Star Trek - TNG - The Q Continuum - Q-Strike 3of3

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Prologue

LEr THE ENDING BEGIN. Begin the end of eternity .... It was finally happening. After endless,

empty aeons of exile, his liberation was at hand. Balls were rolling. Gears were turning. A

shiny, silver key had inserted itself into the eternal lock and now awaited only a flick of the

wrist to open wide the gate and let him back into that vast array of suns and planets and

moons and swirling nebulae from which he had so long been barred.

Turn the key. Set me free. Free me, me, me!

Time, too much time, had taken its toll on the orderly procession of his thoughts, but not his

infamous ingenuity and enthusiasm. He could scarcely wait to make his mark on the galaxy once

more, teach it the true meaning of terror and torment. He'd pick

up right where he left off-before Q spoiled everything.

All due to Q, and Q and Q, too.

Already a tiny portion of himself, the merest sliver of his soul, had slipped into a crack in the wall,

merging with one of the crude and contemptible creatures there, peering out through its obsolete

ocular apparatus, while the rest of him snapped and scratched impatiently at the primordial partition

that had defied him for longer than his scattered mind could begin to encompass, but not for very

much longer. He is the key. The key is me. The key to set me free. He had seen things

through the primitive eyes of his avatar within the wall, seen the child of Q and Q, the child of

the future.

My future. Mine! he roared at the silent wall, while spider legs of extended thought capered

and clawed and craved release. Hear me Q? Hear me here . . . and now. He probed for

further cracks in the wall, shouted into the flickering fissures.

Now the end has begun. Begin the end of Q . . . .

Chapter One

Ship's log, stardate 500146.3, First Officer William T. Riker reporting.

Captain Picard remains missing, transported away by Q, who alone knows when and if the

captain will return to the Enterprise. In his absence, I have barely managed to preserve

both the ship and the crew, despite the best efforts of the gaseous life-form known as the

Calamarain.

Our situation remains grave. To escape the Calamarain, we have taken refuge within the

outer fringes of the galactic barrier. Although our shields, modified to absorb

psychokinetic energy from the barrier itself, protect us from the worst of its efects, we

cannot remain immune to the

destructive force of the barrier indefinitely. Al

ready the more telepathically sensitive members

of the crew are experiencing discomfort and even

pain rom the excess of psychic energy composing

the barrier and now surrounding the ship.

Due to damage inflicted by both the Calamarain and the barrier, our warp engines are

inoperative, and we have lost artificial gravity in large portions of the saucer section,

including the bridge. I can only hope that we can complete the most needed repairs

before we are forced to exit the barrier and reenter our galaxy, perhaps to face the

Calamarain again.

LIEUTENANT BAETA LEYoRo's pain-racked cry echoed throughout the bridge. If not for the lack

of gravity, she would have surely collapsed to the hard duranium floor; instead the stricken

security officer levitated in midair, her body doubled over in agony as the psychic flux of the

barrier set her synapses on fire. A plait of black hair rose from her scalp, swaying like a

cobra about to strike. A heart-wrenching whimper escaped her lips, squeezing out from

between tightly clenched teeth.

Riker blamed himself. I should have sent her to sickbay immediately, the moment I realized that her

augmented nervous system made her uniquely vulnerable to the barrier. Instead he had waited until it

was too late, with the result that she had succumbed to her seizure halfway between her post

and the turbolift. But now was no time to second-guess himself. "Beam her directly to

sickbay," he ordered, then slapped the comm badge on his chest. "Riker to Dr. Crusher. Lieutenant

Leyoro requires emergency care. Expect her at once."

Even as he warned Beverly of the incoming patient, a shimmering silver glow enveloped the

floating, fetal form of Leyoro. Thank heavens the transporters are still working, Riker

thought, relieved that Leyoro could benefit from that technology at least, even if their

jury-rigged deflectors, experimentally altered by Lieutenant Barclay and Data, had not been

enough to protect her. The scintillating twinkle of the transporter effect shone even brighter

amid the dimly lit bridge, where only flashing redalert signals provided any illumination at all.

