of the security chief, Tasha Yar, who I thought had real potential. Unfortunately that potential was never as fully developed as Yar herself. More’s the pity. Of course, I didn’t let on for a moment that I was in any way disapproving of Picard and his crew—quite the contrary. I worked “overtime” to elicit a smile, to infuse a sense of fun. But there’s just so much you can do before that kind of “poopiness” drags even the most devout partygoer into the toilet. After a valiant effort on my part to “put a good face” on the occasion, it became painfully evident to me that it was time to leave the good ship Enterprise and find another party if I had any hopes of retrieving the evening.

  In any event, that’s how I wound up on the Rigel colony on Fat Tuesday.

  I chose not to let the colonists know that a being of infinite power was walking in their midst. Why? Because the recent experience with Picard was fresh in my mind—two nanoseconds fresh, to be precise. How depressing the whole episode had been. One would have thought that Picard, when confronted by a superior creature such as myself, would have had the common decency to at least genuflect. But no. No laughs, no genuflections. Naturally, I was now leery of the entire human race. So, when I popped in on the Rigel colony to observe their Fat Tuesday revelries, I did so incognito.

  The colony was packed. There were people lining the streets, laughing, singing, drinking—it was so refreshing! Although, when two besotted humans had the temerity to elbow me in the ribs, I indulged in some harmless gene rearrangement. I assure you that a few hours spent as lice on a chimp’s back did them no end of good, doubtlessly improving their appreciation of lower species (presuming that there are species lower than humans) and encouraging them to watch where they were going in the future.

  As I made my way through the overcrowded avenues, I observed humans in their element. This holiday, apparently, gave them license to engage in activities that would have made a merchant mariner blush. There were times I actually averted my gaze lest my delicate nature be too offended. Of course, these humans showed no hint of shame. Quite the contrary, they looked upon the celebration as an opportunity to revert to their true natures, on the assumption that the holiday absolved them of the most lascivious indiscretions. Debauchery by an individual is deplorable. Debauchery en masse is a party.

  During the drunken revelries a crone of a woman approached me with what could only be considered, even by human standards, a rather demented gleam in her eye. “There’s a red dot patrol at the end of the street,” she said, her back a bit stooped and her face tilted to look up at mine.

  I cocked an eyebrow and decided, out of a sense of scientific curiosity, to engage the crone for a moment. “Indeed?”

  She had a sheet of round red stickers in her hand, and she bobbed her head as she said, “Oh yes, yes indeed. They’re checking to make sure that you’re wearing a red dot. But don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

  I began to ask jus
t how she intended to do that when, to my astonishment, she peeled one of the dots from the sheet of paper and slapped the absurd little thing on my groin. I stared at her. “Are you insane?”

  “Gives you protection. Here, let me make sure it’s on right.” Her companions, an array of elderly buffoons, were standing a few paces away, guffawing loudly. I, however, did not appreciate being the butt of their joke and decided to show these humans the secrets of the universe. Ironic, really. Some humans spend their entire lives searching for the smallest glimmer of those secrets. I, as punishment, showed them the whole ball of wax. They promptly melted, as I knew they would.

  After an instant of seeing “nirvana,” these idiots (and I now use the word advisedly) spent the rest of the evening on a street corner blabbering some nonsense that was interpreted by the passersby as “speaking in tongues.” Medics were summoned but were at a complete loss to explain why four previously healthy humans were suddenly reduced to singing over and over again:

  “I was sitting on the pot with my hands on my knees;

  When lo and behold I felt a cosmic breeze.”

  I won’t bore you with the rest of the lyrics; suffice it to say a record producer showed up on the scene and turned this drivel into a huge hit that played for the better part of a year.

  How dared these humans treat me in such a cavalier fashion? Red dot my omnipotent ass!

  Of course that was not the end of it. Doctors subjected these four humans (who had now gained great popularity as a singing group) to a battery of psychological and psychiatric tests. (The aforementioned record producer was delighted. The last time he had benefited from this level of notoriety was when he had released the “single” of a would-be troubadour on death row. The convict was executed, as he rightfully deserved, if for no other reason than to stop his detestable singing. However, the song was released immediately upon his death, accompanied by a press release claiming that the state had killed a budding “Pavarotti,” no less.) The simple truth, which eluded every doctor in the realm, was that I had forced those four ingrates to take a good look at the cosmic “hole in the donut,” which understandably had the effect of splattering their brains across the universe.