I,Q

by John de Lancie

  “I simply act as I must,” said Locutus. “I understand my duty, Picard, with greater clarity than you possibly could.” He took another step closer. “You pathetic creature. You were part of the perfect Borg collective, the most elegant accumulation of minds in the entire galaxy. How sad you must feel to be separated from that now. How adrift you must be.”

  “You know nothing of how I feel,” Picard shot back. “Oh, but I . . . I know how you feel, Locutus. Because I was trapped within you, remember. To my mind, you are nothing but a bad dream, a faint whispering I’d rather forget. But within you there is me, crying to get out. Struggling against the oppression of the Borg collective, trying to obtain once more the freedom that is the god-given right of all creatures. I can hear myself within you, Locutus. That lone, human voice, crying out.”

  I couldn’t believe they were still talking at each other. I really wished I had brought a box lunch. You have to understand, in my world if you don’t get what you want in a few nanoseconds you blast the guy! “Get out of my way.” “No?” Bam!!! But who am I to interfere in how other people do things? It’s not in my nature. Live and let live, that’s my motto.

  Picard was still talking. I guess when you’re talking to yourself you have a lot to say, and he was leaning very heavy on the psychological stuff. “You’re trying to deny it, Locutus. I can tell. Trying to deny the voice in your head that demands either release . . . or an end to the living prison that’s been fashioned around it. I know that voice, Locutus. It’s mine. Crying out, hour after hour, day after day in soundless agony. Begging you to cease this obscenity, this travesty of an existence. You can fool others, Locutus. You can stalk around and talk about how one thing is irrelevant and another thing is futile. But you and I, we know the truth. We know that what you’d really rather do is put your own weapon to your own head and destroy yourself before allowing this monstrous nonlife of yours to continue one moment more. . . .”

  In a low voice, I muttered to Data, “What does Picard think is going to happen here?”

  “Perhaps he believes that Locutus will be so overcome by the captain’s impassioned eloquence that he will take his own life rather than serve as an impediment to our cause.”

  “Great plan. And if that doesn’t work, maybe the Easter Bunny will save the day.”

  Picard’s voice was rising. “For all our sakes . . . possibly for the sake of the entire universe . . . throw off your programming! Give in to the voice within you that is begging for—”

  Locutus lunged.

  Picard didn’t appear prepared for the charge, but he certainly adapted quickly. He deflected the Borg’s weapon. Unfortunately, it wound up pointing in our general direction, and a blast sizzled the air just over my head.

  The notions of psychological warfare had been shunted aside; now it was simply brute strength. The two of them went at each other “no holds barred.” Data and I watched, mindful that if Locutus looked as if he were getting the upper hand we would quickly jump in to save Picard.

  During this exchange the train was approaching a trestled bridge. Beyond the bridge, I saw something that made my heart stop: a tunnel. I also saw, just as quickly, that the clearance between the top of the tunnel and the top of the train wasn’t going to be sufficient. And that wasn’t the only problem. There was a light at the end of the tunnel . . . a flaming light! I could feel massive blasts of heat rolling from it. The tunnel was an entrance to an inferno that was going to incinerate the train and everyone aboard. The tunnel was clearly the end of the line!

  We had to get off the train, but how? I didn’t relish the idea of jumping, but there was little choice. It was either plunge into the river and hope the fall didn’t kill us, or stay aboard and get incinerated. While I was calculating what to do . . .

  Locutus delivered a tremendous blow to the side of Picard’s head. Picard went down, and Locutus aimed his weapon to finish him off. Suddenly Data, who decided it was time to intervene, stepped forward and slammed his fist into the Borg’s face. Locutus stumbled and fell off the roof onto the coupling below. Picard went after him.

  For a brief moment they fought on the coupling, until Locutus managed to get up into the coal tender. Picard followed him there, but it was a move born of pride, not wisdom. Locutus quickly got the upper hand and hurled Picard effortlessly onto the boiler. Picard skidded and almost tumbled off, clinging like a gargoyle to avoid falling off.

