Oasis 1/4 (TNG)

[magstopia]

Title: Oasis
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A Starfleet doctor, still grieving her husband's death during the Enterprise's first encounter with the Borg, finds herself faced with an agonizing choice when Q is mortally wounded.
Notes: This is the first fanfic I ever wrote, going on 12 years ago. It was inspired in part (as so many fics of the time were) by the TNG episode "Deja Q" and in part by Alara Rogers' massive and massively amazing Only Human, which is still a WIP. I was susceptible to many of the weaknesses that befall most newbie fic writers, in particular Mary Sue-ism, though Alara herself did admit that, for all her Sueishness, Fatima was still an interesting character. You'll also find copious amounts of purple prose, pretentiousness, overlong sentences and generally clunky writing, plus some metaphysical weirdness aggravated by exposure to too much mythology that characterized most of my early writing (yet still lingers in some of my more recent stuff - see Midsummer Night's Dream) behind the cut. Having cautioned you thus, however, I do still think that, for a first effort, it's not half bad. :-)

DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it encompasses. This story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional satisfaction.


A bard must traverse o'er the world,
Where things concealed must rise unfurled,
And tread the feet of yore;
Tho' he may sweetly harp and sing,
But strictly prune the mental wing,
Before the mind can soar.

George Moses Horton, "The Art of a Poet"

Captain Jean-Luc Picard placed his head in his hands and groaned. He had just received a directive from Starfleet Command that alternately perplexed and infuriated him. He closed his eyes, then opened them and pinched himself hard on the hand. No luck; he was not in his bed, as he had hoped, and he had not just awakened from an unpleasant dream.

Not wanting to delay the matter any further, yet simultaneously not wanting to share the news with his crew because doing so would make it incontrovertibly true, he summoned his senior officers to the observation lounge.

Before leaving his ready room, he walked over to the replicator to request a drink. He considered ordering his usual -- tea, Earl Grey, hot -- but decided it would not be enough.

"Double Bourbon, straight."

* * * * *

"Ahem," Captain Picard said, clearing his throat nervously once everyone had settled in their customary chairs. "I just received some rather unusual information from Starfleet Command. News that I guarantee you're not going to believe."

Commander Will Riker straightened in his seat and looked at Picard with bemusement, a sly smile creeping in around his mouth and eyes. "And here I thought we'd seen just about all there is to see in this quadrant. This ought to be a doozy."

"Oh, it is, Number One, it is, especially when you consider the source. Our orders are to proceed towards Earth. Somewhere along the way -- I don't know where or when -- we are to pick up an unusual passenger. A passenger, an old adversary, you might say, whom we all know only too well." He rubbed his head nervously. "We are then to ferry this 'guest' to Federation Headquarters, where he will be formally inducted as an ambassador between the Federation and his people."

Deanna Troi looked at Picard, puzzled by the maelstrom of emotions she sensed churning within him. She concentrated, trying to filter through the conflicting emotions as she sought to determine their cause. Then her enormous eyes widened even further. "You're kidding me --"

Data asked what everyone else was thinking. "Whom will our guest be?"

"Q."

"Q?" Riker, Doctor Crusher and Geordi LaForge asked simultaneously. "Hasn't he blessed us enough with the good fortune of his existence? What kind of a stunt is he up to now?" Riker demanded to know. "Is this another one of his pointless, inane 'tests'?"

"It seems that Q's numerous forays into our lives have piqued the interest of the entire Continuum, which in turn decided that the best way to really learn more about us was to open relations between the Continuum and the Federation and appoint an official emissary to foster dialogue between our two races. Just our luck, that emissary happens to be Q."

Picard paused, considering the ridiculous irony of the situation. "I suspect that underlying all this diplomacy-speak the truth is that Q got himself in trouble again and the Continuum is trying to channel his irresponsibility rather than punish him as before. At least this time we've been warned in advance of his impending arrival. A mixed blessing, at best." He sighed. "Maybe we can arrange to be sucked into a temporal causality loop before then. In any event, you have your instructions." He paused again, lost in thought. "Number One, you have the bridge. I feel a rather nasty headache coming on. Dismissed. Oh, and Commander?"

Riker turned to look at Picard. "Sir?"

"Try to keep in mind that Q will be an official diplomatic guest. Don't encourage him."

Riker stiffened. "Yes, sir," he groused.

* * * * *

Several hours later, Picard felt well enough to return to the bridge. He had just settled into the command chair when an all-too-familiar burst of light momentarily blinded him. Picard tensed reflexively, then noticed the figure standing before him.

It was not Q.

It was, in fact, a young boy, approximately ten years old, judging from his appearance. The expression of wide-eyed wonder on his face reminded Picard of Wesley Crusher, when he first caught sight of the Enterprise's main bridge, and for a moment Picard wondered if Q had sent him back in time to their first meeting en route to Farpoint. Upon closer examination, however, Picard realized the boy was not Wesley. He was wearing a child-size Starfleet uniform bearing the insignia of an ensign and immediately snapped to attention when he spotted Picard.

"Sir," he began, "I am here to --"

"Who the blazes are you? Is this one of your pranks, Q?" Picard snapped.

The boy studied Picard calmly as he considered his response. He had been warned about the reaction he would get from the Enterprise crew. "I am Q," he answered, gazing around the bridge, the bridge that he had heard so much about he felt like he had been here all his life, "but the Q you know is my father."

