Russ Crossley

Q’s eyes flew open when he heard the familiar voice call to him. He pushed back the thin pale pink sheet and sat up. He was in a win-dowless room surrounded by overflowing pots bursting with a veritable rainbow of flowers. There were ruby reds, sky blues, emerald greens and some colors he wasn’t sure how to classify. Until this moment he was certain he’d seen every color the galaxy had to offer. The air was rife with the vast array of scents coming from the abundant flora. Sweet and gentle odors to be sure, jasmine, honeysuckle and rose water filled the air.

He lay alone in a bed with a bedspread the color of the ruby flowers. The walls were adorned with pictures of pastoral scenes of fields and meadows, some with animals that resembled the deer of Andor Prime.

He blinked twice to clear his vision. Where am I? he thought. Something wasn’t right. That voice. He knew that voice. Lwaxana Troi? No. That definitely wasn’t right. Why would he be here with that woman? She vexed him and he hated to be vexed. He hoped she wasn’t again seeking a betrothed, as she had aboard the Enterprise some years previous. She’d been impossible. Picard certainly had made himself scarce when she’d been on a quest for a husband.

As if carried by a sudden burst of wind a younger version of the Betazoid woman swept into the room. Her floor-length red-and-blue robe billowed behind her like some massive wing extended as if it were ready for takeoff. It seemed she might lift from the pale blue carpeted floor and fly to him.

It suddenly dawned on him he was naked, vulnerable.

“Darling,” she said, her voice bright. “I see you’re awake. It’s no wonder you slept so soundly. All the raucous activity of yesterday.” She sat next to him and placed one well-manicured hand on his bare shoulder. She sighed and grinned at him, her blue eyes dancing with delight. “Mrs. Ian Andrew Troi. How I do love the sound of that name.”

A look of horror shot across his face. He tried to will himself from the room with the power of the Q. Nothing happened. Nothing. This can’t be right, he thought. Things that weren’t right were beginning to pile up. He grimaced at the thought. Someone in the Q Continuum was making a mockery of him.

She gazed at him, a flash of concern across her face. “What’s the matter, my darling?”

“Huh…nothing…I’m fine,” he said, as he pulled the covers tighter around his bare chest.

A slow smile spread across her dark complexion. The flowing curls of jet black hair that cascaded over her shoulders waved as she chuckled. “You don’t have to be coy with me, now that we’re married.” She winked lasciviously at him. She suddenly stood and left the room.

He heard her call to him from beyond the wall that separated the sleeping area from the rest of the dwelling. “What would you like for breakfast?” Her voice had a musical quality to it as it danced and lit the air with a gentle sonata.

“Q don’t eat,” he said under his breath.

“What was that, my love?”

“Huh…nothing. Anything would be fine, I’m sure.” He had to buy himself some time to figure this out. No doubt the Q had banished him to the realm of the human existence again. What had he done this time? Last time they had at least had the decency to convene a trial. Albeit a mock trail, but at least he’d been given the opportunity to defend his actions.

The civil war in the Q Continuum was long over, yet he was certain they still resented his methods. Damn that Janeway. She had interfered in the glory that should have been his. How dare she saddle him with a wife and child. Responsibility to anything or anyone had been his undoing. That must be it. Somehow the Q weren’t happy about his decision to mate. How foolish he’d been. That had to be it. Yes, that was the answer. He snapped his fingers and frowned when nothing happened.

He heard the sound of Lwaxana fussing with plates, and other kitchen paraphernalia, from behind the wall. Thrown over one blue satin chair, near the foot of the bed, were a pile of rumpled clothes. He stepped from the bed and rushed to the side of the chair. Sure enough, they appeared to be human male clothing. A Starfleet uniform from an earlier era than Picard’s. Black pants that flared when they were tucked into ankle-length matching boots. A white long-sleeved shirt, which he quickly pulled over his head. A dark red tunic with gold colored bands on the sleeves and a white flap that he used to button the tunic in place.

Just as he’d finished pulling on the boots, Lwaxana entered the room. Her wide toothy smile composed of ivory white teeth dissolved as she saw he was fully dressed. In her hand she held two plates of a steaming brown substance. The smell was intoxicating. Obviously some Betazoid delicacy that held little interest for a being such as the Q. Nonetheless…when in Rome, as Picard would say.

He smiled thinly as he rolled the left pant cuff into place to complete his uniform. He stood erect as if he were ready for inspection.

