by Various
“Have I the pleasure of addressing Mister Scrooge or Mister Marley?”
Had he heard the Betazoid correctly? His disquiet grew even more. He snapped his fingers. Still nothing happened. La Forge and Troi continued to stare with simpering expressions. Would they wait forever for the correct response? Q could wait that long, and longer. “Forever” was an archaic concept to him. However, that would be far too boring, so Q dismissed the tactic.
He pointed a finger at the U.S.S. Enterprise’s chief engineer and its counselor. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. And whoever is doing this will pay dearly.”
Troi smiled, almost sadly, and shook her head.
“Go stuff yourselves.” Q turned and walked away from the duo, his boots crunching atop the thin layer of snow on the ground. He wasn’t going to play along. He was Q. He didn’t play along with anyone. He didn’t have to!
He turned into an alley, deciding to head east to see if he could find the boundaries of this pseudoworld. But it was the wrong way. The alley became dark. Pitch. Grumbling, he turned and found himself in a sitting room, a small Dutch fireplace before him.
“ ‘Paved all round with quaint Dutch tiles, designed to illustrate the Scriptures,’ ” said Q softly. There was a tiny glow from the meager amount of coal that Scrooge allowed himself.
Q spoke to the room in general. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Where’s Marley?”
“Behind you.”
Q approached a feeling that was not unlike being startled. Though to be startled would be absurd for him. He smiled and turned.
“Jean-Luc, I should have known. Okay, let’s have it. Oh, wait. That’s right. I start.” Q cleared his throat. “How now! What do you want with me?”
“Much!” said the apparition of Picard, his voice spectral.
The captain of the Enterprise was dressed appropriately in waistcoat, tights, boots, and even Marley’s pigtail. He was see-through, of course, and carried about him an impressive length of chain. It had the requisite padlocks and keys, but Q realized that in place of cash-boxes, ledgers, and purses, it had the whorls of galaxies, the spirals of DNA, and the frenzied orbits of electrons around dense nuclei.
“This is going to be a long night,” said Q.
“You have no idea,” said Picard. “You’d better sit down.”
Stave Three
Q tried the door again. Locked. He even attempted something so banal and menial as to put his shoulder into it. With a grunt and an uncharacteristic twinge of pain, he found it to be quite solid. There was no getting out of Scrooge’s apartment through the main door.
Sighing, he turned to the Picard/Marley ghost and said with little enthusiasm, “Mercy. Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?”
“You’ve skipped a few pages, but no matter,” said Picard.
Q moved toward Jean-Luc and gestured toward the chain. “May I, oh spirit?”
Picard shrugged. “You’re supposed to ask me to sit down.”
Q hefted the chain in his hands. It was heavier than it looked. “Not exactly what Dickens described.”
“We felt you needed something more suitable to your own existence.”
“We?”
Picard’s slight smile didn’t change. “Unlike the Earth-bound Marley, this is the chain you have forged in life, or what approximates life for you. Do these galaxies not look familiar? This DNA? Even these atoms?”
Q looked more closely and shrugged. “They seem familiar.”
“You have long ignored that you share in the responsibility of the universe and that there are consequences to your cavalier attitudes,” the ghost intoned, lifting the chain.
Ominously, the ghost returned to the script. “How is it that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may not tell. I have sat beside you many and many a day.”
Q stared at the apparition. “Who are you? Who is this ‘we’ you spoke of?”
“As I said, ‘I may not tell.’ ”
“Well, then, Jean-Luc, or whoever you really are, if you’re not going to tell me anything of value, I’ll be leaving now,” said Q, yanking hard on the chain.
With a thunderous roar, it coiled onto the wood floor, shaking the building. Q was disappointed that the chain slipped through the vaporous figure of the starship captain instead of pulling him to the floor. Q then quickly pulled the chain across the floor and into the bedroom. He wound one end around the post of Scrooge’s bed, tying it there as best he could, and then collected and lifted the rest of the chain and heaved it through the closed bedroom window. It smashed the glass easily, the glass and wood sounding like brittle cymbals against each other. The chain fell out of sight. Q leaned out. The chain was long, reaching to within a few meters of the street three stories below. He turned to Picard, bowed, and then crawled very un-Q like out the window and clung to the chain with all his non-Q strength. He let himself down several links of chain at a time, descending slowly but steadily. Then the chain seemed to dance in his hands. He looked up, confused, then realized his weight on the chain was pulling the bed.
“Expect the first tomorrow when the bell tolls one.” Picard stood on the side of the building, perpendicular to Q.
“Please leave me—” The chain danced again in his hands, and then he plummeted. Above, through the broken window, he heard the heavy wooden feet of the bed scrape loudly over the floor. Q squawked and clung as tightly to the chain as he could manage. The bed crashed into the wall of the bedroom, suddenly stopping Q’s descent and causing the chain to shudder in his grasp. He nearly fell. The street was far enough below for him to twist an ankle or possibly even break his non-omnipotent bones. He dangled like that for several moments, his heart hammering in his chest. Vaporous breath puffed in quick bursts from his mouth.
