Q-Space

by Greg Cox

  It took Picard a second or two to realize that he and Q had relocated once again, although none too far. The jade cliffs remained intact. The Sky Divers continued their daring plunges to salvation or doom. Even the cool of the evening breeze felt much the same as before. Then he observed that their vantage point had shifted by several degrees; they now occupied another balcony, one perched about ten or eleven meters above their previous locale. “I don’t understand,” he told Q. “Why have we moved? What else is there to see here?”

  “Ignore the floor show,” Q advised, “and look at the audience.” He lifted an empty saucer from the table and set it glowing like a beacon in the night, using it as a spotlight to call Picard’s attention to one specific balcony below them. There Picard saw once more the solitary figure of the youthful Q, enraptured by the life-and-death drama of the ancient Imotru ritual. Before Picard could protest that he had already witnessed this particular episode in Q’s life, the beam shifted to another balcony, where Picard was stunned to see both himself and the older Q watching the younger Q intently. “Look familiar?” his companion asked. Speechless, Picard could now only nod numbly. What is it about Q, he lamented silently, that he so delights in twisting time into knots?

  But Q was not finished yet. The spotlight moved once again, darting over the face of the cliff until it fell upon a young Imotru couple dining on a balcony several meters to the right of Picard and Q’s new whereabouts. Or at least they looked like Imotru; the harsh white glare of the searching beam penetrated their attempt at camouflage, exposing them to be none other than the young Q one more time, as well as a female companion of similarly human appearance. “It’s you,” Picard gasped, “and that woman.” Although noticeably younger than Picard recalled, the other Q’s companion was manifestly the same individual who had recently visited the Enterprise, two billion years in the future.

  Picard’s mind struggled to encompass all he was confronted with. Counting the smirking being seated across from him, there were, what, four different versions of Q present at this same moment in time? Not to mention at least two Picards. He kneaded his brow with his fingers; as captain of the Enterprise, he had coped with similar paradoxes before, including that time he had to stop himself from destroying the ship, but that didn’t make them any easier to deal with. The human mind, he was convinced, was never designed with time travel in mind.

  Still, he had no choice but to make the best of it. “What are you and she doing over there?” he asked, contemplating the couple highlighted by the glow of the spotlight.

  “If you’re referring to my future wife,” the Q at his table said, “her name is Q.” He beamed at the oblivious couple. “As for what is transpiring, can’t you recognize a romantic evening when you see one?”

  “I’m not sure I’m prepared to cope with the concept of you dating, Q,” Picard said dryly. “Why are we here? Is it absolutely imperative that I share this moment with you?”

  “Trust me, Jean-Luc,” Q assured him, “all will become clear in time.” Another goblet of liquid refreshment occupied the center of the table. Q finished off a cup of orange elixir, then placed the crystal goblet on the tabletop between him and Picard. He tapped the rim of the cup, producing a ringing tone. “Let’s listen in, shall we?”

  A pair of voices rose from the cup, as though the goblet had somehow become some sort of audio receiver. The voice of the younger Q was unmistakable, although surprisingly sincere in tone. Picard heard none of the self-satisfied smugness he associated with the Q of his own time.

  He (eagerly): “Isn’t it amazing? Didn’t I tell you how wondrous this is? Primitive, corporeal life, risking everything for one infinitesimal moment of glory. Look, the snakes got another one! Bravo, bravo.”

  She (faintly scandalized): “But it’s so very aboriginal. You should be ashamed of yourself, Q. Sometimes I wonder why I associate with you at all.”

  He (disappointed): “Oh. I was sure you, of all Q’s, would understand. Don’t you see, it’s their very primitiveness that makes it so moving? They’re just sentient enough to make their own choices, decide their own destinies.” He stared gloomily into his own cup. “At least they know what they want to do with their lives. Nothing’s restraining them except their own limitations as a species.”

  She (conciliatory): “Well, maybe it’s not entirely dismal. I like the way the moonlight sparkles on the reptiles, especially when their jaws snap.” She placed a hand over his. “What’s really bothering you, Q? You’re young, immortal, all-powerful…a touch undisciplined, but still a member of the Continuum, the pinnacle of physical and psychic evolution. What could be better?”

