by Greg Cox
“Well, no. Not exactly,” Q replied. He glanced over at Gorgan, who graced him with a beatific smile entirely unlike the one he had affected while stalking Q from behind. “It’s just that this is somewhat more than I had in mind.”
“You wanted the unknown,” 0 reminded him. “You wanted to have an impact on the universe, bring about something new.”
“Yes, but…” Q stammered. “These beings…who are they exactly? What do they want?”
“To help us, of course,” 0 asserted, “in our grand and glorious campaign to elevate the standards of sentient life throughout this galaxy. What else?” He beamed at the specter and the sphere lurking on the periphery of the discussion. “I know these faithful fellows from days gone by and can vouch for them wholeheartedly. That must be good enough to overcome any dismal doubts you might have? After all, you vouched for me.”
“I suppose,” Q said dubiously. He looked from 0 to the mysterious pair and back again, perhaps realizing for the first time that he was distinctly outnumbered. He sighed and squinted at the fog streaming out of the time portal. “But how much new blood exactly were you planning to extract from that thing?”
“Just one more old acquaintance,” 0 promised, grinning at Q’s gradual acquiescence. “Then, trust me, we’ll have all the support we need to embark on any crusade we choose…for the good of this entire reality, naturally.” He called upon the newcomers to back up his claim. “Isn’t that so, fellows? You’re with us through thick and thin, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Gorgan purred. Something about his manner brought an old phrase to Picard’s mind: First thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers. “I look forward to continuing our work in this brave new dimension, as I also anticipate getting to know this fine young entity.”
His bodiless cohort merely hung in the air, its crimson radiance pulsing like a heartbeat. Picard found it hurt his eyes to stare at (*) for too long. That’s enough to give one a headache, he thought. Not a pleasant prospect, this far from sickbay.
“You know,” the older Q commented. “I never did warm to those two, especially that sanguinary fellow spinning like a pinwheel over there. No sense of subtlety whatsoever. You should have seen what a slaughterhouse he made of Cheron later on.”
Cheron? Picard vaguely remembered an ancient civilization that was supposed to have destroyed itself via racial warfare some fifty thousand years before his own century. Was Q implying that this extradimensional visitor would eventually be responsible for the extinction of an entire species?
“Of course, I still run into them now and again,” Q continued. “Now, that’s awkward, I must tell you. Of course, they usually have the sense to go scurrying off into some miserable, insignificant corner of the cosmos whenever they sense me drawing near. And good riddance, I say.”
“What are you saying, Q?” Picard asked, disturbed by the implications of Q’s remarks. “That these beings still exist in our own era?”
“Your own era,” Q corrected him archly. “I refuse to be tied down to any specific time or place, present attire notwithstanding.” He tugged on the gray jacket of his imitation Starfleet uniform, straightening its lines. “Besides, let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, shall we? We can handle the historical footnotes later. There is still more to be seen here,” he instructed Picard. “Behold.”
Now flanked by Gorgan and (*), Q’s younger self stood by helplessly, torn between anxiety and anticipation, as 0 advanced on the Guardian for what he had vowed would be the last time. Once more that eldritch keening flowed from 0’s mouth, invoking another cavalcade of frightful images within the open maw of the portal:
An untamed tornado ravages a cultivated landscape, destroying vast orchards of alien fruit and tossing dome-shaped farms and storage facilities into the fevered sky along with the graceful reptiles who tended to the land. An earthquake rips through the heart of a populous community, the tremors opening up gaping chasms that swallow up entire parks and buildings. A majestic chain of volcanos erupts after centuries of dormancy, spewing ash and fire into the heavens and spilling torrents of plutonic lava onto half a continent, instantly reducing a thriving nation, thick with citizenry, into a smoking wasteland. Oceans of water pour from enormous clouds as a flood of biblical proportions sweeps over one unfortunate world; the deluge swiftly drowns every living thing that walked or crawled or slithered upon the surface, the evolution of millennia lost beneath the swelling sea.
