STAR TREK - TNG - 49 - Q-Strike

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Prologue

LET 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 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

described 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 god s 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 the

Continuum like I do," he insisted. "They can actually be quite reasonable on occasion. I'm sure if we

explain ourselves, show them how matters simply got out of hand, we could expect some leniency."

"I venture I'd be quite dismayed . . . . "

Several meters away, skating blithely over the slick crystal plane, 0 laughed out loud at the end of his

song. He retied his unfurled cravat as he coasted over the solid dilithium. "You've a lot to learn about

being a rebel, my naive young friend. Rule Number One Never surrender. Isn't that right, fellows?"

The other entities clustered nearby. The One had formed Himself an impressive-looking dilithium throne

in which He sat rather too regally, Q thought, for One who had so recently been forced to flee for His

liberty. Gorgan looked significantly more agitated, pacing back and forth behind The One's throne, the

hem of his amethyst robe brushing the ground. His immaterial form shimmered, looking slightly less solid

than a hologram. Silent as ever, (*) hovered in the flowing currents of the metal sea, casting a bloodred

radiance over the entire scene.

"Isn't that right?" 0 repeated loudly, a dangerous edge in his voice. Bubbles streamed from his lips,

ascending toward the gaseous atmosphere far, far above.

"Oh yes, certainly," Gorgan piped up unctuously. As always, his voice had a peculiarly unnatural echo, as

if it was generated artificially by a being whose lips and lungs were merely simulcra of the real things. "No

surrender at all," he insisted.

The One sat immobile upon His throne, His upper limbs resting upon sculpted armrests. His golden plate

armor, medieval in style, showed no sign of rust or corrosion, despite the liquid nature of this undersea

hiding place. "The final battle is not yet fought. My Might will endure unto the last."

"That's more like it," 0 said gruffly, sliding toward fl. "An occasional reversal is to be expected when

you're living boldly. I warned you there'd be danger, Q. That's the price you pay for taking chances."

They were not entirely alone. Eyeless, segmented, cylindrical life-forms, evolved to survive the incredible

pressure of the gas giant's lower depths, swam through the molten dilithium, instinctively giving 0 and the

others a wide berth. They're smarter than I was, Q thought, envying the primitive creatures. "Is that what

we're doing?" he asked. "Living boldly? Being rebels?" He stared glumly at the horizon, where the solid

dilithium met the aqueous sky, refusing to look at 0. "So why do I feel like some wretched criminal on the

run?"

0 glared down at him. "All right then, let's have this out here and now. What are you so morose about?

The Tkon? Ephemeral creatures whom the universe

will never miss. A million years from now? They'll be completely forgotten, while we go on forever. They

should be thankful they attracted our attention. At least we'll remember the fine sport they provided.

That's a better legacy than most such mortals can expect."

"Sport?" Q jumped to his feet, practically shouting in 0's face. Blind eels, their sinuous bodies covered by

iridescent scales, swam away in alarm. "They didn't stand a chance. It wasn't fair."

"What does fair have to do with it?" 0 held his ground. "Of course the outcome is always the same.

They're just animals after all. Crude, corporeal creations fit only to provide us with a bit of diversion. It's

the style with which such savage species are dispatched that matters, Q. You have to learn to appreciate

the elegance of extinction, the deft and delicate dance of destruction."

"You blew up their sun! You call that delicate?" The angry words came gushing out of him in a flood of

bubbles. He couldn't have held the accusations back if he wanted to. "I saw you, 0. I was there. You

weren't concerned with style. You were just angry at the Tkon because they beat Gorgan and the others

at their own morbid little games. They beat you-and you killed them for it."

"They were creatures!" 0 spat angrily. "Why can't you understand that? Creatures like that can't beat

beings like us. It's impossible by definition." He sneered scornfully at Q. "Don't waste my time crying over

the poor, unfortunate Tkon. I know what your

real problem is. You're afraid. For the first time in your puerile, immature existence, you've stepped

outside the boundaries set by that hidebound Continuum of yours, and now you want to go scurrying

back in search of forgiveness." He made a clucking sound with his tongue. "I thought you were braver

than that, but maybe you're just another timid little Q after all."

"That's not true," Q shot back, but with less certainty than with which he had spoken for the Tkon.

"Isn't it?" 0 asked. "Where's the Q who pulled me through the Guardian of Forever, and the devil with the

consequences? I thought you wanted to be different from your conservative brethren. I thought you

wanted to make your mark on the multiverse, maybe even give the rest of the Continuum a much-needed

jolt or two. I thought you wanted adventure and excitement and glory."

"I did. I do. I . . . I . . ." He didn't know what he wanted anymore.

"That's not what it looks like to me. One little scolding from the other Q and suddenly all your

revolutionary zeal and ambition collapses like a chronal wave in a transtemporal field." Without warning,

0 shoved Q hard enough to knock the younger entity off his feet. Q landed with a bump onto the ground,

his flailing limbs churning up the viscous mid surrounding him, creating short-lived eddies in the flowing

dilithium. "See," his assailant taunted, "a little pressure and you fall right over. You can't even stand up for

your own convictions."

Is that true? Q wondered, sprawled upon the glossy surface of the core. Am I merely afraid of getting

caught? He was afraid of what the Continuum might do certainly, and with good reason, but was that all

he felt at this moment? Maybe 0 was right and wrong at the same time, at least where Q was concerned.

This is absurd, he thought angrily, too disgusted by himself and this entire situation to even bother

climbing to his feet again. I'm a Q. I, know all there is to know. So how come I can't even figure myself

out?

"What I didn't realize, in the greenness of my youth," the later Q said from a few meters (and one plane of

reality) away, "was that I had far more options than simply 0 or the Continuum. There were an infinite

number of ways I could amuse myself, and scandalize my fellow Q, without throwing my lot in with 0 and

his motley band." A deepdwelling eel, taking a long detour around the five fugitives, passed through the

older Q's torso as though he wasn't there. "As you must have noticed, mon capitaine, I've hardly required

assistance to make your humdrum life more interesting."

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

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STAR TREK - TNG - 49 - Q-Strike

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