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Chapter Text

It was, all things considered, a fairly straightforward mission to Farpoint Station; one that fell well within the envelope of duties anticipated for the new Galaxy-class starships like the USS Enterprise 1701-D. That was quite satisfactory for Captain Jean-Luc Picard. The Enterprise was herself a complex marvel and her crew no less so. He had hand-picked a number of the crew, exceptional junior officers he had encountered in the interim between his command of the Stargazer and the Enterprise. They were all exceptionally gifted and to a being were criminally underutilized by their previous commands. He looked forward to continuing to mentor them.

The civilian staff were already setting up the support infrastructure, turning the Enterprise into a small town. The ship was staffed from schoolteachers to gardeners. The Starfleet positions were almost all filled and they would pick up the remaining crewmembers and the Diplomatic Corps once they reached Farpoint Station on Deneb IV.

The system was on the edge of known space, making it an excellent place to depart for the proverbial horizon. Feeling the gentle thrum of the warp core through the bulkhead made Picard think of a horse gathering itself to prepare for a leap.

The door to the bridge hissed open and Picard stepped onto the bridge after briefly straightening the front of his jumpsuit. He approached the navigation station and the Android working there. “You will agree Data, that Starfleet’s orders are difficult.”

“Difficult?” Data did not turn around. “Simply solve the mystery of Farpoint Station.”

It would be poor form to laugh at the understatement, but Picard could not suppress a small grin entirely. “As simple as that,” he agreed and walked to his own chair.

On the furthest edge of Federation explored space was Deneb IV, home of the Bandi. On the one hand they seemed to have been much diminished as a people since the days that Kirk was captaining the original Enterprise. Gary Mitchell and Elizabeth Dehner had died there, and Starfleet had taken the unusual step of leaving the bodies in situ, opting to send periodic teams to assess the planet in the people. Two years ago the report had come back that the Bandi that lived in the single remaining city were ready for first contact. Shortly after that, first contact was made by the Diplomatic Corps. The Bandi remained cagey about the technology that allowed them a life in pursuit of knowledge and arts. The offer they had made the Corps was ridiculous - if the Federation would establish regular trade with them, they would build a modern port and staging station.

And they had.

In sixteen months the pastoral, non-spacefaring Bandi had designed, built, and nearly activated the most advanced and luxurious base in known space. No Starfleet analysis team could figure out how and no Corps diplomacy team could tease the information out of them. With the trade treaty set to activate and Starfleet to begin sending ships there en masse Picard was given short, sealed orders regarding the mystery: Find out.

Presumably the Diplomatic Corps had given their agents the same order.

“Farpoint station,” Commander William Riker leaned forward. “Even the name sounds mysterious.” Riker had been onboarded early. Officially he was supposed to transfer directly from the USS Hood at the Deneb IV rendezvous. A series of delays meant that he was stuck on Starbase 65 until three days of the Enterprise passing by. It worked out well for him to extend his leave and for the paperwork to be updated for him to transfer early.

“It’s hardly simple, Data,” Picard sat down. “To negotiate a friendly agreement for Starfleet to use the base while snooping around to find out how and why the lifeforms there built it.” People did not simply build luxury planetside stations on the frontier without significant upfront layout investment.

“Query,” Data stood and turned to face the bridge. “Snoop?”

Riker did not suppress his grin at all. “Data, how can you be programmed with an encyclopedic knowledge of human culture and not know a simple word like ‘snoop’?”

“A possibility:” Data suggested. “It is not a human behavior I was designed to emulate.”

Riker’s smile was warm and friendly and there was nothing about the Android’s behavior to suggest offense, but Picard was discomfited all the same. Data had been treated more like a computer than a person at his last posting. Picard was, perhaps, a little hyperalert for indications that fun was being poked at the Lieutenant. “It means to spy.”

Data began to recite a litany of synonyms but was interrupted by the alert klaxon. He was back at his station with inhuman speed. Across the viewscreen a net seemed to unfold in front of the ship.

“It’s registering as solid, Captain,” the helmsman, Torres, said.

Riker was consulting his own readout. “Or an incredibly powerful forcefield.”

“Go to Yellow Alert,” Picard stood and stepped forward as if he could will the obstacle away. “And shut off that damn noise!” He was aware of the security officers behind him racing to do their assessments of the potential threat.

“Shields and deflectors up, sir,” Worf, the Klingon tactical officer barked. Lieutenant Yar let her junior give the status communications while her fingers flew across the console.

“Full stop, reverse thrusters,” Picard ordered the helmsman.

There was a blinding flash of light and what appeared to be a Spanish conquistador appeared on the bridge, posing with one leg up on the sweep of the security console. “Thou art notified that thy kind hath infiltrated the galaxy too far already. Thou art directed to return to thine own solar system immediately.”

“That’s quite a directive,” Picard said. He was aware of his Klingon officer stiffening. “Would you mind telling me what you are? And what gives you the right to make such an order?”

“We call ourselves the ‘Q’. Or thou mayest call me that,” the conquistador said as he strode across the bridge. “I present myself as a fellow ship’s captain, that thou mayest understand me better. Go back where thou camest.”

The turbolift doors opened and a small security team of MACOs summoned by Lieutenant Yar started forward. A slight gesture from the Q and a miniature version of the grid that stopped the ship threw them back into the lift and the doors snapped shut.

It was only the very real threat presented by this individual of unknown, but massive power that kept Picard serious. The attempt at archaic English made him briefly recall a ridiculous phase his brother Robert went through trying to impress girls with poetry written in 21^st century English vernacular.

"And what gives you the right to order that?" Picard asked again.

Q seemed to have human enough expressions as the corner of his mouth twitched in irritation. "We are greater than thee," he said with exaggerated patience, as if talking to a small child.

Behind Q, Torres quietly drew a small holdout phaser from the console.

“Stay where thou art,” Q snapped.

Instantly the helmsman was frozen over. The bridge crew rushed to the man.

"Lifes signs are present," Data said. "But slow."

“Alert sickbay,” Picard ordered and stood to confront Q. “He would not have harmed you.” He held up the phaser and displayed the “stun” setting.

Q arched an eyebrow. "Some life forms can yet be killed by stunning. Thine officer did not run a check on my form before attempting to see the effect it would have. Besides, knowing humans as you do captain,” Q’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Wouldst thou be captured helpless by them? Now go back or thou shalt most certainly die.”

Picard met Q’s stare without wavering as the turbolift doors opened again. The medical team was not prevented from rushing to Torres. He was loaded onto a floating stretcher. Dr. Asenzi and his team quickly evaluated Torres' condition. "Seems to be cryo-sleep," Asenzi muttered.

"And this," Picard gestured to the Torres. "Is how you demonstrate your moral superiority?"

"On the contrary, it is how I demonstrate my physical superiority," Q smirked. "After all, he is merely stunned."

Picard caught glimpse of motion behind Q. Yar was slowly reaching for where he suspected she had her own holdout phaser. Worf was using the bulk of his Klingon form to hide most of the movement. Picard shook his head slightly and Yar stood down. Her hand rested on Worf's arm to pull him back as well.

“Captain, thy little centuries go by so quickly,” Q walked across the bridge. “Perhaps you will better understand this.” There was another flash of light and Q reappeared dressed as an Earth soldier. Mid-twentieth American, by Picard’s reckoning. “You must return to your world and put an end to the commies. All it takes are a few good men.”

“What? That nonsense is centuries behind us.” Picard had heard of encounters like this from the early days of human interstellar travel. Radio waves and television broadcasts had introduced humanity to the galaxy long before NX class ships could arrive and correct those impressions. But it had been at least a century since any culture had tried to greet a human ship – much less one representing the Federation of Planets – by referencing pre-warp culture.

“But you can’t deny that you’re still a dangerous, savage, child race.”

“I most certainly can deny it,” Picard tried to keep down the feeling of personal umbrage that his own position as a Starfleet officer was being mocked. “Maybe we still were when humans wore costumes like that 400 years ago.”

“At which time you slaughtered millions in silly arguments in how to divide the resources of your little world. And 400 years before that you were murdering each other in quarrels over tribal god images,” Q advanced.

“We were already advancing rapidly-“

“Oh let’s talk about that rapid advancement,” Q started.

“Sir,” Worf interrupted. “Sickbay reports that Lt. Torres’ condition is improving. And a personal request,” he glared at Q. “To clean up the bridge sir.”

“Lt. Worf is right,” Security Chief Yar said. The edge of a tattoo peeked just above the collar of her bridge uniform. “I can’t just stand here and let-“

“Yes, you can, Lt. Yar,” Picard barked back. The fire in her eyes was bright and Picard was not about to see her or any other crew frozen like Torres – or worse.

"Yes sir," Yar didn't even pretend to like the order.

Q seemed amused by the whole thing. “And then when humans reached deep space you again found allies for still more murdering,” he said gleefully and indicating Worf with a broad gesture. “The same old story, over and over again.”

Picard bristled on Worf’s behalf. Where he could deal with the occasional speciest comment aimed at humanity, the insult to his young officer hit Picard harder. “No, the story we’re telling now is we’re meeting self-righteous new life forms who are not eager to learn, but to prosecute - to judge anything they don’t understand or can’t tolerate!” he snapped.

“What an interesting idea!” Q looked amazed. “Prosecute and judge. Suppose we know you humans too well?”

“We’ve no fear of what the true facts about us will reveal,” Picard said with confidence. This was indeed an old story of humanity’s told over and over again. From the time the first Vulcans on Earth greeted Zephram Cochrane.

 “Facts will reveal! Splendid! Splendid! You are a fountain of good ideas!” Q said with delight. “There are preparations to make, but when next we meet Captain, we’ll proceed exactly as you suggest.” With that, Q disappeared in the same flash of light he had arrived in.

There was a slight sinking feeling in Picard’s stomach but he kept his face impassive. He was, as far as Starfleet officers of the line went, far more diplomatic than many. But he had the feeling he had talked his ship into a trap instead of out of one, even before reaching the destination of their first mission. Despite the pit in his stomach he remained calm. The captain set the tone for the ship. "Is everyone all right?" he asked.

There were murmers in the affirmative and small head nods. They were uneasy, but it would do.

"Good," with deliberate ease he sat in the command chair. "Any readings on the alien?"

Data consulted his readouts. "Bridge sensors picked up nothing. Ops is reporting no unusual activity. Either he was not here or he blanked them out. Conjecture; he might have been a telepathic projection and therefore -"

Picard held up his hand. "Thank you, Data. That is all."

“Sir, I recommend we fight,” Worf said.

“Fight or escape,” Yar added.

“Commander, do you have anything to suggest?” Picard turned to Riker. William Riker was supposed to be one of the most capable officers in Starfleet. Even without the Diplomatic Corps on board yet, Picard still wanted to know the array of options.

Riker rubbed his jaw for a moment. “Stop any internal transmitted signals or intercom between stations. We might take them by surprise. Let’s see what a Galaxy-class starship can do.”

Picard nodded. “Printouts only. Lt. Worf, tell the engine room to ready for maximum warp and all decks to prepare for maximum acceleration. Data, is there any research for detaching the saucer section at warp?” This maneuver was technically past the safe operating envelope of ship. But it might allow for both fighting and escaping.

“Inadvisable at any warp speed, Captain,” Data said after a momentary head tilt. “Theoretically possible, but absolutely no margin for error.”

Picard looked to Riker. Riker nodded once. Reports were that Riker’s piloting skills were nearly a match for his confidence.

“Our aim is to try to surprise whatever that is out there – try to outrun it.” Picard turned to face the view screen. “Our only other option is to tuck tail and return to Earth as they demand.”

“Tuck tail?” Data inquired.

“Later,” Riker told the Android as the bridge crew returned to their stations.

The crew responded with impressive speed. Picard couldn’t help but feel pride in satisfaction in the response on this unusual encounter. Printouts arrived from all over the ship to indicate readiness. Picard read the printout from the school bay with deliberate emotional distance. The civilians - of all ages - were just as prepared for emergencies as the enlisted crew were. And that was what mattered. Chief Engineer Argyle's report seemed nearly giddy with the report that the warp core was made ready for maximum output and teams were standing by.

With everything as ready as it could be, Picard gave the order. Swiftly, gracefully, the Enterprise swooped to face away from the net and leapt into warp 9. The iniertial adjustors and gravitational plates almost kept up.

“The hostile is accelerating quickly,” Yar briefly looked up from her security console. “Gaining fast.”

Stars glid by serenely.

“We are at warp 9.3,” Worf said. “Past the red line.”

Picard nodded in acknowledgment. “Continue accelerating.”

A few moments later, Yar called out. “The hostile is overtaking us. 9.6 and accelerating.”

“Go to yellow alert. Arm the photon torpedos.” Picard stood.

Data turned in his chair, a fresh printout in his hand. “Engineering says they may be able to match the hostile’s 9.8. But only at extreme risk.”

“Hostile is accelerating to 9.9,” Yar’s voice was equal part urgent and astounded. Warp 10 was the theoretical asymptotic maximum.

Picard looked to Riker. His first officer nodded back, the easy smile displaced with steely concentration. “Send a print-out to all decks,” Picard said. “All hands brace for emergency saucer separation.”

