“Perhaps,” said Q. “Or perhaps you’re giving us too much credit. Perhaps we’re really as much in the dark about this as you are. Perhaps in the final analysis . . . there are some things we’re simply not meant to understand. We learned long ago to accept that fact, Q. You never did. But perhaps now, finally . . . at the End . . . you have.” He shook his head, and there was a hint of sadness on his face. “Accept, Q . . . as we have. She would have wanted you to be an example to your son, to q. Show him. Show him that a truly omniscient being knows where he stands within the universe. It may be the single greatest gift you can give him. It will most certainly be the last.”
“Five . . . four . . . three . . .” The ball of a black hole was descending, steadily, unstoppable.
“Is it . . . time, Father?” asked q.
“I . . . I . . .”
I looked around at the joyous faces of the other Q, individuals had known for eternity. They were at peace and I envied them. I looked back at q. “I . . . think so, son. Yes.”
“Two . . . one . . . Happy Endings!” everyone screamed.
The black hole erupted. It expanded in a flash, and all of reality began to twist and distort. Through the explosion I could see something at the center of the hole. It was . . . it was . . . the crevice, the pit, the void . . . the drain! The giant “drain” that the universe was flushing down. Everything was turning, slowly at first and then faster and faster.
The Q Continuum began to split apart, and it wasn’t just us, it was everything, everywhere, in every corner of the universe. Those who understood what was happening and those who didn’t, those who were attuned to the cosmos and those who had been simply going about their business, were swept away. It was the End, no mistaking it this time. The End of Everything!
My son held on to me as the Q Continuum broke apart around us. We watched the buildings of Times Square dissolve and swirl away into the drain. I saw members of the Continuum happily hurtling themselves into oblivion. Everything around us was being tom asunder. But still we held our ground. It was as if it we were being saved for last.
My son looked up at me. “Father,” he said, and though he spoke softly, I could still hear him perfectly. “Father . . . I am very afraid. I . . . do not want to accept. But if you say I should . . . if you say it’s all right . . . then I will. Tell me what to do, Father. I need to know.”
I looked into his eyes and could see reflections of the Continuum spiraling away, as reality itself from every edge of the universe began to fold in upon itself.
I have no recollections of my own beginnings, not really. I feel as if I have always been. So, in a strange way my sense of self was not really personal. However, when I stared into the face of my son, I saw myself as if for the first time. I felt a beginning, a first, a personal me start to emerge. This was my universe too, I felt. I helped create it. And this is not the way I want it to End. Oh, I knew everyone else wanted me to lie down and give up . . . and I had tried to, but that’s not me! Whatever was doing this, for whatever reason it was happening, I wanted to make sure at least someone objected. Someone stood up proud and said . . .
“No!!!” “No!!!” “No!!!”
“No!” To the great swirling maelstrom above.
“No!” To the abyss.
“No!” To the capriciousness of it all.
“No!” To everything I had ever believed. For I had been certain that we of the Q were the ultimate power. That we were alone in the universe. But now, staring into the void, I found I could no longer subscribe to that belief. Because it just made no sense, no sense at all, to believe that this was completely, utterly random. It had to be the work of some great mad being. Mad with grief, just as I. Mad at the death of my wife. Mad at the death of Picard and Data. Mad that my son would never see another day. Mad at the hideous fate the held us in its grip.
“I will never accept!” I howled into the storm. “Denial, anger, bargaining, despair, all of these I’ve know and experienced, but acceptance? Never! I will never go quietly into that good night! I will rage, rage against the coming of the End, I will howl against oblivion, I will spit into the face of the void with the last bit of strength I have!” I held my son close to my chest. “You want me? Come and get me! Show me your face! Come and get me, and expect a fight in the bargain! Whoever and wherever and whatever you are, I will never give up! Never! From the pits of oblivion I will rise up and strike at you. I will never accept! I am Q, I am forever!”
