by Greg Cox
Picard held up his hand to delay Geordi. “Just a minute, Mr. La Forge,” he said. A nagging concern preyed on his mind. “Mr. Data, has the tachyon barrage continued to accelerate?”
“Slowly but surely,” the android affirmed.
“Have you formed any theory concerning the source of the emissions?” Picard asked. The inexplicable nature of the tachyon surge troubled him to a degree. Launching a simple probe was hardly a risky matter, but he disliked doing so while any scientific irregularities remained unaccounted for.
“Some intriguing possibilities have presented themselves,” Data stated, “but I am reluctant to venture a hypothesis on such minimal evidence.”
“Do so anyway, Mr. Data,” Picard instructed, hoping that the resourceful android could cast some light on the mystery. A tenuous explanation was better than none at all. “Which of your working theories presents a cause for concern?”
“An interesting question, sir.” Data cocked his head as he considered the issue. “You may find one hypothesis particularly intriguing, although I must emphasize that the evidence supports approximately 75.823 other interpretations.”
“Your caveats are duly noted,” Picard said. “Go on, Mr. Data.”
“Very well, Captain.” He manipulated the controls beneath his fingers at superhuman speed, summoning up the relevant information. “Although profoundly weaker in intensity, these persistent emissions are gradually coming to resemble the tachyon probe used by the Calamarain to scan the Enterprise on stardate 43539.1.”
“The Calamarain?” Riker said, echoing Picard’s own reaction as he recalled a cloud of energetic plasma, as large as the Enterprise-D or bigger, that had seemed to house a community of gaseous beings possessed of remarkable power. The Enterprise had barely survived its first meeting with the Calamarain; if these mounting tachyon emissions had anything to do with those enigmatic beings, then the situation might be more serious than they had first thought.
“Excuse me, Captain,” Lem Faal asked, understandably concerned about the effect of Data’s theory on his experiment, “but who or what are the Calamarain?”
“An unusual life-form,” Picard told him, “that we encountered many years ago. They exist as swirls of ionized gas within a huge cloud of plasma traveling through open space. The Calamarain took hostile action against the Enterprise, but their real target was Q himself, who, at that point in time, had lost his powers and taken refuge aboard the ship. Apparently, Q made an enemy of the Calamarain sometime in the past, and they intended to take advantage of his temporary weakness to get their revenge once and for all.”
“Can hardly blame them for that,” Riker commented. Like most anyone who spent any length of time with Q, the first officer had no great love for the vexatious entity. Picard wondered if the female Q ever felt the same way.
“Agreed, Number One,” he said. “Ultimately, Q regained his powers and repelled the Calamarain, and that’s the last we had heard of them until now.” Picard leaned forward in his chair as he considered all the possibilities. “Data, how likely is it that this is the work of the Calamarain?”
Data analyzed the readings on his console. “That is difficult to say, Captain. Their initial scans in our previous encounter consisted of very broad-based emissions, registering seventy-five rems on the Berthold scale.” Picard nodded, remembering vividly the intensity of the alien scan they had experienced years ago: a brilliant deluge of light that had seemed to blot out everything in sight. The Calamarain’s first few scans had actually blinded everyone on board momentarily. “These new emissions are far less intense, by several orders of magnitude, but it is a difference of degree, not kind. They may simply be observing us in a more subtle and surreptitious manner.” Data swiveled in his chair to address Picard directly. “On the other hand, the tachyon surge could also be caused by any number of unusual natural conditions. It may be that the barrier itself has effects on the surrounding space that we are unable to detect at present.”
“Last time the Calamarain attacked us because Q was aboard,” Riker pointed out. “If the Calamarain are spying on us, and I realize that’s a fairly big ‘if,’ I think we can safely assume that Q is involved somehow.”
“That is a plausible assumption,” Data agreed.
“What I don’t understand,” Geordi said, “is why would the Calamarain be interested in us now? This is hardly the first time we’ve hosted Q since that time he lost his powers.”