Riker’s fingers were flying across the command console in the arm of his chair before Picard had finished speaking. “Aye sir.”

“You will command the saucer section, Commander.”

“Aye sir. Lieutenant Worf, you’re with me.” Riker had no hesitation about claiming the ship-to-ship combat specialist. Picard made note of that as he moved quickly across the bridge.

Nonetheless, the young lieutenant moved to intercept Picard. "Sir, with all respect I am a Klingon," his voice was low to keep the exchange between him and Picard. "I should be with my captain going into battle."

"If this doesn't work," Picard paused to address him. "It will be better to have your skills here. You're with Commander Riker."

Worf nodded sharply. He moved to Torres' empty conn and was pulling up phaser configurations before Picard made it to the turbolift.

The rest of the command crew joined Picard on the turbolift to the Battle Bridge. The transfer of civilians, diplomatic corps, and crew that could be spared to the saucer was almost complete.

“Time the photon torpedoes to explode in front of the hostile,” Picard told Yar as they took their places on the battle bridge. “We need to blind it the moment we separate. The saucer will continue, and we will face the hostile.” He did not check on Yar after issuing the order. This crew was the best of the best. Instead, he paged Riker on the communicator. The need for precise timing outweighed the risk of communications being eavesdropped on. “Commander, we will hang back and let the saucer section get out ahead of us.”

“Acknowledged. All decks have reported in. We’re ready when you are.” Commander Riker’s voice was reassuringly steady.

Picard turned his attention back to the battle bridge. “Mister O’Brian, drop us to Warp 9 when the saucer has separated. Then bring us about.”

“Fire aft torpedoes,” Picard ordered. “Begin countdown. Mark.”

Data counted down the seconds. The photon torpedoes fired just seconds ahead of the saucer separation. There was a small thunk as the final couplers disengaged, but the saucer separated smoothly and sped ahead of them as if it had been designed to do so at such speeds. The battle section’s warp core slowed its frantic thrum as O’Brian eased back on the speed.

“Saucer separation… successful,” Data said. The loft of the android’s eyebrows seemed to express amazement.

The remaining half of the Enterprise turned to face the hostile force that would be on them within minutes at most. “Dead stop,” Picard ordered. “We’ll wait for them here.”

Yar’s hands were clenching and unclenching. It gave the illusion that the mako shark tattoo peeking just out of her shirt cuff was thrashing its tail. “Will we make a fight of it sir?”

Bemused and somewhat incredulous, Picard turned to her. “Lieutenant, are you recommending we fight a life form that can do all those things? I’d like to hear your advice.”

Moderately chastised, but not ready to back down from even her commanding officer, Yar collected herself to parade rest. “We should look for some way to distract them from the saucer section, sir.”

Picard nodded sharply. Yar was, at heart, a guard dog driven to protect and put herself in front of any danger. She was right; and she was not going to like his next order. “Transmit a message in all known language forms and across all frequencies…..We surrender.”

Then there was nothing to do but wait.

The interminable wait of minutes ended with another blinding flash. This one resolved with the crew from the Battle Bridge having been brought to a crowd of what appeared to be jeering humans in a variety of dress from Post-Horror Earth. So far, it seemed like Picard’s gambit was working. No one from The Enterprise was present except for the Battle Bridge officers.

The jeering crowd was silenced by the bailiff firing automatic artillery into the air. “The prisoners will stand!” shouted another man.

Picard indicated to his crew that they should remain seated. Slowly, deliberately, he sat down as well. The courts after Earth’s mid 21^st century atomic horror could barely be considered legitimate in their own context. He doubly refused to acknowledge this farce of one. “Mr. Data,” he said quietly. “Can you tell if this is . . . . real?”

Data blinked twice as he ran the minute observations only he was capable of through his calculations. “While ‘real’ is a nebulous term at best under these circumstances,” he qualified his answer. “I can confirm this is not a holographic simulation. These do seem to be human observers to every method of analysis at my current disposal. And” he nodded to the bailiff. “They are using rifles with gunpowder fueled ammunition. Primitive, but quite deadly, sir.”

“Then we will proceed with the assumption that everything is as it appears to be,” Picard said. Yar and Data both nodded.

“At least we are acquainted with the judge, Captain,” Data said as Q arrived on a floating palanquin.

Picard continued to doubt the part of Data’s personnel records that said the Android had no sense of humor.

Q was dressed in the scarlet robes and cowl of Post-Horror Earth. The jeering crowd hushed and the bailiff again ordered Picard and his crew to stand. This time the order was punctuated by leveling his weapon at Picard’s crew. There was not even time to weigh the options before Yar leapt past him and attacked the bailiff. With two kicks she laid the man out flat with his rifle . With the immediate threat ended she stopped, ready to spring into action again. The crowd was cheering in delight at the violence.

“You are out of order,” Q sneered at the fallen bailiff.

The fallen bailiff took a hit of something from a breathing tube and giggled as a second guard in identical uniform stepped up. Before even Yar could react, the second bailiff efficiently executed his fallen comrade with a burst of projectile rounds.

“The prisoners will not be harmed!” Q declared. Then with an unfriendly smile he added “Until they are found guilty.”

The Enterprise crew was all on their feet now, ready to back up Yar if needed.

Picard ignored the grisly sight of the executed bailiff being unceremoniously drug out of the room leaving a trail of crimson smeared broadly across the tiles. This wasn’t the clean hit of a phaser or disruptor. The smell of cordite and blood lingered in the air.

He was the commanding military officer and he had little doubt that the fate of far more than just the small handful of his crew with him were at stake. He could not afford to be distracted by the actions of this . . . . pantomime, any more than he could indulge in wishing that the Diplomatic Corps were at hand to navigate the situation. “Are we to assume this will be a fair trial then?” A rhetorical, almost stupid, question. With a small jerk of his head he recalled Yar to behind him.

Yar returned to her seat as ordered, but coiled like a cat ready to spring and on the lookout for further violence.

“Absolutely equitable,” Q delivered the expected response with no attempt to make it sound believable. "I am here to prosecute and judge, as you suggested."

Punctuating that, a court official announced the charges. “Answering for the multiple and grievous savageries of the species. How do you plead?”

“Captain, if I may?” Data asked.

Picard gave him a nod.

“Objection, your honor,” Data said. “In the year 2036, the New United Nations ruled no Earth citizen could be held liable for the crimes of his forbears.”

“Denied,” Q said. “This is a court of 2079, by which time all the “United Earth” nonsense is abolished.”

"Judge who we are now," Yar rose to her feet again. “Tasha, no,” Picard ordered. But his guard dog was already appealing to emotion where Data’s logic had failed.

“I must,” Yar said to the judge. “Because I grew up in a world that allowed things like this….court. And it was people like these,” she indicated Picard and Data with a sweep of her arm. “That saved me from it. This so-called court should get down on its knees to what Starfleet is, what it represents. That life in all forms is sacred!” Her eyes were glassed with furious tears.

Q’s expression was hard as he leaned towards her. A sudden blast of fog descended around Yar, and quickly dissipated, leaving her frozen solid and frosted over. Data caught her gently and he and Picard lowered her to the floor.

“The criminals will remain silent!” the new bailiff ordered.

“You’ve got a lot to learn about humans if you think you can torture or frighten us into silence,” Picard snarled at Q. He turned his back to the court, to Q, and asked Data “Will she live?”

Data hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Uncertain. When Q froze Lt. Torres on the bridge, we had sickbay to help him out of cryosleep.”

Picard ignored the sound of the dramatic yawn coming from the floating palanquin.

“You will answer the charges, criminal.”

“Or what?” Picard stood. “You promised ‘the prisoners will not be harmed’. We plead nothing so long as you break your own rules.” Rules, however cruel, unfair, or nonsensical were the only chance they had. If Q was capricious as well as powerful there was little that could be done. But if he could at least be shamed into abiding by the rules he established, there was a hope that they could thread the needle to safety.

“I suggest you center your thoughts on this trial, Captain,” Q advised with menace.

As if his attention could possibly be anywhere outside of this room at the moment. “And I suggest you are having second thoughts,” Picard answered back. “You are considering that if you conduct a fair trial, which was your promise, you may lose.”

“Lose?” Q smirked.

“Yes, even though you are the judge and prosecutor.”

“And jury!” Q added. The crowd laughed, but his attention remained focused on Picard.

The terms weren’t fair, but they were laid out. Picard had one of his own, “Accepted. So long as you keep to your agreement and assaulting a prisoner is hardly a fair trial!”

Q considered the matter for a moment behind the steepled fingers of his red-gloved hands. “This is a merciful court.” He made an expansive gesture.

The court audience booed and jeered as the frost encasing Yar melted and color returned to her features. Data helped her back into one of the chairs. She looked shaky, but the anger in her eyes hadn’t dimmed.

The palanquin rose and Q stood. “Silence!” he barked at the audience. Turning back to Picard. “These proceedings will have no legal trickery. This is a –“

“-A court of fact,” Picard interrupted and finished for him. “We humans know our past even when we’re ashamed of it. I recognize this court system as the one that agreed with Shakespeare: ‘Kill all the lawyers’.”

“Which was done,” Q stood at the edge of the palanquin.

“Leading to the rule of guilty until proven innocent.”

“Of course. Bringing the innocent to trial would be unfair.” The palanquin lowered until Q was only slightly above Picard. “You will now answer to the charge of being a grievously savage race.”

“Grievously savage could mean anything. I will only answer specific charges.”

"It means causing harm to fellow creatures," Q's look was black.

"Will you join your prisoners in the dock then?" Picard gestured behind himself. "After what you did to my Lieutennant?"

The black expression lingered and Q chuckled. “You want a full documentation of human ugliness? So be it.” He withdrew a bit.

The court official stepped forward and handed Picard a digital tablet. “You will read the charges against you to the court.”

Picard took his time looking carefully over the charges. Calmly, he handed the tablet back. “I see no charges against us, your Honor.”

The crowd was delighted in his calm defiance. Q took an angry breath. “You are out of order!” he shouted.

Soldiers stepped forward, leveling their weapons at Data and Yar’s heads. Data sat calmly with his hands still clasped between his knees. Yar kept her eyes on Picard, waiting for an indication to attack.

 “Soldiers,” Q said. “You will press those triggers if this criminal answers with any word other than guilty.” He paused a moment to give Picard time to consider the consequences. “Criminal, how plead you?”

The court gallery was silent, eagerly hoping to see more blood.

Picard looked to his crew and then glared back at Q. “Guilty…”

Q rose back, looking very smug. The gallery cheered.

“…Provisionally!”

The smug look turned into one of curious amusement as Q sat back in his throne. “Let’s hear these provisions.”

“We question whether the court is abiding by its own rules. Permission to have Commander Data repeat the record?” He raised the tenor of his voice from one of discussion between equals to one of command. Having Data repeat the record was phrased as a request, but only for the sake of the propriety of the court.

Q relaxed further into his arrogant pose. The amusement was gone, but the curiosity remained. “There will be no legal trickery.”

“These will be your own words, your Honor.” Using the honorific left the taste of bile in Picard’s mouth, but he had acknowledged the legitimacy of the proceedings and had to follow through accordingly. Especially when a whim might have the soldiers executing his crewmen out of hand. He turned to Data. “What exactly followed his Honor’s statement that the prisoners will not be harmed?”

“Yes sir,” Data rose to his feet. In a dead-accurate imitation of Picard’s voice he repeated the clarification about it being a fair trial. Then in Q’s voice he answered the question. “Yes, absolutely equitable.”

“Irrelevant testimony,” Q was no longer curious. He looked bored and irritated. “Entirely irrelevant.” His gaze switched from Picard to the two soldiers.

“All right!” Picard grabbed at the last remaining straws. “We concede there is evidence to support the court’s contention that humans have been savage.” Possibly the ranking officer from the Diplomatic Corps could – would see a way for humanity to evade the charges, to wiggle out of whatever a wayward Starfleet captain blurted out in an effort to save his crew from summary execution. The gallery was cheering and laughing.

Q grinned without humor, almost as if he were disappointed.

Picard held onto the last straw of hope. “Therefore, I say test us!”

That got Q interested again. He sat up and the curiosity was back in his face.

The hope was looking slightly brighter, the straw slightly stronger. “Test whether this is presently true of humans.”

“I see. I see.” Q was grinning again, seeming delighted with this turn of events. “And so, you petition the court to accept you and your comrades as proof of what humanity has become?”

It wasn’t worth stopping this positive progress to point out that Data was only modeled after humans, or that if ‘comrades’ included the full complement of the Enterprise there were already more than a dozen species making up her population. Or maybe the proof would come down to Picard and Yar alone. “There must be many ways we can be tested. We have a long mission ahead of us.”

“Another brilliant suggestion, Captain, but your test hardly requires a long mission. Your immediate destination offers far more challenge than you can possibly imagine.” There was no question about Q’s delight now as he leaned forward with a satisfied smile. “Yes, this Farpoint Station will be an excellent test.”

That Q already knew their destination and presumably the sealed orders was on the list of things Picard would worry about after he felt a warp core humming under his feet again.

The court official called out. “All will stand.”