  He (wistful): “It’s just that…well, I feel so frustrated sometimes. What’s the good of having all this power, if I don’t know what to do with it? Merely maintaining the fundamental stability of the multiverse isn’t enough for me. I want to do something bold, something magnificent, maybe even something a little bit dangerous. Like those foolish, fearless humanoids out there, throwing themselves into gravity’s clutches. But every time I try anything the least bit creative, the Continuum comes down on me like a ton of dark matter. ‘No, no, Q, you mustn’t do that. It’s not proper. It’s not seemly. It violates the Central Canons of the Continuum….’ Sometimes the whole thing makes me sick.”

  For a second, Picard experienced a twinge of guilt over eavesdropping on the young Q’s this way. It felt more than a little improper. Then he remembered how little Q had respected his own privacy over the years, even spying on his romantic encounters with Vash, and his compunctions dissolved at a remarkable rate.

  She (consoling, but uncertain): “Every Q feels that way at times.” A long pause. “Well, no, they don’t actually, but I’m sure you do.” She made an effort to cheer the other Q up, looking out at the plummeting Imotru. “Look, two reptiles are fighting over that skinny specimen over there.” She shuddered and averted her eyes. “Their table manners are utterly atrocious!”

  He (appreciative, aiming to lighten the mood): “You know, I don’t think you’re half as shocked as you make yourself out to be. You’ve got an unevolved streak as well, which is why I like you.”

  She (huffily): “There’s no reason to be insulting.” She spun her chair around and refused to look at him.

  He (hastily): “No, I didn’t mean it that way!” Materializing a pair of wine-glasses out of thin air, along with a bottle of some exotic violet liqueur, he poured the woman a libation and held it out to her. Glancing back over her shoulder, her slim back still turned on Q, she inspected the gift dubiously. Q plucked a bouquet of incandescent yellow tulips from the ether. “Really, Q, you know how much I respect and admire you.”

  She (ominously, like one withdrawing a hidden weapon): “Just me?”

  He (uncomfortably): “Um, whatever do you mean?”

  She (going in for the kill): “I mean that cheeky little demi-goddess out by Antares. Don’t think I didn’t hear about you and her commingling on the ninth astral plane. I am omniscient, you know. I wasn’t going to mention it, presuming I was above such petty behavior, but since you think I’m so unevolved…!”

  He (defensive): “What would I be doing on the ninth astral plane? This has to be a case of mistaken cosmology. It wasn’t me, it was Q. Why, I barely know that deity.”

  She (unconvinced): “And a fertility spirit, no less! Really, Q, I thought you had better taste than that.”

  He (desperate): “I do, I do, I promise. I was only trying to broaden my horizons a bit, explore another point of view….” He offered her a strip of succulent meat. “Here, why don’t you try feeding the serpents?”

  She (chillingly): “I think I want to go home.”

  Picard laughed out loud. It was almost worth traveling back in time to hear Q put on the spot like this. “That reminds me,” he said to the Q sitting across from him, “back during that business in Sherwood Forest, you gave me quite a bad time about my feelings for Vash. You described love as a weakness, and berated me
constantly about being ‘brought down by a woman,’as I believe you put it.” He cocked his head toward the quarreling couple on the next balcony. “I must confess I find your own domestic situation, both here and back on the Enterprise, more than a little ironic.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” the older Q retorted. “You can’t possibly compare your farcical mammalian liaisons with the communion, or lack thereof, between two highly advanced intelligences. They’re entirely different situations.”

  “I see,” Picard said skeptically, contemplating the scene on the adjacent balcony, where the female Q had just conspicuously turned her back on her companion. “As we ridiculous mammals like to say, tell me another one.”

  The voices from the goblet argued on, lending more credence to Picard’s position. He savored the sound of the younger Q losing ground by the moment.

  He: “Fine, go back to the Continuum. See if I care!”

  She: “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? More time to spend with that pantheistic strumpet of yours. No, on second thought, I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

  He: “Try and stop me.”

  She: “Don’t you dare!”