These were no mere rebellions or self-inflicted wars, Picard recognized, not simply conflicts between sentient and sentient, but unequal struggles pitting mortal beings against the awesome power of nature at its most destructive. Unprovoked catastrophes: what ancient historians and jurists once labeled “acts of God.”
With eerie appropriateness, what came next through the portal was nothing less than a veritable pillar of fire. Composed entirely of dancing scarlet flames, it snaked horizontally through the steaming gateway, then rose upward like a rearing serpent to achieve a height of over fifty meters above the desolate ruins. Picard felt the heat of the blazing column upon his face and he had to tilt his head back to spy the apex of the looming inferno, which he estimated to be at least two meters in diameter. Was this colossal torch truly an intelligent entity like the others Q had drawn from the portal? he wondered. It was hard to see it as anything other than an incredible thermal phenomenon, but Picard guessed that was not the case.
“As you have summoned Me, so have I come,” the tower of flame proclaimed, confirming the captain’s assumption. Its voice was nearly as sonorous as the Guardian’s, although a touch more human in tone, having a firm yet paternal quality. “Let worlds without number prepare for My Judgment and tremble at My Wrath.”
0 laughed out loud at the flaming column’s words. “You don’t need to put on such lofty airs on my account. I’ve known you too long for that.” He strolled casually around the circumference of the pillar, heedless of the blistering heat radiating from it, clucking at its awesome dimensions. “Maybe you could see your way clear to taking on a more…approachable appearance.” He shook his head wearily. “It’s like talking to a bloody forest fire.”
“Let it be as you request,” the tower answered, sounding slightly miffed. “Many are My Faces. As numerous as the stars are the manifestations of My Glory.”
“Someone thinks highly of himself,” the older Q said snidely. “Or should that be Himself?”
Picard was too engrossed by the fiery pillar’s sudden transformation to acknowledge Q’s remark. Before his gaping eyes, the huge column of swirling flame contracted into the shape of a man, then rapidly cooled to the consistency of human flesh. The newborn figure stood a few centimeters taller than 0 and was sheathed in gleaming armor of solid gold. His stern features were adorned by a flowing, snow-white beard; Picard found himself reminded of the face of Michelangelo’s famous portrait of Moses, and was momentarily disappointed that He wasn’t actually carrying two inscribed stone tablets. The thought occurred to him that such Old Testament imagery, including the pillar of fire itself, still lay countless aeons in the future. “Q—” he began.
The elder Q held up his palm. “Before you ask…no, this is not how I, as a Q, perceived 0’s motley band of recruits. Instead this is how they would appear—and will appear—to humanoids such as yourself, according to your own rudimentary senses.”
I suspected as much, Picard thought. As the young Q approached the forbidding new arrival, the captain wished he could fully understand how this latest visitor appeared to Q’s earlier self. If only I could see through Q’s metaphors to what is actually happening.
“Excuse me,” young Q said to the armor-clad stranger. “Who are you?”
“I am The One,” He replied, His arms crossed stiffly atop His chest.
“The One?” inquired Q, who was after all only a Q.
“He invented monotheism,” 0 explained with a shrug. “Indulge Him.” He raised his voice to address the entire gathering. “Old fri
ends and comrades, call me 0 now, for I’ve put the pitfalls and purgatory of the past behind me. I offer you an opportunity to do the same. There are dazzling days ahead, I promise you!” Throwing an arm over Q’s shoulder, he spun the youth around so hard that the toes of Q’s boots were dragged through the dust and debris. “Now let me introduce to you our proud patron, as well as our native guide to these parts, my good friend and rescuer…Q.”
The three from the portal spread out around Q and 0, then drew in closer, surrounding the young Q, who, from where Picard was standing, seemed to be not so much basking in the attention as trying with visible effort to maintain a cocky and confident air despite the fact that, 0’s flattery notwithstanding, he had rather quickly gone from being 0’s all-knowing host and chaperon to ending up as the newest and junior member of a well-established group where everyone knew each other, and their actual agenda, much better than he did. “So,” he said breezily, ducking out from under 0’s arm while trying to slip unobtrusively out between Gorgan and The One, “how long have you fellows known 0?”