The gallery shuffled to their feet as Q issued his ruling. “This court is adjourned…to allow the criminals to be tested.”

The palanquin rose and withdrew into the corridor it emerged from. “Captain, you may find you are not nearly clever enough to deal with what lies ahead for you,” Q said with smug condescension. “It may have been better to accept sentence here.”

And as those words faded, Picard, Data, and Yar were back on the Battle Bridge.

Chief O’Brien looked up briefly from the conn as if nothing at all had happened. As if three officers of the Enterprise were not disappeared off of a bridge standing at red alert and returned just as mysteriously.

Picard looked to Yar for confirmation that it had indeed happened. That it hadn't been simply a paroxysm of neurons. She met his eyes and nodded. She had experienced it as well. 

Data had no similar urge to affirm his experience. He was smoothly returning to bridge duty. “What is our heading?” Data asked as he stood over the conn.

“Same as it’s always been,” O’Brien answered. “Farpoint Station. Sounds like a boring place.”

Picard looked at the viewscreen. There was nothing but the stars. He turned back to his crew and took a deep breath. “We’ve heard that we may find it rather interesting.”

Chapter Text

     Q set the scarlet robes aside. He was afraid he was going to lose. Not the court case he had staged, of course. Evidence for the side he had staked out abounded and there were good reasons to recall humans back to their own system for a few more centuries. One of those was the destruction of two of the Great Minds – fragile and rare creatures just a dozen centuries from making the evolutionary leap to becoming peers of the Continuum.

There were so many ways to prevent the encounter with the Vulcan ship the humans ran across on their very first warp flight that it was very safe for this to be assigned to Q as his first real exercise in curation. But penning the humans in the Sol system was . . . . inelegant, in Q’s opinion. He could do better.

It was a rare assemblage that would have the skills to untangle what the Bandi had so thoughtlessly done. Direct interference in this case would cause the Great Minds to make war on the Alpha Quadrant and they would not survive to make that leap to peerage of the Continuum. So, Q nudged here and there. Too many times the end point of the labyrinth was failure. The humans exacerbated what the Bandi had done, reacted with wanton aggression, or became violent in their self-righteous vengeance – brutish and savage as they were. The resulting war would hamper the evolution of the Great Minds, causing a die off before they could reach the potential of peerage.

Seething with frustration and rage, Q had finally reduced himself to the direct action of temporarily altering a very localized gravitational constant with the intent of removing the variable of Jean-Luc Picard altogether. The stubborn human, of course, survived the knife to the chest. But the labyrinth of fractal possibilities bloomed in the aftermath. More threads gathered together and braided themselves into powerful potential timelines. A whole new wing of possibilities collapsed into several other universes from Wesley Crusher alone! Q showed his mentors in the Continuum and they showed the Elders. There were now pathways that solved the Borg Problem. Pathways that created life. Pathways that destroyed the universe intersected and tangled with pathways that saved it.

This Picard, with his artificial heart, changed everything. This Picard that Q had a hand in creating. There were members of the Continuum that had not had as much influence on galactic fate as this human might spark.

Pivots like this, that could change the labyrinth of time, space, and possibility were not unheard of, but had never happened in the lifetime of Q – or even his mentors, he suspected. He left the Continuum to this study and wandered into the white Void to stay out of the way.

But he needed someone to recognize what he had done! So after a bit he plucked at one of the new threads where it wouldn’t matter much: right where Picard’s artificial heart ceased. Picard appeared in front of him. “Welcome to the afterlife, Jean-Luc. You’re dead,” he grinned. “And I’m God.”

Dr. Crusher ran the pink cloth through her hands. “It’s nice,” she said. “But I was hoping for something with a little gold in it.” She looked through the bolts of cloth. “A whole bolt would be nice.” She had been at Farpoint Station for three days now and it was getting increasingly eerie.

It was Wesley who noticed it first. Of course it was. “It’s just weird mom,” he said after a day and a half there. “If you say you want something. It just kind of appears when you’re not looking. Like you might have overlooked it, but you know you would have seen it?” As proof he’d showed her a bowl full of apples.

“Wes, somebody probably just overheard you talking about your favorite fruit and replicated a batch,” Beverly responded. The lodgings they had been given while waiting for the Enterprise were frankly, embarrassing. It was suite of six rooms for the two of them and they had been assured by the Bandi that this was among the smallest of the lodgings available. An attendant brought meals and saw the necessities were supplied regularly. If there was even the smallest hint that something might be less than perfect or ideal, the attendant would grow quite agitated at the lack and no amount of assurance would comfort her until it was rectified. Someone behind the scenes must be moving heaven and earth to provide it. Small changes, but they all happened so quickly.

Wesley looked at them suspiciously. “They don’t taste replicated.”

But once Wes had brought her attention to it, she couldn’t unnotice it. She had experienced the phenomenon Wesley talked about, a desired item suddenly appearing from being overlooked. Things were repaired, replaced, righted, and upgraded at times she knew the attendant hadn’t been in the rooms. The shampoo for the hydroshower (piped directly from the geothermal vents for luxurious warmth) was switched out with one scented like a flower she had admired on the concourse. A hardcopy of the romance novel she was reading on her PADD placed on her bedside table. It didn’t happen every time, just enough to be odd.

Now Dr. Crusher was empirically testing it for herself. This was the first time she’d made such a bald-faced fishing attempt for evidence.

Briefly she turned away from the stall and smiled at her son. “Well, what should we do for lunch? My afternoon plans have been canceled and we should enjoy planetside meals while we can.”

He was looking away from the stall too, pointing down the street. “Can we go to that place with the Andorian breakfasts?”

“Of course.” Beverly turned back to the stall. Sitting on top of the pile was a bolt of pink cloth shot through with golden threads. She picked it up and turned it over. “What do you think Wes?” She raised her eyebrows.

“It’s…eye-catching,” he said and shook his head slightly. He had not seen the vendor move to add to the stock either.

She handed the bolt to the proprietor. “I’ll take the entire bolt. Charge it to Dr. Beverly Crusher of the USS Enterprise. Thank you.” No reason not to get the bizarrely exact thing she had been looking for that hadn’t been there a minute ago. And no reason not to go enjoy a bizarrely perfect Andorian breakfast hash that Wesley insisted had not been on the menu the first time they ate there.

As the suite attendant gently but very firmly put it, did your failure to notice it make it unwelcome?

Still, Beverly made note to report her findings to the Diplomatic Corps at her next opportunity.

“Saucer section will be rendezvousing in 51 minutes, sir,” Yar delivered the update unprompted. She was still clearly feeling the effects of the courtroom drama – she looked wan and slightly unsteady. By way of compensating, she was throwing herself into every other duty she could find and barely letting Picard out of her sight. He did not acknowledge her hovering, but he also did not insist that she be the one to pilot the Diplomatic Corps’ shuttlecraft from the starbase.

They were waiting together in the reception area of the shuttlecraft bay. The stardrive section of the Enterprise was in orbit around Deneb IV and Farpoint Station could be seen glittering on the surface. Ordinarily he would at least wait until the saucer section caught up, but after the encounter with Q he felt that bringing the ranking officer of the Diplomatic Corps in for a briefing was urgent.

“It would be more efficient to use the transporter,” Yar had said.

“Tradition,” Picard said. “And luck. All senior staff taking a position on an Enterprise first come aboard via a shuttle.”

“Yes, sir, I know.” She had been the one who piloted Picard’s shuttle. Halfway between the station and the ship he had brought out a bottle of burgundy he’d taken from the Picard cellars to toast their new station. They were friendly acquaintances as she moved up through the MACO ranks. He had mentored and sponsored her as he could in the hopes that she would eventually serve as his Chief of Security. “But surely given the circumstances…?”

“Do you know why it’s a tradition, Tasha?” He broke the formality deliberately. If she wound any more tightly she was likely to spring loose.

“No,” she shook her head.

Picard regaled her with the story of the first persons to beam aboard the refitted USS Enterprise after Admiral Kirk resumed command. Like most stories of transporter pattern degradations it was grisly and Picard refrained from as much embellishment as Robert had gone into when he’d heard about Jean-Luc’s new ship. But it was a fine ghost story to pass the time and keep her focus off of the Q’s courtroom.

The shuttle arrived as he was wrapping up the tale and Tasha Yar no longer looked ready to fight at shadows.

Picard tried not to look surprised as the ship’s diplomat left the shuttle. Councilor Deanna Troi was much younger than he had been expecting. Her blue jumpsuit was adorned with the regulation UFP insignia of the Diplomatic Corps and the black cloud of her black hair was swept back with a non-regulation barrette. “Captain Picard,” she smiled brilliantly. Her voice was soft. “I wasn’t expecting you to meet me at the shuttle.”

“Councilor Troi,” he nodded. “It’s good to finally meet you in person. I regret that we must get down to business right away. And I apologize for cutting your leave short.”

Her smile didn’t fade. “To tell the truth, it’s a relief to be here.”

“I hadn’t intended to greet you in only half a starship,” Picard said. “We don’t have access to the Ready Room without the saucer section, but I’ve arranged a conference room for our briefing. Lt. Yar will see to it that your things are transferred to your quarters as soon as we make the rendezvous.” The doors of the turbolift hissed shut behind them.

“You were expecting someone different?” she asked mildly.

“I suppose there’s not much point in hiding my surprise,” Picard admitted.

“It’s strong emotions I feel. I’m only half-Betazoid.” She could easily be mistaken for human if one didn’t notice the black Betazoid eyes. “Starfleet on my father’s side.” Councilor Troi quipped.

“I wasn’t expecting someone so young to be a Councilor,” Picard said.

“It’s one of the reasons I was assigned to the Enterprise, aside from being good at what I do. The Diplomatic Corps thought that the youngest councilor to date could learn a thing or two from the person who was the youngest Starfleet captain in history.” She paused for a moment, looking at him. Then she looked away and rubbed her temple with a wince. “I’m sorry Captain Picard. I didn’t mean to . . . . You haven’t caught me at my best, I am afraid. My stay at Farpoint Station has been far from pleasant.”

Picard had become captain of the Stargazer when an attack and subsequent battle had killed most of the bridge crew, leaving him to take command. That wasn’t the battle that had killed Jack Crusher, but it was impossible to think of the Stargazer and not think of Jack. “There’s nothing to apologize for Councilor. I’m afraid I’m not exactly at my best right now either. So we’re on equal footing there.” The turbolift doors hissed open to a corridor.

“You’ve worked with the Diplomatic Corps before.” Councilor Troi said. “How did you find the experience?”

“This will be the first time I’ve shared command,” Picard said. His previous commands had been ships of the line and dedicated to Starfleet, but the Galaxy-class Enterprise-D was designed to support multiple mission types at the borders of what was known. As the ranking Starfleet officer, command of the ship fell to Picard. But Councilor Troi was in command of the mission: seeking out new worlds and civilizations.

She waited until they were in the conference room before saying. “I sense that you are quite uneasy…” she left the statement hanging for him to fill in or not.

He assumed she was talking about the shared command and sought to clear up that mistake quickly. “I didn’t accept this post for the sake of commanding a Galaxy class ship,” nonetheless he ran his hand along the bulkhead, already feeling possessive of her. “I’ve always loved looking up to the stars. Pushing the frontier out. I’m looking forward to this mission a great deal. But…” he looked away from the window and back at her. “They’ve given me a ship with children on it. Actual, literal children.”

Councilor Troi’s smile was kind. “A big responsibility.”

“I don’t really get along well with children,” he said with his first smile since Q appeared on the bridge. “I am not a family man, geniality does not come naturally to me.” Picard would, in fact, be unofficially relying on her and the Diplomatic Corps to help with matters internal to the ship’s civilian complement. He could see that her natural warmth would make up for his deficiency in geniality.

When Captain Picard finished the briefing about Q, his cup of tea was empty and so was Troi’s mug of hot chocolate. She listened quietly, only interrupting a few times to clarify details. The arrival of the stardive section without the saucer had caused quite a stir on the station among the Federation people. This in turn caused a furor of anxiety among the Bandi when faced with concerns and worry that they couldn’t make right.

“I realize this stepped into the bounds of the Corps’ duties, but I saw no other way of saving my people.” Picard set his cup aside.

Troi nodded. When she picked up on his uneasiness she had expected it to relate to the shared command of the Enterprise’s raison d’etre, but he seemed to be truthful when he told her it was a matter of children on board. Having to perform a dangerous and untested saucer separation almost as soon as the ship was out of spacedock would be enough to justifiably rattle anyone, but Picard was still calm.

Her initial impressions were that Picard was as his file described: an officer who valued those who served under him and was curious and thoughtful enough to almost complete a doctorate in xenoarchaeology. He had personally recommended Worf and Data into the command crew. Even recruited an El-Aurian to tend to the ship’s bar. That spoke to an expansive and inclusive point of view. “From the way you’ve described the situation, I don’t think that it could have been handled any better. This Q sounds capricious,” she consulted the bottom of her mug briefly, but replicators did not default to providing remnants in the bottom to consult. “Do you think he has the power to enforce his demands? Push humanity back to the Sol system?”