Would that it were so, Picard thought privately. He could’ve done without that vision of his future self suffering from the effects of Irumodic syndrome.
“They’ve never come after us the last several times Q showed up,” Geordi continued, “and it sure doesn’t look like he’s been turned into a mortal again.”
“Far from it,” Baeta Leyoro added with obvious regret. Picard suspected that she would love to get her hands on a powerless and vulnerable Q. She could probably sell tickets, he thought.
“We should not jump to assumptions,” he stated firmly. “The Calamarain have not been observed in Federation space for over a decade, and our previous encounter with them was several hundred light-years from this vicinity.” Picard rose from his chair and looked over Data’s shoulder at the readings on the Ops console; a rising line charted the growth of the tachyon effect as it approached a level established by the Calamarain so many years ago. “Still, we should be prepared for any possibility.” He turned toward the science station. “Mr. La Forge, when the Calamarain attacked us before, you managed to adjust the harmonics of our deflector shields to provide us with a measure of protection against their tachyon blasts. Please program the ship’s computer to do so again should the need arise.”
“Yes, sir,” Geordi said. “I’ll get on that right away.”
Picard exchanged a look with Lieutenant Leyoro at tactical. Her eyes gleamed and the corners of her lips tipped upward in a look of much-delayed gratification, but she resisted, with admirable restraint, whatever temptation she might have felt to say, “I told you so.”
“Captain Picard,” Faal said, “this is all very interesting, but perhaps we should proceed with launching the probe?” He fingered his hypospray anxiously. “I cannot stress how eager I am to attempt the experiment.”
“Mr. La Forge?” Picard asked. “Do you require any more time to reprogram the deflectors?”
“No, sir,” Geordi reported with admirable efficiency. “The adjusted settings are on call.” Excellent, Picard thought, glad that they were ready for even the most unlikely of scenarios. Now it was simply a matter of continuing with their mission before Q—or the Calamarain, if they were truly close at hand—could intervene. “You may launch the probe as planned, Mr. La Forge,” he stated.
Geordi reached for the launch controls, only to be caught off guard by a blinding flash directly in front of him. For a second, Picard feared that the science station had exploded; then he realized what the flash really entailed. Blast, he thought. Not again!
Q was back, sitting upon the launch controls, clad in the unearned honors of a Starfleet uniform. Geordi stepped backward involuntarily, and Q peered at him with interest. He took a closer look at Geordi. “Are those new eyes, Mr. Engineer? I can’t say they’re very flattering, although I suppose it beats wearing a chrome fender in front of your face.”
He looked past Geordi and cast a dour eye on the shimmering barrier upon the main viewer. “You disappoint me so, Jean-Luc. I never thought suicide missions were exactly your style.” He hopped nimbly off the science console and strolled toward Picard. “Leave the galaxy? Why, you foolhardy humans couldn’t put one foot into the Gamma Quadrant without starting a war with the Dominion. What makes you think the rest of the universe is going to be any better?”
“That’s enough,” Riker said. “The captain has better things to do with his time than listen to you.”
Q paid the first officer no heed. “Tell me, Jean-Luc, I know you have a childish fondness for hard-boiled detective yarns.” H
e held out a palm on which a single white egg now balanced upon its end. A caricature of Picard’s scowling face was painted on the shell of the presumably hard-boiled egg. “Bit of a resemblance, isn’t there?” Q commented. He blew on his hand and the egg wafted away like a mirage. “But haven’t you ever paid attention to some of your species’ old monster movies?” His voice dropped several octaves, taking on a sepulchral tone. “There are some things that insignificant, short-lived mortals are meant to leave alone.” He gave Picard what seemed, for Q, a remarkably sober look, and when he spoke again his voice sounded notably free of irony or sarcasm. “The barrier is one of them, Picard. Trust me on this.”
Trust? Q? Of the many surprising and exceptional developments in this highly eventful mission, this suggestion struck Picard as the most unlikely of all. He wasn’t sure Q could be direct and honest if his own immortal existence depended on it. “That’s not enough,” Picard told him. “You need to tell me more than that.”
