by Greg Cox
And yet…according to this report, the Endeavor was proceeding on schedule and only slightly over budget. If necessary, she would bankrupt the imperial treasury to save the planet, but that drastic a sacrifice did not seem to be called for at present. Work was continuing apace on the solar transporter stations, their prospective new sun had not yet displayed any serious irregularities, and everything appeared to be in order. If all went according to plan, they would be ready to attempt the substitution within her lifetime. The Endeavor was no more risky today than it had been the day before, so why did she feel so perturbed?
With a word or two, she cleared the crystal viewing disk and called for her first minister. The image of an older man, seen from the waist up, appeared at once within the crystal. From the look of him, Rhosan arOx had already been at work for an hour or so. A ceremonial cloak of office was draped over his shoulders and his graying hair was neatly groomed. His cheeks had a healthy violet hue, which reassured her more than she wanted to admit. He looks like he can manage affairs for many more years, the empress thought, just as he did for Mother. “Good morning, Most Elevated,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“Nothing too urgent,” she replied, reluctant to burden him with her indistinct worries. “I was merely interested in…well, the state of the empire.”
The vertical slits of his pupils widened their golden irises. “If I may take the liberty of asking, is something troubling you, Most Elevated?”
He’s still as perceptive as he ever was, she thought. “It is most likely nothing,” she assured him. “I feel…fretful…this morning, for no apparent reason. The foolish fancies of an inexperienced empress, most likely.”
“I doubt that,” he said promptly, “but I will be happy to allay your cares by informing you what I know.” His gaze dropped to the surface of his own desk; over the last several months, he had taken over an increasingly larger share of her executive duties, freeing her to concentrate on the Great Endeavor. “Let’s see. Labor negotiations with the Diffractors’ Guild are dragging on, the United Sons and Daughters of Bastu are protesting the latest interplanetary tariffs, the Organians turned back our envoy again, and some fool politician on one of the outer worlds—Rzom, I believe—is refusing to pay his taxes, claiming the Great Endeavor is, quote, ‘a sham and a hoax,’ end quote, making him redundant as well as a damn idiot.” Rhosan looked up from his data display. “Just the usual headaches, in other words. Nothing that should cause you excess concern.”
“I see,” the empress said, her tea and biscuits getting cold. “Thank you for your concise summary of the issues at hand. I don’t believe any of the matters you mentioned could be the source of my thus far baseless apprehensions. Please forgive me for disturbing your work with such a nebulous complaint.”
“It was no trouble,” he insisted. “I hope I was able to put your mind to rest.”
“Perhaps,” she said diplomatically. “In any event, you may return to your numerous other responsibilities.” Governing an empire of seven trillion inhabitants was no small task, as she well knew. “I shall see you later today, at the Fathoming Ceremony.”
“Until then,” the first minister acknowledged, dipping his head as she closed the connection. The crystal disk went blank. If only I could dismiss my qualms so easily, she mused. None of the routine difficulties Rhosan had alluded to justified the sense of dread that cast an inauspicious cloud over each passing moment. She raised her teacup to her lips, hoping the warmth of the tea would dispel the chill from her soul, but knowing in her heart that there was no easy balm for the doubts and fears that afflicted her.
A design etched onto both cup and plate caught her eye. The Endless Flame, ancient symbol of the empire since time immemorial. In olden days, she recalled, now lost in the haze of myth and legend, her primal ancestors were said to have been prophets, mystics, and seers. Their visions, according to archaic lore, had proven instrumental in the founding of the dynasty. Those distant days were long departed now, and subsequent rulers had required no such oracular prowess to guide the empire, but she couldn’t help wondering, amid the miraculous technology of their modern age, if the blood of seers still flowed through her veins. Would her eldest forebears have recognized this seemingly inexplicable anxiety, this puzzling tremor in her psyche and spirit?
A single shard of memory lodged in her mind, less than a heartbeat in duration. A barely recalled sliver of a dream about…hooves?
