Star Trek - TNG - The Q Continuum - Q-Zone 2of3

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SOON, HE CACKLED. SOONER. SOONEST.

Behind the wall, he watched with keen anticipa-

tion as lesser life-forms, no more than a bug or a

wisp of smoke to him, buzzed about on the other

side. Only the wall, the wretched wall that had kept

him out for longer than his muddled memory

could even begin to encompass, kept him from

reaching forth and swatting both bug and smoke

away. Tendrils of his contorted consciousness ca-

pered spiderlike against the edge of the wail, scrap-

ing away at the boundaries of his banishment. He

couldn't touch the other side just yet, but he could

watch and wait and wonder about what he would

do when the wall, the wicked and wearying wall,

finally came down.

Very soon, he singsonged, soon soon soon.

The wall would crumble. The voice had promised him

so, that teensy-tiny voice from the other side. It

was difficult to conceive how such a paltry piece of

protoplasm could possibly undo that which had

held him back for so long, but he had hope and

reason to believe. Already he sensed that the wall

was weaker than before, minute faults and fissures

undermining its primal, protracted permanence.

All it needed was one good push from the other

side and a gap would be formed, the gap he needed

to break through. And then... and then what time

has done to the galaxy will be nothing compared to

what I'll do to all those stars and planets and people.

He flexed his tendrils in his eagerness to be free

once more. Yes, that's right, all the things I'll do . . .

to Q and Q and Q.

There was only one thing that worried him.

What if someone silenced the other voice before it

fulfilled its promise? And not just anyone someone,

but Q. That Q, the quisling Q, the Q who could

never, ever be trusted. I can smell you, Q. His

stench was all over the shiny silver bug on the other

side. It stank and perhaps could sting. Stink, stank,

sting, bee, he chanted to himself. You can't stop me.

Q can't escape me.

Soon could not come soon enough ....

Chapter One

Ship's log, stardate 500146.3, First Officer

William T. Riker reporting.

Captain Picard is missing, abducted by the

capricious entity known as Q. We can only

pray that Q will return the captain unharmed,

although time has taught us that Q is nothing

if not unpredictable.

The captain's disappearance cannot have

come at a worse time, as the Enterprise is

under attack by the gaseous life-forms whom

Q calls the Calamarain. Although Lieutenant

Commander Data has succeeded in adapting

our Universal Translator to the Calamarain's

inhuman language, allowing us a degree of

communication with them, we have thus far

failed to win their trust. They have rendered

our warp engines inactive and will not permit

us to retreat, so we must persuade them other-

wise. Speed is imperative, as our time is run-

ning out.

To complicate matters, we have a number of

potentially disruptive guests aboard the ship.

Chief among them are a mysterious woman

and boy who claim to be Q's mate and child.

Like Q himself, these individuals treat the ship

and its crew as mere toys for their amusement.

Furthermore, they appear unwilling or unable

to inform us where Q has taken Captain

Picard.

Equally uncooperative is Professor Lem

Faal, a distinguished Betazoid physicist,

whose ambitious attempt to breach the im-

mense energy barrier surrounding our galaxy

has been interrupted by the unexpected arri-

vals of both the Q family and the Calamarain.

Dying of an incurable disease, and obsessed

with completing his work in the time remain-

ing to him, Faal has vigorously challenged my

decision to abort the experiment in light of

the unanticipated dangers we now face. While

I sympathize with the man's plight, I cannot

allow his single-minded determination to en-

danger the ship further.

Indeed, according to what we have gathered

from the Calamarain, our first effort to dare

the barrier was the very event that provoked

the Calamarain's wrath, thus threatening us

all with destruction ....

THE STORM RAGED AROUND THEM. From the bridge of

the Enterprise-E, Commander William Riker could

see the fury of the Calamarain on the forward

viewscreen. The massive plasma cloud that com-

prised the foe, and that now enclosed the entire

Sovereign-class starship, had grown increasingly

turbulent over the last few hours. The sentient,

ionized gases outside the ship churned and bil-

lowed upon the screen; it was like being trapped in

the center of the galaxy's biggest thunderhead.

