I,Q

by John de Lancie

  They were not interested in “ifs.” They were not interested in talking, or reason, or anything except the blind fury that had clearly seized them. Even Jadzia Dax, her face twisted in anger, would have no dealings with the Romulans. Despite some of her high-flown rhetoric to the contrary, when faced with the enemy she was just as eager to throw herself into the fray as the rest of the Klingons.

  The blasts of phasers scorched all around us, and the Romulans and Klingons attacked each other. Knives, short swords, daggers, everything was brought into play. There were the sounds of metal on metal, and grunts, and death rattles, and bodies falling to the ground.

  I stood in the center of it, like a disinterested observer in the midst of chaos unleashed. Blood spattered about while curses filled the air. “What a bunch of yo-yos,” I said, shaking my head.

  There’s a myth about where this behavior originated. Apparently in the distant past, sporting fans would get together in stadiums to cheer their respective teams. For some, the game was not exciting enough, and so the contest migrated into the stands. Hundreds of angry toughs would go about pummeling one another while the play continued on the field. Understandably, after the game was finished these toughs—high on adrenaline and whatever else—took their mayhem into the streets: breaking shop windows, overturning cars, lighting small fires to express their dissatisfaction that their team had lost the game. So far, so good. But what I found of peculiar interest is that these same toughs destroyed their city even when they won. It didn’t matter! Pillage and mayhem if you lose; pillage and mayhem if you win. These people were called “fans,” a derivation of the word “fanatics,” and so, ever since, I’ve been very careful how I address fans—lest I get my head knocked off.

  A Romulan spotted me and attacked. I was starting to develop a theory, and since I was too proud to run, this seemed as good a time as any to test it. So I didn’t move. I simply stood there, picking my nose, making no effort to defend myself, instead concentrating on doing a little excavating.

  The Romulan got within a few feet of me and leveled his phaser at me, and then an anvil fell on his head.

  It had dropped out of absolutely nowhere. As the battle raged on around me, Klingons and Romulans shouted curses and racial epithets that went back thousands of years, but I paid them no mind. I simply strolled over to the fallen Romulan as if I had all the time in the world. The anvil had completely crashed his head and most of his upper torso. He was utterly flattened. I looked him over, and then saw the snake “M” symbol on the anvil, which was what I had expected to find. “Damn you, Q,” I scolded myself, “can’t you ever be wrong?”

  I then turned and saw Dax with her hands at the throat of a blond female Romulan. The two of them were spitting and cursing, rolling about on the ground and doing everything they could to annihilate each other. It looked like mud wrestling with a vengeance. I gave them no more thought than Dax probably gave me, and I walked away without a backward glance.

  However, Karg staggered toward me to somehow block my way. He had a gaping wound in his stomach that would have mined most anyone’s day, but not his. Somewhere he still found enough resentment, real or imagined, to want to get even with me; though by this point I was not the least bit interested, nor did I have reason to be concerned, as a curved Klingon sword sliced through the air with a high-pitched whistling sound and sent Karg’s head tumbling from his shoulders. The Romulan who had thrown the sword took a step in my direction and was promptly consumed by a fireball that belched out of a nearby building. None of this concerned me as I walked with determination toward the one untouched building on the block. Things were beginning to come into focus.

  In the distance I heard continued shouting, screeching, and cursing. I also saw that there were battles going on between others than just Klingons and Romulans, and many of those fights were divided along racial lines. Rage permeated the air. It was as if retribution was being sought for every wrong that was ever done against anyone.

  What a bunch of fanatics! With the universe teetering on the brink, was this really the time for people to kill each other? It seemed everyone was seizing this final opportunity to obliterate anyone and everyone who really, truly annoyed them. Was that what the End of the universe was to be about in the final analysis? Last call for paybacks? It seemed uninspired and petty.

  As I continued my walk toward the building, I was reasonably sure I was finally going to get some answers. The fact that I was still alive seemed to be an indication of that. That was my theory, you see.

  By rights, I should have been dead. Several times they had me cold, and there was no way, simply no way, that I should still be alive. Someone was manipulating things. Someone, I thought, who had noticed my arrival and wanted to make sure I was still alive to face them. So they had taken it upon themselves to run interference. Someone who could do that had to be powerful. And if they were still powerful in this realm, they were also going to be very formidable indeed.

  But I had no choice. I knew that the goal was to get me to come to the building that bore the flag. I could have delayed it, could have headed in the opposite direction, could have run . . . but what would have been the point? Sooner or later I was going to end up in there, and “sooner” made more sense to me than “later.” My best gambit was to show them I was not the least bit intimidated. That should have been an easy enough task, because in the past, I hadn’t been. But times change. We were not meeting as equals: She had the upper hand and she knew it.

  But I was determined not to let her know that I knew it. Have I piqued your interest? Read on.

  True story: . . .

  True story:

  I once happened upon a man, a human, who was skydiving. His parachute failed to open. Once again, he was not aware of my presence.

  And he cried out, “Oh God . . . why me!!”

  And in as pontifical a voice as I could muster, I boomed, “Because there’s something about you that really pisses me off.”