I stretched out my hand and a bottle appeared . . . a bottle . . . with this manuscript tucked inside. A testimony to all I had been through, and what we have suffered.
“These! These are my terms! Read them and weep, and know you that I, Q, am the trickster. I, Q, am the lord of chaos. I, Q, defy you to the last, and if you think you can stop me just by ending the universe, then I’m here to tell you that you’re going to have to do better than that!”
And as the howling enveloped us from all sides, I drew my arm back and hurled the bottle with all my strength into the mouth of the abyss. At that second my son q was torn from my grasp, and the bottle tumbled, end over end and into the heart of maelst
Heh
Heh heh . . .
Heeee heh heh heh . . .
She Realized . . .
She realized it had been ages since she had laughed. It was good. It was good to laugh. It made her forget herself for a moment; it made her feel light and fun and . . . attractive.
“I should have known, though,” she said, beginning to enjoy the sound of her voice after all this time. “I should have known . . . if anyone could move me to laughter . . . it would be you, trickster.”
She rose from her place on the beach, where the waters lapped against her legs, and stretched. In one hand she held the bottle, and in the other the manuscript. She started to walk. Where? She knew where because, naturally . . . she knew everything. She knew what she would find. She knew who would be waiting. So she just walked, enjoying the feel of the water running between her toes.
And sure enough, after a time, she found him there. The boy lying on the beach, washed ashore like a piece of driftwood. He was unconscious, but breathing. She clothed herself in sea foam because it pleased her. She had been naked for so long, but she felt it somehow suited the moment. She knelt next to the boy and shook him.
He coughed several times, opened his eyes, and then looked up wearily. “You . . .” he managed to say.
“Give yourself time to gain your strength,” she said calmly.
He took her advice and slowly pulled himself into a sitting position at her feet. “I saw you . . . in that last place . . . outside the little house . . . you smiled at me. . . .”
“Yes,” she said.
“Why were you there?”
“It pleased me to be there.”
“You’re very pretty. You have very nice eyes. They’re very blue.”
“Thank you.” She tilted her head, regarded him thoughtfully. “You have much of your father about you. Some of your mother, too, but . . . mostly your father.”
“You know my parents? My father?”
“Oh yes. I’ve had my eye on your father for quite some time now. We met once, face to face, although he didn’t understand the significance of the meeting. He didn’t know who I was. He thinks he knows so much. He knows so little.”
“He knows everything,” the boy said, challenging her to refute him.
“I believe you.” She smiled.
They sat silently for a time. “Now what?” said the boy.
“Do you know,” she told him after giving the matter some thought, “that if only one decent man had been found, Sodom and Gomorrah would have been saved?”
“Who are they?”
“They were cities.”
“Oh.” He eyed her curiously. “Are you saying my father is a decent man?”
“My, my. You’re quick to grasp, aren’t you? Clever boy.” She ruffled his hair affectionately. Then she said, “It’s not q
uite that simple. Decent, perhaps . . . but also stubborn and irritating. What pride! Fighting to the last . . . and in the end . . . he acknowledged. He even . . . prayed, after a fashion. A rather belligerent prayer, I’ll grant you that, but a prayer nonetheless. That wasn’t easy for him. And . . . he made me laugh. I had forgotten what that felt like. I think I have forgotten . . . a great many things, more than I would have thought possible. I think I shall live for another day.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Good lad. Remarkable lad. That’s the eternal and internal conflict about omniscience, you see. Only those who know they don’t know can truly know.”
“I still don’t think I understand.”
“That’s all right. Neither do I. And I’ve been at it longer than you.”
She took the last page of the manuscript, produced a pen, and wrote four words on the back of the page. Then she rolled it up and put it back into the bottle, sealing it in with the cork.
“My father made that,” he said. “He threw it—”
“I know. And I’m throwing it back. And you too, I’m afraid. Selfishly, I wouldn’t mind keeping you with me. But I’ll have to settle for keeping you,” and she tapped her chest, “locked up in here . . . safe and sound.”