Huge sonic explosions literally shook the floor

beneath his feet, while brilliant arcs of electrical

energy flashed throughout the roiling cloud, inter-

secting violently with their own diminished

shields. The distinctive blue flare of Cerenkov

radiation discharged whenever the shield repelled

another bolt of lightning from the Calamarain,

which was happening far too often for Riker's

peace of mind.

With the captain absent, his present where-

abouts unknown, Riker was in command, and light-

ing a losing battle against alien entities determined

to destroy them. Not this time, he vowed silently,

determined not to lose another Enterprise while

Jean-Luc Picard was away. Once, in that cataclys-

mic crash into Veridian III, was enough for one

lifetime. Never again, he thought, remembering the

sick sensation he had felt when that grand old ship

had slammed into its final port. Not on my watch.

Their present circumstances were precarious,

though. Warp engines down, shields fading, and no

sign yet that the Calamarain were willing to aban-

don their ferocious attack on the ship, despite his

sincere offer to abandon the experiment and retreat

from the galactic barrier--on impulse if necessary.

Diplomacy was proving as useless as their phasers,

even though Riker remained convinced that this

entire conflict was based solely on suspicion and

misunderstanding. Nothing’s more tragic than a

senseless battle, he thought.

"Shields down to twenty percent," Lieutenant

Baeta Leyoro reported. The Angosian security

chief was getting a real baptism by fire on her first

mission aboard the Enterprise. So far she had

performed superlatively, even if Riker still occa-

sionally expected to see Worf at the tactical station.

"For a glorified blast of bad breath, they pack a hell

of a punch."

Riker tapped his combadge to initiate a link to

Geordi in Engineering. "Mr. La Forge," he barked,

"we need to reinforce our shields, pronto."

Geordi La Forge's voice responded immediately.

"We're doing what we can, Commander, but this

tachyon barrage just keeps increasing in intensity."

Riker could hear the frustration in the chief engi-

neer's voice; Geordi had been working nonstop for

hours. "It's eaten up most of our power to keep the

ship intact this long. I've still got a few more tricks

I can try, but we can't hold out indefinitely."

"Understood," Riker acknowledged, scratching

his beard as he hastily considered the problem. The

thunder and lightning of the storm, as spectacular

as they looked and sounded, were only the most

visible manifestations of the Calamarain's untem-

pered wrath. The real danger was the tachyon

emissions that the cloud creatures were somehow

able to generate and direct against the Enterprise.

Ironically, it was precisely those faster-than-light

particles that prevented the ship from achieving

warp speed. "What about adjusting the field har-

monies?" he asked Geordi, searching for some way

to shore up their defenses. "That worked before."

"Yeah," Geordi agreed, "but the Calamarain

seem to have learned how to compensate for that.

At best it can only buy us a little more time."

"I'll take whatever I can get," Riker said grimly.

Every moment the deflectors remained in place

gave them one more chance to find a way out. "Go

to it, Mr. La Forge. Riker out."

He sniffed the air, detecting the harsh odor of

burned circuitry and melted plastic. A few systems

had already been fried by the relentless force of the

aliens' assault, although nothing the auxiliary back-

ups hadn't been able to pick up. The Calamarain

had drawn first blood nonetheless, while the star-

ship crew's own phasers had done little more than

anger the enraged cloud of plasma even further,

much to the annoyance of Baeta Leyoro, who took

the failure of their weapons personally.

This is all Q~ fault, Riker thought. Captain

Picard had shielded Q from the Calamarain several

years ago, and apparently they had neither forgot-

ten nor forgiven that decision. It was the Enter-

prise's past association with Q, he believed, that

made the Calamarain so unwilling to trust Riker

now when he promised to abort Professor Faal's

wormhole experiment. Tarred by Q's bad reputa-

tion... talk about adding insult to (possibly mor-

tal) injury!

For all we know, he mused, the Calamarain

might have sound reasons for objecting to the exper-

iment. If only they could be reasoned with somehow!

He glanced over at Counselor Deanna Troi, seated

to his left at her own command station. "What are

you picking up from our stormy friends out there?"

he asked her. The seriousness in his eyes belied the

flippancy of his words. "Any chance they might be

calming down?"