Picard was not the sort to shrug. He frowned instead. “I don’t know. The feats we saw him perform were astonishing, but recalling the entire species back to our home system would be magnitudes of order even beyond that. And we don’t know if he is just a lone individual or the representative of a greater organization.”

She felt briefly claustrophobic every time Picard spoke about humanity being recalled and restrained to their home system. “Well regardless of Q’s trials and tests and our probationary status,” she said brightly. “We still have to find out what is going on at Farpoint Station. He only gave us extra motivation.”

He nodded and got up to return to the conference room’s replicator. “Would you care for another hot chocolate?” he asked.

“Thank you,” Troi took one of the PADDs and brought up the dossier on Farpoint Station. “After our briefing here, with your permission, I’d like to interview the officers who were present during your encounter with the Q entity.”

“Of course,” Picard returned with the drinks. “Starfleet is interested in using Farpoint Station as a base for ships leaving and entering the border zone there,” the subject change was without preamble, and Troi appreciated that neither her status as Councilor nor her abilities as an empath seemed to make a difference to him. “It’s perfect for that use. Too perfect in the judgement of four Admirals who have made it clear to me that they suspect fraud. You’ve been at Farpoint for almost seventy-two hours. What are your impressions?”

Now Troi frowned. She had been there almost seventy-two hours and for seventy-one of them she had been wracked with pain and barely able to get out of bed. Dr. Beverly Crusher had been unable to do much to provide relief and Troi had to settle for Vulcan psychic dampeners by the handful and double-strong raktajino to keep her upright long enough for a few short conversations with Groppler Zorn, the base administrator. After twenty-four hours she had to send her suite attendant away permanently as his efforts to provide little luxuries to ease her suffering failed repeatedly and each failure made the pain worse. She truly did not want a Starfleet officer’s first impression of her to be that wilting. “I felt great pain. Almost constantly. Pain and loneliness . . . . and a profound despair.”

Picard was frowning deeply. Troi felt lifted on a wave of protective instinct. She clarified, “The source of the emotions was external. And nothing there harmed me intentionally.”

“From whom? Groppler Zorn? Or his people?”

She shook her head. “It was close, but not that close. And my conversations with Groppler Zorn were neither helpful nor productive. He became quite agitated when pressed for any level of detail.”

“Do you feel it now?”

“Like an echo.” She tapped her finger against the surface of the PADD, curious to see which Admirals thought Farpoint Station was too good to be true. “Which seems to indicate that its source is on the planet’s surface and that it is an immensely powerful mind.”

The protective spirit did not entirely wane as Picard sipped his tea. “Perhaps it is time I join you in speaking with The Groppler to make an official assessment.”

There was just one other matter that needed to be discussed with the Councilor and Picard was becoming increasingly aware of the minutes counting down. “There is a final matter. I’m sure it was brought to your attention that I requested Commander William Riker as my ExO.”

“Ah,” her smile was more businesslike. “And I’m sure it was brought to your attention that Commander Riker and I had a romantic relationship.”

“Not until after he was brought on board. If I had realized at the time I would have,” he thought for a moment. “I would have consulted with you first.” Picard picked the phrase carefully, bearing in mind that despite her youth, the Councilor and he were more or less equal rank. If the parting between Councilor Troi and Commander Riker were acrimonious it was likely Picard would have to pick a new first officer. But he’d be damned if he’d give up a pilot that could perform a flawless saucer separation at over warp 9 for little cause.

“We parted on good terms,” Troi assured him. “And he is the best damn pilot you’ll ever get.”

“He’s certainly not afraid of a challenge.”

The manual reconnection of the saucer section had gone as smoothly as the separation, but frayed Riker’s nerves more. The separable saucer was a fine emergency feature going all the way back to the Constitution-class ships. The Galaxy-class was the first that did not – theoretically – need to return to drydock to rejoin the saucer to the star drive. This function had been tested repeatedly during the design and manufacture of the Enterprise and Riker had never botched a single reconnect simulation. However, he did not relish being the first pilot to test the reconnection ‘in the wild.’ Having the audience of Farpoint Station and Deanna watching – theoretically – did not help.

There was a soft thunk as the inertia of the star drive gently kissed the contact surfaces of the saucer. Maglevers hissed into place and green lit across his command display as the jeffries tubes, turbolift shafts, and corridors aligned and reconnected. DOTs and engineering crews would soon be swarming to verify all the linkages and finish the last few that needed a more delicate touch.

Once his heart resumed its natural cadence he acknowledged the rest of the bridge crew with a smile and a nod.

Deanna – Councilor Troi, he corrected himself – emerged from the captain’s ready room with a small stack of PADDs. She was finished with her briefing. Her smile was warm, but she did not linger on the bridge. Her mind did not brush against his thoughts as it had so many times before. They had been drawn apart by their respective positions. An amicable parting as they both understood they could not ask the other to sacrifice a career without asking them to slice away bits of the self.

Still, Riker glanced to the trio of chairs that were the centerpiece of the bridge. The next five years he would be sharing the space with his one-time Imzadi.

Picard emerged from the ready room and leaned over one of the conns, checking the indicators and reports from the decks briefly. “A routine maneuver,” he said to Riker. “But you handled it very well.”

“Thank you, sir,” Riker recognized the praise, faint as it was. Captain Picard was a touch prickly, a little stiff, but he was genuine and his care for the ship and her complement ran deep. During their first briefing he had grilled Riker on some of the calls he made under Desoto, especially the Altair III call to forbid Captain Desoto from beaming to the surface.

“I have no problem following any rules you lay down,” Riker had snapped back. “But I will, under no circumstances, compromise your safety.”

Picard had fixed him with a steely look. “And you don’t intend to back off from that position?”

“No, sir. And if you have a problem with that you can transfer me back to the Hood.” There was just enough silence as they stared at each other for Riker to wonder if Captain Picard was in fact going to have him transferred back to the Hood. But it had been the right call at the time and he wasn’t about to waffle on it now.

“I’m glad to hear it. If you had backed down I probably would have transferred you back.” Picard finally nodded and softened. “One further thing. A special favor.” Picard shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Using the same strength you showed with Captain Desoto – help me with the children. I would appreciate it if you could keep me from making myself an ass of myself with them.”

“Sir?” Riker fought and won to keep from smiling at the sudden shift to vulnerability and trace embarrassment.

“Starfleet has given me a starship with children aboard. And I am not comfortable around children. But since a Captain needs an image of geniality, you are to see that is what I project.”

It was an odd request but that didn’t stop Riker from an “Aye, sir.” Since that meeting he had turned over the exchange in his head several times. He landed on being grateful that he was trusted with what Captain Picard saw as flaw in himself. And now, staring at the three chairs where he and Councilor Troi would be flanking Captain Picard, he felt unusually ill-at-ease.

Charming. He just had to be charming enough to cover for Picard’s deficit while Deanna sat an arm’s length away.

In sickbay, Dr. Crusher moved her tricorder over the VISOR, paying special attention to the contact points. “Naturally, I am familiar with your case,” she said to the helmsman. “It’s a remarkable piece of bioelectric engineering.”

‘It lets me ‘see’ the EM spectrum. My vision is better than yours with it.” La Forge sat on the biobed. His unseeing eyes were very white against his dark skin. Small lights blinked at the contact points on his temples. The tone made it clear he was tired of explaining these circumstances repeatedly. “Are you asking everyone who boards the ship to report in for a physical?” He did not hide the fact that the question was loaded.

“No,” Dr. Crusher picked up the VISOR carefully and held it out towards him. “I’m handing you your VISOR.” She was careful to hold it properly, finger tips along the edges – away from where fingerprints might smudge the sensors or skin oils affect the contact points.

His hands found her wrists first and moved until he took hold of the VISOR. He took it from her and slid it into place. When it was active his head turned slightly to “look” her in the eye.

“I have been doing my reading up of course. But it’s no substitute for speaking directly to people.” Dr. Crusher continued. “It’s my duty to familiarize myself with the adaptive technology needs of the crew. After this I still have a Benzite and two members of cetacean ops to see to.” And at some point between the onboarding physicals and interviews there was overseeing the final pieces of giving sickbay a shakedown. Dr. Asenzi had done a great deal of work already. The LCARS were all up to date and he had flagged the most recent examinations of the officers and prioritized the crew with technology needs that she wanted to see first.

She looked at La Forge’s record on her PADD and frowned. “I am concerned that you report constant pain from the VISOR.”

La Forge seemed a little mollified, but no less dignified. “I’ve been blind since birth. They say the pain is because I’m using my natural senses in different ways.”

Crusher wasn’t exactly surprised to hear it involved neural pathways, but it still left her with a small irritation that she had no realistic fix for his discomfort. “Well, I can only offer two choices: the first is pain killers.”

“Which would affect how this works. No, not an option. And choice number two?”

“Exploratory brain surgery.” Her joke got him to crack a smile finally.

“No thank you doctor.” He eased off the biobed. “I’ll be ‘seeing’ you.”

Crusher made some notes to the file before returning to her desk where she found Admiral McCoy sitting. “Well, I guess I have to give this facility a gold star. You’ve got everything squared away and ship-shape,” he grumbled happily.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. He had been a grouchy, but warm presence over her shoulder since she’d beamed up from Farpoint Station to get the sickbay mission-ready. She was just thankful that the stubborn admiral had not attempted to do any of the heavy lifting himself. He was 137 years old, but still seemed like the “if you want it done right, do it yourself,” type.

Crusher took his presence to be a good luck charm to bless the sickbay. Admiral McCoy had set foot on every Enterprise sickbay to date, serving in three of the five ships to bear the name. He had, for the first time anyone could remember, resorted to politicking to get a berth on the Hood to come see the latest to bear the name. Gently, as if caressing a lover for the last time, McCoy ran his hands along the wall. “This is a new ship, but she’s got the right name.” His voice was thick with emotion. “You treat her right and she’ll always bring you home.”

Beverly nodded solemnly at the benediction and waited silently for him to gather himself. With a snort (certainly not holding back tears), McCoy stood and pulled his cardigan over his uniform as Lieutenant Data entered to escort him back to the USS Hood. Crusher reclaimed her seat as they left.

“Are you certain you would not be more comfortable beaming back over to the Hood, sir?” Data asked.

McCoy’s kvetching could be heard before the door of sickbay hissed closed. “IS there a reason you want my damn atoms scattered all over space, boy?”

Over Deneb IV, the Enterprise and Hood glided together in the dance of orbital mechanics. The Enterprise now had her full complement of crew, staff, researchers, passengers, and even children. Picard felt himself settling in as well, familiar with the routines of getting a starship squared away before mission.

The Hood broke away from the dance gracefully, wheeling towards the stars. She had delivered the last of the Enterprise personnel to their posts and was heading back to Earth. Picard was grateful he’d found a corner of time to have dinner with DeSoto. It was a rare treat to dine with a friend stationed on another ship.

“Did you signal the Hood, Commander Riker?” Picard couldn’t repress a smile. The Enterprise was at her full potential, ready to spring into new discoveries. There was a temptation to give the racehorse her head and let her race the Hood for a few parsecs.

“Your exact message, ‘Bon voyage, mon ami’.”

Picard leaned over a free conn station. “Computer, what was their reply?”

“You’re wasting time, captain,” the snide voice of Q instantly killed his positive mood. “Or did you think I was gone?” Still in the garb of a Post Horror judge, Q’s face appeared in the viewscreen, overlaying the image of the planet below.

Worf was fast with the holdout phaser, already on his feet.

“Lieutenant!” Picard snapped. “Do you intend to blast a hole in the viewer?” Still, it was commendable reaction time. Turning to the screen, Picard stepped forward. Councilor Troi was not yet on the bridge. She was preparing for the meeting with Groppler Zorn. “If the purpose of this is to test humans, your Honor,” he tried not to let the rising bile he was feeling leech into his words. “Then we must proceed in our own way.”

“You are dilatory,” Q accused. “You have 24 hours. Any further delay and you risk summary judgement, Captain.” And at that, Q’s image dissolved away.

“Sorry, sir.” Worf stood stiffly.

“You reacted fast, Mr. Worf,” Riker commented.

Too fast, Picard thought. “But futilely,” he spoke sternly but softly. There was no need for anyone but the young Klingon officer to hear.

“I will learn to do better, sir.”

Picard softened a bit. “Of course you will.”

Worf returned to his conn and Riker stepped forward. “What do we do now, Captain, with them monitoring our every move and word?”

This was at least simple. “We do exactly what we’d do if this Q never existed. If we’re going to be damned, let’s be damned for what we really are.”

Chapter Text

                The next eleven hours passed without incident. But the feeling that some critical test lay before them was thick in the air.

                In the ready room, no one spoke of Q or his trials and tests. Riker was pacing along the length of the table, shaking his head at his own theory that the builders of Farpoint station had been trading excess energy from geothermal processes to get the material to build the station. “Most of the materials aren’t native to the planet.” Deneb IV was not particularly rich in anything except potential geothermal energy and it was not particularly advanced technologically either. “But there’s no records of trade at volumes to build the station. Unless they’ve been trading with the Ferengi?”

                “Unlikely,” Picard shook his head. “The Ferengi would cross the galaxy twice if there were some profit in it for them. But they wouldn’t advance resources like this on credit.”