Even the blue tracking lights that routinely ran along the floor of the bridge had been snuffed

out by the abuse the Enterprise had sustained over the last several hours.

Riker's own head throbbed in sympathy with Leyoro; he suspected that his long-standing telepathic

bond with Deanna had increased his sensitivity as well, weakening his brain's defenses against the

psychic barrage. Swollen veins pounded beneath his temples and brow, although the ache was not

yet fierce enough to make him abandon his post. My drain will have to explode first, he vowed

defiantly, his ,yaw set squarely beneath his black beard. He nodded grimly as Leyoro

vanished in a cascade of sparks that swiftly evaporated before his eyes.

"Got her," Beverly's voice confirmed via his comm badge. "Crusher out."

C cnvinced that Leyoro's fate now rested in the able hands of the ship's medical officer, Riker

leaned forward in the captain's chair and turned his attention to other pressing matters. A brilliant

violet glow emanated from the forward viewscreen, catching his eye. Overloaded by the

immeasurable radiance of the galactic barrier, the screen had initially gone dead upon their entry

into the mysterious wall of energy. Now the screen flared back to life, but only to show a brighter

form of blankness, filled from top to bottom by an undifferentiated display of pure luminosity. The

glare from the screen pierced his eyes. "Someone dim the main viewer," he instructed gruffly.

"Affirmative, Commander," Data responded. Seated at Ops, the gold-skinned android manipulated

the controls at his station. Scorch marks along the console's polished metal casing testified to the

rigors of their recent battle against the Calamarain, as did numerous other scars all around the

bridge. A fragment of torn polyduranide sheeting drifted past Riker's face, free from the downward

pull of gravity, and he batted it away with a wave of his hand. On the screen, the phosphorescent

effulgence of the galactic barrier faded to a more subdued but equally uninformative gleam. "Is that

acceptable, Commander?" Data inquired calmly.

"That will do, Mr. Data," Riker said. The sooner they put the barrier behind them, the better. He

tapped his comm badge again. "Riker to La Forge. What's our warp status?"

Geordi's voice answered him from Engineering, sounding more than a little harried. "We've patched

up the plasma-injection system, but the warp-field coils in the starboard nacelle still need a lot of

work. We're talking another hour at least."

"Understood," Riker acknowledged. There was no need to urge La Forge to hurry; the engineering

chief knew full well how shaky their shields were compared with the awesome power of the barrier.

The devil of it as, Riker thought, we don't even know why the Calamarain attacked us in the

first place, even though it obviously had something to do with the barrier. Were the

gaseous entities still waiting for the Enterprise outside the wall? Riker didn't want to find out

until he knew the ship could make a quick escape at warp

. With any luck, the Calamarain will have given ;Ls up for dead the moment we flew into the

barrier.

-I certainly hope you're not planning to sit here forever," said a voice to his left, belonging to a tall,

auburn-haired woman who had usurped Deanna's seat in the command area. Her tone could be de

scribed as patronizing at best, contemptuous at worst.

impressive and mystifying as our surroundings must appear to creatures of your ilk, I'm afraid I grew

BL-customed to such spectacles several millennia ago." She raised an impeccably manicured hand

to her mouth in an only partially successful attempt to stifle a yawn. "Can't you do something just

to liven things up a bit?"

The woman in question, balancing a sleepy toddler upon her knee, was reportedly Q's wife and the

mother of his child, two propositions that frankly

boggled Riker's mind whenever he cared to think of them, which definitely wasn't now. "If we're

not sufficiently entertaining for you, you're more than welcome to leave," he informed her. Ever

since she had refused to use her Q-like omnipotence to rescue the Enterprise from its current

predicament, let alone enlighten him as to what Q had done with Captain Picard, he had

resolved not to let either her or her child distract him from his duty.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said haughtily. The pips on the collar of her fake Starfleet uniform

identified her (inaccurately) as a five-star admiral. Typical, Riker thought; from what he had seen so

far, the female Q's ego was easily a match for her husband's. "I told you before, I intend to find out

what precisely my esteemed spouse and partner finds so intriguing about this primitive vessel, no

matter how excruciatingly tedious that task proves to be. Besides," she added, smiling indulgently at

her small son, clad in equally counterfeit Starfleet attire, "little q enjoys your aboriginal antics."