“It’s none of your business!” he said petulantly, apparently unable to maintain a sincere appearance for more than a moment or two. “You try to offer a few helpful tips to an inferior organism, but do they appreciate it? Of course not!” He paced back and forth in front of the viewscreen, looking exasperated beyond all measure. “Why can’t you simply admit that we Q are older and wiser than you are?”
“Older, certainly,” Picard said, “but not necessarily wiser. If you are at all typical of your kind, then the fabled Q Continuum is not above mere pettiness and spite.” He rose from his chair and confronted Q. Let’s have this out here and now, he determined. “As you might imagine, I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the Continuum is more fallible and prone to error than you care to admit. Let’s look at what we mere mortals have learned about their behavior,” he said, ticking his points off on his fingers.
“They put lesser life-forms on trial for the mere crime of not rising to their exalted level, all the while ignoring most of the conventions of due process recognized by supposedly inferior societies. They strip you of all your powers, placing you in mortal jeopardy, after having failed to keep your mischievous excesses under control. Then they reverse their decision and let you run amok through the galaxy again.” Q harrumphed indignantly, but Picard showed him no mercy. “According to your own admission, the Continuum summarily executed Amanda Rogers’s parents for choosing to live as human beings, left the orphaned child—one of their own—to be raised among we so-called primitive humans, then had the audacity to return years later and threaten Amanda herself with death unless she relinquished her own humanity.” He shook his head slowly. “Banishment. Executions. Threats of genocide against less gifted races. These don’t strike me as the actions of an advanced and enlightened society. Indeed, I could argue that the Klingons or the Cardassians have a higher claim to social progress.”
Q snorted in derision. “Now you’re just being ridiculous as well as insulting.”
“Am I?” Picard asked, refusing to give any ground. “At least the harsher aspects of their cultures arose from, respectively, a demanding environment and severe economic hardships.” He recalled Gul Madred’s self-justifying evocations of the famine and poverty that first brought the Cardassian military regime to power generations ago. “Nor are those the only comparisons I could make,” he continued, warming to his theme. “The tyranny of the Founders is said to be a response to centuries of Changeling persecution in the Gamma Quadrant, while the militaristic Romulan Empire of the present evolved from an arduous diaspora from ancient Vulcan millennia ago. And who knows what terrible, inexorable forces drove the Borg to first form their Collective?
“But even with the powers of the gods at your disposal, having conquered all the material challenges that trouble humanoid civilizations, the Q Continuum consistently behave in an arbitrary and draconian manner, one better suited to Dark Age despots than the evolved life-forms you claim to be.” Picard returned to his chair and faced the viewscreen, his expression stony and resolute. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that he could not permit Q to deter them from their mission.
“When you say to stay away from the barrier, you are saying that the rest of the universe is not for us. I’m sorry, but with all due respect to your self-proclaimed omniscience, that’s not your decision to make.” He nodded at Geordi, and when he spoke again his voice was steely in its conviction. “Mr. La Forge, launch the probe at once.”
“Yes, sir!” Geordi responded. Keeping one eye on Q, he reached out and pressed the launch controls. Picard looked on as the class-2 probe, looking something like a duranium ice-cream cone, arced away from the Enterprise, its trajectory carrying it toward the nearest segment of the galactic barrier. He anticipated that the probe would pass into the barrier in less than ten minutes, beaming back a full spectrum of EM and subspace readings right up to the instant of its destruction, which would probably occur within nanoseconds of its initial contact with the barrier. He heard Lem Faal inhale sharply in anticipation.
“Captain!” Data said emphatically. “Tachyon levels are multiplying at a vastly accelerated rate.” He turned to face Picard. “It is the Calamarain, sir, and they are approaching rapidly.”
“Oh, them again,” Q said without much enthusiasm. He had not been nearly so blasé, Picard recalled, when he faced the wrath of the Calamarain without his godlike powers. “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.”