  We were running out of time, with the bridge and the tunnel coming up quickly. “We need to jump!” I shouted to Data. “Let’s go!”

  “We cannot leave the captain!” Data said with finality, and before I could answer, Data vaulted to the coal tender. He would have surprised Locutus had he not slipped on the treacherous coals. Locutus saw his advantage and gave Data a tremendous kick. Data stumbled and fell off the tender. The only thing that saved him from falling off the train altogether was that he managed to grab the injector pipes along the boiler. Picard, meantime, was trying to pull himself up to the steam whistle toward the front of the engine.

  Locutus now had the upper hand. He stood on the coal tender, trying to decide which target he should go after first. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to me at all.

  There wasn’t much time left; we would be crossing the bridge within seconds. And then into the tunnel, and the flames.

  Locutus made his decision; he went after Picard. Picard, unable to see where Data was, may very well have assumed that the android had fallen off and was lost. Certainly the poisonous look he gave Locutus indicated just that. But Locutus could not have cared less. He simply stood there, atop the locomotive, savoring the moment.

  Picard turned, saw me on the roof of the freight car, and shouted, “Q! Help me!”

  “Perfect,” I muttered. “Now he wants help,” and taking my heart solidly in my hands, I backed up and took a running leap.

  I landed on top of the coal tender, and just as I did, we reached the bridge. I figured we had perhaps thirty seconds at most before the entrance of the tunnel. Locutus turned and fired his weapon at me. I ducked and couldn’t help but think—for just the briefest of moments—that I had brought this all to some degree upon myself. It was, after all, I who had “introduced” the Borg to the Federation in the first place. If it hadn’t been for me, Locutus of Borg might very well never have existed. In bringing the Enterprise into the sphere of the Borg, I had been trying to teach Picard a lesson. Now I was paying for that lesson. There was a disgusting amount of irony in that—and possibly another book: Lessons Learned on the Way to Omnipotence.

  Apparently, deciding that I needed to be disposed of first, Locutus left the steam dome and Picard and went straight for me. I grabbed up several fistfuls of coal, and just as he got to me, I threw them in his face. Momentarily blinded, he missed his footing and started firing his weapon. He fired twice. One shot went harmlessly into the air; the other hit the coupling that attached the boxcars to the locomotive, severing the connection. Imagine our surprise, especially Locutus’s, as we watched the boxcars slowly fall behind.

  I would love to tell you that it was part of my master plan: that I had the welfare of all those people in the boxcars in mind all along; that I didn’t want them sent hurtling into a fiery, flaming death; and that I had the entire strategy worked out and that Locutus had played into it perfectly. The simple truth of the matter was . . . I . . . I . . . I did! Yes, I knew it all along! If Locutus thought he could dillydally with me, he was sorely mistaken. And if you, the reader, are wondering why I chose to intercede at this particular time, it’s because . . . I . . . I . . . felt like it. Superbeings have moods, you know, and I like to pick my time. I could have interceded at any time, mind you, but this particular time seemed the most dramatic. So . . .

  I took advantage of the Borg’s momentary distraction to shove him to one side (with one hand, I might add), and I jumped off the coal tender, over the cab, and toward the main boiler where Picard was clutching onto the smoke stack.

&nb
sp; Suddenly, Locutus was on top of me again—if I didn’t know better, I would have thought he liked me. How he’d moved that quickly from the coal tender to boiler, I have no idea, but he was right there, and he hit me from behind. The impact knocked the wind out of me. He could have shot me, killed me right then and there, but instead, he aimed his weapon at Picard, his main “squeeze.” Over the thundering of the wheels, the crackling of the flames ahead, and the howling of the whistle, he shouted, “Resistance . . . is futile.” What a rube!

  Just then Data vaulted over the top of the locomotive. Like the commando I was, I grabbed Locutus’s weapon arm, and shoved it into the space between the handrail and the boiler, wedging it in good and tight. Now this is the best part: the tunnel . . . remember the tunnel? . . . was less than fifty yards away!