"Ant-ticks!" q burbled happily. He waved a pudgy little hand, and a parade of tiny insects suddenly

appeared on the floor of the command area, marching single file past the elevated captain's chair and

across the top of Riker's gravity boots. Despite his determination to ignore Q's visiting relations as much

as possible, the first officer had to suppress a shudder at this reminder of the seemingly harmless infant's

abilities. Such amazing power in the hands of a child was enough to send a chill down a Vulcan's

spine. Like the original Q isn't immature enough, he thought.

Naturally, q's mother was charmed by her offspring's naive misunderstanding. "Oh, isn't that

adorable?" she said. Propelled by the motion of their miniature limbs, the insects began to lift off

from the floor adding to the ash and debris in the air. Fortunately, the female Q scooped up the

floating bugs with a net she materialized from nowhere, then consigned both the net and its

chittering contents to oblivion. -I'm sorry, dearest," she explained to the child, patting him on the

head, "but our present surround,^s are barbaric enough without any additional infesations."

Baby q objected strenuously to the sudden disappearance of his playthings. He scrunched up his

face and let out an earsplitting squall while simultaneously kicking his little legs. His tantrum shook

the entire bridge, which lurched from side to side, nearly throwing Riker out of his chair. Behind

him, he heard Ensign Sondra Berglund, who had replaced Leyoro at tactical, stumble awkwardly in

her heavy magnetic boots. "That's enough," he barked at the female Q. 'He's your child. Do

something about him."

To his surprise, the woman actually looked abashed, as if she feared the child's behavior reflected

poorly on her parenting skills. "Now, now," she cooed to q in a soothing tone, "you can play with

your funny arthropods another time." Accompanied by a brief flash of white light, an enticing

jumja treat

appeared in q's balled-up fist. Not surprisingly, the delectable glop-on-a stick successfully distracted

q, who abandoned his uproar in favor of sucking energetically on the sugary confection. "There,"

his mother said approvingly. "Isn't that better?"

Although the candy calmed the child, it also made something of a mess. Riker already spotted sticky

handprints all over Troi's customary seat. Deanna herself was currently in sickbay, under the care of

Dr. Crusher. He allowed himself a moment of concern regarding Deanna's safety, praying that the

doctor's efforts had protected Deanna, with her empathic sensitivity, from the barrier. Be well,

imzadi, he thought.

Deanna's Betazoid gifts rendered her unusually susceptible to the concentrated psionic energy

surrounding the ship, as were their civilian passengers: Professor Lem Faal of Betazed, and his two

children. As full telepaths, the Faal family were probably more at risk than anyone else aboard the

Enterprise. For that reason, he had ordered all three Betazoids, along with Deanna, to

sickbay before they even entered the barrier. He'd hoped that precaution would be enough

to keep their guests safe, but, insanely, Faal had caused a disturbance in sickbay, attacking

Deanna and escaping with his son. Even now, security was searching for the missing

patients.

I knew Faal was upset about his experiment being called off due to the unexpected attack of the

Calamarain, but I never expected him to resort to violence. Thank heavens, Deanna wasn't seriously

harmed, Riker thought, or I'd be tempted to beam him to the Calamarain myself.

At tactical, Ensign Berglund had regained her footing. "Shield strength is fluctuating, Commander,"

she reported, "by variances of twenty percent and more." Her eyes never left the display panel. "I'm

doing my best to stabilize the deflectors, but it's not working."

Riker glanced quickly at Lieutenant Reginald Barclay, now positioned at the secondary aft science

station. It had been Barclay's idea to divert telekinetic energy from the barrier to the ship's shields

by way of the organic bio-neural gel packs in the Enterprise's computer system, a hastily

improvised tactic that had proven successful . . . so far.

