STAR TREK - TNG - 48 - Q-Zone

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Star Trek - TNG - Q-Zone
SOON, HE CACKLED. SOONER. SOONEST.
Behind the wall, he watched with keen anticipation 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 capered spiderlike against
the edge of the wail, scraping 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 otherwise. Speed is imperative, as
our time is running 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 immense energy barrier surrounding our galaxy has been interrupted by the
unexpected arrivals of both the Q family and the Calamarain.
Dying of an incurable disease, and obsessed with completing his work in the time remaining 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
endanger 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
comprised 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 billowed 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, intersecting 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 whereabouts unknown, Riker was in command, and lighting 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 cataclysmic 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 abandon 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 occasionally 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 engineer'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 untempered 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 harmonies?" 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 backups hadn't been able to pick up. The Calamarain had drawn first blood
nonetheless, while the starship 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 forgotten nor forgiven that decision. It was the Enterprise'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 reputation... talk about
adding insult to (possibly mortal) injury!
For all we know, he mused, the Calamarain might have sound reasons for objecting to the experiment. 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 sensitivity, it never failed to impress him. He prayed that
Deanna would sense some room for compromise 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 something 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 wideeyed toddler bouncing on her knee while she observed
the ongoing battle against the Calamarain with an air of refined boredom. Mother and child wore
matching, if entirely unearned, Starfleet uniforms, 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 generations, ever since James Kirk first braved the galactic
barrier in the original Enterprise, no vessel had ventured into it without suffering massive casualties 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 Calamarain pounding
against the shields. He was unsure 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 eventually 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, lamarain 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, standing, 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 probable
demise had not crossed her mind before. She glanced around her, checking out the various fragile
humanoids populating the bridge. Outside, the tempest bellowed its intention to destroy the Enterprise
and all aboard her. As if to make Riker's point, the ship pitched forward, slamming Lieutenant 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
children'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 conceded. Resignation settled onto her patrician features.
"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 Starfleet 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 wellknown, 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 circumstances, 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 sarcastically. 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 translation 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 Calamarain." 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
mandatory/preferable." Riker scowled at the awkward and downright cryptic phrasing of the
Calamarain's message.
Unfortunately, Data didn't have nearly enough time to get all the bugs worked out of the new translation
program. It will have to do, he resolved.
Throughout human history, explorers and peacemakers had coped without any foolproof, high-tech
translating devices. Could the crew of the Enterprise 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 troublemaker 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 Enterprise, 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, whatever it means. He refused to give up,
boiling his intended message down to its basics. "Please believe 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 viewscreen. 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, quasars, 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 preceding stop on Q's tour, Picard had found himself millions of
years in the past. He could only speculate 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 explanation." "One would think you would have learned by now, mon
capitain," Q replied, "that your demands 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 materialized 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 previous 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 humanoid 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 footsteps, 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 kidnapped 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.
The other figure made Picard even more uneasy.
He called himself 0, as in nil, and he claimed to be an explorer from a far-off dimension unknown even to
the Continuum. Picard, who considered himself a quick judge of character, found 0 quite a shady
customer. Back on the Enterprise, he thought, I wouldn't trust him within a light-year of my starship.
Picard was quick to remember that everything he now saw had been "translated" by Q into terms his
human mind and senses could comprehend. That being the case, Picard had to wonder what
more-than-human characteristics were represented by O's weathered features and stout frame, and how
much the older Q's memories may have colored his anthropomorphized portrait of the roguish stranger.
From what preternatural first impression came the devilish gleam in the man's azure eyes, the cocksure
set of his toothy grin, or the swagger in his stride? Picard could tell 0 was trouble at first glance; so why
couldn't the Q of this era? Just who or what was 07 Falstaff to the young Q's Prince Hal, Picard
speculated, falling back as ever on his beloved Shakespeare, or something a good deal more sinister? If
nothing else, I'm accumulating valuable insights into the early days of the Q Continuum. He just hoped
that he would someday be able to return to his own ship and era so that he could report all he had
learned back to Starfleet, where the Q were justly regarded as one of the universe's most intriguing
mysteries--and potential threats.
