by Greg Cox
The woman noticed Troi inspecting her. “Well,” she asked acidly, “is my ego as large as you anticipated?”
Troi blushed, recalling her remarks of a few moments ago. She hoped that the woman was equipped with a sense of humor to go with her extraordinary abilities; otherwise Troi might be in serious trouble. “My apologies. I had no idea you were listening.”
“Oh, never mind,” the Q stated wearily, as if the matter were far too trivial to waste her time upon. “I suppose divinity must resemble egotism to evolutionarily disadvantaged creatures such as yourself.” She swept the children’s center with a withering stare. To Troi’s surprise, Professor Faal stepped backward apprehensively. The Betazoid scientist remained hard to read, but he almost seemed frightened of the female Q. I guess a harmless baby is one thing, Troi thought, but a full-grown Q in her prime is a good deal more intimidating, even for one of the Federation’s finest minds. She reminded herself that Faal, not to mention Milo, were nowhere near as used to encountering the unknown as the crew of a starship. Especially when she just appears out of nowhere.
Having surveyed her surroundings, the female Q focused once more on Deanna. “Which one are you?” she asked. “The headshrinker or the witch doctor?”
Any lingering embarrassment Troi might have felt for inadvertently insulting this Q evaporated abruptly. “I am the ship’s counselor, Lieutenant Commander Deanna Troi,” she declared, “and this is Dr. Beverly Crusher.”
“Whatever,” Q replied, sounding faintly bored, but her patrician manner softened a bit when her gaze fell upon the child in Troi’s arms. The fan and the flyswatter popped out of existence, and she patted his tiny nose with her finger. “Hello, little fellow, have you been having fun among the silly primitives?”
The boy, who was obviously accustomed to his mother appearing from out of nowhere, smiled and showed her his lollipop. “Mama!” he gurgled, and waved the half-eaten sucker in her face. “Yum-yum!”
Troi hoped that his mother approved of giving candy to babies. “That’s very yummy, I’m sure,” Q said to her child and lifted him from Troi’s grasp. The Betazoid counselor willingly surrendered q, her tired arms grateful for the break. She had forgotten how heavy babies could get after a while. Q gave q a tender hug, then looked at the other two women with a marginally more charitable expression on her face. “I suppose I should thank you for tending to my baby as diligently as you were able, not that you can be expected to fully understand the unique needs of such a special and profoundly gifted child, who is, after all, the literal embodiment of the ultimate potential of the Q.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Beverly challenged her, understandably annoyed by the woman’s attitude. Troi both sensed and shared Beverly’s irritation, although Lem Faal, despite his anxiety, seemed to hang on her every word. He couldn’t take his eyes off the female Q and her child. “My own son, Wesley, is quite gifted.”
“Well, by humanoid standards, perhaps,” Q said, distinctly less than impressed.
“Not necessarily,” Beverly pointed out. “An entity much like yourself, who called himself the Traveler, judged Wesley worthy of his attention and tutelage.”
“The Traveler?” Q asked, sounding intrigued despite herself. She clearly recognized the name. “The Traveler chose your son?”
“Exactly,” Beverly informed her. Troi could feel her friend’s pride in her son, as well as the pain of Wesley’s long absence from the Enterprise. “I have every reason to believe that he may be on the threshold of entering a higher level of existence.”
“For that matter,” Troi added, unable to resist joining this game of maternal one-upmanship, “my own son, Ian Andrew, grew up to be a noncorporeal life-form exploring the cosmos.”
In fact, the full story was more complicated than that; her son had been an alien entity who had impregnated her with himself in order to learn more about humanoid existence, but she saw no reason to explain all that to this particular Q, who could obviously use being taken down a peg or two. For her own good, of course, Troi thought.
The female Q could not believe her ears. Professor Faal looked equally surprised. “Your son,” she echoed, “transcending the inherent limitations of matter-based biology? You must be joking.”