She then scooped up sand, hardened it, and fashioned a small boat the size of the boy. Remarkably, it floated. She then handed the bottle to the boy and said, “Here. Get in. Take this and be off with you.”
“But—”
“No buts.” And she kissed him lightly on the forehead and helped him onto the boat. “Tell your father . . .” She stopped to think.
The boat was already drifting out to sea.
“Tell him what?” called the boy. But he was beginning to feel sleepy, although he had no idea why. He had felt so awake just a moment ago. “What should I tell him?” he called languidly.
“Tell him . . . that Melony says hello.” And she blew him a kiss. He fell asleep immediately and she watched him until he was gone. Then she laughed once more and enjoyed the sound of herself laughing. Enjoyed . . . herself.
She thought it extremely ironic, and amusing, that her prayers had been answered. Especially when she didn’t even know that she’d been praying.
She laughed once more, allowed her dress to dissolve back into sea foam, and walked away . . .
. . . and vanished into the universe.
The deck of . . .
The deck of the Hornblower bobbed up and down slowly as Picard raised his head and looked around in confusion. The sea was as smooth and blue as it had been at the beginning of their fishing trip. The sky was cloudless. Nothing seemed amiss.
He looked down at himself. His skin was clean, with no cuts, bruises, or gashes. He was, as near as he could tell, perfectly fine.
“Data, Data . . . ?”
“I am down here, Captain.” Data’s voice came from belowdecks. “I think you should see this, sir.”
Picard rose on shaky legs and made his way below. Data was pointing toward the back of the cabin. There, on the floor, was me . . . and the Lady Q. Picard thought we were dead. Then again, until moments ago, he had thought himself dead as well. “Q,” he said.
I blinked and slowly sat up. I put a hand to my chest as if checking in disbelief that I was there. I propped myself up on one elbow and looked around the cabin. When I saw Lady Q lying beside him, I cried out.
She sat up, and we embraced with such ferocity that it moved Picard to tears. Finally he said in a very low voice, “Q . . .”
“Yes?” we said in unison.
“What happened? The last thing I remember . . .”
“We all have different last things that we remember,” I said. “Where are we?”
“On the holodeck of the Enterprise . . . at least I believe so,” Picard said.
“Where’s my son?”
“I have not seen him,” Data said. “But I have not searched the entirety of—”
“Then what are we waiting for?” said Lady Q. “Now! Right now!”
Under ordinary circumstances, Picard would have taken issue, but these were hardly ordinary circumstances. They searched the ship from stem to stern but found nothing.
Nothing.
The Lady Q collapsed on the railing; I stood behind her, holding her by the shoulders, comforting her . . . and then suddenly I spotted something. “There!” I cried out, pointing. “Out there!”
Everyone looked, and sure enough, floating on the water was a small boat, and on it was q. He was asleep on his back, and he was clutching something to his chest.
“Data! Hard to port! Bring us . . . Oh, to hell with it, end program!” This time the holodeck obediently disengaged. The water, the Hornblower, all of it vanished, leaving me, the Lady Q, Picard, and Data on the glowing holodeck floor.
And q was there as well. But incredibly, he was still in the little boat, and the bottle was still in his hand. Why they hadn’t vanished, Picard couldn’t even begin to guess. Then again, nothing had made any sense, so why should this be any different?
My wife and I ran to the boy, and Lady Q scooped him up into her arms. He opened his eyes wearily, not quite understanding who he was looking at, at first. When he did, he squeezed her tightly around the neck. The bottle fell to the floor with a thud but did not break.
“What happened, Father?” whispered q. “What did it all mean?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “And I don’t know if we ever will.” I picked up the bottle and stared at it. “There’s a piece of paper in this bottle.”
“It’s a note. The lady wrote a note.”
“Lady?” I said. “What lady . . . ?”