“Ian? What’s wrong?” She rushed to the small glass table in an alcove of the room and placed the two plates on straw colored placemats set there to protect the table’s smoked glass surface.

“Nothing.” His voice sounded harsh to his own ears. He saw her eyes fill with moisture and realized he might have sounded too standoffish. The Q would no doubt make things worse for him if he didn’t rectify the situation quickly. No powers. What would a human male do? His eyes narrowed. What would Picard do?

Before he could make his move she rushed at him to wrap her thin arms around his chest. She buried her head in his shoulder and began to sob lightly. With jerky movements he managed to wrap his arms around her and held her close. He was getting the hang of it after all.

“Ian,” she said. “Our first fight.” She looked up at him, a small smile on her face. “Isn’t it wonderful?” Q gazed into her dark eyes and saw she was happy. He let a smile spill over his face—or rather Ian Troi’s face.

“Yes—I think.” Humans. How would the Q ever understand them?

She laughed brightly and stepped back. “You look handsome in your uniform.” She moved to the table and sat in one of the cushioned chairs. “Come, let’s eat.”

He nodded and sat in the chair opposite her. He gazed at the pile of brown, unsure if he should taste it. Data had told him humans needed sustenance to survive. If he was in Ian Troi’s body, and his Q powers were missing, then perhaps he should try the food. It certainly smelled appetizing.

He smiled thinly as he watched her raise a forkful of the brown substance to her mouth. He picked up the fork that lay by the plate and tentatively raised the forkful of the substance to his mouth.

“Ian, what’s the matter with you today? Those are the finest Coltron bird eggs on Betazed. I went out early this morning to the market and purchased them. You know how much you love them.”

He placed the fork of egg into his mouth and began to chew. His eyes popped. Ambrosia. He made quick work of the remaining pile of egg, and thought about asking her for more until he recalled Data’s warning about too much of a good thing.

He pushed the plate back after he’d finished. “Madam, that was the finest meal I have ever eaten.” For once he spoke the truth. Other than his questionable eating habits on the Enterprise, this was the first real meal he’d ever had.

“I have to get to work,” Q said, standing.

Lwaxana stood and rushed to his side and circled him in her arms. She pressed her face into his shoulder. “Ian, Starfleet expects too much of you. This is our honeymoon. Our time to really get to know one another.”

Unsure of what to say, and feeling altogether uncomfortable, Q decided he’d better placate the woman before she made more impossible demands of him. “Lwaxana, I must check in with command, and then we will have the rest of the day to ourselves—would that be acceptable?”

She stepped away, releasing him, her robes flowing about her in the still air of the room. “Oh yes, my darling, that would be wonderful.”

She accompanied him into the larger front room through an archway. Q had seen the larger room from his place at the table and surmised that the entrance to the dwelling must be located off that room.

Sure enough, there was a large, ornately carved, dark-stained wooden door. He walked to the door and opened it. Sunlight streamed in through the doorway and birds, on the trees that lined the walkway, called to each other. The air contained smells similar to those of the flowers in the bedchamber.

It’s nice, he thought in an unguarded moment. She must’ve sensed his pleasure because she wrapped one arm about his waist as he gazed over the scene before him. “Lovely, isn’t it?” she said, a wry smile on her face, her dark eyes dancing in amusement.

“Yes—yes it is,” he said in a whispered tone.

She kissed him lightly on the right cheek. Her lips felt soft and he could smell her light jasmine-scented perfume. She stepped back as he walked through the door. The world was a plethora of green. Dark ran into light and emerald into the other, two mingling like some green, calm ocean of grasses. Trees, grasses waved at him in the light breeze. And flowers of every type and color surrounded the pathways that led to the gleaming glass and steel towers of the city on the horizon. It was a forest of delights for the senses.

Then, without warning, the world suddenly disappeared into a black void. It was if someone had turned off the lights. There were no sounds or smells or tastes. He was in nowhere, nothingness. What was odd was he still had conscious thoughts, but he couldn’t feel his physical self.

Just as suddenly the lights came on again. He blinked and realized he stood on the carpeted deck of a Federation starship. He knew this because of the plainness of the walls and the computer stations every few feet. The deck beneath his feet trembled. A voice erupted from the hidden speaker system in the walls. A voice he knew. “All hands, red alert.” It was Picard’s voice. A strip of lights near the top of the walls began to flash intermittently.

He tried to will himself to the bridge, but again nothing happened. His powers were still missing. He knew he had to get to Picard. His existence had been altered since he’d met the stubborn human. His adversary might be able to explain what was happening to him. He always seemed to have the right answer.