  Then, just because I was in a good mood, I made sure a haystack was under him so that he survived the fall. Every third bone in his body was broken, but he survived. He told people of his experience, and they all laughed at him; and soon his story entered popular culture and became a reasonably amusing joke that summarized quite neatly the feeling that someone is out to get them. Or, as the saying goes, just because you are paranoid doesn’t mean that someone isn’t out to get you.

  What most people don’t realize is that there is something of a universal constant about this. There is a symbol on earth known as yin and yang, which shows two semicircular designs wrapped around one another, complementing each other. It is supposed to symbolize the male and female counterparts. But there is another even more telling symbol on the world of Rimbar, which features the same designs, except they are clearly trying to strangle each other. It’s all about point of view.

  So, as I said, there are universal constants. The best-known one is, no matter how powerful you are, there’s always someone who’s more powerful.

  Or no matter who you are, there are always people out there who simply aren’t going to like you. Doesn’t matter what you do, what you say, or for that matter, what you don’t do or don’t say. They’re going to take one look at you and there’s going to be something about you that just pisses them off.

  Depending upon who is involved and just how far the grudge is allowed to get, this attitude can result in anything from personal feuds to homicide to genocide. Now no one likes to go to war against another race, unless there are some good reasons for it; like, they eat too much garlic, or they eat with their feet, or better yet, their skin looks different. All these reasons are good enough to really get behind and do some serious killing. If you can come up with some specific grievances that happened in the past, like, “My grandfather, fourteen generations removed, was spit on by your grandfather,” it’s even better. There is no statute of limitations on hatred. The more obscure the insult the better. And so groups spend years,
even centuries, building up an abundance of grudges, like interest on a deposit. Sucking the marrow of the bone called hatred. Disputes over this person’s land, or that person’s third niece on her mother’s side, or someone who made an obscene gesture once, and someone else who wore pants and a shirt that didn’t match specifically because he knew it annoyed someone else, and so on and so forth. It’s all very predictable and very silly, and quadrillions of sentient beings have been dispatched for some of the most inconsequential reasons you could possibly conceive of. The most outlandish, of course, is when two groups try to kill each other because they don’t like each other’s god. And the fact that both gods preach peace on the planet doesn’t stand in their way for a moment. These groups are very clever in getting around such obstacles.

  By now you must certainly realize that the Q Continuum consists of infinitely superior beings. You would think, then, that we would be above such things. Would that it were so! But the unfortunate thing about universal constants is that no one is spared.

  And since we are infinitely superior beings, it should make a certain degree of sense that we would naturally have infinitely superior foes as well.

  Not that our foes were really superior to us; at least, we liked to think that was not the case. They understood their place in the universe, as did we, and were able to coexist fairly well.

  The enmity between us started this way:

  We of the Q Continuum were—for lack of a better term—sitting around one day and minding our own business. Suddenly there was a brilliant flash of light, and we suddenly found ourselves facing beings who were utterly new to us.

  These beings regarded us with the sort of distant and contemptuous attitude that we were quite accustomed to—in other words, they behaved like us. And they looked like us. That was really off-putting. Alien races slogging it out with each other, such as the Klingons and Romulans, are all well and good. But the true measure of a first-class enmity is when those who hate each other are indistinguishable from one another. That makes it all the more pointless, and the pointlessness is, in and of itself, the point. If you do not understand the foregoing, don’t be concerned. You are not a superior being and are not expected to comprehend.

  So . . . they sized us up, and we sized them up. “Hello,” they said. They started out rather politely, considering they were going to be our bitter enemies. “We are of the M Continuum.”

  “Indeed,” we replied. “And where, and what might the M Continuum be?”

  “The M Continuum is where we live,” came the reply. It was like talking to a Möbius strip. “And we, since you have asked, are your enemies.”

  “Enemies? Really? Why?”

  “Because,” they said, “there’s something about you that really pisses us off.”

  And there it was, boiled down to the essentials, with all the trimmings and trappings neatly shunted aside. When you get down to it, it’s hard to resent someone who puts forward such a bald-faced statement. Furthermore, it’s difficult to begrudge them that right. They apparently looked us over and decided that they were put off by the way we strutted our stuff. We understood completely. Given the same circumstances, we might have felt the same way.

  “You’re here because of the universal constant,” we said.

  They considered that a moment, and then said, “Why . . . yes. Yes, it would appear so.”

  Another pause, and then we said, “So we understand one another.”

  “Yes. It would appear so. But you still piss us off, and we want to kill you.”

  “Interesting,” we said. “But wouldn’t it be best to develop a more eloquent reason?”

  There was an awkward silence, and then one of them said, “That is always to be preferred.”

  They then went into a huddle. There was a lot of gesticulation and low mumbling that none of us Q could make out. Finally, one of the M was picked to deliver the “new, enhanced reason.” He said, “You are aware, no doubt, that we preexist you.”

  “No, we weren’t aware,” we said and all looked at each other somewhat bewildered.

  “You are merely a copy of us,” M continued.

