by Greg Cox
“Er, Data,” he said, carrying the ball ever more gingerly toward the woman and her child. “I’m not sure, but I think this is a planet.”
Even Data appeared a trifle nonplussed by Geordi’s announcement. He paused only a second before tapping his combadge. “Captain, I believe we need you in the officers’ lounge immediately.”
“I’m on my way,” Picard answered.
Interlude
Swift as it was, the turbolift ride to the guest quarters felt interminable to Lem Faal. His body was too anxious to rest in the privacy of his own suite, while his mind resented the loss of any of his precious time. He had too much to do, and too little time to do it, to waste precious seconds simply getting from one place to another. The restrictions of mere physicality chafed at him, filling him with bitter anger at the sheer injustice of the universe. By the Fourth House, he thought, I can’t even depend on my own pathetic body anymore.
In fact, his legs ached to shed the burden of supporting his weight. Every day he felt the effects of Iverson’s more and more. It wasn’t only in his lungs anymore; now the creeping weakness and shortness of his breath had undermined both his strength and his stamina, leaving him ever slower to recover after each new exertion. Working with Chief Engineer La Forge all day had left him exhausted and badly in need of rest. His breath wheezed in and out of his heaving chest, bringing him little in the way of sustaining oxygen. The experiment has to succeed, he mused as the turbolift came to a stop. I can’t endure this much longer.
He staggered out of the lift into the corridor, grateful that none of the Enterprise crew were present to witness his debilitated state. The entrance to his quarters was only a short walk away; Faal felt as though he’d trudged across the scorched plains of Vulcan’s Forge, through as thin an atmosphere, by the time he got to his door, which slid open at his approach, concealed sensors confirming his identity. Overhead lights came on automatically, illuminating the chambers beyond.
Captain Picard had generously provided Faal and his children with the best accommodations upon the Enterprise. The generously appointed suite was a contrast to the cramped Betazoid transports he had traveled on in his youth, in which open space had been at quite a premium. There were some advantages, he reflected, to living in the latter part of the twenty-fourth century. He could only hope that he would somehow live to see the dawn of the twenty-fifth, no matter how unlikely that seemed at this moment.
Despising his own mortal frailty, he sank onto the couch, a sigh of relief escaping his lips despite his determination to defy the ravages of his disease. His breathing remained labored, and his fingers toyed with the hypospray in his pocket. He considered giving himself another dose of medicine, but decided against it; the polyadrenaline helped his breathing, true, but it sometimes kept him awake as well. I might as well sleep, he thought. There’s nothing more I can do until the ship nears the barrier.
He had faith in his technology, but the unexpected arrival of this “Q” character troubled him. Although he had not actually witnessed the mysterious entity’s manifestation upon the bridge, La Forge had informed him of some of the ways Q had previously harassed the crew of the Enterprise. The engineering chief had taken care to emphasize that Q was more mischievous than dangerous, although Faal suspected La Forge of holding back many of the more alarming details, but his appearance now, on the very brink of the most important experiment of Faal’s lifetime, could not bode well. What if Q seriously tried to obstruct the experiment? How could anyone stop him? Faal had heard about creatures like Q before; such supremely powerful energy beings had been known to Federation science since at least the Organian Peace Treaty of 2267. And there were other strange forces at work in the universe, he knew, forces glimpsed only in prophecies and dreams….
Faal felt the hand of destiny upon him. In a way, Q’s intervention only confirmed the ailing scientist’s conviction that he was on the verge of a breakthrough of apocalyptic proportions. The inexorable tide of evolution carried him forward and he would let no one stop him, not even a godlike being like Q. He shook his fist at the unseen entity, his entire frame trembling with fervor. Do your worst, he defied Q. Greater powers than you propel me and they will not be denied.
Exhausted by this spontaneous outpouring of emotion, Faal sagged forward, his chin dipping against his chest. Milo and Kinya were away at the Enterprise’s child-care center, he recalled. He needed to collect them eventually, of course, but not right away; he didn’t have the strength to cope with two demanding youngsters, not the way he was currently feeling. The children were in capable hands. He’d try to sleep a few hours first.