                “They could have made it a provision of their contract to keep knowledge of their involvement a secret from Starfleet,” but again, Riker seemed dubious at his own suggestion.

                “Perhaps it’s like the incidents from Dr. Crusher’s report,” Councilor Troi suggested. “She describes almost magical attempts to please us.”

                If the report had come from anyone but Dr. Beverly Crusher, Picard might have dismissed it more readily. Beverly was an eminently sensible woman who was, nonetheless, never in doubt about her own senses and ready to acknowledge nearly fantastical improbabilities once she had ruled out impossibilities.

                But to the point at hand, “None of this suggests anything threatening.” Picard examined the fishtank where his lionfish was displaying fins spread in a warning pattern. “If only every life-form had as much desire to please,” he said mostly to himself. Galileo was unhappy about his transfer to this new tank. “Ready to beam down?” he asked Troi. “I’m looking forward to meeting this Groppler Zorn.”

                “I have a feeling there’s more to this than just trying to please us, sir.” Riker followed.

                “As if it’s Q doing something to trick us?” Picard agreed.

                Deanna Troi felt Will’s mind reach out to hers briefly as they shared the turbolift with Captain Picard. It was an affectionate but respectful wordless brush against her thoughts. She was glad of it, the heartbreak of bitterness or apathy on his part would have been devastating. However, she did not reach back with her mind. They were professional colleagues now and she meant to stay on that footing. She smiled to acknowledge the gesture and her appreciation that they still could communicate mind-to-mind.

                Will returned the smile and radiated a sense of ease that was mostly genuine. There would be little dances of negotiation like this until they grew more comfortable with each other’s presence.

                For his part, Picard was pretending not to notice any of what was going on.

                The town outside of Farpoint Station, Old Bandi City, was not extended the same magical benefits it seemed. The wind blew dust through the adobe houses where the Groppler and his people lived. Councilor Troi had insisted on meeting in the old city rather than the station itself. It was a way of demonstrating respect for the Bandi people’s generous offer, she told Groppler Zorn.

                Groppler Zorn’s office was in one of these arid buildings. It was dark in the daubed walls of the room, but his desk was made of a fine green stone with the computer display cleverly hidden away until desired. Picard and Troi took seats opposite from him while Riker opted to stand.

                “My crew and I need more information before we can make our recommendation to Starfleet,” Picard said.

                “I have no objections,” the Groppler said, standing and resting his hands with their long grey fingers on the desk. His clothes were the same collection of brown found elsewhere in Old Bandi but were newly and finely made. “But I am puzzled. Councilor Troi had ample opportunity to probe my thoughts already.”

                “As I have explained, I sense only emotions, Groppler Zorn,” Councilor Troi kept her voice neutral. “I have not, would not, and cannot probe your thoughts.”

                “I have nothing to hide of course,” Zorn said.

                Picard wondered if he saw Councilor Troi’s eyes narrow for just an instant. “Good,” she addressed Groppler Zorn. “Since we admire what we’ve seen of your construction techniques, the Federation may be interested in you constructing starbases elsewhere as well.” It wasn’t entirely an untruth. A handful of the many admirals and diplomats who were in favor of adopting the Deneb system into alliance with the Federation were already wondering where more stations might be built with such miraculous speed. The diplomats were dreaming of frontier outposts with the comfort of home and Starfleet was already looking at systems close to the Romulan Neutral Zone.

                “We are not interested in building other facilities,” the Groppler smiled patiently. “Especially not on other planets.”

                Councilor Troi produced a PADD and casually tapped at the surface. “If I may offer a trade then. Lend us some architects and engineers who can demonstrate your techniques in exchange for,” she looked up with her brilliant smile. “Well….what do you need?”

                “Bandi do not enjoy leaving their homeworld. I could not even ask that of my people,” the Groppler’s voice was laced with no small amount of condescension. “If the Federation cannot accept that small weakness, then we will be forced, unhappily, to seek an alliance with the Ferengi.” He did not look unhappy.

                Troi suddenly stiffened and gasped as if she’d touched a live wire. She clapped a hand over her mouth that didn’t entirely stifle a sob. Her eyes were squeezed tight as Picard and Riker both moved to check on her. Riker dropped to a knee next to her chair and stared up at her face. The Groppler did not budge from behind his desk.

                “Councilor, what is it?” Picard asked. He looked to his first officer as well.

                Riker was concerned but calm. There was no panic or fear in his face. That assured Picard that the Councilor was unharmed. Riker gave a small shrug as well. This did not seem to be a negotiation ploy.

                She dropped her hand back to her lap and opened her eyes. “Shall I describe it here?” she asked Picard.

                “Yes. There should be no secrets if we are to be old friends,” he looked to Groppler Zorn. “Wouldn’t you agree, Groppler?”

                Zorn had withdrawn his hands from the desk and stood somewhat aloof. “We ourselves have nothing to hide. Of course.” The rapid fire of his speech made him seem defensive.

                A tear spilled over her eyelid and onto her cheek and she could not filter the emotion from her voice. “Pain. Pain and terrible loneliness. Despair.”

                Picard recognized the description from their first meeting.

                “I’m not sensing the Groppler or any of his people, Captain. But it’s something very close to us here.”

                “The source of this, Groppler, have you any idea of what it might be?” Picard sought to draw Zorn’s attention as Councilor Troi composed herself.

                No.” He drew Zorn’s ire as well. “No, absolutely not. And I find nothing helpful or productive in any of this!” he indicated Councilor Troi who was wiping a tear off her cheek.

                Picard frowned. “No other comment?”

                “Well what do you expect of us?” he barked in frustration. “In two years we built this base. Designed to your needs – luxurious even by human standards!”

                “While evading even our simplest questions about it,” Picard snapped back.

                Councilor Troi stood. Riker stood with her as if she might stumble. “We’ll adjourn for now,” she said with firmness. “While we all reconsider our positions.”

                “Captain!” The Groppler finally came around his desk, quickly, almost desperate now. “The Ferengi would be very interested in a base like this!”

                The transparent attempt to get Picard to undermine the Diplomatic Corps by invoking a species Starfleet was currently in conflict with angered him more than anything else the Groppler could have done. “Fine. Let’s hope they find you as tasty as they did their past associates.” He led the way out of the office.

                It was not accurate to say Data was [unhappy(?)] at being interrupted during his leisure time by a commanding officer. Emotions were not part of his skill set. And the birds of the holodeck woodlands were failing to provide sufficient education for his self-directed whistling lessons. He enjoyed the task of trial and error when he could indulge in it. He was just about certain he had disproved his hypothesis that perching in a tree as many birds did would help.

                Another whistle finished the song Data was attempting, much more adeptly. Data looked down and saw the ship’s commander. He dropped to the ground without ceremony. “Marvelous how easily humans do that,” Data complimented his commanding officer. “May I help you, sir?”

                “The captain wants you down on the planet surface to solve some puzzles,” Commander Riker [William Thomas Riker, Native of Earth, Previous service included The Hood, The Potemkin, and The Pegasus] said. “I’ll be taking you down on an away team with me.”

                “I shall endeavor to function adequately, sir.” It was not accurate to say Data felt [embarrassed(?)] that his first personal encounter with the ship’s commander was while he was attempting to learn a function he was not yet performing adequately.

                “Yes . . .” Commander Riker hesitated a moment.

                Data recognized that particular hesitation. It came when a sapient biological organism was unsure whether to treat him as a computer or a fellow life form.

                “I looked up your record when the Captain suggested you.” Riker said as they walked back to the holodeck’s doorway.

                “Yes, sir. A wise procedure, sir. Always.” Biological organisms expected a computer to assent. And officers expected their junior officers to do the same. Data, of course, had already uploaded all the ship’s personnel records into his positronic matrix. “I am not well known to you and doubtless you would wish to acquaint yourself with my capabilities and areas of expertise.” He frowned. “Whistling is not yet among them, sir.”

                The commander paused for a moment, as if puzzled. “You were Starfleet class of ’78.”

                “Honors in probability mechanics and exobiology.” Data provided the extra details in case the commander had forgotten them.

                “You were found on a planet which suffered a total biological collapse. An Earth colony.”

                “Yes, sir. It appears I was completed and programmed shortly before the final catastrophe.” Data wondered if Commander Riker would be the sort who would hold Data as somehow being responsible for that catastrophe due to being the sole survivor. He spent a few downRAM cycles to briefly entertain a side thought about the connection that he and Lt. Yar were both from failed Earth colonies and Lt. Worf was from a failed Klingon colony. Then he drew up the parts of Commander Riker’s personnel record that he had authorization to view for a quick review. All this was done in the time it took for his blink algorithm to activate twice. “I only have conscious memory of what happened after everyone was already dead and the distress beacon set.”

                “You have the rank of lieutenant commander. Honorary, of course.”

                 Data was not offended. Biological brains had imperfect recall. “No, sir. Starfleet regulations allow any life form that tests out as sentient. And each of my promotions came with commendations from my commanding officers.” Computers were not promoted, much less with commendations.

                “But you’re a . . . .”

                “Machine, yes sir,” it was not a taxing use of probability mechanics to know how this conversation was likely to go. The most productive approach was to get it over with quickly and reduce the awkward feelings of the biological organism. When they had awkward feelings it could lead to trouble. “Does that trouble you?”

                Commander Riker considered the question. “To be honest, yes. A little.”

                It was not accurate to say Data was [surprised(?)] by the response, but it was unexpected. His previous conversational algorithm was designed to give the biological organism a chance to insist that they felt absolutely fine and make themselves believe it. He made a small adjustment to the probability mechanics of this topic and to his personal files about Commander Riker. This was all done before he responded “Understood sir. Prejudice is very human.”

                “Now that does trouble me. Do you consider yourself superior to us?”

                “I am superior, sir, in many ways. But I would gladly give it up to become human.” In the past, Data had selectively edited the species he wished to emulate to mirror the one he was conversing with, but over the past few years had settled on human.

                Commander Riker smiled. “Nice to meet you . . . . Pinocchio.”

                Data stopped and looked to the commander for further clarification.

                “A joke.”

                “Ah! Intriguing.”

                “You’re going to be an interesting companion, Mr. Data.”

                Data continued to lead the way. “The woodland pattern is quite popular, sir. Perhaps because it duplicates Earth so well. Coming here almost makes me feel human myself.” It was an easy line of conversation to hold while another part of his brain looked up information about ‘Pinocchio’.

                “I didn’t believe these simulations could be this real.” Commander Riker plucked a leaf and ran it between his fingers.

                “Much of it is ‘real’ sir. If the transporter can turn the matter of our bodies in an energy beam and-“

                “Yes, of course. And these rocks and plants have much simpler patterns.” He crushed the leaf between his fingers and smelled the sap. The aromatic molecules triggered a memory or thought that made him smile slightly.

                “Correct, sir.” Data stopped cross-indexing ‘Pinocchio’ to dedicate more attention to the conversation. Commander Riker was proving surprising.

                Another voice broke through the woodlands. “Lt. Data this is incredible!” It was Wesley Crusher. [son of Dr. Beverly Crusher and Commander Jack Crusher (deceased)]. Data had seen no reason not to let Wesley explore the holodeck while he practiced whistling. It was a simple adjustment to keep the adolescent human from startling the birds away. “And there are thousands of programs! Some way more complicated than this!” Wesley leapt from rock to rock to get to Data and Commander Riker across the stream. In his excitement he was heedless and had no way of knowing that the verisimilitude of the simulation included a loose steppingstone.

                Data was already moving quickly as Wesley fell into the stream. It was an inconvenient depth for humans [1.6 meters], an inclement temperature [14.7 degrees Celsius], and with water that shallow the risk of injury from a slip and fall was elevated. He jumped in the water and with one arm lifted Wesley well above his head.

                Undaunted by the cold or damp, Wesley grinned at Data. “Wow!”

                Wesley pulled the dry sweater over his head as he told his mom about the day he’d had. “Did you know they have a pair of Sondarian marsh boars on the ecology deck?”

                “What I want to know is how you got so wet,” she picked up the muddy towel and put it in the ‘cycler. “Look at this mess.”

                “The rock I stepped on tipped and I fell in the stream and Commander Data pulled me out and -,” he winced at the next part of the memory and his voice fell into a mumble. “And I got mud all over the deck and met Captain Picard. I told him I’d clean up the mess.”

                “Oh Wes,” she said sympathetically as she turned back.

                He didn’t need his eidetic memory to recall the incident that wasn’t even an hour old and want to melt through the deck again. “Mom?” he hesitated. “Do you think you could get me a look at the bridge?”

                “That’s against the captain’s standing orders,” she said. “Even I’m not supposed to be on the bridge unless I’ve been specifically requested. And I haven’t been yet.” She said the last part with a snap in her voice.

                “. . . Are you afraid of the captain, too?” Everyone Wesley had run into had talked about what an old burrhog Captain Picard was.

                “I most certainly am not,” she said indignantly.

                “Just a look, Mom,” Wesley pushed. “Just a peek when the turbolift doors open. I won’t even get off.” The bridge was where his dad had served, even if this one was different. Where people made decisions that pushed the boundaries of what was known.