Troi closed her eyes as she reached out with her

empathic senses to probe the emotions of the

seething vapors that had enveloped the ship. Her

slender hands gently massaged her temples as her

breathing slowed. No matter how many times

Riker had seen Deanna employ her special sensi-

tivity, it never failed to impress him. He prayed

that Deanna would sense some room for compro-

mise with the Calamarain. All he needed was to

carve one chink in the other species' paranoia and

he was sure he could find a peaceful solution to this

needless conflict.

Blast you, Q, he thought bitterly. He had no idea

what Q had done God-knows-when to infuriate the

Calamarain so, but he was positive it was some-

thing stupid, infantile, and typically Q-like. Why

should he have treated them any differently than

he's ever treated us?

Riker's gaze swung inexorably to the right, where

an imperious-looking auburn-haired woman rested

comfortably in his own accustomed seat, a wide-

eyed toddler bouncing on her knee while she ob-

served the ongoing battle against the Calamarain

with an air of refined boredom. Mother and child

wore matching, if entirely unearned, Starfleet uni-

forms, with the woman bearing enough pips upon

her collar to outrank Riker if they possessed any

legitimacy which they most definitely did not.

The first officer shook his head quietly; he still

found it hard to accept that this woman and her

infant were actually Q's wife and son. Frankly, he

had a rough time believing that any being, highly

evolved or otherwise, would willingly enter into

any sort of union with Q.

Then again, the female Q, if that's what she truly

was, had enough regal attitude and ego to be one of

Q's relations. A match made in the Continuum, he

thought. She seemed content to treat the imminent

annihilation of the ship and everyone aboard as no

more important than a day at the zoo, which was

probably just how she regarded the Enterprise. At

least the little boy, whom she called q, appeared to

be enjoying the show. He gaped wide-eyed at the

screen, clapping his pudgy little hands at each

spectacular display of pyrotechnics.

I'm glad somebody ~ having a good time, Riker

thought ruefully. I suppose I should be thankful that

I don't have to worry about the kid’s safety. The two

Qs were probably the only people aboard the

Enterprise who weren't facing mortal danger. Who

knows? he wondered. They may even be at the heart

of the problem. Could the Calamarain tell that Q's

family were on the ship? That couldn't possibly

reflect well on the Enterprise.

"I'm sorry, Will," Troi said, reopening her eyes

and lowering her hands to her lap. "All I can sense

is anger and fear, just like before." She stared

quizzically at the iridescent plasma surging across

the viewer. "They're dreadfully afraid of us for

some reason, and determined to stop us from

interfering with the barrier."

The barrier, Riker thought. It all came back to

the galactic barrier. He could no longer see the

shimmering radiance of the barrier on the forward

viewer, but he knew that the great, glowing curtain

was only a fraction of a light-year away. For genera-

tions, ever since James Kirk first braved the galac-

tic barrier in the original Enterprise, no vessel had

ventured into it without suffering massive casual-

ties and structural damage. Professor Faal had

insisted that his wormhole experiment would have

no harmful effect on the barrier as a whole, but the

Calamarain definitely seemed to feel otherwise.

They referred to the barrier as the "moat" and had

made it abundantly and forcefully clear that they

would obliterate the Enterprise before they would

permit the starship to tamper with it. I need to find

some way to convince them that we mean no harm.

That might be easier accomplished without any

Qs around to cloud the issue, he decided. "Excuse

me," he said to the woman seated to his right

ignoring for the moment the sound of the Cala-

marain pounding against the shields. He was un-

sure how to address her; although she claimed her

name was Q as well, he still thought of her as a Q

rather than the Q. "I'm afraid that the presence of

you and your child upon the Enterprise may be

provoking the Calamarain, complicating an al

ready tense situation. As the acting commander of

this vessel, I have to ask you to leave this ship

immediately."