“Commander Crusher to the bridge,” said Picard’s voice. Q glanced down at the communicator pin on the chest of his old-style Starfleet uniform. Again he was in the past. He’d have to make do the old-fashioned way. One thing was obvious: whoever was doing this had put him in the body of the father of the boy Wesley Crusher. He was Jack Crusher. When, exactly, was another question.

He tapped the communicator. “Crusher, sir. On my way.”

He scanned the corridor and saw there was a turbolift at the end. He hurried to the lift and stepped inside when the doors parted to admit him.

“Bridge,” he said, and the lift began its ascent.

He arrived at his destination and as the doors slid aside he saw that the bridge crew was busy putting out small fires among sparking consoles. Acrid smoke filled the air. Picard, with a head of brown curls, sat in the center seat gazing intently at the viewscreen. Q realized where he was. The U.S.S. Stargazer at the battle of Maxia Zeta. How droll. Pathetic, really, these flesh-and-blood creatures. He cast his gaze at the screen and saw a Ferengi Marauder in its center firing its weapons at the Stargazer.

“Brace yourselves, everyone,” said Picard. A bolt of charged golden energy sped at them from the weapons array of the Marauder. It struck them and the deck beneath him shifted. It moved more than before and he felt himself losing his balance. What an odd sensation. Nothing like this had ever happened to Q before.

He stumbled across the deck and had to grab the padded gray railing above the captain’s seat to steady himself. Even then he had to exert maximum strength to maintain his footing. The turbolift doors swooshed shut behind him.

The tremors subsided. He stood upright and smoothed his uniform. Ferengi, human—they were all the same. Savage races. Primitive. With one wave of his hand he could smite them all from the galaxy. Except his powers were gone. It dawned on him that this fragile shell he was trapped in could die and him along with it. He felt the heat from his face dissipate.

“Jack,” said Picard.

Q looked down at Picard sitting in his command chair. He appeared unruffled by the battle. And his voice had the same level tone it always had. Was he mad? They could be killed at any moment.

“Are you all right, Commander?” said Picard again.

“Yes, I’m fine, sir,” said Q.

“Take over weapons then. Ensign Wilson is dead and we need someone who’s an expert with those weapons systems.” A small tight smile crossed Picard’s face.

Q recalled Picard and Crusher were the best of friends. When he’d been studying the boy, Wesley, he had conducted a thorough study of the relationships in Jack Crusher’s life, both past and present. Something wasn’t right about all this, something nagged at him in the back of his mind. He shook off the feeling and looking around until he saw a crew member slumped over a command console. That must be the weapons control station.

He rushed over and pushed the dead ensign aside. The body of the young man fell to the deck, leaving a trail of his blood across the flat surface of the command interface. He scanned the control interface panel. There were a myriad of buttons and symbols, which were unfamiliar to him. The Q didn’t need anything so crude to enforce their will.

He pushed one of the buttons and a bolt of energy appeared across the viewscreen coming from over his head. He’d fired the phasers. How about that? He grinned to himself.

“Wait for my orders,” Picard said sternly from behind him.

“Sorry, sir, just wanted to make sure they were in full operation.”

He heard Picard sigh. “Next time check the power readouts on the board rather than simply firing the weapons.”

Q detected that Picard’s tone indicated a gentle rebuke, but he let it slide. Watch your step, Picard, he thought.

On the viewscreen the Ferengi vessel was beginning to make a turn in preparation for another pass. The vessel must’ve been damaged because the turn was slow and ripe for opportunity. “Target and fire,” said Picard sharply.

Q pressed the button he knew would fire the phasers and another bolt of searing energy crossed the void between the two vessels. He didn’t know how to aim the phasers, but Q knew the area where his lucky shot hit the enemy vessel was a critical one. Their weapons were now useless. They would have no choice but to run. Would Picard finish them? Probably not, he thought sadly. He was far too compassionate—too moral for that. Probably never kicked anyone when they were down either.

“Full spread of torpedoes and fire,” said Picard.

Q hesitated, not sure what to do. Now he was certain this wasn’t right. Picard would never destroy a beaten enemy. It wasn’t in his nature.

“Huh? Captain, they are disabled. Do you think we should destroy their vessel?”

“You have your orders, Mr. Crusher.”