                “You’re looking for trouble, Wes.” But she sighed in that way she did when he reminded her of his father. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

                Suddenly flush with the energy of unbridled joy at the possibility, Wesley ran off again. “I’ll see you at dinner!” he called as he rounded the corner.

                Tasha Yar was happy to have metaphorical dirt under her boots again. There was very little literal dirt in Farpoint Station unless she wanted to go tromping through one of the potted plants. Captain Picard had requested she personally go down to the planetside rather than delegating the job to a MACO squad commander. What went unsaid with that request was Yar’s experience growing up in a failed Earth colony. She would know far better than most where to look for hidden rot. “Sir,” she addressed Commander Riker as they strolled through the promenade. “I recommend we begin by examining the underside of the station. Our sensors still show some passages.”

                The corridors under Farpoint Station had the dim lighting that the Bandi seemed to prefer. But they were tidy and dry. The floor was smooth and well kept. The initial tunnel seemed to be fairly roughly carved from the bare rock, but under the station proper the corridor became triangular and lined with large tiles with designs that were not like anything she’d seen from the Bandi so far.

                There were no signs of anyone living in the tunnels, which Tasha found more disconcerting than if she’d found evidence of an enslaved workforce hidden down there. A spacious, climate-controlled system like this on a planet, even in a post-scarcity society, was still likely to have people living in it, storing things in it, or at least using it to traverse. “It’s too big for emergency access or repair personnel only,” she recorded her observations into a tricorder. “But not big enough for construction equipment or cargo haulers. What do you have Mr. La Forge?”

                La Forge was moving slowly. “I don’t know what I’m looking at here, ma’am.”

                “Construction records shows the materials to be almost identical to what Starfleet uses,” Tasha watched as he carefully turned around.

                “No, this is. . . . I don’t know what this is. Those records are wrong.” He stopped and looked at her. “I’ve examined these walls in every way I have – microscopically, thermally, electromagnetically. None of it is familiar. It’s no material I recognize.” He turned back to the walls. “And this circuitry is,” he struggled to find the words to describe it. “Almost like it shouldn’t be there. It’s embedded in the wall, and I can’t detect access panels or tunnels anywhere.”

                Tasha’s eyes narrowed at the walls. It wasn’t rot, but there was a hidden something and she did not like that one single bit. “Work out what you can. I want to compare this to the records we were provided as soon as we get back to the ship.”

                Councilor Troi was uncertain at this point if the frustration was coming from her or from Captain Picard as they sorted through what was known about Farpoint Station. The mystery seemed no closer to being solved, much less why Q thought it would be a good test of humanity’s innate barbarism. But it was at least clear that this was a much bigger coverup than fraud.

                “The meeting with Groppler Zorn was less helpful than I would have liked,” Picard said, leaning forward on the table of the Ready Room and templing his fingers.

                “It was exactly as helpful as needed and as I expected it to be,” Troi said. “Despite the Groppler.”

                “Oh? Did you sense something specific from him?”

                “He was feigning his anger, trying to force our hand I suspect. From him I sensed nervousness and frustration, but that’s not what was helpful.” She picked up a PADD with a preliminary report from Riker’s away team. “The pain, the loneliness, and the despair were still immense, but slightly less in the Old City than in the station. Definitely not coming from the Bandi people. Whatever the source is, it’s in the station itself. And the mind I touched was . . . like nothing I’ve ever made contact with.” She indicated the report about the passages underneath the station. “Just like Mr. La Forge has never encountered the construction methods in the passage. And Zorn was lying about not knowing the source of that pain.”

                A wave of concern and disapproval washed out from Picard. “Councilor, that is not,” he pursed his lips and thought about what he was going to say. “I do not like that you lowered the barriers to put yourself through that much pain deliberately.”

                She considered her response just as carefully. “Captain, I am an empath. This gives me more rein to ethically use my abilities than a full telepath has. If a moderate amount of pain gets the job done, I am willing to make that sacrifice. I feel close to an answer.”

                “Would you ask those who serve under you to expose themselves to ‘moderate amounts of pain’ in order to complete their duties?”

                Troi paused. “No, I would not. But these are exceptional circumstances with the Q organism interfering.”

                “Past the frontier, we will be running into exceptional circumstances with regularity. The members of the Diplomatic Corps will model their actions on yours.” He softened slightly. “Officially, I ask that you please let my crew complete their investigations before you do something that will cause you even temporary harm. We have a long voyage ahead of us.”

                She thought about what he said. “I will take that under advisement, Captain.”

                She didn’t need to be an empath to see that he wanted to argue or order her, quite badly. Instead, he nodded. “That’s all I can ask.”

                Any further questions were interrupted by an alert. Picard was out of his seat and out of the ready room before Troi had quite realized what was going on.

                “There’s a ship entering orbit.” Wesley Crushed backed away from the Captain’s chair where Picard had left him. Beverly was already reaching for her son.

                “Move!” Picard ordered as he went to the display himself. Moments later the computer announced that a vessel was unexpectedly coming into close proximity.

                Picard had granted permission for Jack Crusher’s son to come onto the Bridge to look around when Dr. Crusher reported to the Bridge. Wesley looked achingly like his father and, although it was against standing orders, he couldn’t bring himself to not let the boy look around. Beverly would keep a practical eye on Wesley and the orbit around Deneb IV was quiet.

                Beverly was positioned between him and her son. “He didn’t touch anything,” she said. “And he was right.”

                “Off the bridge,” Picard barked. “Both of you.” If he was too brusque, he would apologize later. He touched the comm button on the arm of his chair. “Report.”

                The response that came back was in the clicks and squeals of Cetacean with the translation overlaid. “Ship’s sensors have detected the presence of a vessel approaching the planet. No ship is scheduled to arrive at this time, sir.”

                “Have Commander Riker and his team beam back up.” If Q was returning to play games this close to the deadline, Picard wasn’t about to leave anybody separated and vulnerable. “Could it be the USS Hood returning?”

                “Negative sir,” the cetacean scanner ops responded. “It does not match the Hood’s configuration or ID signal. It’s a vessel of . . . . . unknown configuration.”

                Picard wondered at the hesitancy. “Put it on screen,” he wanted to see it for himself. The visuals made the hesitation clear. It was a disk, spinning through the stars. It bore a passing visual similarity to the saucer section of a Federation starship. But it more closely resembled one of the “flying saucers” that were detailed in PreAtomic Horror fictions of Earth. It was underlit by a dim purple glow but otherwise was so dark and ominous that it seemed to absorb light. “Hail it.” Picard hoped that this wasn’t Q returning with another cute little poke at human savagery.

                “We’ve been trying sir,” Worf said from the helm. “No response.”

                “Raise all shields,” Picard told him. “And phasers ready.”

                Worf confirmed the commands as he executed them.

                Picard made note that Worf was quick to respond – had probably anticipated the order - but waited for orders this time. He learned fast.

                The saucer seemed to take no notice of the Enterprise. Troi was settled into her seat as Picard returned to his. “Continue Universal Greetings on all frequencies,” he told Worf. “And hail Groppler Zorn.

                Zorn answered the hail very quickly. “This is Zorn.”

                “Zorn, an unidentified vessel has entered into orbit with us. Do you know who it is?”

                “There are no ships scheduled to arrive until –“

                Almost as soon as he had touched down in the seat, Picard was up again, striding to the view screen as if it could move him close enough to the Groppler to give him a good shake. “I asked if you knew who it is,” he barely kept from snarling. Q’s countdown was nearly up, mysteries still abounded, and this unidentifiable ship could be a threat to his crew. “You mentioned a Ferengi alliance.”

                “But we’ve had no dealings with them!” Groppler Zorn was near frantic. “It was only . . . only a thought! An empty threat. I wanted your cooperation. Forgive me.”

                Picard looked to Troi. Her head was down and her hand was touching her face as if she were in thought.

                “He’s telling the truth,” she said very quietly so she would only be heard by him. “And he is frightened.”

                “The ship is entering orbital trajectory sir,” Worf said louder from the helm. He pulled up the scan report from the cetacean ops. “It measures twelve times our volume.” He was paging through the report quickly looking for anything about weapons or engine placement.

                The Galaxy class ships displaced almost one million square meters of void. It was in many ways a town unto itself with 1,000 Starfleet personnel and 3,000 support personnel including the Diplomatic Corps. Under emergency evacuation, she could carry 15,000 humanoids and 600 cetaceans with enough supplies to keep them well fed for two weeks.

                Picard cut the communication with Groppler Zorn. If he was brusque, he would not apologize later. A deeper chattering and slower wave came from cetacean ops, a lower voice was laid over it to translate; the chosen voice pattern of the orca Lieutenant Umbra who normally worked Beta Shift. They were evidently at all ‘hands’ trying to analyze the unidentified ship. “We’ve just been scanned, sir.”

                “Do you have an updated scan of the unidentified ship?” Worf asked over the comms. Picard saw that he had three phaser firing solutions mapped out and was already adjusting a photon torpedo array should it be called for.

                “Negative,” came the answer from ops. “Our sensors are bouncing right off."

                 "Recall the away team," Picard ordered the helm.

                 O'Brian was standing as he spoke. "I can't raise the commander or the team on comms. Their last report has them under the city. Permission to report to the transporter bay?"

                 "Go," Picard nodded sharply and O'Brian was off the turbolift at a fast trot.

                 The holographic form of Lieutenant Umbra appeared to float at the conn. "Captain, the energy blocking our communications is the same sort of interference we’re getting with the sensors. I can only conclude this is both connected and deliberate.”

Chapter Text

                Lieutenant Yar tapped her communicator. “Communication with the Enterprise is still being blocked.” She was keeping herself from pacing and using energy unnecessarily, but she did rest her hand on the hilt of her phaser. Realistically, if there had to be a division of personnel this was ideal; her on the ground with the officers of the Away Team and Worf at the ship’s tactical.

                Commander Riker and Lieutenant Data had beamed into the passage after La Forge had sent their preliminary findings. La Forge and Data were now working on further analysis of the materials and updating Riker as they went. That left Yar with little to do but periodically check to see if communications had been restored. And to stew on her feeling that they were definitely not supposed to be here. Not in the sense that the Bandi had tried every way possible to discourage it by seeming accommodating, but in the same primitive animal hind-brain sense that warned her away from particular tunnels and areas in the failed colony where she had grown up.

                The tunnels remained quiet and unoccupied, with only an infrasonic rumble she felt through her boots. There was nothing to hide, so why were the Bandi so intent on hiding it? But no escorts or guards accompanied them once Tasha had insisted that she and La Forge very much did need to pass from the natural rock tunnel to these worked ones.

The incongruous peace was shredding her nerves.

                Riker nodded. “Okay, let’s get back to the surface.”

Picard examined the ship on the viewscreen. The mechanics of physics remained unchanged, but to his eye there seemed to be something ugly and ungainly about it in comparison to the Hood. It continued in orbit without doing anything more after it had completed its scan of the Enterprise. For their part, the Enterprise had tried everything short of threatening it to try to get a response. They had even tried pure visual and modulating one of the greetings to closely resemble cetacean echolocation.

“Captain?” Troi gestured for him to approach her. She was clinging to her seat, her knuckles white with the force she was digging into it. Her neck and jaw were tight. When he approached she looked up and her black eyes were shiny and near feral. “I didn’t lower my barriers,” she gasped, trying to keep her voice quiet. “It’s rage, captain,” she was practically baring her teeth and snarling. “So. Much. Rage.”

“They’re firing on Farpoint, sir!” Worf announced loudly. “Correction. They’re hitting the City, not the station.”

Picard settled into his command chair. “Ready the photon torpedoes.”

The tunnels seemed to shudder under Yar’s feet. It was like something was . . . . keening. She stumbled when the world shook as they exited the maintained tunnel system for the bare rock walls near where they entered. Lieutenant Data caught her in a strong but secure grip. How do I get this guy on my security team?

“Those stairs are where we came in, sir,” La Forge said. “This is the point where the stone becomes ordinary. Identical to what’s above.”

Maybe in another circumstance she’d admire his tenacity to the assignment, but right now Tasha wanted the Away Team out of the barely finished tunnel before the concussive energy caved it in. She could see the energy strikes on the Bandi city. “Those are phaser blasts people, move.”

Data had released her and stepped backwards to bring up the rear. “Not exactly, but certainly something similar.”

Does no one value their lives? Tasha tapped her communicator again. “Enterprise, this is the Away Team.”

“Enterprise here, go ahead Lieutenant.”

Finally a response! “Four to be-“

“Belay that,” Riker said. He handed his tricorder and PADD to La Forge while he addressed Tasha. “You and La Forge go back to the ship and report. Data, you’re with me.”

“Yes, sir,” Tasha removed her phaser holster and handed it to Data. “Enterprise, two to beam up.”

As the sparking field of the transporter enveloped her vision she watched Commander Riker and Data running for the city.

Groppler Zorn’s voice was panicked as it came over the audio channel. “Enterprise! Enterprise! Come in! Help us please!” There was a sound of something electrical overloading and dying in spectacular fashion, but it didn’t seem like it harmed the Groppler. “What shall we do?”