Picard strolled down the side of the apartment building as easily as though it were the street below. In the darkness of the London night the ghost glowed with greenish-white light that might have been a reflection of the gas lamps guttering below.
“Expect the second on the next night at the same hour,” said Picard, stopping next to Q. The ghost clasped his hands behind his back, as though out for a casual walk down the street. Q could see Picard’s hands through his translucent body. He still had that idiotic smile on his face.
Q grunted several unintelligible lines before managing to say, “If you’re not going to help me down, please just shut up.”
The chain, the part of it that was iron and not some spiral galaxy or recombinant DNA, grew cold from the freezing night air. It felt like the skin of his hands was being torn off. He recommenced his descent. His arms shook against the exertion. In trying to ignore the pain, he pictured removing the skin from the beings doing this to him. Retribution would be sweet.
Picard continued. “The third upon the next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!”
“Listen, Jean-Luc or Jacob or whoever you really are—” Q looked up, but the apparition was gone.
“Thank you!” yelled Q into the swirling snow and dark night, relieved at the ghost’s exit.
Then he realized he was near the ground. With a bit of satisfaction he dropped less than a meter to the snow-covered lane below, twisting his ankle. He groaned and bent to feel it, certain his foot must be pointing in the wrong direction. He paused. There was a wood floor beneath him, not cobblestone.
Stave Four
Q sat in the dusty old velvet chair in front of the Dutch fireplace. He waited for what seemed an eternity, even for him, before he heard the chimes of the neighboring church bell strike one.
“Finally,” he said, standing up. “All right. Come on out. I want to get this over with while the universe is still young.”
The
ghost materialized in front of him, sparkling into view as though being transported. But something didn’t seem quite right with the lights. Q realized it was an older transporter technology than that used on Picard’s Enterprise.
The beaming ended, but the spirit continued to shimmer in the dark of Scrooge’s apartment. Q tried to make out the face, wondering which of the Enterprise’s tiresome crew it might be. It was none he recognized.
“Do I know you?”
The spirit only stared.
“Hello?”
The spirit stood like stone, neither moving nor speaking.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Q, practically burning with impatience. “Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?”
The spirit spoke, his voice firm and commanding. “I am!”
Q waited, then shook his head before saying, “Who, and what are you?”
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”
Q leaned forward. The voice had changed. It was still deep, but not the same one that had spoken the first words. He realized the face seemed to have morphed as well. He stepped close to the apparition.
“You were human just a moment ago,” said Q.
Now a Vulcan stood before him, though the features were indistinct in their ghostly form. Then the pointed ears melted and a human shimmered before him.
“Wait, I know you,” said Q. “You’re—damn, I know you. From Earth’s past.”
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”
The human face, strong with penetrating eyes, dissolved back into the Vulcan’s.
“No, wait, come back. I almost had it figured out. You were someone that Jean-Luc admired. Looked up to, if I’m not mistaken.”
The Vulcan stood impassive, though his body undulated softly like a hologram with the emitter under water. Then the human returned.
“Kirk!” said Q, practically yelling. “And the Vulcan is Spock, isn’t it? Now, why would you be in my twisted nightmare?”
“To show you your past, of course,” said Spock.
“Of course. Very well, lead on, spirit.”
Kirk took Q by the arm and led him to the window, through which they walked, finding themselves in a courtroom of the same era. Q-past sat on the bench, gazing down upon a younger Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Q-past looked quite impressive in a black hat and flowing red-and-black robes.
Q took a moment to admire his past self, smiling. “Oh, yes. This was fun. See how Jean-Luc squirms?”
“He does not appear to be squirming,” said Spock.
The starship captain stood up straight before the magistrate’s bench.
“You don’t know him like I do. That’s squirming. And what a handsome magistrate I make. Rather an imposing figure, don’t you think?”
Q looked up at Q-past on the bench, who was leaning forward and getting ready to speak, staring intently at Picard. Then Q-past’s eyes flicked toward Q, as though seeing him. Had he imagined it?
Kirk shook his head. “You’re not getting it, are you, Q? This isn’t a past you should be proud of. You had no right putting mankind on trial.”
“Mankind?” said Q. “I get it. To quote Dickens, ‘Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business.’ That the rubbish you’re talking about?”
Spock shook his head, rather sadly for a Vulcan. “How little you understand. Let us move forward to another time.”
They were on the bridge of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Picard’s Enterprise. Q-past was there again, this time dressed in a Starfleet uniform; on the main viewscreen was a Borg cube.
Q smiled. “My little introduction between the Borg and your precious mankind.”
“People died because of you,” said Kirk.
“If it wasn’t for me, the Federation would have fallen to the Borg. I gave them the forewarning they needed to prepare. And make up your mind as to whether you’re Kirk or Spock. It’s making me dizzy.”
Q turned away, feigning disgust at the morphing apparition. He looked up at Q-past, rather rakish in his red uniform. They exchanged a look and Q-past nodded, smiling ever so slightly.