  Picard shouted, “Jump!” Data and I both leaped clear of the locomotive, and as I tumbled end over end, I managed to catch a glimpse of Locutus of Borg, atop the engine. He was struggling to disengage his weapon arm from the railing, but it was jammed in too tight—! Given a few more moments, he might well have been able to pull it clear, but they were moments he didn’t have.

  Because I was falling, I didn’t actually see Locutus smash into the top of the tunnel. What I did see was a very large smear of red, black, and white over the upper section of the tunnel entrance, and Locutus’s still-wedged arm . . . but no Locutus.

  A moment later, there was an explosion so deafening that I thought I would never recover my hearing. I heard a very loud scream, and then realized with a sort of distant amusement that the sound was coming from my own throat.

  Then, I hit the water.

  It was not a good landing. The degree of difficulty was a 10 and I couldn’t have scored higher then 2.6! I’m not good at sixty-foot free falls into water. It was a belly flop, I’m sure, and most of the air got knocked out of my lungs. When I hit the water, I sank like a stone! For a moment thoughts of my wife and son filled my head, and I was convinced that they were somewhere I would never find them and perhaps my drowning in this river was the best thing.

  As I was having these dark thoughts, I watched a few precious air bubbles escape from my nose. I reasoned that they would be moving toward the surface and I decided, on the off chance that I could make it, to move in that direction as well. I scissored my arms and legs, pumping myself toward the top, and just when every muscle in my body was screaming for rest, my head broke the water’s surface. I felt the cool air upon my face, but naturally there was nothing to grab onto, and I started to sink again. You see, I never learned to swim in Q camp. I didn’t like the water. Of course, all the other Qs would blithely jump in and frolic about, squealing with excitement and uttering those imbecilities like, “You’ll love it once you get used to it.” But I didn’t get used to it! However, this time, since I was close to drowning, I decided to give it a try. (The above, it should be noted, was intended as irony rather than literal truth. I do that sometimes. I’m mentioning it in case you’re irony-impaired.)

  The current of the river was strong, and I managed to keep my head just barely above water. I heard Picard shout, “Q!” and I angled myself around and spotted him. The bridge was already far in the distance, the boxcars resting on the track far from the conflagration which was still roaring in the tunnel. I had no idea if anyone within the cars would make it, or whether they would just sit there forever, or what passed for forever given the circumstances. But at least they had a chance and for that I was grateful. Our presence here had accomplished something.

  Data was helping Picard. That did not surprise me. I was starting to believe that Data rivaled the Antarean slithering beetle and the earth cockroach in his ability to survive. He supported Picard with one arm around his chest. What with his flotation device abilities, I was half expecting Data to turn into a beach ball. While they swam toward me, I looked around. Our escape from the train, the fall from the bridge, and our subsequent survival was nothing short of miraculous.

  I wasn’t sure what Picard would say to me when he drew close. “Thanks for not abandoning us,” was a possibility. “Q, you’re more heroic than I would have thought possible,” was another. “You freed the freight cars and saved those people. Congratulations, Q,” was yet another option.

  What I was not expecting was: “Do you hear a sort of roaring sound?”

  Splashing about as I tried to keep my head above water, I didn’t understand what he was talking about. I felt like saying, “Of course I hear a roaring sound! It’s the sound of me trying to keep from drowning!” But I didn’t say it because I had a mouthful of water at the time. And then I did hear a roar. It was a steady and loud roar and getting nearer with every second.

  Of course I knew what it was. I had seen enough B-movies to know what it was.

  It was a waterfall. A big waterfall.

  We tried to swim against it, but it was useless. Even Data was helpless against it.

  I suddenly felt a deep fury building within me. The universe is dying . . . and I have managed to survive against impossible odds so far, and now I’m being dumped over a waterfall. It isn’t right! It isn’t fair! I hate this situation! I wish this weren’t happening! I wish I weren’t here! This is all unfair! I want to lash out to make someone pay for this ignominious situation.

  And then, we were swept over the edge.

  My next recollection . . .