Lem Faal eyed Q with alarm, but Picard did his best to ignore Q’s inappropriate attempt at humor. Q or no Q, he would not allow the Enterprise to be taken by surprise by the Calamarain. “Red alert!” he barked. “Shields up.” Crimson warning lights flared to life around the bridge. Lieutenant Leyoro kept her hands poised above the weapons controls, while Riker looked ready to tackle Q if he so much as tried to interfere with Picard’s ability to command the ship during this moment of crisis.
Q couldn’t have cared less. “Oh dear,” he said sourly, “I fear we’re going to have to do this the hard way.” He stepped between Picard and the viewscreen. “I’m sorry, Jean-Luc, but I can’t allow you to be distracted by this minor complication. Too much is at stake, more than you can possibly imagine.”
“Blast it, Q,” Picard exploded, provoked beyond all patience. This had gone on long enough, and, as far as he was concerned, Q was the unwanted distraction from more pressing matters. “Explain yourself once and for all—the whole truth and nothing but—or get out of my way!”
“Fine!” Q replied indignantly, sounding almost as if he were the injured party. “Just remember, you asked for it.”
What does he mean by that? Picard worried instantly, his worst fears confirmed when a burst of light erupted from Q, sweeping over Picard and carrying him away. Blank whiteness filled his vision. His chair seemed to dissolve beneath him. “Captain!” he heard Troi call out, but it was too late.
Deanna—and the Enterprise—were gone.
Interlude
“I think her name was—”
The red alert siren sounded, interrupting the female Q just as she was about to divulge the name of baby q’s human godmother. Beverly Crusher instantly went into crisis mode. “Excuse me,” she said to her visitor as Beverly tapped her combadge. “Crusher to the bridge. What’s happening?”
I was afraid of this, she thought instantly. After their initial briefing on Professor Faal’s project, Beverly had reviewed the reports on the original experiments at Deep Space Nine, and discovered that in one of the early trials, the artificial wormhole had collapsed prematurely and produced a massive graviton wave. A plasma fire had broken out aboard the Defiant and three people had nearly been killed. In theory, the cause of the collapse—some sort of unexpected reaction between the tetrion field and the shielding on a probe—had been isolated and remedied since that near-disaster, but what if something similar had happened again?
Dire possibilities raced through her mind in the split second it took for the bridg
e to respond to her page. “The captain has been abducted by Q,” Lieutenant Leyoro informed her succinctly; Beverly guessed that Commander Riker was otherwise occupied. “And the ship is about to engage the Calamarain.”
“What!” Beverly was shocked by the news. The Calamarain? But they hadn’t been heard from in years! Where had they come from all of a sudden? This was the last thing she had expected to hear. And Jean-Luc missing?
“I would prepare for casualties,” Leyoro advised. “Do you require any further information or assistance, Doctor?”
Beverly contemplated the female Q and her child. Unlike the doctor, Q’s mate evinced no reaction to the startling news. She occupied herself while Beverly was busy by wiping a smear of blue uttaberry flavoring off q’s face with the sleeve of her imitation lab coat. “No, I don’t think so,” Beverly told Leyoro. It sounded like Will and the others had a lot on their hands at the moment; she decided she could handle the Q on her own. “Crusher out.”
Her hand fell away from the badge and she confronted the other woman. “Well?” she demanded.
“Well?” the Q echoed, blithe disregard upon her features. She sopped up the last dab of blue from around the child’s lips, then lifted him into her arms.
So much for female bonding, Beverly thought. Whatever warm feelings she might have harbored for the Q were washed away by concern for Jean-Luc. “You know what I mean. What has Q, the other Q, done with the captain? Where has he taken him?”
“Am I my Q’s keeper?” She gave Beverly what the doctor supposed was intended to be a reassuring smile. “Really, there’s no need to be concerned. I’m certain that wherever Q has taken your captain, he has done so for a very good reason.”
Beverly didn’t find that terribly comforting. “But we need the captain here now. We’re on an important mission, and we’ve just encountered an alien, possibly hostile life-form.” She tried a personal appeal. “As one mother to another, can’t you do something?”