Something terrible was coming, of that she was convinced.
“Comfortable, confident, trapped by tradition, enamored of their own hallowed history, and drunk with delusions of destiny,” 0 sneered at the mighty Tkon Empire. “They’re perfect, Q! I couldn’t have chosen any better.”
Five attentive entities, plus two more whose presence was unknown to the others, watched the planet Tkon spin beneath them, no larger than a toy globe compared to the scale on which Q and the others currently manifested themselves. From their lofty vantage point, several million kilometers above the world where the young empress dwelt, they could see a swarm of satellites, artificial and otherwise, orbiting the central planet. Tkon was the fourth planet in its system, and its influence spread outward in an expanding sphere of imperial hegemony that encompassed colonies on both the inner and outer worlds of its own solar system as well as distant outposts lit by the glow of alien stars. Tkon’s defenses, based on those same satellites, colonies, and outposts, were formidable enough to discourage aggression from the barbarian races who lurked beyond the outermost reaches of the empire. 0 and his cohorts, on the other hand, couldn’t have cared less about Tkon’s vast military resources.
“Actually,” the young Q said, “I’ve always considered the Tkon a civilizing factor in this region of the galaxy.” He was starting to regret suggesting the Tkon Empire in the first place. What kind of testing did 0 have in mind? Nothing too severe, he hoped. “Their accomplishments in the arts and sciences, although aboriginal by our standards, naturally, are laudable enough on their own terms. I’m particularly fond of the satirical profile-poems of the late Cimi era—”
“Q, Q, Q,” 0 interrupted, shaking his head. “You’re missing the point. It’s these creatures’ primitive progress that makes them the ideal test subjects for our experiments. Where’s the sport in testing some backward species that can barely split an atom, let alone synthesize antimatter? That would be a total waste of our time and abilities.” He scowled at the thought before turning his mind toward brighter prospects. “These Tkon, on the other hand, are just perfect. Not too primitive, not too powerful. They’re hovering at the cusp of true greatness, waiting for someone like us to come along to push them to the next level…if they’re able.”
“Precisely,” Gorgan agreed. He licked his lips in anticipation. “I can already see some intriguing possibilities for them.”
“In them,” Q corrected, assuming the other was referring to the Tkon’s potential as a species.
Gorgan shrugged. “As you prefer.”
“They have grown overproud and must be humbled,” The One pronounced. “They must drink bitter waters before they face My Judgment.”
(*) merely flashed through pulsating shades of crimson, awaiting 0’s command. A Tkon starship, en route to the eleventh planet in the home system with a crew complement of one thousand two hundred and five, approached the gathered immortals. Although traveling over twenty times the speed of light, it seemed to Q to be crawling toward them, and not much larger than an Organian dovebeetle. Despite, or perhaps because of, the difference in scale between the gleaming vessel and the immaterial onlookers, the ship remained unaware of Q and the others even as it came within their proximity. It glided between Q and 0, who nonchalantly reached out and swatted the miniature spacecraft away, sending it tumbling through space and into the hard red radiance of (*).
Moments later, as Q reckoned time, (*)’s influence caused a bloody mutiny to erupt aboard the ship, leading ultimately to a helix drive explosion that blossomed in
to a firefly flash of blue-green before dimming into nothingness. (*) glowed a little brighter afterward, savoring its snack.
It had happened so quickly, from this celestial point of reference, that Picard could scarcely keep up with all that was happening, let alone grasp its meaning. “That ship,” he murmured. “All those lives…”
“A matter of no importance,” Q insisted, “a tiny teardrop of tragedy before the deluge. You mustn’t let yourself be distracted by such marginalia. The fate of an empire, and more, is at stake.”
Picard nodded grimly, unable to speak. He knew full well what was coming, and Q was right: The destruction of a single starship was next to nothing compared to the apocalypse ahead.
“You have to admit,” 0 said to the young Q, the tiny starship already forgotten, “the Tkon still have a long way to go before they’re remotely comparable to us, or even that fetid fog we first ran into.”
