by Greg Cox
Q was delighted by the results of his opening move. He laughed out loud as a ceremonial parade down the heart of the city was reduced to pandemonium by the unnatural downpour, sending both marchers and onlookers scrambling, already dripping with raw seed and juice, slipping and sliding in the gory remains of thousands of skydiving fruits. The high priestess of the Temple of Ozari, her immaculate white robes and headdress splattered with pulp, tried futilely to finish the Ritual of Ascension until an overripe vovelle cut her off in the midprayer. But not everyone found the bizarre fruitfall an ordeal or an offense; small children, exhilarated by the marvelously messy miracle, ran squealing through the streets, scooping up handfuls of pulverized fruit innards to hurl at each other, giggling deliriously as the gooey redness ran through their hair and down their faces.
Q was just as gratified and amused. All that tremendous chaos, and all because of him! Whyever had he waited so long to play this game? One whimsical notion, and he had affected the lives of millions, maybe even billions, of other beings. This was a day that neither he nor the Tkon Empire would ever forget, and he was just getting warmed up. Why, he could do anything now, anything at all. A million outrageous possibilities popped into his mind. He could bring the colorful gods and monsters of Tkon mythology to life, or make their entire history flow backward. He could imbue an ordinary Tkon with a fraction of Q-power and see what happened next, or turn himself into a Tkon for a time. He could make them speak exclusively in limericks or sign language or Ionian pentameter. He might even change the value of pi throughout the entire empire or lower the speed of light; just imagine the divine confusion and merriment that would ensue! The possibilities were as infinite as his imagination. He could hardly wait to get started.
But suppose he got carried away? The thought materialized within his mind as unexpectedly as the fruits bombarding Ozari-thul, surfacing from some surprising core of responsibility at the locus of his being. The possibilities at hand were almost too unlimited. For the first time, Q was frightened by his own omnipotence.
The rain of vovelles halted abruptly, leaving a puzzled population to gaze quizzically at the now-empty sky. They peeked out nervously from beneath arch-ways and covered pavilions, half-expecting the fruits to return in greater numbers, perhaps accompanied by icemelons and susu as well. Automated sanitation systems began clearing away the slippery debris. Awe and wonder gave way to feverish speculation and debate as news of the bizarre incident immediately spread to every corner of the empire. Despite a full imperial investigation, however, including the subatomic and electromagnetic scrutiny of over five thousand barrels of vovelle pulp, plus countless hours of careful analysis and ontological theorizing, no satisfactory explanation was ever provided, nor did the empress and her people come close to guessing the truth—until much later.
“What’s the matter, Q?” 0 asked. “Why have you stopped?” He must have known from the look on Q’s face that the young godling was not merely gearing up for some newer and greater escapade. “Is there a problem?”
“It’s nothing,” Q said, unable to meet the other’s eyes; he didn’t want to admit to any second thoughts. What kind of rebel was he if he got squeamish about a mere harmless jest? They’d think he was a coward, afraid of upsetting the Continuum. “I was simply concerned about the long-term ecological impact of all those plummeting succulents.” The excuse sounded feeble even to his own ears. “It’s just that I want to pace myself, not use up all my creativity on the first evolving life-form that catches my eye.”
“But you were only getting warmed up,” 0 told him. “That was nothing but a schoolboy prank. Not that I don’t like a good joke as much as the next all-powerful life-form, but don’t you want to try something, well, more serious?”
“Maybe later,” Q said. It was tempting to play with the Tkon again, try out some of his new ideas, but he didn’t want to be pushed into anything he was uncomfortable with by simple peer pressure alone. If I wanted to just go along with the crowd, I could have stuck with the Continuum. I’m only going to do what I want to do—just as soon as I figure out what that is.
“I see,” 0 answered. He looked disappointed in Q, but refrained from any further criticism. “Well, why don’t you sit this one out while Gorgan and the others show you how it’s done.” He nodded at his companions, who began to descend and disperse to the far-flung borders of the Tkon Empire, their very substance shrinking and growing more compact as they accommodated themselves to the mortal plane of their respective targets. Soon they appeared to be no larger than the individual denizens of the worlds they had each selected, but appearances, in this case, were extremely deceiving. “They’ll just soften them up for us,” 0 told Q. “You and I, maybe we can deliver the coup de grâce later on, after our friends have had their fun.” He strolled over to Q and rested his celestial frame upon an invisible chair. “You’ll like that, Q. The final test. The exam to end all exams. That’s what makes it all worthwhile, you’ll see.”