“Long enough,” Gorgan asserted, pressing in upon Q and blocking his escape. The more Picard listened to it, the more Gorgan’s voice seemed to be generated artificially rather than through the normal action of lungs and vocal cords. The shimmering stranger was only simulating humanity, and not entirely successfully. “Long enough to know where our best interests lie. And yours.”
“Be strong in My Ways,” The One added, “and you shall surely prosper. Falter, and your days shall be filled with sorrow.” He laid his hand upon Q’s shoulder, and the young godling flinched instinctively, stumbling backward into the hovering presence of (*). His body fell through the glowing sphere, receiving what looked like some manner of jolt or chill. Emerging behind (*), Q gasped and continued to fall until he landed in a sitting position upon the ground, his limbs trembling and his eyes and mouth wide open. The palpitations quickly subsided, but Q’s expression remained dazed.
“Watch yourself,” 0 warned him. He took Q by the hand and helped him to his feet. His associates kept their distance this time, granting the jittery Q a bit more personal space. “There’s nothing to be skittish about. We’re all on the same side here.” The deep lines carved into 0’s weathered visage stretched to accommodate his toothy grin. “Stick with us, Q, and we’ll have a fine time, you’ll see. This great, gorgeous galaxy will never be the same.”
“Skittish? Me?” Q said loudly, pulling together a semblance of self-assurance. “I’m nothing of the sort.” He brushed the clingy dust from his trousers with elaborate indifference. “I’m simply unaccustomed to so much like-minded company. I’ve always been something of a lone wolf within the Continuum.”
“And a black sheep, too, I think,” 0 surmised. “No use denying it; it’s as obvious as the smug somnambulism of the other Q. Well, you’re not alone anymore, my friend. Rest assured, you’re one of us now.”
“Lucky me,” the older Q observed from within the shadow of a tilted Doric column.
“Fallen in with a bad crowd, have we?” Picard said. He shook his head, feeling a tad disillusioned that the errors of Q’s youth would prove to be so mundane. “It’s an old story, Q.”
“Older than you know,” Q stated, “and more serious than you can possibly imagine.”
How so? Picard wondered. Examining the scene, he noted that, beyond the congregation of superbeings, the Guardian of Forever had fallen still and silent. The last thin ribbons of mist dissipated into the atmosphere of the lonely setting while the empty aperture at the center of the Guardian offered only a view of the fallen temples on the other side of the portal. It appeared that whatever intelligence inhabited the Guardian had taken 0 at his word that there would be no further corridors opened between this reality and whatever distant realm 0 and his cohorts originated from. Just as well, Picard concluded. Judging from the older Q’s ominous remarks, these four would prove dangerous enough.
He peered at the new arrivals. Something about them, particularly Gorgan, struck a chord in his memory, but one he couldn’t quite place. He felt certain that he had never personally encountered any of these entities before, but perhaps he had reviewed some record of their existence. The buried memory teased him, and he wished he had immediate access to the Enterprise’s memory banks. Perhaps something from Starfleet records, maybe even from the logs of one or more of the earlier Starships Enterprise. “Gorgan,” he muttered. “Where have I heard that name before?”
“Stardate 5029.5,” Q volunteered helpfully. “In and around the planet Triacus. Before your time, of course, but I believe one of your predecessors had an unpleasant encounter with the ever-insinuating Gorgan. One James T. Kirk, to be exact.” Q rested his chin upon the knuckles of one hand, striking a meditative pose. “Speaking of which, one of these days I really should go back a generation or so before your birth and see if Starfleet captains were always as humorless as you are.”
Don’t even think about it, Picard thought vehemently. Kirk and his crew had run into enough challenges during their long careers without the added aggravation of coping with Q. Meanwhile, he searched his memory for details regarding the original Enterprise’s contact with Gorgan. He dimly recalled several incidents in which Kirk’s crew faced powerful beings along the lines of Q and 0. Was Gorgan the one who hijacked the Enterprise using some brainwashed children, or the one who turned out to be Jack the Ripper? Given the rampant generational strife in the images preceding Gorgan’s entrance, he guessed the former.