She peered down her nose at him as she might at

a yapping dog whose pedigree left something to be

desired. One eyebrow arched skeptically. For a

second or two, Riker feared that she wasn't even

going to acknowledge his request at all, but eventu-

ally she heaved a weary sigh. "Nonsense," she said,

in a tone that reminded him rather too much of

Lwaxana Troi at her most overbearing. "The Ct, la-

marain wouldn't dare threaten a Q. This is entirely

between you and that noxious little species out

there."

Riker rose from the captain's chair and looked

down on the seated woman, utilizing every possible

psychological advantage at his disposal. She didn't

look too impressed, and Riker recalled that, stand-

ing, the woman was nearly as tall as he was. "That

may be so," he insisted, "but I can't afford to take

that risk." He tried another tack. "Surely, in all the

universe, there is someplace else you'd rather be."

"Several trillion," she informed him haughtily,

"but dear q is amused by your little skirmish." She

patted the boy's tousled head indulgently.

Don't think of her as godlike super-being, Riker

thought as a new approach occurred to him. Think

of her as a doting more. His own mother had

tragically died when he was very young, but Riker

thought he understood the type. "Are you certain

it's not too violent for him?" he asked, trying to

sound as concerned and sympathetic as possible.

"Things are likely to get messy soon, especially

once our shields break down. It's not going to be

pretty."

The woman's brow furrowed at his words. It

appeared the potential grisliness of the crew's prob-

able demise had not crossed her mind before. She

glanced around her, checking out the various frag-

ile humanoids populating the bridge. Outside, the

tempest bellowed its intention to destroy the Enter-

prise and all aboard her. As if to make Riker's

point, the ship pitched forward, slamming Lieuten-

ant Leyoro into her tactical console. Her grunt of

pain, followed by a look of stoic endurance, did not

escape the female Q's notice.

Riker felt encouraged by her hesitant silence.

This might actually work, he thought. "You know,"

he added, "I cried my eyes out the first time I read

Old Yeller."

The woman gave him a blank look; apparently

her omniscience did not extend to classic chil-

dren's fiction of the human species. Still, the basic

idea seemed to get across. She cast a worried look

at her son. "Perhaps you have a point," she con-

ceded. Resignation settled onto her patrician fea-

tures. "Too much mindless entertainment cannot

be good for little q... even if his father can't get

enough of your primitive antics."

With that, both mother and child vanished in a

flash of white light that left Riker blinking. He

breathed a sigh of relief, settling back into the

captain's chair, until q reappeared upon his own

knee. "Stay!" he yelped boisterously. For a superior

being from a higher plane of reality, q felt solid

enough and, if Riker could trust his own nostrils, in

need of a fresh diaper beneath his miniature Star-

fleet uniform.

Riker groaned aloud. Good thing the captain's

still missing, he thought, for the first and only time

since Picard's abduction. The captain, it was well-

known, had even less patience with small children

than his first officer. Now what do I do with this kid?

he wondered, looking rather desperately at Deanna

for assistance. Despite their otherwise dire circum-

stances, the counselor could not resist a smile at

Riker's sudden predicament.

Mercifully, the female Q materialized in front of

Riker and lifted the toddler from his knee. "Come

along, young q," she scolded gently. "I mean it."

She tapped her foot impatiently upon the floor,

giving Riker just enough warning to avert his eyes

before the pair disappeared in another blinding

flash of light.

He waited apprehensively for several seconds

thereafter, holding his breath against the likelihood

of another surprise reappearance. Had Q and q

really left for the time being? He did not delude

himself that the Enterprise had seen the last of

either of them, let alone their mischievous relation,

but he'd gladly settle for a temporary respite if it

gave him enough time to settle matters with the

Calamarain. Just what we needed, he thought sar-

castically. Three Qs to worry about from now on

Deanna broke the silence. "I think they're gone,

Will."

"Thank heaven for small favors," he said. Now,

if only the Calamarain could be disposed of so

easily! "Mr. Data, activate your modified transla-

tion system. Now that our visitors have departed,

let's try talking to the Calamarain one more time."

"Understood, Commander." The gold-skinned

android manipulated the controls at Ops. After

much effort, Data had devised a program by which

humanoid language could be translated into the

shortwave tachyon bursts the Calamarain used to

communicate, and vice versa. "The translator is

on-line. You may speak normally."