It was a mistake bringing the children on this mission in the first place. He had neither the strength nor the time to look after youngsters and conduct his experiment at the same time. He would have left them behind on Betazed, but the counselors had been too insistent, in their relentlessly compassionate way, to resist. Perhaps I should have put up more of a fight, he thought. There was no room for the children in what remained of his life. They would have to learn to get by without him, one way or another. He had to keep his mind and priorities focused on the larger picture; ultimately, mere biological offspring were no substitute for the sort of immortality he sought. Anyone who thought otherwise had not stared into oblivion as hard as he had been forced to.
Shozana would not agree, he suspected, a pang of guilt going almost unnoticed amid his other constant aches and pains, but, in a very real sense, it was his late wife who had brought him to this critical juncture. Her death in that transporter mishap was the defining moment that taught him the true impermanence of physical existence….
There had been no warning at all. Shozana had stepped lightly onto the transporter pad, then turned to wave back at him, her russet hair gleaming in the warm afternoon sunlight that poured through the clear crystal skylights of the public transport station. See you soon, she thought to him as a young trans-operator, who looked like he ought to be in school, not behind a control panel, prepared to beam her to a xenobiology conference in the southern hemisphere.
Enjoy yourself, he thought back. We’ll be fine. There had really been no reason why he had accompanied her to the station that day—it wasn’t as if she were leaving on a starship or something—but he had done so anyway. It was a ritual of theirs, one that had always brought them luck before. Love you, they thought to each other simultaneously.
Her body evaporated in the golden shimmer of the transporter effect, and he started to leave—until he saw the ashen look on the face of the operator. “What is it? What’s happening?” he called out, knowing at once something was wrong, but the panicky youth ignored his cries. His face pale and bloodless, the operator frantically worked the controls while babbling urgently to his counterpart at the other end of the transmission about a “pulsar surge” and “losing the pattern.” Faal couldn’t follow what the young fool was saying, but the truth hit home with heartbreaking clarity. Shozana was gone….
In the end, there hadn’t even been a body to bury. Her signal lost, her flesh and spirit reduced to an entropic stream of disordered particles, Shozana Faal had ceased to exist in the space of a moment. Right then and there, Lem Faal saw the shape of the future. Physical existence was not enough; it was too brief and insubstantial. His own body was disintegrating much more slowly than Shozana’s had, but just as inevitably. Soon his pattern, too, would be lost.
An evolutionary breakthrough was required, a transcendent leap to a higher level of being. The old, onerous limitations of the past had to be overcome once and for all. Breaking the galactic barrier was only the first step….
Fatigue overwhelmed his fervent ambitions. Unable to traverse the terrible gulf between the couch and his bedroom, he closed his eyes and collapsed into sleep beneath the bright overhead lights. He twitched restlessly upon the couch, visions of apotheosis filling his dreams.
Six
Aside from the two command officers, La Forge and Data, and Lieutenant Leyoro’s
security team, the lounge had been largely evacuated by the time Picard arrived. A wise precaution, he decided. If this new Q chose to start turning people into frogs right and left, the fewer warm bodies around the better. He took comfort in knowing that, should anything happen to him, Will Riker was safely in charge of the bridge.
Data had brought him up to speed while he took the turbolift from his ready room to the lounge, so he was not surprised to see the woman and the child waiting for him. The woman had a distinctly imperious air about her that reminded Picard far too much of her infuriating male counterpart; he flattered himself that he could have identified her as a Q even if he hadn’t been warned in advance. He took note of her unusual costume as well. No doubt, he realized, she thinks she’s on an expedition among savages. The child, whose scream he had indeed heard nine decks away, he spotted sitting cross-legged on a tabletop nearby, playing with his…planet?
