No Limits

by Peter David

  In a flash of white, Selar’s attempt worked.

  Another cry of pain from Q suggested that the impending mother was too busy to notice.

  “Your contractions are getting closer together,” Selar said as they reached the infirmary doors. “It’s almost time.”

  Q’s voice had a tone that suggested that she not only couldn’t tolerate the fact that giving birth was such a painful experience, but also hated that the pain was happening to her. “Time for what?”

  “This child to be born,” Monica said, attempting to soothe Q.

  “Yes,” Selar added, “no matter the species, childbirth is not without discomfort.” When Q was settled in on the jury-rigged table, Selar turned to Monica. “See if there is any anesthezine gas in the compound. If not, we’ll use the asinolyathin.”

  Monica immediately went to the medicine cabinets and began searching.

  Selar pulled out her medical tricorder and aimed the sensors at her patient. One eyebrow raised when all of the readings came back precisely where she would have expected them to be had Q been human.

  That made things much easier.

  “What is it?” Q asked between attempts to pace her breathing.

  Selar allowed herself to relax, but not too much. “My tricorder is registering a normal human delivery.”

  Q clenched her jaw and groaned.

  “Another contraction?”

  Q nodded.

  The infirmary doors swung open, allowing Amanda to come back with a bundle of linens, and a companion. “Did someone lose a Q?”

  “Q! My darling!” the male Q wailed melodramatically as he went to the female Q’s side.

  Flecks of gray in his black hair made him look older than the pictures in Starfleet’s files. Perhaps the war had done more damage to the Continuum than anyone had initially suspected.

  The note of mischief that had been in his eyes in every recorded image remained, however. Selar closed her eyes and took several calming breaths. The female Q had proven to be enough of a handful, but Q himself on top of the current situation might be catastrophic.

  He delicately wrapped a hand around the female Q’s. “Is it time? I can’t wait to show this little one his powers.”

  Selar caught the impishness in the male Q’s grin and made a mental note to warn Captain Picard of the impending chaos when she was sent back to her ship. “Yes, Q, it’s time,” she finally said. “Please allow us to deliver this child in peace.”

  The male Q gave her a look that questioned her sanity. “What do you think the shooting stopped for? This child will bring peace.”

  Selar wanted to say that she had a difficult time believing that, but managed to restrain herself. Instead, she loaded a hypospray with asinolyathin and handed it to Amanda. “If he gets out of hand, give him ten cc’s of this.”

  The male Q looked about to feign indignation when the female Q screamed in pain. A scream that was distinctly lower in resonance followed shortly after as the female Q squeezed the male Q’s hand. Judging by the level of the scream, Selar wondered if she should not have Amanda check the male Q’s hand for broken bones.

  Instead, Selar turned back to the medicine chest to load up another hypospray for the female Q. Before she could turn around, she heard a baby crying.

  Selar slowly followed the crying back to its mother. The female Q appeared exhausted, but was blearily smiling. Amanda was cleaning off the baby, and wrapped it up in clean linens before handing it to its mother. “Congratulations,” the young girl said, “it’s a q.”

  By human standards, the child was adorable. A shock of straw-blond hair stuck up in several directions atop his head, and his cherubic face looked out upon the world with large, dark eyes. Selar felt another smile begin to creep onto her features at the sight.

  Grabbing her tricorder, Selar tried to balance her emotional outburst with the mental exercise of examining the newborn. “All readings are normal,” she said after a few seconds. “You have a healthy son.”

  What felt to Selar like a few hours later, she was standing in the middle of the compound with Monica, Tenley, Amanda, and the new Q family. The male Q was beaming with pride over his offspring, and the female Q looked very maternal. The entire Q family had changed into the same Starfleet uniform that Q had worn when she first appeared in sickbay years before.

  Selar still thought they looked more comfortable.

  “He’s so adorable,” Amanda said, running a finger over the baby’s wisps of hair. “Look at those cheeks! If you ever need a babysitter, Q…”

  “Thank you,” the female Q said.

  “Darling,” the male Q began, “may I take him for a walk? A little father-son bonding?”