“Not a bit,” Troi stated. “If you doubt either me or Dr. Crusher, you can always consult the ship’s logs.”
Her son’s head resting contentedly on her shoulder, Q subjected Troi and Crusher to more intensive scrutiny than before. “Hmmm,” she murmured, mostly to herself, “I think I may be starting to see what Q finds so compelling about you funny little creatures. You may not be as primitive as you appear.”
Mother and child both disappeared, leaving the two women, along with Faal and his son, alone in the holographic children’s center at roughly three in the morning. Both the holodeck and the ship had survived the visitation intact, although Faal looked as though he had just undergone a religious experience. “I can’t believe it. How amazing,” he murmured, oblivious of Milo, who tugged on his father’s arm but failed to distract the older man from his preoccupation. “Pure energy and power in humanoid form,” Faal rhapsodized. “The manifestation—and reproduction—of noncorporeal existence. Animate, anthropomorphized thought!” His breath was ragged, but he didn’t seem to notice. He stared inward, poring over his memories for the secrets of the Q’s existence. “What did she mean,” he asked, “that the child was the embodiment of the Q’s potential? Do you think she was implying an even further development in their evolution? Why, the implications are astounding…!”
“I think it’s getting very late,” Troi said simply, uncertain how to respond. Despite all the wondrous events of the last hour, she found she could not ignore the wounded look on Milo’s face as his father theorized about the scientific importance of the infant Q. When the other parents, human and otherwise, boasted of their children, she recalled, Faal had not even mentioned his own. Troi could feel the boy’s pain. Why couldn’t Faal? Is he unable to sense it somehow, she wondered, or does he simply not care?
Eight
Captain’s log, supplemental:
As we approach the outer boundaries of the galaxy, neither Q nor any member of his family has been heard from for several hours. If nothing else, this welcome respite has given both myself and my officers a chance to get some much-needed rest. I anticipate the commencement of Professor Faal’s ambitious experiment with renewed optimism and vigor, even as I remain convinced that we have not heard the last of Q.
The galactic barrier shimmered on the viewscreen. Red and purple energies coursed along its length, charging the barrier with enough power to threaten even a Sovereign-class starship. On this side of that incandescent ribbon of light, the Milky Way Galaxy as they knew it, home to the Federation and the Dominion and the Borg and millions of worlds and races as yet unknown. On the other side, a vast and inconceivable emptiness holding countless more galaxies as large or larger than their own. This is truly the final frontier, Picard mused, contemplating the galactic barrier from his chair on the bridge, one boundless enough to be explored forever.
“An awesome sight,” he commented to Lem Faal. The Betazoid physicist and Geordi La Forge had joined them on the bridge to witness the barrier as it came within visual range of their sensors. Faal stood behind Data’s station at Ops, regarding the radiant barrier with open wonder. “I imagine you must be eager to be under way with your experiment,” Picard said.
“More than you could ever comprehend,” Faal answered. His pale face held a mixture of reverence and ill-disguised rapacity, like King Midas beholding his hoard of gold. “Did you know that the energy that composes the barrier is unlike anything we’ve ever encountered, aside from the Great Barrier at the galactic core? Why, at first it didn’t even register on any of the primitive sensors of the previous century.”
“So I gathered,” Picard said. He had taken the time to review Starfleet’s past encounters with the barrier, particularly the daring voyages
of Captain James T. Kirk of that era’s Enterprise, who had braved the barrier in his flimsy ship not once but three times. Kirk had mentioned in his log that the barrier had originally been invisible to every sensor except visual, emitting no conventional forms of radiation nor producing any measurable gravimetric effects. Picard smiled sadly at the thought of Jim Kirk; meeting Kirk himself in the Nexus remained one of the high points of his career. Too bad he didn’t live to see this day. This was exactly the kind of pioneering expedition he loved most.