"The gel packs are still absorbing energy from the barrier," Barclay assured Riker, gulping nervously,

"but it's hard to quantify. I had to reroute the monitoring program to science two after the

engineering station exploded." He cast a wary look at the charred remains of the main engineering

console, only a few stations away. "The gel packs were never intended to serve as batteries for

psychic energy, so there are no established parameters to judge their efficiency."

"This is correct, Commander," Data confirmed. He had carefully evaluated Barclay's preliminary

findings earlier, as had Geordi La Forge. "Prolonged exposure to the barrier is causing a significant

percentage of bio-neural circuitry to incinerate. At present, energy absorption exceeds extinction by

a rate of approximately forty-seven-pointthree-four percent, averaged over the duration of our stay

in the barrier, but at any given moment the quantity of energy available to the deflector array can

vary dramatically, just as Ensign Berglund reports."

Riker nodded. "Let me know the instant the scale tips the other way. Ensign Clarze," he instructed

the young Deltan crewman at the conn, "set a course that takes us straight out of the barrier in the

shortest possible time. When we go, I want to leave here in a hurry-"

"Yes, sir," Clarze said. Riker had been impressed by the way the inexperienced ensign had kept his

cool during this crisis, coping with both the hostile activities of the Calamarain as well as the always

unsettling caprices of Q and his kin. He resolved to make a note of this the next time he and

Deanna completed their personnel evaluation reports, assuming any of them came out of this alive.

Hegazed at the lambent glow of the main viewer. Somewhere beyond that incandescent haze, the

Milky Way waited for them, as did, perhaps, an angry and homicidal mass of sentient plasma.

Where are the Calamarain? Riker brooded. And, just as importantly, where is Captain

Picard?

Chapter Two

Six hundred thousand years ago:

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

The booming voice came without warning, reverberating through space-time and startling five

celestial figures, in addition to two more who looked on anonymously from a slightly different phase

of reality. Jean-Luc Picard, late of the Starship Enterprise, stood amid the starry vastness of

space, accompanied by Q, his self-appointed guide on this forced excursion through

galactic prehistory, and watched, as through a one-way mirror, as Q's younger self faced the

consequences of his fateful alliance with the malicious cosmic entity who called himself 0,

as well as with 0's trio of malevolent cronies.

Like 0 and the others, Picard presently existed on a sublimely magnified scale, such that stars and

planets

were no more than ball-sized spheres of matter and burning gas in comparison. His gaze

encompassed parsecs of open space, and yet that stern and unforgiving voice seemed even larger

than himself. Picard cast a speculative glance at Q, then lifted his eyes heavenward. "The Q

Continuum, I presume?"

"Just so," Q affirmed. Clad in the latest Startleet uniform, he gestured toward his younger self,

standing a few lightyears away. More than a hint of melancholy tinged his ordinarily sarcastic voice.

"In truth, I wasn't too surprised, even then. I could hardly expect the Continuum to overlook the

small matter of a premature supernova, not to mention the total destruction of a major spacefaring

civilization."

Still saddened by the tragedy, Picard looked back over his shoulder at the lifeless void that was all

that remained of the mighty Tkon Empire, destroyed by 0 in a fit of pique after his underlings failed

to subvert its civilization. Where once a sophisticated and admirable people, numbering in the

trillions, had spread their culture throughout their solar system and beyond, achieving heights of

technological wizardry exceeding those of the Federation, the detonation of their sun, brought on

abruptly by 0's supernatural puissance, had extinguished nearly every trace of their existence,

leaving only a few scattered ruins on distant outposts to mark their passing. Picard could still feel

the relentless tug of the black hole the Tkon's sun had become. Invisible to his naked eye, even in

this transfigured state, the dense gravitational vortex pulled on him like an undertow, so that Picard

found

himself leaning forward to counter its attractive force. What was done to the Tkon he mused,

was a crime of interplanetary proportions.

Now, it seemed, as detective Dixon Hill might put it, the time had come to face the music ....