  The female Q gently handed q to his father. “Don’t be gone for too long. I need to send our dear Dr. Selar back where she belongs, but I want you two here when I get back.”

  The male Q’s expression turned a level of grave that Selar would not have thought him capable of. “Of course, my dear. We won’t be gone very long. Perhaps a visit to see Aunt Kathy.”

  With that, they were gone.

  The female Q perched her hands on her hips. “Well, are you ready to go home?”

  Selar looked around to the remains of the compound. The lines were a little fuzzy, and her three students had all long since taken on human form instead of Vulcan, but otherwise it looked like the same compound she had been living in all this time.

  She had learned so much in this place, more combat medicine than she had seen in six years on board the Enterprise. She looked forward to sharing her experiences with Dr. Crusher in Ten-Forward, seeing if there was any way to implement some of the techniques she picked up during her stay. Just the scans of q she obtained during his birth might get her a nomination for the Carrington Award.

  Still, as she looked into the faces of Amanda, Monica, and Tenley, a part of Selar did not want to leave.

  But she knew that she had to go back. Temporal mechanics had to be taken into consideration. There was no way of knowing what might happen if she tried to stay in the Continuum. “Yes, Q.”

  Amanda quickly hugged her and said, “Tell Captain Picard that things worked out after all. I’m going to miss you, Selar.”

  Monica and Tenley both said quick good-byes, then stepped back to allow the female Q room.

  Q raised her hand to snap her fingers, but paused. “There’s just one thing that needs to be done before you can go home. After all, we can’t have an inferior species running around with powers of omnipotence. Q tried that idiotic trick once already….”

  “Do not move, please,” Selar said, scanning the bruise on Worf’s cranial ridge. The results were precisely what she expected.

  She thought of a dermal regenerator set for a bone contusion, but nothing happened.

  She reinforced the thought, envisioning the device in the most minute detail her brain could manage.

  Still nothing.

  “Problem, Doctor?” Selar turned to find an inquisitive look on Alyssa Ogawa’s features.

  Puzzled, Selar looked around sickbay. Something was missing. Why was she unable to conjure a simple tool?

  Why did she think she should be able to?

  “Where is Q?” Selar asked.

  Ogawa shrugged. “Q?”

  “Yes. Q handed me the dermal regenerator.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  Selar reached for the dermal regenerator on a nearby supply tray, turning it to the proper setting for a bone contusion before using it on Worf.

  “It was not a male Q,” Selar said. “It was a female.”

  “Doctor,” Worf interjected, “no one was here beyond the three of us.”

  Perplexed, Selar stepped back from her patient, handing the regenerator to Ogawa. “Please attend to the lieutenant’s injury. I require meditation.”

  Ogawa nodded her understanding, allowing Selar to escape sickbay. As she walked back to her quarters, she fought with her mind to figure out why she had thoug
ht she could bring a piece of equipment into existence simply because she thought it.

  Q had been there. Selar was sure of it. Why had Nurse Ogawa and Worf not seen her?

  Why did she remember talking to a female Q, but not what was said? Why was she so sure that Q had taken something away from her?

  Selar quickly found her way to her quarters, ordering the computer to lock the door as soon as it had closed behind her. She found herself growing angrier by the second, and she did not care for the feeling. Further, she did not like the reasons for the anger. How could she trust her memory again? How could she trust anyone again?

  Calling upon all the Vulcan disciplines she’d learned in a lifetime, she tried to crush the anger, to cast it aside, to be rid of it.

  Grabbing a thick white candle from the shelf, she lit it and began a short meditation. The need for candles in Vulcan meditation rituals allowed Selar some leeway in what sensors were enabled in her quarters. Right now, the last thing she needed was the fire-suppression system engaging.

  She stared into the flickering flame, slowly beginning the chant that would assist her on the path to mental focus and a return to the Vulcan path of logic.

  Eventually, she was successful. Her mind cleared and focused.

  But the anger and the resentment over what was taken from her—whatever it was—never quite went away….