Picard repressed a shudder at the thought of what this small boy might be capable of. Dealing with children of any sort was never one of his favorite things to do, but an omnipotent child? Wesley was difficult enough on occasion, and he had merely been a prodigy.
Leyoro met him at the door and escorted him to the woman, who scanned him from head to toe with an appraising look. “You must be the one he talks about all the time,” she said, mostly to herself. “Luke John, isn’t it?”
“I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise,” he informed her. He had no doubt whom the “he” she had mentioned referred to, and couldn’t help wondering what Q might have told her about him. Nothing very complimentary, I’m sure. “May I ask what brings you here?”
She removed her pith helmet and laid it down on an empty chair. Auburn curls tumbled down to her shoulders, framing her face. If nothing else, she was a good deal more attractive than the usual Q. Her face looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place where he might have seen her before.
“I’m looking for my husband,” she declared. “Besides, I’ve always meant to find out why Q finds this primitive vessel so interesting.” She glanced around, then shrugged her shoulders. “I must admit, I don’t see it yet, but now that we have a family I intend to share more of his interests, however bizarre and unappealing.”
“Your husband,” Picard repeated, momentarily flummoxed. The only thing more disturbing than the idea of Q married was the realization that he had actually reproduced. Just what the universe needs, he thought, a chip off the old block. He looked over at the empty bar, wishing Guinan were there. She knew a lot more about the Q Continuum than she usually let on. He generally preferred to respect her privacy regarding her sometimes mysterious past, but he could certainly have used her advice now. I wonder if I should contact Earth and have her put on a shuttle right away?
Probably a bit drastic, he decided. God knows I’ve coped with the other Q on my own more times than I care to remember.
“You are correct,” he told the woman. “Q was here, a few hours ago, but he has departed.”
“Nonsense,” she said, looking past him. “He’s here, all right. Q,” she said firmly, placing her hands on her hips. “Show yourself.”
“You called, dearest?” an unmistakable voice rang out, accompanied by a flash of light. Picard spun around to see Q materialize atop the bar counter, stretched out on his side like a model posing for a portrait. He had traded in his anachronistic matador’s garb for an up-to-date Starfleet uniform. “Honey, I’m home!”
“This is not your home,” Picard barked automatically. Q disappeared in a flash, then reappeared next to his alleged spouse. It briefly registered on Picard that this was the first time he had seen Q in the new plum-colored uniforms instituted shortly before the Borg Queen’s assault on the Earth. As usual, the sight of Q in uniform seemed grossly inappropriate and offensive.
“Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss, Jean-Luc,” Q replied. “Allow me to introduce you to my better half, Q.” He teleported over to the adjacent table and patted the child on the head. “And this, of course, is little q.”
“Daddy!” the boy said gleefully. In his excitement, he forgot to hold on to his “ball,” which rolled inexorably toward the edge of the table. With a muted cry of alarm, Geordi La Forge ran over and caught the sphere right as it went over the brink. He let out a sigh of relief and turned toward Picard.
“It doesn’t look like an M-class planet,” the engineer informed his captain, “but who can be sure?”
“I can,” Q stated flatly, taking back the globe from Geordi, who hesitated for a heartbeat before surrendering it. Q grinned and gently shook his finger at the child. “How many times have I told you to be more careful with your toys? Let’s put this back into its solar system where it belongs.” The orange sphere vanished from sight. “That’s a good boy.”
This picture of Q as a doting and responsible parent was almost more than Picard could stomach. He didn’t know whether to laugh or grimace, so he spoke to the mother instead. “I am happy to meet you,” he said diplomatically. “I was unaware that Q had a family.”
“Oh, it’s a new development,” Q explained cheerfully. He snapped his fingers and a rain of white rice descended on the lounge. “We’re newlyweds. Isn’t it delightful?” The deluge of grain ceased and Q rejoined his bride at her side. “Sorry we couldn’t invite you to the ceremony, Jean-Luc, but it was something of a shotgun wedding.” He winked at the female Q, as if sharing a private joke with her. A generous assortment of fragrant red roses appeared in the woman’s arms. “I’d offer to rethrow the bouquet, but I see that neither the counselor nor Dr. Crusher is present.” He raised his hand in front of Picard’s face and rubbed his thumb and his index finger together. “Of course, I can always remedy that situation.”