Q’s finger hovered over the button next to the one that activated the phaser controls. It was purple, as opposed to the orange tinge of the one next to it. He assumed it would fire the torpedoes. He didn’t want to push it. He’d destroyed beings with a thought or a wave of his hand or a nod of his head, but somehow this was different. These Ferengi may be mindless trolls who coveted only crass excess wealth and material goods, but this seemed like murder. Damn you, Picard, your morality is wearing on my conscience.

No, this was wrong; he couldn’t do it.

The world surrounding him suddenly became pure blinding white. He covered his eyes as the ship, with its sterile air and antiseptic surfaces, disappeared, along with the young Picard and the rest of the bridge crew.

He held his eyes tight until a voice told him to uncover his eyes.

When he did so he realized he was standing in the mock court he’d fashioned originally for Picard. The tall judge’s bench rose before him and he stood in the prisoner’s docket surrounded by what he knew were Q. They were controlling him. He couldn’t will himself away. He couldn’t run. Where would he go anyway? The universe was the playground of the beings known as the Q. Nowhere to hide. They would only drag him back to the Continuum.

Perched high atop the bench sat a familiar face. The boy Wesley. At least it looked like Wesley. He had a scowl fixed to his face. My, didn’t he look stern? Something was definitely wrong about all this. This couldn’t be right. Or could it?

“Q, you have been found guilty. Do you have any last words before I pass sentence?”

“Your Honor, I don’t even know what I’ve been charged with. Surely I should at least be aware of the charges against me? Where is justice…”

Wesley held up a hand to silence him. “Enough. You have been tested and found wanting.” The large dark wood gavel in his right hand came up and was pounded down on the desk. The sound echoed through the courtroom like a wall of thunder. The sound reverberated through Q’s body and he had to hold his hands over his ears. He closed his eyes, wincing at the flash of pain. Q don’t feel pain. Pain wasn’t right, not for the Q.

He stumbled and fell to his knees.

When the sound finally dissipated he opened one eye and saw he was no longer in the courtroom. He was kneeling on soft green grass surrounded by the trees and flowers once again outside Lwaxana’s home on Betazed. He smiled. They didn’t banish me, he thought.

“That may still happen,” said a calm voice as gentle as a summer breeze. Q spotted a solitary figure reclining upon a fallen log, twirling a yellow-petaled flower like a petite windmill.

Q rose to his feet and noticed that his clothing had again changed. He was dressed in a modern Starfleet captain’s uniform. His personal favorite. He grinned. He was back in the human guise he enjoyed. He felt right at home as he gazed at the long fingers attached to the hands he’d fashioned himself. He wiggled them about. Yes, now this was right.

The figure, who resembled a bipedal male in shape, with a protruding forehead and swollen hands, glanced up from the flower he’d been studying. His dark eyes were emotion free and he appeared at ease. His lips revealed a slight hint of amusement as they were turned almost imperceptibly up at the corners. His skin had a slightly grayish tinge to it.

“The humans are a remarkable race,” he said. He sat up on the log and dropped the flower to the green grass at his feet. He wore a pale gray-and-white striped tunic with matching pants and plain black shoes. “Don’t you agree?”

For the first time in his existence Q had to stop and think before he spoke. This being was right. “Yes, they are indeed.”

The being’s face broke into an easy grin. He stood and moved toward Q. “Let’s you and I go for walk and talk about the future of the human race.”

Q nodded and together they walked side by side through the forest, their footsteps muffled by the blanket of curled pale yellow leaves strewn about beneath the trees.

The being who, in his human form, had been known as Wesley Crusher watched Q and the Traveler walking through the forest, talking. Unknowingly Q had incorporated human values and morals into his thinking. He treated Lwaxana with respect and he had demonstrated he cared about her feelings. On the Stargazer he had demonstrated conscience by not wanting to destroy the Ferengi vessel out of hand. Yes, though he would be loath to admit it, Q had become more human. The Continuum would be pleased. They had sought his help. They had become a stale race, doomed to extinction if they did not find a way to awaken their emotional resolve. Now Q would be the example for all Q everywhere.

The being, formerly known as Wesley, sighed. The battle aboard the Stargazer had occurred one year after his father’s death. Q had almost caught him on that detail, but it was nice to re-create the event and see what it might have been had his father lived. He felt a slight twinge of regret and the sharp edge of sorrow at the thought of his father.

Q learned and would continue to do so provided he kept his mind open to the infinitely possible futures.

He watched the Traveler and Q walking and discussing those very futures. To the Q all futures were possible, as it was with the Traveler. He would’ve smiled to himself, if it were possible for the being formerly known as Wesley Crusher.