Riker leaned against the back of the captain's

chair and took a deep breath. "This is Commander

Riker of the U.S.S. Enterprise, addressing the Cala-

marain." In truth, he wasn't exactly sure whom he

was speaking to. Give me a face I can talk to any

day, he thought. "I'm asking you to call off your

hostile actions toward our vessel. Speaking on

behalf of this ship, and the United Federation of

Planets, we are more than willing to discuss your

concerns regarding the... moat. Let us return to

our own space now, and perhaps our two peoples

can communicate further in the future."

I can't get more direct than that, Riker thought.

He could only hope that the Calamarain would

realize how reasonable his offer was. If not, our only

remaining option may be to find a way to destroy

the Calamarain before they destroy us, he realized.

A grim outcome to this mission, even assuming

their foe could be extinguished somehow.

"They've heard you," Troi reported, sensing the

Calamarain's reaction. "I think they're going to

respond."

"Incoming transmission via tachyon emission,"

Data confirmed. He consulted his monitor and

made a few quick adjustments to the translation

program.

An eerie voice, devoid of gender or human

inflections, echoed throughout the bridge. Riker

decided he preferred the computer's ordinary

tones, or even the harsh cadence of spoken

Klingon.

"We/singular remain/endure the Calamarain," it

intoned. "Moat is sacred/essential. No release/No

escape. Chaos waits/threatens. Enterprise brings/

succors chaos. Evaporation/sublimation is manda-

tory/preferable."

Riker scowled at the awkward and downright

cryptic phrasing of the Calamarain's message. Un-

fortunately, Data didn't have nearly enough time

to get all the bugs worked out of the new transla-

tion program. It will have to do, he resolved.

Throughout human history, explorers and peace-

makers had coped without any foolproof, high-tech

translating devices. Could the crew of the Enter-

prise do any less?

When the Calamarain talked of "chaos," he

guessed, they referred to Q and his kind. Frankly,

he couldn't blame the Calamarain for mistrusting

anyone associated with Q; that devilish trouble-

maker wasn't exactly the most sterling character

witness. As for "evaporation/sublimation," he feared

that term was simply the cloud creatures' way of

describing the forthcoming destruction of the En-

terprise, sublimation being the chemical process by

which solid matter was reduced to a gaseous state.

Who knows? he thought. Maybe the Calamarain

think they're doing us a favor by liberating our

respective molecules From the constraints of solid

existence.

He didn't exactly see things their way. "Listen to

me," he told the Calamarain, hoping that his own

words weren't getting as badly garbled as theirs. He

strove to keep his syntax as simple as possible.

"The beings known as the Q Continuum are not

our allies. We do not serve the Q."

In fact, he recalled, Q had also warned Captain

Picard to stay away from the galactic barrier

"Chaos within/without," the Calamarain stated

mysteriously. "Chaos then/now/to come. No/not

be/not again. Excess risk/dread. No Enterprise/no

be."

That doesn't sound good, Riker thought, whatev-

er it means. He refused to give up, boiling his

intended message down to its basics. "Please be-

lieve me. We will not harm you. Let us go." Even

our shaky translator can't mangle that, he prayed.

The Calamarain responded not with words but

with a roar of thunder that rocked the bridge. Riker

felt his breath knocked out of him as the floor

suddenly lurched to starboard, nearly toppling him

from the captain's chair. Troi gasped nearby and

fierce bolts of electrical fire arced across the view-

screen. At the corm, Ensign Clarze struggled to

stabilize their flight path; sweat beaded on his

smooth, hairless skull. Behind Riker, Lieutenant

Leyoro held on to the tactical podium for dear life

while the rest of the bridge staff fought to remain at

their stations. Only Data looked unfazed by the

abrupt jolt. "The Calamarain are not replying to

your last transmission, Commander," he reported.

The android inspected the raging tempest on the

screen. "At least not verbally."

Troi released her grip on her chair's armrests as

the floor leveled. The din of the Calamarain's

attack persisted, though, like a ringing in Riker's

ears and a constant vibration through his bones. "I

sense great impatience," she informed him.

"They're through with talking, Will."