“Really?” Q asked, too keyed up to sit. He watched the receding forms of Gorgan, (*), and The One with mixed emotions. Part of him, the part that had thoroughly enjoyed raining overripe fruit upon the palaces of Ozari-thul, wished he was going with them. Another part, from which his trepidations had emerged, waited nervously to see what sort of stunts Q’s old acquaintances were intent on.
“What kind of final test?” he asked.
“Later,” 0 promised. “For now, just sit back and enjoy the show.”
I’ll try, Q thought, settling back into a comfortable curvature of space-time, adjusting the gravity until it fit just right and resting his head against a patch of condensed dark matter. He had to admit, in spite of his occasional reservations, there was something exceptionally stimulating about not knowing what was going to happen next.
Seven
Galactic barrier, here we come, Riker thought as the Enterprise came within sight of the perilous wall of energy. He wasn’t looking forward to justifying this decision to Captain Picard, in the unlikely event that they ever met again. Two empty chairs flanked the captain’s seat; with Picard away and Deanna off in sickbay, the command area felt even lonelier than usual.
“There it is,” Ensign Clarze called out unnecessarily. Even through the stormy chaos of the Calamarain, the luminous presence of the barrier could be perceived, shining through the temperamental clouds like a searchlight through the mist and throwing a reddish purple radiance over the scene upon the viewer. Let’s hope that it’s not luring us on to our destruction, Riker thought. At maximum impulse, they would be within the barrier in a matter of moments.
“Steady as she goes, Mr. Clarze,” he instructed. A loose isolinear chip, its casing charred by the explosion that had liberated it from a broken control panel, drifted between Riker and the viewscreen, pointedly reminding him that the gravity had gone the way of most of their shields. Thank heaven we still have life-support, he thought, after the beating we’ve taken. He suspected that the old Enterprise- D, as durable as she was, would have already succumbed to the Calamarain’s assault. We upgraded just in time.
“Shields at eight percent,” Leyoro reported. Small wonder that the ship felt like it was shaking itself apart. The Calamarain, perhaps becoming aware of Riker’s desperate strategy, threw themselves against the hull and what remained of the deflectors with the same relentless ferocity they had displayed for hours now. Don’t they ever get tired, he thought, or is that just something we solids have to put up with?
“Data. Barclay. Where’s that extra energy?” He smacked his fist against the arm of the chair. “We need those shields.”
“Scanning for it,” Barclay said from the aft engineering station. Now that the pressure was on, the nervous crewman seemed to find a hidden reserve of professionalism, or maybe he was just too busy to be frightened. This had better work, Riker thought, drawing comfort from the fact that Geordi had looked over Barclay’s findings and seconded Data’s technical evaluation of the plan. That’s as much a
s I can ask for, given our lousy situation. “Yes,” Barclay reported, “I think I’m reading something now. The bio-gel packs are being energized by the proximity of the barrier. I’m picking up definite traces of psionic particles.”
Lightning crashed across the prow of the saucer section, and sparks spewed from the engineering station, the electrical spray gushing toward the ceiling instead of raining upon the floor as they would have under ordinary gravitational conditions. It looked like a geyser of fire. Barclay had no choice but to step back from the sparking console while he waited for the emergency circuits to shut down the geyser. “Commander,” he said, chagrined, “I can’t monitor the bio-gel packs anymore.”
Terrific, Riker thought bitterly. “Data, take over from your station. Divert whatever energy we’ve absorbed to the shields immediately.” It will have to be enough.
“Yes, Commander,” Data acknowledged, his synthetic fingers flying over the control panel faster than any human eye could follow. “Initiating energy transfer now.”
Here goes nothing, Riker thought. Everything depended on Barclay’s wild scheme.