  “Really?!”

  “And since we preexist you and since you are a mere copy of us, we’ve crossed dimensions of space and time to annihilate you.”

  “Well, grease my monkey!” said one of the Q, but no one on either side seemed really upset. It just wasn’t working! The reasons weren’t pointless enough. Then, very much as an afterthought, one of the M blurted out, “Your mother!”

  Well, that did it! That was all that was required. An insult like that was beyond the pale, and so we went to war!

  War is a reason unto itself. Everything else is excuses. The fact that after the war no one could remember whose mother M had insulted, only makes the experience more quintessential. Think about it. What are two superior races supposed to squabble over? Territory? There’s more than enough infinity for everyone. Property? Who needs it? No, we were simply enemies because . . . because . . . we were!

  Although, truly, we were around first. And if any of us had had a mother, we would have been torqued on her behalf.

  And so we went to war.

  The Continuum war shook the entire fabric of reality to its very foundations. Most of the interstellar curiosities or paradoxes that no one quite understands originated with our initial battles. Black holes? Wormholes? Those were us. We drained energies of whole suns to fuel our struggles against one another and wound up creating portals that shredded entire sections of space.

  And when the initial shock waves of the Continuum war ended, neither Continuum was able truly to claim victory, which meant naturally that both of us did. Every so often over the eons, skirmishes would break out. Curious as to what caused Earth’s Ice Age? Wondering what formed the asteroid belt? Want to know how certain quasars came about? It’s all in the QM chronicles. Read them and weep.

  But we had not heard from the M Continuum for some time. Perhaps that was part of what precipitated the boredom and ennui that recently settled upon the Q Continuum. We bait them every so often, and they us, but the major disputes were long in our past. We did have one battle around the time of Earth’s late twentieth century that caused a massive release of gamma energy that befuddled scientists on any number of worlds. Centuries before that, there was a skirmish which generated an explosion so massive that it was visible for light-years in all directions. Indeed, humans were so impressed by this shining star that they wound up celebrating its occurrence every year in midwinter from then on.

  But recently, as I said, we had hardly heard from the M Continuum. And to tell you the truth, I was disappointed.

  As I’m sure you’ve surmised by now, all of this is relevant because I had intuited—and indeed, had been correct in doing so—that a representative of the M Continuum was lurking around in one of the nearby buildings. I didn’t know which of the M was behind all this, but I was hoping that it wasn’t M. Anyone but M.

  The flag fluttered in the same breeze that fanned the flames. Of course I had seen it when I first arrived, but sometimes the Q are slow. I’m admitting that only for dramatic effect. We still rate as AAA+ Superbeings.

  I could sense a steady flow of power emanating from the building. I found it tremendously annoying that someone from the M Continuum was functioning at normal strength. Something was seriously out of joint, and it wasn’t just my nose.

  I heard voices from within, shouts of anger. Well, at least there was some degree of consistency in that. Then, abruptly the shouting ceased, and there was another voice, softer, reasoned, and firm. A female voice, and one that I knew all too well—it was M. I sighed softly. Just my luck. Of all the people, in all the crazy gin joints, in all the Multiverse, it had to be her.

  I continued toward the building. In the street, surrounding the entrance was a phalanx of guards. It was impossible for me to discern their character, or what race or species they were a part of. They were heavily armored, their featu
res obscured. I could sense, though, that they were powerful.

  Sense. Yes, sense.

  Slowly, as if waking from a heavy sleep, I became more and more “aware” of things around me. Some of the old “magic” was coming back. I could feel it in my fingertips. It was as if, in the great hurricane that engulfed this city, I was walking into the eye of the storm. The power of M radiated from every corner.

  I scanned for Lady Q or q, but I detected nothing. Could it be they no longer existed? Could two of the many burned and charred corpses I had seen littering the landscape have been my wife and son?

  I refused to accept that possibility. They were alive, I knew it! Or, at least, I believed it. And that was the one thing that kept me going.

  I squared my shoulders, ignored the guards, and walked into the lobby of the hotel. A line of beings, single file, snaked around the lobby. Everyone was arguing with everyone else. The only things that kept them in order were the anonymous guards who walked the line, shutting people up with a menacing stare or a slap to the face.

  I glanced at the end of the line and then proceeded to walk past.

  “Hey!” shouted one of the beings in line—a Stentorian, with a loud booming voice. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To the head of the line,” I replied.

  “No cutting in! Wait for the Adjudicator like everyone else!”

  I endeavored to move around him, but he stepped directly in my path, blocking my way. A guard stood watching but made no move, apparently interested in seeing how this was going to play out.

  I was not up to full power, but I decided to attempt a simple display just to see what would happen. The Stentorian put his big fat face right up to mine with the expectation of bellowing his disapproval, when suddenly he discovered he was three feet shorter than he’d been an instant before. The others in line gasped. The Stentorian let out a cry, only this time it sounded more like a mouse. The next thing he knew he was two inches tall. “Size does count,” I said and lifted my foot and allowed it to suspend over him. “Does anyone else have any problems with my cutting in line?”