  BURGOYNE 172

  Oil and Water

  Robert T. Jeschonek

  Burgoyne 172 is a Hermat who is one of only two officers besides Elizabeth Shelby to serve on the U.S.S. Excalibur under both Captains Korsmo and Calhoun. Prior to that assignment, however, s/he served on the U.S.S. Livingston. “Oil and Water” takes place while s/he was at that posting.

  Robert T. Jeschonek

  Robert T. Jeschonek wrote “Our Million-Year Mission,” winner of the grand prize in Star Trek: Strange New Worlds VI. He also contributed the prize-winning “Whatever You Do, Don’t Read This Story” to Strange New Worlds III and “The Shoulders of Giants” to Strange New Worlds V. He is a graduate of the Oregon Professional Fiction Writers Workshop conducted by Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch. Robert studied journalism at the University of Pittsburgh and has worked in radio, television, and public relations. While pursuing a career as a fiction writer, he works as a technical writer in Johnstown, Pennsylvania. His wife, Wendy, makes his fiction writing possible by supplying encouragement, patience, understanding, and editing support. Robert has many projects in the pipeline, including stories and novels exploring the worlds of science fiction, fantasy, mystery, and paranormal romance.

  No sooner had Lieutenant Burgoyne 172 tossed aside the body of the Klingon targ than s/he heard a crackle of movement from the dense under-brush. Tensing, s/he spun in the direction of the sound…just in time to see the tiger leap toward hir in a blur of orange and white fur.

  In the split second before the tiger could slam into hir, s/he vaulted to one side, avoiding the creature’s flashing claws. As the tiger sailed past and landed in the piled corpses of Burgoyne’s previous opponents—the targ, a Vulcan le-matya, a Rigelian winged raptor-wolf—Burgoyne’s lithe body hit the ground in a roll and quickly sprang up onto all fours. It was a pose that s/he normally would never adopt on board ship, but in the privacy of the Livingston’s holodeck, in the heat of a down-and-dirty, no-holds-barred battle program, s/he was concerned only with survival, not appearances.

  Which was a good thing, because the program was running without safety protocols. It was Burgoyne’s treat to hirself after learning that hir nemesis, Chief Engineer Spode Castlebaum, was finally being transferred to another ship. Safety protocols were fine for a little no-risk romp, but there was nothing like genuine danger to make a Hermat feel alive.

  The tiger threw itself around and leaped again, striped body soaring over the jungle floor. This time, Burgoyne charged forward on all four limbs, darting under the airborne predator and lashing up a sharp-clawed hand to gash its belly on the way.

  The cuts went deep. Blood spattered the ground as the tiger’s forelegs touched down, and its hind legs skidded out from under it when they hit. The beast’s hindquarters swung down in the dirt, momentum flinging them forward and pitching the creature onto its side.

  For an instant, Burgoyne crouched, inhaling the rich scent of tiger’s blood on hir talons. S/he flicked hir tongue out for the quickest taste of it, then coiled back and sprang.

  The tiger was struggling to get to its feet when Burgoyne pounced, landing with enough force to slam it down again. As the creature roared, the Hermat dug the claws of hir feet into its flanks, then drove the talons of one hand into its throat.

  And ripped.

  Blood spurted everywhere. Driven wild by the smell of it, Burgoyne drew back hir hand and slashed again, gouging out more flesh. S/he was just about to make the killing strike—and was considering doing it with hir fangs—when three words brought the kill to a screeching halt.

  “Computer, freeze program.”

  Fangs bared, Burgoyne swung hir head around to gape in the direction of the voice. When s/he spotted its source, a familiar wave of irritation surged through hir.

  Though the transfer had been finalized, Castlebaum wasn’t off the ship yet. Unfortunately, knowing that the arrogant chief engineer would soon be gone did not make having to deal with him now any more pleasant.

  And he wasn’t alone. Not only had he entered Burgoyne’s in-progress holodeck program unannounced, but he had brought someone with him.

  Someone Burgoyne didn’t know.

  Heart still racing, Burgoyne leaned back from the holographic tiger carcass and grinned. “Commander Castlebaum,” s/he said, panting from exertion. “Here I thought my next opponent was a Taurian sky-shark!”