“Tune that down!” Picard said as he saw Lieutenant Yar take her station at security and Lieutenant La Forge relieve the pilot at his station. “Commander Riker, can you hear us? What’s your status?”

“I’m with Data on the edge of Old Bandi City,” Riker answered. “It’s being hit hard, sir.”

“And Farpoint Station, any damage there?”

“Negative,” Data answered. “Whomever it is, they seem to be taking great care to not hit the station.”

“It’s from an unidentified vessel that’s entered into orbit with us. No ID nor response to our signals.” Even as Picard spoke another volley rained down to the planet’s surface. The lone Bandi city ringing the eastern edge of Farpoint station didn’t have so much as a meteor shield, certainly nothing that could deflect energy weapons.

Riker’s voice was somber. “I recommend that Sickbay be readied. There are likely to be many casualties down here.”

“Understood,” Picard leaned back in his chair. “Commander, would you object to your Captain ordering a clearly illegal kidnapping?”

“Ordering? Hypothetically sir, no,” Riker answered.

“Groppler Zorn may have answers we need,” Picard said.

“Given the city is under attack, sir, I am going to assume he has asked for sanctuary. We will bring him right away,” Commander Riker spoke quickly before Picard could give any such order. “Aye, sir.”

Picard saw that the time limit Q had placed was almost up. Were they supposed to take on this massive ship firing on the old city? The Bandi were not actually allies, not yet, but helping them would almost certainly be within the bounds of the Prime Directive. The Federation was in the midst of diplomatic discussions. And although he would never admit it, there was certainly an admiral or two who would recommend a lasseiz-faire approach to the matter as long as Farpoint Station wasn’t being attacked. So much the better to have the near-magical outpost without the complication of diplomatic entanglements.

“Lock phasers on that vessel,” Picard ordered. Civilians would never be sacrificed for Federation convenience while he had any say about it.

Lieutenant Yar swiped the firing controls to Worf’s conn.

“Phasers locked on, Captain,” Worf confirmed. His hand hovered, waiting for the order to fire.

There was a blinding flash of light and Q appeared in his judge’s costume. “Typical,” he smirked, rubbing his jaw. “So typical. Savage life-forms never follow even their own rules.”

“GET OFF MY BRIDGE!” Picard shouted.

The punch to the jaw from Sisko had been shocking, painful, and invigorating. It had also reminded Q of the humans that were much slower to violence. Picard would never hit him. Donning the judges’ robes again Q hurried back into the timeline to appear just before Picard could issue a disastrous order. And if his mentors and the elders had anything to say about that they could just . . . . “go to hell”. He giggled to himself at the human phrase.

His desire, of course, was to ultimately be a just god. A merciful god. He would not be sending anyone to hell. Not when a nudge, a nudge even smaller than the gravitational abnormality that moved a knife blade less than a centimeter, could redeem.

“Interesting, that order about phasers, Capitain,” he said.

“Phasers standing by,” Worf said. His hand had not moved.

“Please, don’t let me interfere,” Q moved and made a show of checking how much time was left before the deadline. “Use your weapons. But I do recall a rather impassioned speech from some young woman not too long ago.” He glanced to Tasha Yar. “All life is sacred,’ I believe it was?” He turned to Picard. “And you, you were so persuasive in your demand to be tested to see whether savagery was still true of present humans that the court allowed this little jaunt as a test.”

Deanna Troi stared up at him like an Orphelian amoeba trying to solve a calculus problem.

“Without knowing who or what is aboard that ship, my order is a routine safety precaution,” Picard said. Lying.

“Really?” Q looked back to Picard. “No idea of what it represents? The meaning of that vessel is as plain as the noses on your . . . . ugly little primate faces. And if you were truly civilized Captain, wouldn’t you be doing something about those casualties happening down there?”

Picard looked smug – not a bad look for him really – as they were interrupted by an open comms line. “Sickbay to bridge, we’ll be ready to beam medical teams down in five minutes.”

“Compliments on that, Doctor.” Picard didn’t look away from Q. “Any other questions? Federation personnel are trained to render aid and assistance whenever-”

“Whenever you allow people to be harmed?” Q prodded.

“That’s unfair,” Picard said.

“Yes, but true. And I’ll give you another unfair but true statement, Captain. Your people had everything they needed to prevent this and if you had acted on this knowledge the Bandi would have suffered no casualties. But you are not trained in clear thinking!”

“Thinking?” Troi stepped forward. “Let’s consider your thoughts. You knew those people down there were going to be killed. By your own standards, it is your conduct that it uncivilized. Is testing us worth that price in innocent lives.”

So many delightfully strong females among these humans! And this one only had half a helping of human in her ancestry.

“Sir,” Worf had withdrawn his hand. Perhaps he didn’t trust it? “They’re firing on the planet again.”

“Go to maneuvering jets.” Picard said. His thoughts had cleared and he found another option besides the one he thought he had no choice but to make. “Position us between that vessel and the planet. Shields at full.”

“Aye, sir.” Worf nodded to La Forge who was tapping in the heading.

“Impulse power to –“ La Forge interrupted himself. “We have no ship control, sir.”

Riker’s voice came over the intercom. “We’ve lost Zorn, sir. Something like a transporter beam. Seems to have snatched him away. Could it be this Q?”

The situation was heartbeats away from losing the Great Minds and having to recall humans to Sol System. This was so close to disaster that Q had to laugh. Why do gods give their subjects free will? “None of you knows who transported him!” did they hear the braying panic in his laugh? “You are running out of time, Captain.”

“Captain, the rage is . . . I’m sensing something else.” Troi looked towards the viewscreen. “Satisfaction. Enormous satisfaction.” The human phrase was to describe her face was ‘cat that caught the canary’.

“From Farpoint station?” Picard asked.

“No, that was on the planet. This is much closer.”

Picard threw an accusing glance at Q.

“Not that close,” she clarified.

“Excellent Councilor,” Q encouraged. “He’s such a dullard, isn’t he?” Picard turned and fully fixed Q with a glare, but he wasn’t distracting Troi with more questions. There was a notification that Commander Riker and Data had beamed back aboard. “Excellent also! Perhaps with more of these little minds helping –“

“That is enough, dammit!” Picard finally snapped.

“Have you forgotten we have an agreement?” Q reined in his hysteria.

“Which you are breaking at this moment by taking over our vessel and interfering with my decisions.”

Hardly a fair accusation, which Q tried to indicate by turning to Riker and Data as they entered the bridge. He had not interfered a bit with the transporters.

Picard continued. “Either leave us or finish us!”

“Temper, temper, mon capitaine,” Q warned. “I’m merely trying to assist a pitiful species, but perhaps I will leave….if Commander Riker provides me with some amusement.”

“Do nothing that he asks,” Picard ordered his commander.

“But I ask so little,” had ever a god asked so little as Q? “And it’s so necessary if you’re to solve all this. Beam over there with your . . . . what do you call it? Your ‘away team’?”

“I will risk none of my crew on that unknown,” Picard said.

“But I will go,” Troi stepped forward.

Q bit back the barb he was about to make to prod Picard further.

 “With all respect, Captain,” Riker said. “I want to beam over there.”

“You show promise, my good fellow,” Q said.

Riker was still covered in the dust from the ongoing destruction of the old city. “Have you understood any part of what he’s tried to tell you? Humanity is no longer a savage race.”

Q wasn’t willing to grant that point yet. “But you must still prove that.” Then he stepped out of the timeline to find a better opportunity for Riker to prove himself. And provide Q with some amusement.

In the Ready Room, Riker was scanning through the records collected by Troi as quickly as he could before they beamed over to the strange ship. The strange ship was the only place left to look. If there were answers, that’s where they’d be.

“At least you impressed him, Number One,” weariness tinged Captain Picard’s voice. “That’s hopeful.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Troi quietly gave voice to the worry they were all feeling. “Captain, if he’s not open to evidence in our favor – where will you go from there?”

Picard shrugged. “I will attend to my duty.”

“To the bitter end?” Riker asked.

Picard smiled slightly. “I see nothing so bitter about that. I will leave you two to prepare for your mission. There is something I must . . .  attend to.”

After the door hissed shut behind the captain, Deanna turned to Will. “I don’t need your protection.” He voice was carefully modulated to not contain any accusation or pique.

Will smiled his irascible smile. “I know. Deanna does not need Will to protect her. But Commander Riker will not let Councilor Troi beam aboard a ship of unknown origin without Starfleet protection.” He sat on the corner of the table and crossed his arms before leaning forward. “Besides that, I am dying of curiosity to take a peek at it.”

She folded her fingers together and propped her chin on them with a soft smile of her own. “We will be able to navigate this after all, won’t we.”

“It’d be a shame if we couldn’t.” Will said. Then out his right hand. “Still professional.”

“Still professional,” Deanna agreed and shook his hand. Their new custom since each going their own way. Imzadi they would forever remain, but lovers was not an option now. “Tell me about the encounter with Zorn.”

Will was serious again. “If you could have seen him. He was in a panic. When Data and I found him he was hiding under his desk. Sobbing. Initially I thought it was because Data had ripped the door from the frame but . . . . Zorn asked us both to ‘drive it away’.”

She nodded. Her black eyes were taking everything in.

“And even then,” Will stood in frustration. “Even then he was still lying. Said he didn’t know who it was. Data pointed out that our records showed Zorn personally oversaw every off-world contact. And just when he offered to explain. Whoever it was he was so afraid of – presumably – beamed him away.” He stopped and took a deep breath to steady himself. “That scream . . . I think it will be with me for a long time.”

Beverly Crusher was on the verge of ordering Jean-Luc out of Sickbay. Now it was her domain that was bustling like a disturbed ant nest as the Medical Away Teams were beaming down to triage. The most critical victims would be hitting sickbay at any moment. “Can I help you, Captain?” she asked as she passed him by.

“I, uh,” he stepped back as she pulled the cover off a brand new biobed. “I didn’t want you to think me harsh, or cold-blooded.”

“Why oh why would I ever think that?” she asked and began the startup sequence.

To her moderate surprise he began ticking off the reasons as he picked up the PADD with the biobed startup checklist. “I didn’t welcome you aboard personally. Or professionally. I made you come to me on the Bridge. I yelled at your son who, as you pointed out, was quite correct.” He checked the power flow and verified it on the PADD. “He does seem to have a very good grasp of starship operations.”

She softened and lowered herself onto the bed to check some sensors. “You’ve just won this mother’s heart, Captain.” For a moment she paused. “He’s so much like Jack, isn’t he.”

“Beverly,” and something in the tone of his voice made her stop. She swung the sensor bar out of her way as she sat up. Jean-Luc looked simultaneously older than his years and like an uncomfortable child. “Your assignment here…. I would consider and approve a transfer for you.”

The irritation arose anew and redoubled. “….I know you don’t consider me unqualified,” she was unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

“Hardly.” He didn’t bother pointing out her exemplary record.

“Then this must be personal.”

“I’m trying to be considerate of your feelings. For you to work with a commanding officer who would continually remind you of . . . . a terrible personal tragedy. . .”

If there had ever been a more emotionally constipated man that Jean-Luc Picard, Beverly had yet to meet him. As if it were not a shared tragedy between them. As if it were not just as intimate a loss for each of them when Jack died. As if he hadn’t been Jack’s commanding officer at the time. “If I had any objections to serving with you, I wouldn’t have requested this assignment, Captain.” She swung her legs over to stand up and properly look him in the eye.

“You requested this assignment?” he was stunned.

“Jean-Luc, you know that frontier medicine is my specialty. And my feelings about my husband’s death will not affect the way I serve on this vessel, on this mission, or under you.”

Picard stiffened slightly and she felt the tips of her ears go red. They had never been very close; a few double dates before Jack’s death when Jean-Luc was still seeing Celeste. But there had been entendres exchanged after a few too many glasses of wine while they both dreamt of endless future frontiers. Then Jack died and Celeste faded into wherever it was ex-lovers went when they were tired of coming second to the stars and Jean-Luc had not spoken to Beverly beyond condolence messages every anniversary of Jack’s death.

He collected himself, retreating into Starfleet propriety. Extending his hand, he finally officially welcomed her on board. “Then welcome aboard the USS Enterprise, Doctor.”

Beverly shook his hand. And they were saved from any further words by the chime of a communicator.

“Commander Riker to Captain Picard. We’re ready to beam over.”

Picard tapped the communicator on his chest. “I’ll be right there.” He looked at Beverly and tried to find what he wanted to say. “I, uh,” he began and then gave up. “I hope that we can be friends.” And even he knew that was no way to finish this conversation.

“Thank you,” Beverly said. She took the PADD and put him out of his misery. “I need to finish up here.”

He gave her a nod and then left.

Beverly decided to message Wes before the casualties came pouring in. He would be buoyed by the Captain’s words. And as a mother the least she could do was keep him from being disappointed by the old burrhog he’d idolized for as long as she possibly could.