“Leave Counselor Troi and the doctor where they are,” Picard said more quickly than his pride would have preferred. He didn’t know for sure that either Beverly or Deanna was sleeping, but he knew that neither woman would appreciate being yanked from whatever she was doing merely to serve as the butt of one of Q’s puerile jokes. He angrily brushed the fallen rice off his uniform while his fellow crew members did the same. Curiously, not a grain appeared to have stuck to either Q.
“Spoilsport,” Q said with a scowl. He exchanged a look with his wife. “See what I mean about him?”
The woman gave Picard another frank appraisal. “I still don’t understand,” she admitted. “He doesn’t seem very amusing.”
He gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek. “That’s because, darling, you’ve forgotten the ancient, primeval concept of the straight man.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, now I see it.” She blushed and peered at Q through her lashes as if mildly scandalized. “But, Q, that’s so…carbon-based of you!”
“Isn’t it just?” he said, preening. They both tittered slyly at his apparent outrageousness. The child, seeing his parents laughing, started giggling as well, although Picard rather suspected the boy didn’t get the joke. He wasn’t sure he wanted to either, although he derived a degree of satisfaction and relief from this confirmation that Q was considered something of a reprobate and rascal even among his own kind. The idea of an entire race of godlike beings just as mischievous and troublesome as Q was enough to fill him with utter dread. I suppose it’s too much to hope, he thought, that Q will settle down now that he’s a husband and a father.
As often happened with toddlers, the child’s attack of the giggles escalated to a full-scale bout of hysterical silliness. He began bouncing up and down on the tabletop, shrieking at the top of his lungs—which sounded like it was in the upper decibel range. Everyone except Data and the elder Q covered their ears to keep out the deafening peals of laughter. The android hurried toward the table, evidently concerned that the boy might fall and hurt himself, but the pint-sized entity Q had christened q slipped from between Data’s arms and hurled himself upward, ricocheting off the ceiling and bouncing around the lounge like a rubber ball flung with the force of a particle accelerator. Th
e child struck the floor only centimeters from Picard’s feet, then took off at an angle toward Leyoro and the security team. They yelped in unison and dropped to the floor only an instant before q zipped by overhead. Chairs and tables went flying in all directions as q collided with them, and Geordi and Data took cover behind the bar. A bottle shattered and the smell of Saurian brandy filled the lounge, soon joined by the clashing aromas of Gamzain wine and Trixian bubble juice. Q and Q beamed at each other as their hyperactive offspring wreaked havoc throughout the lounge. Picard saw their lips move and, even though he couldn’t hear a thing over the child’s wild laughter, felt sure they were saying something like, “Isn’t he adorable?”
Picard knew he had lost control of the situation, nothing new where any Q was concerned. “Q!” he shouted, not caring which one heard him. “Stop this at once!”
Q conferred with his spouse, who shrugged and nodded her head. He surveyed the chaos, smiled proudly, then clapped his hands. The silence was immediate. Picard noticed the absence of the din a second before he realized that he was no longer in the lounge.
None of them were. Picard looked around in amazement and discovered that he, Data and Geordi, the security team, and all three Qs had been instantaneously transported to the bridge of the Enterprise. It was a close call who was the most surprised, the bridge crew or the new arrivals. Riker leaped from the captain’s chair, his eyes wide and his mouth open. “Captain!” he exclaimed.
“At ease, Number One,” Picard assured him. He cocked his head toward the Q family, knowing that was all the explanation that was required. The baby q now rested securely within his father’s arms, while Picard found himself standing between the command area and Ops. Baeta Leyoro rushed over to the tactical console and stood guard over the weapons controls.