“She said . . . she knew you. That her name was Melony.” Picard had never seen me look as stunned as I did at that moment. “Is the name familiar to you, Q?”
“From centuries ago . . . Times Square . . . but she . . .”
I stared at the bottle once more . . . and then turned to Picard. “Here. You open it, Picard.”
“Why me?”
“Picard,” I said slowly, “I’ve spent my entire existence looking for answers. I think . . . there’s an answer in this bottle . . . and I’m not certain I’m quite ready to receive it.”
Picard didn’t pretend to understand. Instead he uncorked the bottle and pulled out the paper. He unrolled it and read what was written on it. Four words. Just four little words.
Picard smiled.
“Actually, Q . . .” he said gently, “I think you should read it. It may be the only answer you’ll ever get.” He handed the note to me. I took it and read the message.
“Let there be light.”
Look for STAR TREK fiction from Pocket Books
Star Trek®: The Original Series
Enterprise: The First Adventure · Vonda N. McIntyre
Final Frontier · Diane Carey
Strangers From the Sky · Margaret Wander Bonanno
Spock’s World · Diane Duane
The Lost Years · J.M. Dillard
Probe · Margaret Wander Bonanno
Prime Directive · Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens
Best Destiny · Diane Carey
Shadows on the Sun · Michael Jan Friedman
Sarek · A.C. Crispin
Federation · Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens
Vulcan’s Forge · Josepha Sherman & Susan Shwartz
Mission to Horatius · Mack Reynolds
Vulcan’s Heart · Josepha Sherman & Susan Shwartz
Novelizations
Star Trek: The Motion Picture · Gene Roddenberry
Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan · Vonda N. McIntyre
Star Trek III: The Search for Spock · Vonda N. McIntyre
Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home · Vonda N. McIntyre
Star Trek V: The Final Frontier · J.M. Dillard
Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country · J.M. Dillard
Star Trek Generations · J.M. Dillard
Starfleet Academy · Diane Carey
Star Trek books by William Shatner with Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens
The Ashes of Eden
The Return
Avenger
Star Trek: Odyssey (contains The Ashes of Eden, The Return, and Avenger)
Spectre
Dark Victory
Preserver
#1 · Star Trek: The Motion Picture · Gene Roddenberry
#2 · The Entropy Effect · Vonda N. McIntyre
#3 · The Klingon Gambit · Robert E. Vardeman
#4 · The Covenant of the Crown · Howard Weinstein
#5 · The Prometheus Design · Sondra Marshak & Myrna Culbreath
#6 · The Abode of Life · Lee Correy
#7 · Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan · Vonda N. McIntyre
#8 · Black Fire · Sonni Cooper
#9 · Triangle · Sondra Marshak & Myrna Culbreath
#10 · Web of the Romulans · M.S. Murdock
#11 · Yesterday’s Son · A.C. Crispin
#12 · Mutiny on the Enterprise · Robert E. Vardeman
#13 · The Wounded Sky · Diane Duane
#14 · The Trellisane Confrontation · David Dvorkin
#15 · Corona · Greg Bear
#16 · The Final Reflection · John M. Ford
#17 · Star Trek III: The Search For Spock · Vonda N. McIntyre
#18 · My Enemy, My Ally · Diane Duane
#19 · The Tears of the Singers · Melinda Snodgrass
#20 · The Vulcan Academy Murders · Jean Lorrah
#21 · Uhura’s Song · Janet Kagan
#22 · Shadow Lord · Laurence Yep
#23 · Ishmael · Barbara Hambly
#24 · Killing Time · Della Van Hise
#25 · Dwellers in the Crucible · Margaret Wander Bonanno
#26 · Pawns and Symbols · Majliss Larson
#27 · Mindshadow · J.M. Dillard
#28 · Crisis on Centaurus · Brad Ferguson
#29 · Dreadnought! · Diane Carey
#30 · Demons · J.M. Dillard
I,Q Page 22