“I don’t know,” Q responded, the bright tiny spark that had been a spacecraft still imprinted on his metaphysical retinas. Intellectually, he liked the idea of helping lesser life-forms evolve; it certainly beat the unending boredom the Continuum provided in such dispiriting quantities. Primitive species had often proved more unpredictable, and therefore more entertaining, than his fellow Q…with the possible exception of Q herself. On the other hand, when it came to actually visiting trials and tribulations on a harmless little species like the Tkon, who had worked so hard to achieve their own modest triumphs…well, he found it seemed vaguely unsporting. “They seem to be doing fairly well on their own,” he observed.
“Fairly well?” 0 echoed. He laughed so loud that Q found himself blushing without really knowing why. “They’re nowhere close to transcending fourth-dimensional existence, let alone achieving true cosmic consciousness. Why, they still require a massive infrastructure and social hierarchy just to satisfy their crude physical needs.” He rolled his eyes and raised his hands in amazement. “You can’t let yourself get sentimental about your subjects, no matter how cute and comical they are. Face the facts, Q. At this rate, it will take them a couple of eternities to catch up with us, if they even last that long, which I sincerely doubt. They’ve gotten smug, complacent, convinced that they’re sitting at the top of the evolutionary ladder. They have no more incentive to evolve further, which means they’re just short of total stagnation. They need to be reminded that there are bigger forces in the universe, sublime mysteries they haven’t even begun to unravel.”
“So be it,” The One seconded, nodding His bearded head ponderously. His golden armor clanked as He crossed His arms atop His chest, the metallic ringing resounding across five dimensional planes and creating unaccountable subspace vibrations that caused technicians to scratch their heads in confusion throughout the entire empire. “Let it be written.”
“If testing these beings is indeed on the agenda,” Gorgan pointed out, “we should do so swiftly.” He gestured toward the flaming thermonuclear globe at the center of the Tkon’s solar system. “That old sun is clearly on its last legs.”
Q glanced at the orb in question, seeing at once that Gorgan was correct. The sun of Tkon, a standard yellow star of no particular distinction aside from its usefulness to the Tkon, had almost depleted its store of hydrogen atoms. Soon enough, the helium in its core would begin fusing into carbon, eventually causing the star to swell into a bloated red caricature of its former self, and, from the look of things, swallow up all of the inner planets, including Tkon. “Seems to me,” he suggested, “that the Tkon have challenges enough without us adding to their difficulties.”
“Which is why this is exactly the right time to test them,” 0 insisted, looming over the endangered world like a constellation. “Now is the defining moment of their existence. Can they remain focused on the big picture despite their trivial everyday concerns, not to mention whatever ingenious obstacles we place before them? Will they perish with their star, abandon their homes for distant shores, or achieve the impossible in the face of impediments both natural and supernatural?” He rubbed his palms together eagerly. “It should be a fascinating experiment!”
“Er, what kind of impediments did you have in mind?” Q found himself looking backward over his shoulder, half-expecting to find the entire Continuum looking on in disapproval. If they had any idea what 0 has in mind…! To his surprise, he discovered that the danger of incurring his peers’ censure only made 0’s plans all the more irresistible. There was an undeniable, if vaguely illicit, thrill in defying propriety this way. If only there was some way to scandalize the Q and the others without inconveniencing the Tkon too much.
“Why, whatever we feel like,” 0 stated readily. Q envied his reckless, carefree attitude. “You don’t want to plan these things too much beforehand. You need to leave yourself room to improvise, to invent and elaborate. It’s as much an art as a science.” He gestured toward the solar system at their feet. “Go ahead,” he urged Q. “It was your idea. It’s only fitting you take the first shot. Indulge yourself. Employ that extraordinary imagination of yours. Give their tiny, terrestrial, time-bound minds something to really think about.”