Spock said, “You feel your meddling helped prepare the Federation against the Borg. Have you stopped to think what your interference did to the Borg? It gave them new direction, literally and figuratively. They immediately began their plans to assimilate the Federation and, most importantly, Earth. A meeting that by our calculations would not have occurred naturally for another two hundred years.”
Q waved his hand impatiently. “I’ve heard enough. Q, can you help me?”
Q-past stepped forward. “Of course.” He snapped his fingers. The crew on the bridge gasped, staring at Q dressed as Ebenezer Scrooge and a shimmering apparition that morphed between human and Vulcan.
Worf drew his phaser. “Security, send a detail up to the bridge immediately.”
“Now what are you up to, Q?” said Captain Picard. He stopped when he recognized the apparition. “Admiral Kirk?”
The apparition didn’t reply to Picard. It turned to Q. “Stop this.”
Q smiled. “Not so high-and-mighty, now that I’ve got the upper hand. Q, would you be so kind as to restore my powers?”
“My pleasure, Q.” Q-past snapped his fingers.
Q wiggled his fingers. “That’s better. Much better.” He turned on the apparition. “Now, let’s find out who you really are.”
The apparition faded as Mister Spock said, “Live long and prosper.”
“You’re not getting away that easy. You have a lot of explaining to do.”
Suddenly, Data appeared on the bridge with a laurel of holly around his head and dressed in a deep-green satin robe. “Scrooge!” he bellowed. He held a gold goblet in one hand and a large turkey drumstick in the other. He was about to say something else when he stopped and blinked. “This isn’t right.” He disappeared.
Captain Picard walked up to Q. “Why are you dressed like that? What’s going on?”
“That’s what I’m about to find out,” he said, snapping his fingers.
Stave Five
Q found himself in a void, but a comfortable void, a void that felt like home.
“Q,” he said, his voice dampened in the nothingness.
Another Q appeared in a human female form.
“I need all of Q,” he said.
Q, in various forms, appeared in the void. None of the other Q were humanoid. One even showed up as a quark. Upon appearing, they all nodded or indicated their understanding of the situation.
“We must confront this threat,” said Q. “Any being that could entrap Q must be investigated and, upon a fair and impartial trial, be dealt with quite severely.”
Q agreed.
“As it happens,” continued Q, “I have a plan. We have to bring this creature, or creatures, out into the open. I’m convinced they have feelings for humans—why else subject me to that dreadful Dickens novel?”
Q reminded Q that the Dickens scenario had actually been his own idea.
“Whatever,” said Q, waving it off. “Regardless, they must have some affinity to humans. Being on the bridge of the Enterprise gave me an idea. I once created three timelines for Jean-Luc and took him back to the halcyon days of Earth—that is, I took him back before life began. I’m going to that time right now, and I’m going to prevent life on Earth from ever forming. I suspect that whoever is behind this will appear to stop me. But we all will be waiting—”
Q squinted at Q-quark. It was spinning oddly. Off balance. Wobbling. Then Q realized something was happening to all of Q. The other humanoid Q sprouted wires from her flesh and cried out in pain. Metal plates above her eyes pushed out through her forehead. Her dark brown skin turned ashen. Another Q had its fifteen limbs replaced with cybernetic prostheses that c
licked and whirred with movement. A multitude of tight red beams of light emitted from many of the Q and crisscrossed the void. Q who resembled a nebulae filled with metallic particles. Q-quark took on the sheen of a synthetic biomass. Q felt something crawling beneath his own flesh. It was as though snakes slithered beneath the surface. And there was pain. It burned within his limbs and even tore at his mind.
He screamed from the white-hot pain. Wires and small conduits punctured through muscle and skin along his arms. He could feel them growing out of his face. His mind burned like the center of a star. He was losing himself. Losing his identity. All around him, Q was morphing into—
“We are Borg,” said Q as one. “Resistance is futile.”
And then, for the first time in his approximation of life, Q knew fear. It was a pinpoint of cold, stark light in the fathoms of his being. All of Q had changed—had been assimilated. Looking down at himself, he was black and silver. One of his legs was now prosthetic, both arms nothing more than thick cybernetic cables with tools at the end. As he looked back up he saw the void itself—the Q Continuum—change. Parts of it folded in on itself while other parts expanded.
“Oh my Q,” he said, hardly above a whisper, the pain causing his vision to shimmer.
The Continuum contorted and changed into a Borg cube of enormous size. It filled the entire space between stars. It flowed effortlessly between dimensions. Touching upon infinite timelines at once, assimilating uncountable universes.
Stave Six
“How could this be?” said Q. He looked upon the Continuum with horror. All of it was gone. Literally everything that had and would exist.
But then he squinted into the newly formed Borg-verse. He beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, walking toward him.
Q felt another feeling he was unaccustomed to, but he was happy to embrace it: relief.
“Were these—” He found himself overwhelmed. He was confused and scared. Feelings he abhorred. The anger helped form the words that had stuck in his throat. “Were these shadows of things yet to come?”