"I'm s-sorry," the younger Q stammered, staring up at the source of the bodiless voice. His fine

attire, which had resembled that of an eighteenth-century European dandy, several hundred

millennia ahead of its time, transformed at once into a coarse and uncomfortable sackcloth robe. "I

never meant for this to happen."

In fact, Picard recalled, the young Q had played little part in the annihilation of the Tkon, had even

attempted to stop 0 once he realized what the other was up to, but to no avail. At worst, he had

been only an unwilling accessory to genocide, not that this seemed to have spared Q's conscience

much. After all, if not for Q's recklessness and gullibility, 0 and his unholy associates would have

never gained entry to this reality in the first place. Q had promised to take responsibility for 0 when

he rescued the mysterious wayfarer from some extradimensional wasteland. 0 in turn had welcomed

three lesser entities into Q's reality, making Q responsible by extension for the depredations of these

sinister beings, who now faced judgment beside Q and their ruthless sponsor. Picard wondered how

much the other Q would hold the young Q to his original promise.

"WHAT HAS BEEN DONE CANNOT BE UNDONE."

Young Q flinched beneath every syllable, just as his older counterpart winced in sympathy. The

mature Q was clearly troubled by this peek at his ignominious youth, but made no effort to

intervene in what transpired. Even the Q, Picard observed with a certain relief, drew the line when

it came to tampering with the past; not even the gods could erase yesterday, no matter how much

they might want to: Q obviously survived this occasion, he inferred, or else he would have

never been able to torment me in the future. He shook his head. Lucky me.

"It all started out as a game," young Q tried to explain, pleading for understanding with

outstretched hands, "a simple test of their resourcefulness . . . ."

"That's enough, boy," 0 interrupted harshly. Unlike Q, he saw no need to discard his anachronistic

finery. His stylish velvet suit, olive green in hue, looked even more elegant and ostentatious next to

Q's penitent gray robe. The buckles on his polished black shoes shone like silver, while one ruffled

sleeve, Picard noted, was scorched from when he had thrust his merciless hand into the heart of the

Tkon's murdered sun. "We've no need to justify ourselves to their sort."

"But it's the Continuum," Q pointed out, while his older self mouthed the very same words. This

incident was obviously imprinted deeply in the later Q's memory. "They've come for us. They know

what we've done."

"Stiffen your spine, I say, and shut your mouth." 0 limped across the vacuum and rested a meaty

hand upon Q's shoulder. His three henchmen, whom Q

knew as Gorgan, (*), and The One, clustered behind him, letting their leader face the judgment of

the Continuum. "We're all in this together, Q. There's no backing out now."

"YOU," the stentorian voice targeted 0, sounding not unlike Picard's own resonant timbre. "YOU

AND YOUR FAMILIARS DO NOT BELONG HERE. YOU MUST BE CAST OUT FOR ALL

TIME."

"I've heard that before," 0 said with a chuckle, then glared at the sky with icy blue eyes. He placed

his hands on his hips and thrust out his wide chin. His raspy voice held not a note of regret or

repentance. "How dare you judge any of us, you pontificating pests? What do you know of the

noble art of testing developing species, forcing them to prove their potential and worthiness to

survive? Of the guile and glory of pushing lesser life-forms to their ultimate limits and beyond?

What have you ever done that can match what we have accomplished, you cautious Continuum?

We're better than the lot of you!"

"0!" young Q whispered frantically to his former role model and mentor. Once 0's insolent disregard

for the authority of the Continuum had thrilled and delighted the callow superbeing, but that was

before 0 had gotten him into real trouble. Before Tkon. Picard could only imagine how tempted the

elder Q must have been to warn his younger self of impending events.

"Don't hide behind these sonorous sound effects,"

0 challenged the bodiless voice. "Face us in person, preternatural deity to preternatural deity, if

you've got the guts and gumption."

"YOU ARE NOT WORTHY TO LOOK UPON THE Q. YOU SHALL BE BANISHED FROM

THIS REALM."

"Do your worst," 0 dared the Continuum. Taking a deep breath, he seemed to call upon his full

strength, just as he had when he froze the Coulalakritous into a solid mass. A flickering aura formed

around his humanoid guise, along with a vague impression of another, less substantial form

superimposed upon his anthropomorphic persona.