“What about that one?” Picard asked, pointing to the spinning globe of crimson light. He asked partly out of curiosity, partly to distract Q from his alarming notion of visiting the twenty-third century.
“I believe your Starfleet database refers to it as the ‘Beta XII-A entity,’ named for the rather forgettable world where your kind first made its acquaintance.” Q scowled at the shining energy creature. “A deceptively innocuous name, in my opinion, for so bloody-minded a presence.”
Beta XII-A, Picard memorized dutifully. That, too, sounded familiar, although Starfleet had charted too many planets for him to pinpoint its location and history immediately, not without Data’s total recall. He resolved to research the matter thoroughly if and when Q deigned to return him to the Enterprise. “And what of the final entity?” he asked Q. “The one who calls himself The One?”
Q rolled his eyes. “What do I look like, an information booth? All will become clear in time, Jean-Luc. Rather than subject me to this plodding interrogation, you would do better to observe what transpires now.” He diverted Picard’s attention back to the curious assemblage several meters away.
0 had just finished recounting his and Q’s recent altercation with the Coulalakritous to Gorgan and the others. “Looking back,” he admitted, “we should have started off with a more underdeveloped breed of subjects, the sort less capable of violating the spirit of the test.” He paced back and forth through the broken masonry, dragging his bad leg behind him. “Yes, that’s the idea. We need to be more selective next time. Choose just the right specimens. Advanced enough to be interesting, naturally, but not evolved enough to skew the learning curve.” He stopped in front of the young Q and eyed his designated host and guardian expectantly. “This is your neck of the woods, my boy. Any likely candidates come to mind?”
Q looked grateful to occupy center stage again. The one advantage he had over the others was his superior knowledge of this particular reality. “Let me think,” he said, scrunching up his face in concentration. His foot tapped impatiently in the dusty gravel as he looked inward for the answer. A second later, his face lighted up as an idea occurred to him; Picard half-expected a lightbulb to literally materialize over the young Q’s head, but, to his relief, no such absurdity occurred. “There’s always the Tkon Empire,” he suggested.
Picard could not have been more startled if the young Q had suddenly proposed a three-week debauch on Risa. The Tkon Empire, he thought numbly, transfixed by shock and a growin
g sense of horror. Oh my God….
Five
“Come again?” Riker asked.
“It’s true,” Barclay insisted. “I examined the probe that we sent toward the galactic barrier, the one we transported back to the ship after the Calamarain attacked, and I discovered that the bio-gel packs in the probe had absorbed some psychokinetic energy from the barrier itself, partially protecting them from the Calamarain’s tachyon bursts.” He waved a tricorder in Riker’s face, a little too close for comfort. “It’s all here. I was going to report back to Mr. La Forge about what I found, but then Professor Faal insisted on coming to the bridge, and I had to follow him, and then you assigned me to the science station after Ensign Schultz was injured—”
Riker held up a hand to halt the uncontrolled flood of words pouring from Barclay’s mouth. Sometimes, in his own way, the hapless officer could be just as long-winded as Data used to be, and as slow to come to the point. Riker took the tricorder from Barclay and handed it off to Data for analysis. “Slow down,” he ordered. “How can this help us now?”
He wasn’t just being impatient; with the Calamarain pounding on the ship and their shields in danger of collapsing, Riker couldn’t afford to waste a moment. To be honest, he had completely forgotten about that probe until Barclay mentioned it, and he still wasn’t sure what relevance it had to their present circumstances. As far as he was concerned, their entire mission concerning the galactic barrier had already been scrapped. His only goal now was to keep both the ship and the crew intact for a few more hours.
“The Enterprise- E has the new bio-gel packs, too,” Barclay explained, “running through the entire computer processing system, which is directly linked to the tactical deflector system.” He leaned against the back of the captain’s chair and closed his eyes for a moment. Riker guessed that the lack of gravity upon the bridge was not helping Barclay’s shaky stomach any.