“Shields back up to seventy percent,” Leyoro reported in surprise; Riker didn’t think she was the sort to believe in miracles. “The readings are very peculiar. These aren’t like any deflectors I know, but they’re holding.”
And just in time, Riker thought as the ship plunged into the barrier. He braced for the impact, wondering briefly if it was even possible for the ship to be knocked about more than the Calamarain had done. The light radiating from the viewer grew brighter and for an instant he believed he saw the Calamarain flash strangely, their vibrant colors reversed like a photographic negative. Then the whole screen whited out, overloaded by the incredible luminosity of the barrier. The hum of the Calamarain, and the thunder of their aggression, vanished abruptly, replaced by a sudden silence that was almost as unnerving. It was like going from a battlefield to a morgue in a single breath, and creepy as could be.
“Commander,” Leyoro exulted, “the Calamarain have withdrawn. They can’t stand the barrier!” She let out a high-pitched whoop that Riker assumed was some sort of Angosian victory cry. A breach of bridge protocol, but forgivable under the circumstances. He felt like cheering himself, despite the eerie quiet.
But, having shed the Calamarain at last, could they survive the barrier? He hoped that their adversaries, in choosing the better part of valor, had not proven wiser than the Enterprise. “Mr. Clarze,” he commanded, “come to a full stop.” He didn’t want to go any deeper into the barrier than they had to, let alone face whatever dangers might be waiting on the other side, with the ship in the shape that it was. “Leyoro, how are our new and improved shields holding up?”
The deathly hush of the barrier had already spread to the ship; the lights of the bridge dimmed, then went out entirely, leaving only the red emergency lights and the glow from the surviving consoles to illuminate the stations around him. The familiar buzz of the bridge faded as lighted control panels flickered before falling dead. The forward viewer was useless, the screen blank. They were flying blind, more or less.
“Sufficiently, I think,” Leyoro allowed. “The readings are difficult to interpret; the psychic energy bombarding the ship is the same energy that is maintaining our shields, which makes them hard to distinguish from each other.”
“How much longer can we stay here?” he asked, cutting straight to the crux of the matter. He felt a dull ache beneath his forehead, and recalled that Kirk had lost close to a dozen crew members on his trip through the barrier, their brains burned out by some sort of telepathic shock. He suddenly wondered if his decade-long psychic bond with Deanna could have left him peculiarly vulnerable to the telepathic danger of the psychic energy now surrounding the ship. Lord only knows what it’s doing to my frontal lobes, he thought, even through our shields.
Leyoro shook her head, unable to answer his question. Her glee over eluding the Calamarain had given way to concern over their present status. He saw her grimace in pain, then massage her forehead with her fingers. Never mind my brain, he thought, what about Leyoro’s? It had not occurred to him before that her modified nervous system, permanently altered by the Angosians to increase her combat readiness, might put her at risk as well.
He looked to Barclay and Data instead. “How long?” he asked again, wondering if the real question wasn’t how long they could stay within the barrier, but how long they dared to.
“It is impossible to state with certainty,” the android informed him. “As long as the bio-gel packs continue to draw psychic power from the barrier, we should be safe, but we must allow for the possibility that these unusual energies, which the bio-gel packs were never designed to accommodate, may burn out the packs at any moment, in which case our situation would become significantly more hazardous.”
“Um, what he said,” Barclay confirmed, twitching nervously. Paradoxically, his self-conscious mannerisms had returned as soon as the immediate danger passed. He works best under pressure, Riker guessed. The less time he has to fret about things, the better he copes.
“Understood,” he said. “Good work, both of you. Contact Commander LaForge and tell him to start repairing the damage done by the Calamarain. Top priority on the shields; with any luck, we can get our conventional deflectors up and running before these new bio-gel packs burn themselves out.”
“What about the gravity, sir?” Barclay asked. Despite the anti-nausea treatment from Nurse Ogawa, he still looked a little green around the gills. Simple spacesickness, or was Barclay’s cerebrum also taking a beating from the barrier? Riker recalled that the engineer’s brain had been artificially enhanced once before, when the Cytherians temporarily increased his intelligence. Barclay’s IQ had returned to normal eventually, but it was conceivable that he could have picked up a little heightened telepathic sensitivity in the process. Data may be the only crew member aboard who is entirely immune to the effect of the barrier, Riker realized.