As before, neither 0 nor the younger Q were aware of Q and Picard's presence. Much like Scrooge and
his ghostly visitors, Picard thought, when they spied on the likes of Bob Cratchit or Fezziwig.
0 sang boisterously as he trod with spaceways with Q:
"There was a young lad whose bony virility, brought him some pains in a court of civility."
The attire of the new arrivals, Picard noted, had changed significantly since O's first appearance in this
universe. This came as no surprise; throughout Picard's trek through time, the clothing of those he
observed had evolved more or less along Earth's historical lines. An artistic conceit, according to Q,
intended to convey a sense of antiquity, as well as the gradual passage of time, to the likes of Picard, who
had to wonder whether the concept of clothing even applied to the Q in their true form. How much of this
is real, he mused, and how much simply stage dressing on the part of Q?
He might never know.
"On posh settees with pinky out, He found not much to chat about."
At present, 0 and the young Q affected the fashions of eighteenth century Europe, some one hundred
thousand millennia before the real thing.
Both figures wore stylish velvet suits, O's a rich olive green, while Q preferred periwinkle blue.
Their long coats were open in front to expose rosy damask vests from which ruffled shirt tops peeked.
Black silk cravats were tied around their necks and each man wore a short brown wig, tied in the back,
atop his head. Polished black shoes with gleaming metal buckles clicked impossibly against the emptiness
of space, beneath white wool stockings that were held up by ribbons tied above the knee. They might
have been two fine gentlemen out for a night on the town, Picard observed, except that, in this instance,
that town was the known universe of a million years ago.
O's singing voice was as gravelly as ever, and more enthusiastic than melodious:
"But on darkened nights, 'hind tavern gates, He discovered he had lots of mates/"
Wrapping up his raucous ditty, he laughed and slapped young Q on the back. "Boldness!" 0 declared.
"That's the ticket. Follow your instincts and never mind what the fainthearted say." His raspy voice held a
trace of an accent that Picard couldn't place; certainly it was nothing resembling the captain's native
French. O's crippled left leg dragged behind him as he hiked beside Q, expounding on a topic he had
mentioned before. "Take the fine art of testing, say. Determining the ultimate limits and potential of lesser
species under controlled conditions. That's a fine and fitting vocation for beings like us. Who better than
we to invent curious and creative challenges for our brutish brethren?" "It sounds fascinating," young Q
admitted. "I've always been intrigued by primitive life-forms, especially those with a crude approximation
of sentience, but it never occurred to me to intervene in their humble existence’s. I've simply observed
them in their natural environments." "That's fine for a start," 0 said, "but you can't really understand a
species unless you've seen how they respond to completely unexpected circumstances-of the sort that
only we can provide. It's an engrossing pastime for us, entertaining as well as educational, while providing
a valuable service to the multiverse. Only by testing baser breeds can they be forced to transcend their
wretched routines and advance to the next level of existence." 0 lifted his gaze heavenward as he extolled
this lofty agenda. "Or not," he added with a shrug.
"But doesn't meddling with their petty lives interfere with their natural evolution?" Q asked.
Picard's jaw nearly dropped at the sight of Q making the case for the Prime Directive. Now I've seen
everything, he thought.
"Nature is overrated," 0 insisted. "We can do better." A gold-framed mirror appeared out of nowhere
and 0 held it out in front of him so that it captured the reflection of both him and Q. "Take you and me,
say. Do you think our far-seeing forebears would have ever evolved to this exalted state if they'd worried
about what nature intended?
Of course not! We've overcome our base, bestial origins, so it's only fitting that we help other breeds do
the same--if they're able." "And if they're not?" Q asked.
0 dispatched the mirror to oblivion, then shrugged. "Well, that's regrettable when it happens, but you
can't groom a garden without doing a little pruning now and then. Extinction's part of the evolutionary
agenda, natural or not. Some portion of those beneath us are going to flunk the survival test whether we
help them along or not. We're just applying a little creativity to the process." Picard recalled the older Q's
periodic attempts to judge humanity and felt a chill run down his spine. Was this where Q acquired his
fondness for draconian threats? If so, he thought, then 0 had a lot to answer for.