“How soon until we’re within firing range?” Faal asked. A modified quantum torpedo, holding his crucial apparatus, waited within one of the forward torpedo launchers. Faced with the barrier in all its immensity and enigmatic splendor, Picard found it hard to visualize how any man-made object, no matter how specialized, could hope to make a dent in that heavenly wall. Then again, why would Q warn them to leave the barrier alone unless he actually thought Faal might succeed?
“Approximately three hours, forty-seven minutes, and twelve seconds,” Data answered helpfully. He increased the magnification on the main viewer and the image of the barrier expanded to fill the screen.
“Wow,” Geordi said, from his seat at the engineering station. “That is impressive.” Picard wondered how the barrier appeared to Geordi’s optical implants.
“You can say that again,” added Riker, who was seated at the starboard auxiliary command station. The first officer was as wide-eyed as the rest of them. “I have to admit, Professor, I don’t see any sign of those weak spots you mentioned before.”
Faal chuckled at Riker’s remark. “Everything’s relative, Commander. The fractures are there, you can be certain of it, but even the weakest point in the barrier appears impregnable to the naked eye.” He never looked away from the screen, enraptured by the magnified vision of the barrier in all its glory. “Three hours, you say. Captain, could we possibly go a little faster?”
“Only in an emergency,” Picard stated. He sympathized with the scientist’s impatience, but he failed to see a need to exceed Starfleet’s recommended cruising speed of warp five, imposed when it was discovered that higher warp speeds caused ecological damage to the very structure of space. “I’m sorry, Professor, but we should be within range soon enough.”
“I understand, Captain,” Faal said, accepting the verdict. His fingers toyed with his ever-present hypospray. “I’ve waited years for this opportunity. I suppose I can wait a few hours more.”
Picard was grateful that the scientist did not press the issue. Overall, Lem Faal had been fairly easy to work with so far; could Deanna have been mistaken when she detected some hidden dark side to the man’s temperament? He glanced to the left and was reassured to see that the counselor was watching the barrier and not Faal; he assumed this meant that the professor was not radiating any particularly disturbing emotions at present. Let us hope that she misread Faal initially, the captain thought. Q and his family were enough of a headache for any voyage. He hardly needed further problems.
“Captain,” Data reported, “our external sensors are detecting unusual tachyon emissions.”
Picard leaned forward in his chair, responding to Data’s unexpected announcement. “From the barrier?”
The golden-skinned android turned to face Picard. “Negative, Captain. I was monitoring radiation levels outside the ship when I noted an intriguing phenomenon. In theory, the ambient radiation should decrease steadily the farther we travel away from the galactic center. However, peripheral sensors on the ship’s hull are recording a steadily rising number of subatomic tachyon collisions, and not exclusively from the direction of the barrier.”
“I see,” Picard answered. He exchanged a quizzical look with Riker. The captain had learned to rely on Data’s scientific expertise when dealing with unexpected interstellar phenomena; if the android thought these microscopic collisions with faster-than-light particles were worth mentioning, then they deserved his full attention. “Do the tachyon emissions pose a threat to the ship or the crew?”
“No, sir,” Data stated. “The tachyon particles are passing through our deflector shields, but the number of particles would need to increase by approximately 1000.45 orders of magnitude before they constituted a hazard to either organic or cybernetic systems. I was merely calling to your attention an unexpected statistical pattern.”
Data didn’t sound particularly concerned, Picard noted, but the on-again, off-again nature of the android’s emotions often made it hard to gauge his reaction to any given development. When he wanted to be, Data could be as unflappable as a Vulcan high priest, no matter how dire the circumstances. Picard didn’t think this was one of those times, though; Data was also capable of conveying a sense of urgency as well, and Picard was not getting that impression from the android officer.
“Is there anything that could account for all this heightened tachyon activity?” Riker asked Data.
“There are only two possible explanations,” the android stated. His golden eyes carefully monitored the readouts at the Ops console. “An unusual natural phenomenon, such as a wormhole or quantum singularity, or an artificial tachyon bombardment engineered by parties unknown.”