Riker shook his head in response to Barclay’s query. “Shields first, then the warp drive. We’ll just have to put up with weightlessness a little longer.” To keep up morale, he allowed himself an amused grin. “Think of it as a vacation from gravity.”
“Now that we’re free of the Calamarain’s damping influence,” Leyoro pointed out, “the warp engines may be operative again.”
That’s right, Riker thought, immediately tapping his combadge. “Geordi, we’re inside the outer fringes of the barrier, but the Calamarain have retreated. What’s the status of the warp engines?”
“Not good, Commander,” Geordi’s voice stated, exerting its own damping influence on Riker’s hopes. “I don’t know if it was the Calamarain or the barrier or both, but the warp nacelles have taken an awful lot of damage. It’s going to take several hours to fix them.”
Blast, Riker thought, not too surprised. As he recalled, the barrier had knocked out Kirk’s warp engines, too, the first time he dared the barrier. Plus, when you considered all the pounding they had received from the Calamarain’s thunderbolts, and with minimal shields there at the end, he figured he should be thankful that at least the com system was working. “Go to it, Mr. La Forge. Riker out.”
“It may be just as well, Commander,” Data commented. “It is impossible to predict the consequences of going to warp within the barrier itself. I would be highly reluctant to attempt such an experiment without further analysis of the unknown energies that comprise the barrier.”
Except that that may be a risk we have to take, Riker thought, especially if the Calamarain are waiting for us right outside the barrier. “What about those angry clouds we just got rid of?” he asked Leyoro. It was possible that the Calamarain, assuming the Enterprise destroyed by the barrier, may have left for greener pastures. “Any sign they’re still hanging around out there?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Leyoro said unhappily; it was obvious that the security chief did not like having to keep disappointing her commander. Just
as obviously, her head was still bothering her. She rubbed her right temple mechanically, while a muscle beside her left eye twitched every few seconds. “The barrier is so intense it’s overwhelming our sensors. They can’t detect anything past it.”
So we’re blind, deaf, and numb, Riker concluded. The big question then was what was more dangerous, staying inside the barrier or facing the Calamarain? We already know we can’t beat the Calamarain as is, he thought, so our best bet is to stay put until Geordi can get the warp drive working again, then try to make a quick escape. He surveyed the bridge, inspecting the faces of his crew, and was glad to see that all of them, including Barclay, seemed fit enough for action. He considered sending Leyoro to sickbay for a checkup, but there was a host of people aboard, all of them in danger; he couldn’t afford to start relieving officers just because they might have a suspicious headache. His own head was throbbing now, but none of his people looked like they were ready to keel over.
Yet.
Eight
During the fifth year of the reign of the empress, on an unusually chilly summer night in the largest city on Rzom, the eleventh planet in the primary solar system of the Tkon Empire, a young man stood on the wide crystal steps leading to the front entrance of the imperial governor’s mansion and exhorted the crowd that had gathered in the spacious and well-lit plaza to hear him speak. A life-sized statue of the empress, carved from the purest Rzom marble and posed heroically atop an elegant pedestal at the center of the plaza, looked on in silence.
“Why,” he asked the onlookers rhetorically, “should we pay exorbitant taxes, wasting the resources of a lifetime, just to preserve an overcrowded old world millions of miles from here, whose time has come?”
About a third of the crowd, most the same age as the speaker, cheered his words enthusiastically, while others muttered among themselves or cast angry yellow stares at the youth upon the steps. A contingent of five safeties, clad in matching turquoise uniforms, flanked the crowd, watching carefully for the early signifiers of a brewing disturbance. The faces of the safeties were fixed and expressionless, displaying no response to the young man’s fervent oratory. Pacification rings waited patiently on the fingers of each safety’s hand, linked to sophisticated neutralization equipment embedded in the very walls and pavement of the city. So far, there had been no cause to employ the rings, but the safeties remained alert and ready. Nervous faces, perhaps even the governor’s, peered through the curtained windows of the palace, viewing the drama from behind the safety of reinforced crystal walls.