Once before, another half a million years in the past, Picard had beheld this shadowy other aspect

of 0. As then, the images were indistinct and almost subliminal in nature, and all the more ominous

for their tantalizing and suggestive elusiveness. Try though he did to discern the actual shape of 0's

alter ego, Picard caught only transitory glimpses of whipping tendrils that extended beyond the

boundaries of 0's human form like the unfurled wings of some alien raptor. That which is only

half-seen is all the more troubling to the imagination, he reflected; although Picard had

often conversed comfortably with alien beings who varied dramatically from the humanoid

model, what he spied of 0's other form sent a chill through his body. Or maybe it is just the

implication of deliberate deception that is so unnerving. What other secrets might 0 be

hiding?

Whatever his shape or origins, 0 remained a force

to be reckoned with. Even separated from the scene by one degree of existence, Picard felt the

power radiating from 0, stinging his exposed face and hands like a freezing wind. "Stand fast," he

called out to Q and the others, his gravelly voice rising to a thunderous roar. "These censorious

charlatans don't know whom they're dealing with! If we stick together, we can withstand any foe."

But the cumulative force of the Continuum struck like disruptor fire from a Romulan warbird,

dispersing 0's ectoplasmic tentacles and sending him staggering backward into Gorgan and The

One. Gorgan's voluminous robes and flowing white locks, suffused as ever by a faint greenish aura,

flapped like hung laundry in a hurricane while The One's gleaming metal armor protected him only

slightly better. His stern and bearded visage blinked in the face of the attack, the flesh of his face

pulled tightly against the skull beneath. Hovering above their heads, the glowing crimson sphere

that was (*) was stretched into a faint, translucent oval by the concussive force directed against

them. "Do your worst!" 0 bellowed, ribbons of smoke rising from his seared garments. "I'll not

surrender, never again!" Pressing forward, dragging his lame left leg behind him, he clenched his

fasts and hurled blasts of pyrotechnic energy at his unseen foes. Blazing fireballs arced like meteors

across the heavens, exploding into scarlet bursts of light and heat so bright that Picard was forced to

look away.

"Here," the Q beside him said, thrusting a tinted

eyepiece, similar in style to Geordi La Forge's old VISOR, into Picard's open hand. "I wouldn't

want you to miss anything."

Picard took the lenses without comment. Not for the first time, he wondered what Q's purpose was

in showing all this to him. What have these fantastically ancient events to do with my own life

and times?

If 0's fiery assault had any effect on the Continuum, Picard saw no sign of it. 0 was powerful, no

doubt, but he was only one where the Continuum represented the collective might of who knew

how many. Of his lackeys, only The One rose to his defense. "Bow not to false gods!" He declared,

flinging one thunderbolt after another after 0's fireballs. His austere, patriarchal features could've

been carved from the hardest Cardassian granite; even His long, forbidding beard was stiff and

unyielding. "Feel the sting of My Righteous Fury."

Despite the aid of The One, 0 began to lose ground. Battered by the irresistible force of the

Continuum, the murderer of the Tkon Empire was forced to retreat once more, spewing a trail of

blinding conflagrations behind him. Young Q felt the wrath of the Continuum as well. He tumbled

head over heels, nearly rolling away from 0 and the others before 0 reached out and grabbed on to

Q's forearm, digging his fingers into Q's metaphysical flesh. "I'll never yield, never I say," the

stranger gasped, squinting his eyes against the impact of the Continuum's offensive, "but even the

most courageous combatant knows

when to retreat. Time to flee to fight again, Q. Get us away from here!"

"What?" The beleaguered young godling looked uncertain. Wringing his hands nervously, he looked

back and forth between 0 and the direction from which the Q's attack emerged. Can he see his

fellow Q? Picard wondered. Does he know too well how angry they must be? The

Continuum had punished Q before, he recalled, for follies far less consequential than this. "I

don't know what to do," the youth said. "I'm not sure."