  Picard eyed Q across the jade tabletop. “Advanced intelligences, you said? I am positively awestruck by your spiritual and intellectual communion. You were quite correct, Q. This excursion is proving more illuminating than I ever dreamed.”

  “I knew this was a bad idea,” Q muttered, a saturnine expression on his face. “I could hardly expect you to sympathize with the perfectly excusable follies of my youth.”

  Picard showed him no mercy. “I have to ask: what did your ladyfriend over there think of your short-lived partnership with Vash?”

  “That?” Q said dismissively. “That lasted a mere blink of an eye by our standards. It was nothing. Less than nothing even.” He shrugged his shoulders, remembering. “She was livid.”

  More livid than she sounds now? Picard wondered. That was hard to imagine.

  He: “I should have known you wouldn’t appreciate any of this. None of you can.”

  She: “Maybe that’s because the rest of us are perfectly happy being Q. But if that’s not good enough for you, then I don’t belong here either.”

  With an emphatic flash, the female Q vanished from the scene, leaving the young Q just as alone as his even younger counterpart a few balconies below. “Our first fight,” an older Q explained, “but far from our last.”

  The abandoned Q looked so dejected that, despite Picard’s well-earned animosity toward the being sitting opposite him, he felt a touch of sympathy for the unhappy young Q. “No one understands,” he muttered into his cup, completely unaware that his private heartbreak was being transmitted straight to Picard’s table. “Just once, why can’t I meet someone who understands me?”

  His older self looked on with pity and regret. “I believe you mortals have a saying or two,” he observed, “about the danger of getting what you wished for.” He sighed and pushed the talking goblet away from him. “Too bad you wouldn’t coin those little words of wisdom for another billion years or so.”

  A moment later, the balcony was empty.

  Fifteen

  Lem Faal was not about to leave the bridge quietly. “I’m warning you, Commander Riker, you’ll regret interfering with this operation. My work is my life, and I’m not going to let that go to waste because of a coward who doesn’t have guts enough to fight for our one chance to break through the barrier.”

  “Perhaps,” Riker answered, losing patience with the Betazoid physicist despite his tragic illness, “you should worry more about the safety of your children and less about your sacred experiment.”

  Summoned by Lieutenant Leyoro, a pair of security officers flanked Faal, but the scientist kept protesting even as they forcibly led him toward a turbolift. Claps of thunder from the Calamarain punctuated his words. “Don’t lecture me about my children, Riker. Sometimes evolution is more important than mere propagation.”

  What exactly does he mean by that, Riker wondered. Surely he couldn’t be saying what Riker thought he was implying? Faal’s starting to make my dad sound like father of the year. Even Kyle Riker, hardly the most attentive of parents, never seemed quite so eager to sacrifice his children’s well-being on the altar of his overweening ambition. Riker refused to waste any further breath debating the man. If it weren’t for the failure of the warp engines, they would have already been long gone by now, whether Faal liked it or not.

  The turbolift doors slid shut on Faal and his grim-faced escorts. Riker breathed a sigh of relief. “Mr. Barclay, please take over at the engineering station.” Riker wasn’t sure what precisely Barclay had to do with Faal’s unexpected arrival on the bridge, but now that Barclay was here he might as well replace the injured Schultz.

  Faal had no sooner left, however, when a blinding flare at the prow of the bridge augured the sudden return of the baby q. A second flare, instants later, brought the child’s mother as well. “Sir?” Barclay asked uncertainly.

  “You have your orders, Lieutenant,” Riker said, aggravated by yet more unwanted visitors. When had the bridge of the Enterprise turned into the main terminal at Spacedock? “Can I help you?” he asked the woman in none too hospitable a tone. Blast it, I was hoping we’d seen the last of these two.

  The toddler stared wide-eyed at the swirling colors of the Calamarain as they were displayed on the main viewer. “Frankly, I was in no hurry to revisit this ramshackle conveyance,” the woman said disdainfully, “but little q insisted. He simply adores fireworks. Perhaps you could fire your energy weapons again?”

  “Our phasers are not here to entertain you!” Leyoro snapped, offended by the suggestion. She took her weapons very seriously.