  “Next best thing,” Castlebaum said with a smirk. “But I’d rather not embarrass you in front of our guest, so let’s save the sparring for later.” Castlebaum was a tall, knobby stick-man in his fifties, all giant nose and giant elbows and giant Adam’s apple. Worst of all, in Burgoyne’s opinion, was his awful comb-over—gray hair grown long on one side of his head and pulled up and over to cover his bald spot. Many was the time when Burgoyne had wanted to grab that greasy shock of hair (wearing gloves, of course) and hack it off with cable cutters for the good of the entire crew of the Livingston.

  “I can wait,” said Burgoyne. “It will give me something to look forward to.” Smoothly, s/he got to hir feet, determined not to show a trace of the awkwardness s/he felt at being seen in full feral mode by a stranger. “So, are you going to introduce us, or shall I do the honors?”

  “This is Dr. Dovan,” said Castlebaum, looking especially pleased with himself as he nodded at the newcomer. “Dr. Dovan, meet Lieutenant Burgoyne 172.”

  Dr. Dovan looked human in appearance except for a set of forehead ridges with a rounded knob in the center. The dark-haired newcomer was slim and stood just a little over five feet in height, shorter than Burgoyne and positively dwarfed by the towering Castlebaum. “Burgoyne,” Dovan said simply, making a half-bow without smiling.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Burgoyne, striding forward with hand extended…then realizing the hand was covered in holographic blood and quickly drawing it back. “Computer, end program,” s/he said, and the blood vanished, along with the dead animals and jungle surroundings. “Now, let’s try that again.”

  Burgoyne reached out, but Dovan did not complete the handshake. After holding hir hand there for a moment, Burgoyne swung it up and back to smooth hir hair, running it over the blond buzz-cut on top and down the shoulder-length fall in the back.

  “The two of you will be working closely together,” said Castlebaum, looking and sounding unusually smug. “I’m sure you’ll make a great team.”

  “Teamwork’s my middle name,” Burgoyne said glibly, flashing hir sharp canine teeth in a friendly smile with just a trace of menace.

  “Dr. Dovan’s an expert in techno-organics,” said Castlebaum, flashing plenty of hi
s own teeth. His grin, in fact, was the biggest Burgoyne had ever seen on that skeletal sourpuss. “Oh,” he said. “And I almost forgot to mention one other detail.”

  As Castlebaum paused, training that cadaverous grin like a searchlight on Burgoyne, the Hermat knew that the other shoe was about to drop. The chief engineer’s whole performance since entering the holodeck had been leading up to what he was about to say.

  “Dr. Dovan’s a J’naii,” said Castlebaum. “And Burgoyne’s a Hermat,” he added for Dovan’s benefit.

  Burgoyne didn’t miss a beat. “And Chief Engineer Castlebaum’s a human,” s/he said with a wink to the J’naii, “but we don’t hold it against him.”

  Burgoyne laughed lightly and patted Castlebaum on the arm. Though the chief engineer’s eyes were still fixed expectantly upon hir, s/he was pleased not to give him the slightest hint that he had gotten a rise out of hir.

  Nevertheless, Burgoyne was surprised by the revelation of Dovan’s species. S/he had never met a J’naii before, but had certainly heard a lot about them…and what s/he had heard was enough to make hir a little uncomfortable.

  “This won’t be a problem, will it, Burgoyne?” cooed Castlebaum. “Working with someone with no gender?”

  “I’ve been working with you, haven’t I?” said Burgoyne. “And by that, I mean working with someone who only has one gender, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Castlebaum, smile still fixed firmly in place but eyes twinkling with obvious contempt.

  “One or none, it makes no difference to me,” said Burgoyne, but as s/he took a closer look at Dovan, s/he felt a mixture of distaste and fascination. As a Hermat, a being who encompassed both male and female characteristics in one body, s/he was disturbed by the notion of a complete absence of gender. The androgynous J’naii seemed unnatural to hir, even less complete than the single-gendered humans…and yet, the same differences that struck hir as unnatural also piqued hir curiosity. S/he found hirself more intrigued than repelled.