"Don't run, you fool," the later Q whispered to his young self, who, alas, could not hear the voice of

experience speaking. "You're only making it worse."

"Run!" 0 urged him. He tossed away his stylish brown wig, exposing his own reddish hair, tied in

the back. His black silk cravat had come undone, dangling loosely around his neck. "We have to

flee, Q, now. Or are you prepared to take the blame for what happened to the late, lamented Tkon

Empire?" His crippled leg dragged behind him, reminding Picard that 0 was unable to travel faster

than light without Q's assistance. "Are you ready to pay for my crimes?"

"But it wasn't my fault," Q whimpered. His face was contorted by fear and distress. Tears leaked

from his eyes. "Not all of it, not really."

"Are you so sure of that?" 0 asked, showing him no mercy. "Are you certain that the

high-and-mighty Q Continuum will see things the same way? From what I've seen so far, they're not

the forgiving type." A

devilish grin stretched across his broad, ruddy face. "They'll deal with you most harshly of all, I'll

wager."

"YOU CANNOT OVERCOME US," the voice of the Continuum intoned. "SUBMIT TO

BANISHMENT OR RISK DESTRUCTION."

"Don't do it," the older Q said, shaking his head mournfully.

"Now's the time," 0 spat through clenched teeth. "I can't hold them off any longer."

He's going to panic, Picard realized, only a heartbeat before the young Q let out an

inarticulate howl and swept he, 0, and the rest of their infamous party away in a flash of white

light. Picard found himself alone in deep space except for the continuing presence of the Q

he was accustomed to. The rest of the Continuum remained invisible to his senses.

"You don't need to say anything, Picard," his companion said. "I know when I've made an ass of

myself."

"Got a fine young maid,

Her dowry's paid,

My fortunes made,

My plans are laid,

Ill sit awhile in shade. .

Young Q shook his head in disbelief. 0 sounded altogether too pleased with himself for someone

who had called down the judgment of the Continuum upon them all. How could he sing at a time

like this?

I'm a fugitive, he realized, and an immortal one. My life is over and it won't ever end.

Dejected, he sat upon the ground, his knees drawn up beneath his chin. The ground itself consisted

of solid dilithium, its crystalline surface worn smooth by the ceaseless passage of the dense metallic

liquid that enveloped Q and his partners in crime. The metallic sea, which covered the entire

surface of the polished, planetsized mass of dilithium, extended for hundreds of thousands of

kilometers overhead before eventually segueing into an even vaster expanse of swirling helium and

hydrogen vapors blown by hurricane-force winds exceeding five hundred kilometers an hour. The

buried core of this gas giant, upon which they now resided, located in what would someday be

called the Detrian system, had been one of his favorite hiding places when he was a child; it was

like being on the yolk of an enormous eye, shielded from prying eyes by several layers of liquid and

gaseous shell. He had told no one about it, not even 0, but never had he dreamed that he would

someday use it to hide out from justice. This isn't the way it was supposed to happen, he

grieved.

"Maybe we should turn ourselves in," he suggested, looking up from the polished surface of the

core. He could no longer bear to stare at his own guilty reflection. "Perhaps the Continuum will

show mercy if we surrender freely."

0 did not respond to his suggestion, but instead kept on skating and singing, missing only a beat or

two in the melody, as the lyrics took a peculiar turn:

"Woe to those who are afraid,

I've never looked kindly upon being betrayed . . . . "

Why is he looking at me? Q thought nervously. 0 was just singing, that's all. "You don't know

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PrologueLErTHEENDINGBEGIN.Begintheendofeternity....Itwasfinallyhappening.Afterendless,emptyaeonsofexile,hisliberationwasathand.Ballswererolling.Gearswereturning.Ashiny,silverkeyhadinserteditselfintotheeternallockandnowawaitedonlyaflickofthewristtoopenwidethegateandlethimbackintothatvastarrayofsunsan...

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Star Trek - TNG - The Q Continuum - Q-Strike 3of3.pdf

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Star Trek - TNG - The Q Continuum - Q-Strike 3of3

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