  My next recollection was of sitting up and coughing quite strenuously. I looked about and found myself lying against the riverbank. Apparently I had survived the waterfall and had been swept downriver. I stood and looked around to get my bearings.

  Stretching out before me was a city, and the city was burning. Not all of it, just sections. The air was thick with smoke and sounds of misery. I took one deep breath and coughed violently.

  Above me there was a small footbridge. I splashed over to it, noting that the grass on the bank was already thick with ash from the burning city.

  I looked around and saw no one . . . at least, no one up close. In the distance, figures revealed themselves against the flickering of the flames for just a moment before disappearing down streets and alleyways. They moved with speed and stealth, and there was something about their posture that struck me as ominous. People moving in such a manner were doing so because they were concerned that someone else was going to spot them. I wasn’t eager to find out who that “someone else” might be.

  Nevertheless, they were far enough away to be of no immediate threat. My first concern was the whereabouts of Picard and Data.

  I still had no real grasp of where I was, or what was happening. I was operating entirely on instinct. However, it was an instinct that had been formed by eons of omniscience, and whether I had access to my powers or not, that intuition was not to be discounted.

  My instinct told me that from the moment we had entered the crevice we had been descending. I don’t mean this to be as obvious as it sounds. This crevice was not a mere pit: it seemed to be an entrance to different levels of experience. But what brought one from one level to the next . . . I hadn’t a clue.

  Picard was nowhere to be seen, nor Data. Truth to tell, I didn’t feel that I needed them. The business with the train had been a botched affair, and I felt that a continued association with them was going to divert me from my primary purpose—finding my family. Besides, Picard could truly be quite insufferable. He had this annoying habit of looking at me in judgment. Jean-Luc Picard, a paltry human, daring to judge me. Me! It was really rather intolerable. I had more knowledge than he could possibly accumulate in a hundred lifetimes, and he dared to sit in judgment upon me. Yes, quite insufferable indeed.

  And while I’m at it, let’s not forget Data. If nothing else he is a reminder of just how far short of its goal humanity will always fall. He is utterly efficient, totally unselfish, and willing to sacrifice himself on a moment’s notice if it means the saving of others. Yet he wasn’t human. He is an idealization of what a human could and should be. Humans fan
cy that their god made them in His own image, and a human in turn made Data in the image of man, yet Data exceeds the greatest capabilities that humans could possibly attain. If one were of a mind to speculate on theological notions—as time-wasting as that might be—one might wonder whether this were in fact part of a pattern. What if the hypothetical “god” had, in fact, fashioned a creation better than Himself. It would certainly explain His tendency to be vengeful, to find new and improved ways of wiping His creation off the face of the earth. He is resentful because they are greater than He would ever be, for all His power. Which means, if you follow my logic, that, sooner or later, humanity will turn upon Data and destroy him because he, the creation, had outstripped the creator. As annoying as I find Data to be, I do not envy him his eventual and inevitable fate at the hand of his masters—the humans.

  No . . . I needed neither Picard nor Data. Bringing them along in the first place had been a mistake. I could do just fine on my own. Except for the fact that I was hungry and wanted lunch and someone to talk to. Which is probably why I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, “Picard! Data!” I called it several more times, my voice echoing in the distance.

  My cries were met with phaser blasts. So I forgot about lunch and started running. There was a building nearby that was untouched by the fire. I made a beeline for it.

  It was a tall brick structure, but the bricks were a bright red rather than blackened. Indeed, the entire structure had a look about it that was reminiscent of an old castle. And it was as yet untouched by the fire.

  There was a brightly colored flag fluttering from a flagpole atop the building. For a simple piece of cloth, it seemed almost proudly defiant of the chaos that swirled around it. What was most curious was the emblem upon the flag. It was a striking, hissing serpent, its body coiled into the shape of the letter “M.” Upon seeing that symbol, I couldn’t help but feel a gnawing at the pit of my stomach. If it represented what I thought it did, then I might have even greater problems on hand than I previously thought. And considering the mess I was already in, that’s a fairly powerful statement.