"That's true enough, ! suppose," the young Q said, listening attentively and occasionally nodding in
agreement. To Picard's dismay, O's lessons appeared to be sinking in. "I take it you've done this before?"
"Here and there," 0 admitted with what Picard regarded as characteristic vagueness. "But you don't need
to take my word for it, not when you can experience for yourself the rich and restorative rewards of such
pursuits. And there's no time like this moment to begin," he enthused, giving Q a hearty slap on the back
while simultaneously, Picard noted, changing the subject from his past to the present. "Now, where are
these peculiar people you were telling me about?" Young Q pointed at the colliding star dusters
overhead. Lace cuffs protruded from the deep, turned-back sleeves of his velvet coat. "Look!" he urged
0, and Picard was surprised by the infectious good humor in the youth's tone, so different from the sour
sarcasm of his older self. "Here they come." Picard looked where indicated. At first he saw nothing but
the same breathtaking panorama he had viewed before, the luminous swirls of stars and radiant gas
coming together into one resplendent pageant of light and color, but as he gazed further a portion of the
colossal spectacle seemed to detach itself from the whole, growing ever larger in comparison as it hurled
across the void toward the assembled immortals, plus Picard. The strange phenomenon devoured the
incalculable distance between them, coming closer and closer until he recognized the incandescent cloud
of seething plasma.
"The Calamarain," Picard breathed in astonishment, never mind the lack of any visible atmosphere. And
one million years in the past, no less!
He never would have imagined that the Calamarain were so old. Were these the very same entities who
had been approaching the Enterprise before, at the very moment that Q had snatched him away, or were
these merely their remote ancestors? Either way, who could have guessed that their kind dated back to
so distant an era?
Then again, he reflected, the late Professor Galen's archaeological studies had revealed, with a little help
from the captain himself, that humanoid life existed in the Milky Way galaxy as far back as four billion
years ago, and Picard had recently seen with his own eyes humanoid beings on Tagus III two billion
years before his own time, so why should he be surprised that gaseous life-forms were at least one million
years old? Picard shook his head numbly; the tremendous spans of time encompassed by his journey
were almost too huge to conceive of, let alone keep track of. It's too much, he thought, trying to roll with
the conceptual punches Q kept dishing out. How can one mortal mind cope with time on this scale?
The massive cloud that was the Calamarain, larger and wider across than even a Sovereign-class
starship, passed within several kilometers of Picard, 0, and the two Qs. Iridescent patterns dazzled along
the length and breadth of the cloud, producing a kaleidoscopic array of surging hues and shades. "So
these are them?" 0 said, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he peered at the huge accumulation of
vapors. "Well, they're sparkly enough, I'll give them that." His nostrils flared as he sniffed the vacuum.
"They smell like a swamp, though." He limped nearer to the border of the cloud. "What say we start the
testing with them, see how adaptable they are?" "Er, I'm not sure that's a good idea," young Q answered,
lagging behind. One of his high stockings came loose and he tugged haplessly at its neck.
Next to Picard, his older self sighed and shook his head sadly. "The Coulalakritous are fairly advanced in
their own right, only a few levels below the Continuum, and they aren't exactly the most sociable of
creatures." "Coulalakritous?" Picard whispered to his own Q, lowering his voice out of habit even though
neither 0 nor the young Q could hear him.
"The name changed later," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Be reasonable, Jean-Luc. It's been umpteen
摘要：

StarTrek-TNG-Q-ZoneSOON,HECACKLED.SOONER.SOONEST.Behindthewall,hewatchedwithkeenanticipationaslesserlife-forms,nomorethanabugorawispofsmoketohim,buzzedaboutontheotherside.Onlythewall,thewretchedwallthathadkepthimoutforlongerthanhismuddledmemorycouldevenbegintoencompass,kepthimfromreachingforthandswa...

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