Q gathered his power together, feeling the creative energies crackle in his hands. This is it, he thought. This is my chance. A peculiar sense of…suspense? tension?…percolated within him. It was a strange, but not altogether unpleasant sensation. After all this time, after countless aeons spent waiting for the opportunity to show what he could do, what if he couldn’t think of anything? What if he made a mistake or, worse yet, committed some ghastly cliché that just made 0 and the rest think less of him? He felt the pressure of the others’ expectant gaze, savored an unprecedented fear of failure, then took a deep if figurative breath, absorbing inspiration from the ether. “Suppose,” he said tentatively, not quite committing himself, “I miraculously extended the life span of their sun by another four billion years?” Easy enough, he thought; all that was required was a fresh infusion of elemental hydrogen into the star’s core. “That would come as a real stunner to them, wouldn’t it? What do you think they will do with all that extra time? How will their society and institutions react? It should make for an informative experiment, don’t you think?”
0 sighed and rubbed his brow wearily. Gorgan and The One shook their heads and stepped backward, placing a bit more distance between them and Q, who could tell at once that his suggestion had not been well received. Hey, don’t blame me, he thought indignantly. It was my first try, after all.
“You’re missing the point,” 0 explained. “That’s no test; that’s a gift.” He spit out the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Four billion extra years? What’s that going to teach them—or us, for that matter? Progress, even survival itself, must be earned. Challenges are to be overcome. Benevolence is for babies.”
Q’s ears burned. Was 0 calling him a baby? Why, he was almost seven billion years old! “Can’t the unexpected come in positive forms as well as negative?” he argued. “Isn’t a species’ reaction to miraculous good fortune as significant, as educational and edifying, as the way they cope with adversity?”
“On some abstract, intellectual level perhaps,” 0 said grudgingly, “but take it from me, Q, it’s a lot more boring, for the tested and tester alike. What would you rather do, watch the Tkon cope with the ultimate issues of life or death, or simply feed them a few cosmological crumbs now and then, watching from afar as they scurry around in gratitude?” He yawned theatrically. “Frankly, I have better things to do than watch you dote on an undeserving warren of underdeveloped, overpopulated vermin. Where’s the sport in that?” He paced back and forth across the sector, his footsteps creating deep impressions in the fabric of space-time that would someday be charted by the first Verathan explorers, five hundred thousand years later. “Come on, Q. Surely you can do better than that. What’s it going to be?”
“I don’t know,” Q blurted, feeling both embarrassed and resentful. “I’m not sure.” Why was 0 making this so hard? It�
�s not fair, he thought. The Continuum is forever badgering me about going too far; now 0 is unhappy because I won’t go far enough. He wanted to do something, but not necessarily to anyone.
“Listen to me, Q,” 0 entreated. “This is what you’ve always wanted, a chance to use your innate abilities the way they were always meant to be used. Don’t censor yourself before you even begin. Don’t hold back. Show the Tkon, and the rest of the multiverse, what you’re really made of. Put the fear of Q into them!”
Well, not fear exactly, Q thought. Still, 0 had a point. Realistically, there was no way to make an impact on the universe without affecting the Tkon or some species like them. He couldn’t balk now, not if he was really serious about joining 0 in his campaign. Despite his qualms, he felt a tingle of excitement, a sneaky thrill that was only heightened by the sense that he was getting away with something he shouldn’t. “All right,” he declared, “let’s start with something silly and see where we go from there.”
Without warning, thousands upon thousands of plump, juicy red vovelles, a Tkon fruit not unlike a tomato, poured from the sky above the great city of Ozari-thul. The succulent deluge pelted the streets and rooftops of the capital, leaving a wet, pulpy mess wherever the falling fruits came to rest. The fruits exploded upon impact with masonry or flesh, spraying everyone and everything with sloppy red debris. The people of the city, the great and the lowly alike, ran for shelter, then stared in awe and amazement at the inexplicable phenomenon. Slitted golden eyes blinked in disbelief while psionic announcements urged the citizens to remain calm. “Not bad,” 0 pronounced. “A bit adolescent, but okay for a start.”
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.