“Phasers set to stun,” Lieutenant Yar reminded everyone. Then she physically checked their settings herself. She and Lieutenant Data were joining Commander Riker in escorting Councilor Troi on this mission. Satisfied, she cracked her neck and touched the place where the collar of her uniform hid the tattoo of a cat footprint. Her personal good-luck ritual before a mission. And a reminder of how indelibly Starfleet ideals were buried in her person. “There’s a good chance we’re going to startle someone and they’ll be more afraid of us than we are of them. Even on stun, weapons are a last resort.”

Councilor Troi carried no weapons that Yar knew about, but nonetheless nodded at the briefing. Data was the only one who showed no nerves about beaming over to the complete unknown.

And as it turned out, the unknown was not so complete. For a moment, Tasha thought to call back the transporter room to see if they had been beamed back under the station. The triangular halls stretched and branched without a sign of life among them.

Data was already wandering, examining the carvings on the broad tiles. “Interesting, sir.”

“Much the same construction we saw in the underground tunnel,” she rested her hand on the holster of her phaser. Something was making her feel very disoriented beyond the layout.

“There is no sound of power,” Data named the noise they weren’t hearing. “No equipment.”

“How does this ship run?” Tasha asked no one in particular, just to keep the silence at bay.

Councilor Troi gasped and leaned against a wall, her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, slow breaths.

“What is it, Councilor?” Commander Riker asked.

“It’s very powerful. Very close. Full of anger. And hate.”

Yar stepped forward. “Toward us?”

“No. It’s directed down to the Bandi city.” Troi’s perfectly manicured nails dragged down the tiled wall.      

“Most interesting again sir,” Data said. “The point this vessel was firing on was not Farpoint Station, but the Bandi city on the outskirts. The homes of those who constructed –“ he stopped himself. “Apologies, sir. I seem to be commenting on everything.”

“Good,” Commander Riker said. “Don’t stop speculating, my friend.” He gently urged Troi and Yar forward. After another dozen yards he hailed the Enterprise. “Riker to Enterprise. We’re proceeding down a very long corridor. There’s no crew. No mechanisms nor sign of circuitry. No controls or readouts. Almost literally nothing to report about the vessel itself. It’s nothing like any vessel I’ve seen before.”

Tasha led them down the corridors, always bearing right. The empty corridors just seemed to go on with no indication of how to get to other levels.

“Speculation,” Data said. “Perhaps the occupants are able to pass through walls. Or even other dimensions.”

“Then why build walls at all?” Tasha commented absently.

Data stopped and cocked his head as if he were slightly surprised.

Troi was moving like she was in a dream or a daze. “Groppler Zorn. . . . in great fear. Just this way.” She took the lead, letting her sense of emotion guide her like a scenthound, Yar supposed.

Three turns and several dozen meters more and they could hear Zorn. He was begging. “No more. No more!” he sobbed. “Please, make it stop the pain!”

Now Tasha did draw her phaser. Keeping it pointed towards the floor she took point and moved quickly. “Data, with me.” There was no further need to follow Troi when she could hear the man yelling.

The door opened as they approached it. There was no one inside but Zorn, writhing in some sort of forcefield while energy played over his body. “Make it stop! Please make it stop the pain.”

Yar posted by the door in case the torturers returned. The others were examining Zorn as they could. Data with his tricorder, Troi focusing intently, and Riker questioning him.

“Zorn can you hear me?” he kept his focus on the old Bandi. “Has the alien communicated?”

Zorn showed no sign of being aware of them. He was delirious and blinded by his torment.

“That’s it!” Troi said. “It’s just one alien I’m sensing here. It’s us, Zorn, and . . . . only one other mind.”

“No more! No more! Please, I don’t understand what you want!” His body arched in a rictus of pain.

Troi shook her head, implacable. “Not true. He does know. And he is afraid.” She put her hands to her temples as if holding her head together. “Will, get him out of there. It’s too much. It’s too much.”

Without waiting for orders, Data drew his phaser and looked to Tasha. “A very low level discharge at this point and that point should disable the field’s harmonics and free the Groppler.” He turned to Commander Riker for permission.

“Do it,” Riker said.

“On my mark,” Tasha adjusted the power settings on her weapon and aimed. “Mark.” The forcefield dropped, releasing Zorn from his torment. As she examined him the first sound from the ship could be heard. It was the ship that was making noises that Tasha could only describe as both organic and angry.

The unknown vessel began to pulse with what looked like a threat pattern. “Captain!” Worf called.

Picard stepped forward as if he could pluck the ship from space and get his people back that way. “Transporter Chief, yank them back now!” He reached over Worf’s shoulder to open a line to the away team. “Riker, acknowledge!”

A flash behind him made Picard turn. Q stood next to the command chairs, now dressed like a Starfleet captain. “Your time is up, Captain.” He seemed to have lost all capriciousness.

“Transporter chief, do you have their coordinates?”

“He can’t hear you, Captain.”

While he would expend no less effort for any member of his crew and accepted that her position as a MACO was frequently dangerous, it was Tasha Yar who mostly weighed on his mind. If Q flung them back to earth and left her abandoned alone to an unknown fate…. “I’ve people in trouble over there, Q.”

Q smiled slightly and sat in the captain’s chair.

“At ease,” Picard waved the security forces and Worf away. “Q, my people are in trouble.” He repeated. “Let me help them, please.” The test was almost certainly failed, but Picard could at least do this much. “Please. I will do whatever you say.”

It pained Q, to hear those words from Jean-Luc, now knowing what it must cost the man to say them out loud. To say them in front of the junior officers that made his entire world in a starship. And knowing not just humans, but Picard in particular, as he did. The dignity in Picard’s bearing made the softly spoken, desperate words even harder to hear.

Empathy. What a powerful discovery, and how Q despised and adored being inflicted with it.

The elders of the Continuum had no patience for the phenomenon. And Q had been punished by them for even daring to suggest that these humans might possess a valuable quality the Continuum lacked. And had the punishment been less severe, Q might have never been contaminated by that very quality.

There was a purple surge of energy as Picard’s missing crew and the Bandi were transported to the bridge.

“You’ll do whatever I say?” he asked Picard. Retreat, Jean-Luc, he wanted to say. You don’t know what enemies you already have. There is nothing more to prove.

If it were up to Q he would throw the Enterprise as far into the unknown as Picard could ever desire. But the Continuum was watching closely, the Elders making certain he stayed in line.

It chafed.

The Elders feared contamination. They warned him excommunication and extermination were possibilities if he did not show clear signs of being cured of this affliction.

“It seems that is the bargain I made,” Picard said, not looking at him.

Troi stepped forward in high dudgeon. “The agreement isn’t valid, Captain.” She glared at Q. “It wasn’t Q that saved us.”

“Save yourself. It may attack you now,” Q urged Picard.

“It was the one that sent us back, sir,” Riker pointed at the alien vessel.

“The vessel itself is alive. One mind,” Troi said.

“She lies!” Q insisted. “Destroy it while you have a chance.” He was making his own gamble on humanity, on Picard. Not based on their empathy, but their suspicion. “Make your phasers and photon torpedoes ready.”

“No, do nothing he demands.” Picard ordered himself as much as the bridge crew. He took a deep breath and looked to Councilor Troi.

“Captain, that thing was killing my people!” Groppler Zorn plead.

“Was there a reason?” Picard asked. He asked himself and Troi as much as he asked the Groppler.

“It’s an unknown, Captain, isn’t that enough?” Q said from behind him.

Picard turned to look at Q in astonishment. “You’ve appeared in many uniforms, but haven’t earned any of them. If you had earned that one,” and he poked Q in the chest of the command red Starfleet uniform as if he were wielding a foil. “You would know that it is the unknown that brings us out here.”

Q smirked. “Wasted effort, considering human intelligence.”

“Let’s test that,” Troi stepped up to them. “Beginning with those tunnels under the station. You know the ones, Groppler, identical to those on the life-form in orbit with us?” she half turned to Zorn and Picard would have been hard pressed to say whether she was more angry with the Groppler or Q. “Why was it punishing you? In return for some pain and grief that you’ve caused another creature?”

“We’ve done nothing wrong!” Zorn said. “It was injured, we helped it.”

Picard suppressed a small smile. Finally, the piece that resolved the mystery into clarity. “Thank you, that was the missing element. Mr. Worf, rig the main phaser banks to deliver an energy beam.”

“Aye sir,” Worf nodded.

“Is that what we’re looking at,” Riker marveled at the view screen. “A creature that can convert energy to matter?”

“And to specific patterns of matter, like our transporters and holodeck,” Picard finished. Beverly and her son had provided the necessary insight. The station was ‘magic’ after all. Everything produced at Farpoint Station was done so by a creature that was coerced into turning the geothermal energy of the planet into everything from building materials to the tiny luxuries reported by the crew.

“My god,” Riker stepped back as the vessel life form slowly turned itself on its edge and somehow seemed to turn inside out. It glowed with an internal luminescence that made the translucent skin look fragile against the black void. Delicate legs extended outwards then curled under politely.

A soft rising tone from the holographic projection of Lieutennant Umbra was overlaid with his chosen deep voice, made soft in wonder. “Depth and void,” he swore in admiration.

“It’s beautiful,” Riker said in quiet awe.

Troi was the one who broke the silence on the bridge after just a few seconds. “Groppler, you captured something like that, didn’t you? And used it.”

“It wanted to do it. To repay our kindness,” Zorn protested. “Warn my people, please. Tell them to leave Farpoint Station immediately.”

She looked down at the planet on the viewscreen. “It didn’t build the station. It is the station.”

Q leaned forward. “He has misled you at every opportunity. Shouldn’t you let his people die?”

It was such a terrible suggestion that Picard barely registered it. “Transmit the message to the surface: Leave Farpoint Station immediately.”

Troi continued looking out at the viewer. “A pair of creatures. The one down there in grief and pain, and the one up here filled with anger.”

“And it did not fire on Farpoint Station,” Data added. “But on the Bandi and their city.”

“Attacking those that had captured . . . their mate,” Picard said. It was bad anthropology to jump to a guess like that, but the dancing luminescent creature was easy to romanticize.

“Energy beam ready, sir,” Worf said.

“Lock it in on Farpoint Station.” Picard smiled. “Give them a good meal before they set out on their way. Let them have whatever they can absorb. Energize.”

Even Worf was careful, slowly modulating the beam to greater intensity to not feed the creature below more than it could swallow at once.

Q sighed dramatically. “I see now it was too simple a puzzle. Generosity has always been my weakness.”

Picard ignored him. “Groppler Zorn, it seems there will be no Farpoint Station if we’re right about this.”

“A lucky guess!” Q muttered.

Worf cut the energy beam when the station below began to glow and turn translucent.

Zorn continued to plead his case. “Please believe me, we meant no harm to the creature. It was starving for energy when we found it!”

“Which your world furnishes you plenty of,” Picard said. He felt like there was a thin film of muck all over him for having partaken of the benefits of what could generously be described as slave labor.

“And we did feed it!”

“Only enough to keep it alive. So that you could force it to shape itself into whatever form you needed.”

What was once the station began to emerge from the ground and into orbit, inverting into translucence as it rose. The buildings and gardens tumbled off its back as it rose. The two titans found each other quickly and entwined tentacles. Uninterested in the small creatures scuttling about in orbit or on the planet below, they drifted towards the deep black.

Councilor Troi was beaming now, overwhelmed by the happiness of the reunion. “It’s wonderful!” she wiped a small tear away. “Great joy . . . and gratitude. Great joy and gratitude from both of them.”

Picard turned to Q. “Why do you use other life forms for your recreation?” The powerful being knew the solution, knew the creature was suffering, and knew Bandi people would be killed.

“If that is so, you’ve not provided the best-“

“Leave us!” Picard ordered. “We’ve passed your little test.”

“Temper, temper, Mon capitaine,” Q tsked.

Picard didn’t try to hide his loathing. “Get off my ship.”

“Only because it now suits me to leave,” Q said before disappearing in a flash.

Q appeared in his flash of light at nearly the moment he had previously left. The effort of it now left him winded. But he found in these last moments that he was sentimental for these first moments. Sentiment. Another vector of contamination from these homo sapiens no doubt. “But I cannot say you will never see me again,” Q said before disappearing from the bridge again.

Picard looked peeved for mere moments before he glanced at the Great Minds dancing away in the dark. Presumably it was that sight that made him smile.

There would be some utterly tedious and cosmically unimportant back-and-forth with the Diplomatic Corps pointing out that Deneb IV was still an ideal location for a station even if it had to be built. Q stepped just a bit forward to get to the part that he wanted to see before seeking Admiral Picard.

Captain Picard settled into his chair with Councilor Troi on one side and Commander Riker on the other. “Let’s see what’s out there,” he gave the commands that would launch the Enterprise on her way to the frontier. “Engage.”

With great affection, Q watched the ship as it charged away towards new frontiers for humanity. The eggshell of its hull seemed so delicate against the immensity of the challenges in time and space that awaited it. Yet she dragged the threads of fate from so many species and civilizations in her wake. From his vantage point in the Continuum – now as an Elder - he looked down at the labyrinth of possibilities. Even the paths that resolved in something that might be considered happy went through hell first. No small part of him wished he could pen Jean-Luc safely in the Sol system. The trial would never end. “Ah, mon capitaine,” he said sadly. “It may have been better to accept the sentence.”