“Artificial?” Leyoro asked.
Data elaborated calmly. “I cannot rule out the possibility that the emissions are being deliberately directed at the Enterprise.”
“To what purpose?” Picard asked. He didn’t like the sound of this. In theory, only Starfleet Command was aware of the Enterprise’s present location.
“That I cannot yet determine,” Data responded. “Shall I devote more of the sensor array’s resources toward identifying the source of the emissions?”
Picard nodded gravely. “Make it so, and continue to monitor the impact of the tachyons upon the ship.” He turned to address Geordi. “Mr. La Forge, is this tachyon surge likely to interfere with your plans for the experiment?”
“We may need to recalibrate our instruments,” Geordi answered. “Some of the equipment is pretty delicate.” Professor Faal nodded in agreement, and Geordi considered the barrier upon the screen. “Before we release the torpedo containing the magneton generator, I want to launch a class-2 sensor probe into the barrier first, just to see what kind of readings we can get before the probe is destroyed. Then we can fine-tune the settings in the torpedo before we send it into the barrier.”
“Professor Faal, is this acceptable to you?” Picard asked.
The scientist sighed impatiently, but nodded his head. “Yes, Captain,” he said. “Naturally, I would prefer to go straight to creating the wormhole, but, under the circumstances, sending in a probe first would be a wise precaution. The more accurate our data on the barrier is, the better chance for success.”
“Very well,” Picard said. “Prepare to launch the probe as soon as we’re within range of the barrier.”
Confident that Geordi could cope with this new development, he considered Data’s suggestion that the tachyons were being purposely directed at the ship. Could they constitute a signal of some sort? “Mr. Data, is there any pattern to the emissions that might suggest an attempt to communicate with us?”
“Negative, sir,” the android replied. “I have, in fact, run a statistical record of the tachyon emissions through the Universal Translator without success. The only discernible pattern is one of steady growth, suggesting that the source of the emissions is either growing in intensity and/or drawing nearer to the ship.”
“In other words,” Riker said, “it could be growing stronger and getting closer.” He scowled through his beard. “That could be trouble.”
Lieutenant Leyoro seemed to feel likewise. “Perhaps we should modify the deflector shields to keep the tachyons out,” she suggested. “Maybe by adding more power to the subspace field distortion amplifiers.”
“That seems a bit premature,” Picard decided after a moment’s consideration. Increasing the power of the shields tended to reduce the effectiveness of their scanners. “This doesn’t feel li
ke an attack and if it is, it’s a singularly ineffective one.” He mulled over the possibilities, his arms crossed atop his chest. “Counselor,” he asked Troi. “Do you sense anything unusual?”
“No, Captain,” she answered. “Nothing from outside the ship. Of course, there are plenty of life-forms out there who don’t register on my radar, so to speak. Like the Ferengi, for instance.”
“This can’t be the Ferengi,” Riker quipped. “There hasn’t been a price tag attached.”
Picard smiled at Riker’s joke. “Thank you, Counselor,” he said to Deanna. “I appreciate your efforts.” He leaned back into his chair and contemplated the viewscreen. Could this have something to do with our mission? he wondered. Is someone trying to sabotage the experiment even before we come within range of the galactic barrier? But why such a subtle approach, employing carefully minute emissions, unless the supposed saboteurs are truly determined to avoid detection? It seemed unlikely that the Cardassians or their Jem’Hadar allies could get this far into Federation space without someone raising the alarm, but either the Klingons or the Romulans could have slipped a cloaked ship past the borders. Granted, the Klingons were supposedly the Federation’s allies once more, but Picard knew better than to trust Gowron too far, especially when there was revolutionary new technology at stake.
And then there were always the more unpredictable factors, like the Tholians or the Gorns. They had been keeping a fairly low profile for the last few decades, but who knew what might draw them out of their isolationist policies?