"I got that impression," he said. He looked

around the bridge at the tense and wary faces of the

men and women depending on his leadership.

Wherever you are, Captain, he thought, I hope

you're faring better than us.

Chapter Two

"Now WHERE ARE WE?" he asked. "And when?"

Captain Jean-Luc Picard, late of the Starship

Enterprise, looked around as he found himself

drifting in deep space. An astounding abundance

of stars surrounded him on all sides, more than he

had ever seen from a single location before. Just by

twisting his neck from side to side, he could spot an

astonishing variety of stellar phenomena: giant

pillars of dust and gas rising up into the starry

void, great globular clusters filled with millions of

shining blue suns, supernovas spewing light and

matter in their violent death throes, nebulas, qua-

sars, pulsars, and more. Craning his head back, he

saw above him what looked like the awesome

spectacle of two enormous clouds of stars colliding;

huge glowing spirals, streaked with shades of blue

and scarlet and bedecked with countless specks of

white-hot fire, merged into an amorphous mass

of luminescence large enough, Picard guessed, to

hold--or destroy--several million solar systems.

Were any of those worlds inhabited? he wondered,

hoping despite all appearances that some form of

sentient life could survive the tremendous cosmic

cataclysm transpiring overhead. Then Q drifted

between Picard and the fusing stellar clusters,

completely spoiling the view.

"Quite a show, isn't it?" Q remarked, floating on

his back with his interlocked hands cradling the

back of his head, his elbows extended toward the

sky. Like Picard, he wore only a standard Starfleet

uniform, his omniscience protecting them both

from the vacuum. "You should have seen it the first

time."

Impressive, yes, Picard agreed silently, but where

exactly, in space and time were they now? As he

floated in the void, he considered all that he saw

around him. Judging from the sheer density of stars

in sight, he theorized that he and Q were either

very close to the galactic core of the Milky Way or

else sometime very distant in the past, when the

expanding universe was much smaller, and the

interstellar distances much shorter, than they were

in his own time. Or both, he realized.

"When is this?" he asked Q again. At the preced-

ing stop on Q's tour, Picard had found himself

millions of years in the past. He could only specu-

late what era Q had brought him to now, just as he

could only ponder what devious reason Q had for

abducting him in the first place. Besides Q's own

perverse amusement, that is. "I demand an expla-

nation."

"One would think you would have learned by

now, mon capitain," Q replied, "that your de-

mands and desires are quite irrelevant where I am

concerned." He assumed a standing posture a few

meters away from Picard. "For what it's worth,

though, we are presently a mere one million years

before your home sweet home in the twenty-fourth

century." A polished bronze pocketwatch materia-

lized in Q's palm and he squinted at its face.

"Hmmm. We seem to be a few minutes early."

"Early for what?" Picard asked. At every previ-

ous stop, they had observed the activities of Q's

younger self. Yet they appeared to be very much

alone at the present, with only a surplus of stars to

keep them company. A million years ago, he

thought, both amazed and aghast. Even if I knew

where Earth was among those distant stars, the first

human beings will not stand erect for another five

hundred thousand years. Here and now, I am the

only living Homo sapiens in the entire universe. It

was a terrifying thought.

"For them," Q answered as a sudden flash of

white light attracted Picard's eyes. The light flared

and died in an instant, leaving behind two human-

oid figures striding across the empty void as though

they were walking upon a level pathway. They

approached him and Q at a brisk pace, coming

within ten or fifteen meters of where Picard floated

beside Q. Paradoxically, he thought he heard foot-

steps, despite the utter absurdity of any sound

existing in the vacuum. Then again, he thought,

with Q, nothing is impossible.

He recognized both figures from earlier points in

Q's past. One of them was Q himself, albeit a

million years younger than the self-centered and

thoroughly irritating individual who had kid-

napped him only hours before. This was a more

youthful Q, he had learned, one at the very onset of

his mischievous career Would that the Continuum

had curbed him way back here, Picard thought,

knowing better than most just how insufferable Q

would become in the many millennia ahead. I don't

know what's scarier, he mused, a more juvenile Q or

a one closer to the Q I know.

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