  Riker didn’t blame her. This was no laughing matter, although he hardly expected a Q to appreciate that. Things kept getting worse, no matter what they tried. A crackle of lightning etched its way across the screen, throwing off discharges of bright blue Cerenkov radiation wherever the electrical bursts intersected with the ship’s deflector shields. The rattle of thunder was near-constant now; it almost seemed to Riker that the persistent vibrations had been with them forever. His determined gaze fell upon the female Q and her child. Hmmm, he thought. Both Barclay and Geordi seemed to find the malfunction in the warp nacelles pretty inexplicable. Well, he could think of few things more inexplicable than a Q.

  He rose from his chair and strode toward the woman. “There wouldn’t be any fireworks at all if we weren’t dead in the water,” he accused. “Is this your doing?”

  “You mean your petty mechanical problems?” she replied. “Please, why would I want to go mucking about with the nuts and bolts of this primitive contrivance?” A Calamarain-generated earthquake shook the bridge, and q squealed merrily. “We’re simply here as spectators.”

  Riker considered the female Q. Since her previous visit to the bridge, she had discarded her antique sports attire for a standard Starfleet uniform, as had the little boy. He wondered briefly what they had done in the interim. Did infant Q’s require naps? More important, why would this Q want to prevent the Enterprise from leaving? The other Q had done nothing but encourage them to turn back.

  “Maybe so,” he conceded. It was entirely possible that the Calamarain were responsible for the failure of the Enterprise’s warp drive, in which case it was even more urgent that they find a way to communicate with the cloud-beings. “But you must know something about Captain Picard. What has your husband done with him?”

  “Oh, not that again!” she said in a voice filled with exasperation. “First the doctor, now you. Really, can’t you silly humanoids do without your precious captain for more than an interval or two? You’d think that none of you had ever flown a starship on your own.”

  “We don’t want to do without the captain,” Riker insisted, ignoring the woman’s ridicule. She was sounding more like her mate every minute. “Wherever Q has taken him, he belongs here, on this ship at this
moment.”

  The woman made a point of scanning the entire bridge, as if looking for some sign of Captain Picard’s presence, then returned her attention to Riker. “That doesn’t seem to be the case,” she said with a smirk.

  “Shields down to twenty-seven percent,” Leyoro reported. A few meters away from Leyoro, a small electrical fire erupted at the aft science station. Ensign Berglund jumped back from the console just as the automatic fire-suppression system activated. A ceiling-mounted deflector cluster projected a discrete forcefield around the flickering blaze, simultaneously protecting the surrounding systems from the flames and cutting off the fire’s oxygen supply. Within seconds, the red and yellow flames were snuffed out and Berglund cautiously inspected the damage.

  At least something’s working right, Riker thought, grateful that the fire had been taken care of so efficiently. Now if he could only get the warp nacelles functioning again…! Maybe if we shoot our way out of here, he thought, without holding anything back? “Lieutenant Leyoro, target the phaser beam directly in front of us, maximum intensity.” He had held back long enough; the Calamarain needed to learn that they could not threaten a Starfleet vessel without risking serious repercussions. “If you can disengage from contact with the enemy, Counselor, now would be the time to do it.”

  Deanna nodded back at him, acknowledging his warning. “Just give me a second,” she said, closing her eyes for a heartbeat or two, then opening them once more. “Okay, I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be.”

  “Fire when ready, Lieutenant,” Riker ordered. He glared at the turbulent vapors upon the viewer. “I want to see the stars again.”

  “My feelings exactly,” Leyoro agreed. A neon-red phaser beam ploughed through the seething chaos of the Calamarain, cutting an open swath through the iridescent vapors. Riker winced inwardly, hoping he was not burning through scores of Calamarain individuals. Am I killing separate entities, or merely diminishing the mass of the whole? He would have to ask Deanna later; right now he didn’t want to know. Beside him, Troi bit down on her lower lip as the beam seared past swollen clouds filled with angry lightning, and gripped her armrests until her knuckles whitened; obviously, she had not been able to cut herself off entirely from the emotions of the Calamarain.