"Your father?" Troi blurted, unable to contain herself, although everyone else on the bridge seemed to have been rendered momentarily speechless.

"Great. Just great," muttered Riker once he managed to pick his lower jaw up off the floor. "He's gone and reproduced himself. Just what we need."

"You need not be concerned, Commander," the young Q replied. "I am not like my father in temperament, although I do share his fascination with humans. You see, my godmother is human, and, well, she's taught me a few things about human behavior, and how to better conduct myself when in the company of humans. I have no intention of testing you or harassing anyone on the Enterprise."

Having finally found his voice, Picard croaked, "Why are you here? We were told to expect your --" He forced himself to say the word. "-- father. We're supposed to take him to Earth."

"He sent me here to bring you to the Continuum first."

This proved to be just a bit much for the hapless captain as his headache renewed itself with unexpected vehemence. He closed his eyes and groaned softly. I should have retired years ago, he thought to himself. A comfortable chateau, nothing but gardens to tend and books to read, maybe even a guest professorship at the Sorbonne, but no...

The young Q looked at Picard and smiled softly. He reached out an arm and delicately touched the Captain's shoulder, sending a warm rush of energy into Picard's body. His father and his godmother had told him so many wonderful stories about this amazing, this remarkable human, he wanted to make a good impression.

Still expecting the other shoe to drop, Riker barked, "Get away from him!" He unholstered his phaser, remembering too late what had happened to him the last time he physically threatened a Q. Instinctively, he froze, although he gnashed his teeth in ill-concealed fury and frustration.

"It's - It's all right, Number One," Picard said, lifting his head. He smiled at the boy, amazed that such a gentle and sincere creature could have such a pest for a father. "What did you do to me? My headache's all gone, and I think you even got rid of the rheumatism in my knee."

"I was just trying to help. I'm well aware of your past history with my father, Captain. I hope I can make up for that in some fashion." He smiled back at Picard.

Riker spoke up. "You said that you were here to take us into the Continuum. How is that possible?"

"First of all, I'm here to escort Captain Picard, and only the captain, to the Continuum," the boy replied. "Secondly, it's not as impossible as it seems; it's been done before. I believe my father once told you that humanity will eventually evolve into a level of existence similar to what we are now?" Riker nodded. "The Q are energy beings, completely unaffected by time or space or matter. Humans are actually part matter, part energy, and the part of you that is energy-based is very much like a Q. The energy part of you is what can enter the Continuum, while your material aspect remains behind in the physical universe."

Riker looked puzzled. "I don't understand. You've lost me."

Troi interjected, "I think I know what he's talking about. The energy part of humans is what was once referred to as a 'soul'. When Terrans still worshipped creator deities, they believed that they each possessed an immortal soul or 'divine spark'. Is that what you're referring to?" she asked the young Q.

He nodded. "Those primitive theists were on to something, they just didn't have all their facts straight. Over the next million years, humans will gradually shed their physical bodies and their mortality, which together bind them to a specific point in space and time, as their 'souls', as you phrased it Counselor, escape to cavort about the universe. In fact, you're evolutionarily about three eons ahead of schedule, which is part of the reason why Father has been so interested in humans."

"I presume then, that you intend to separate the Captain's soul from his flesh to take him to the Continuum. What will happen to his body while he is in the Continuum? Will he be in any danger?" Troi asked.

"Wait a minute, Counselor," Picard rebutted. "I haven't agreed to go. I'd first like to know why I'm supposed to go with you."

"You don't have to go with me, Captain," the young Q responded. "This is an invitation, not an order. The reason why my father has been named as Ambassador to the Federation is that he has reached that stage in his existence when he is expected to ascend to the Council of Elders. Each Elder has a specific purpose in maintaining the preordained order of the universe -- some are responsible, for example, for preserving an equal balance between hydrogen and oxygen in water molecules, or for establishing plant life on new planets, or, as in the case of my father, for monitoring human evolution and development.

"The Council realized, as my father approached the Age of Ascension, that it might serve the Continuum well to put his fascination with humanity to good use. His reports on the Federation have stirred up quite a bit of interest and controversy in the Continuum, and the Council decided it would be to our -- and your -- advantage to establish an official relationship. My role in all this," he concluded, "is to escort Captain Picard, if he wishes, to my father's Rite of Ascension, after which the Enterprise will escort him to Earth as planned."

Picard considered the young Q's offer. He stood, tugged on his uniform and said, "As captain of the USS Enterprise and a designated emissary of the Federation, how can I possibly refuse?" He bowed formally. "Very well, Q, I accept your invitation, and look forward to this momentous occasion."

"Captain," Troi cautioned, "I'd first like to know what will happen to your physical self when you are away."

"There is no cause for concern, Counselor," the young Q said. "Captain Picard will have the appearance, and all the symptoms, of being in deep stasis -- a coma, if you will."

"Sir," Riker said, "I recommend that you -- that your body -- remain in Sickbay under Dr. Crusher's care."

"An excellent suggestion, Number One." Picard turned to the boy. "Give me one hour to prepare. Commander, you have the bridge."

I am never away from you. Even now,
I shall not leave you. In another world,
I shall be still that one who loves you, loves you
Beyond measure

Edmund Rostand, "Cyrano de Bergerac"

Dr. Fatima al-Ghazali was having a difficult time adjusting to life on the Enterprise. She was no stranger to Federation starships, having previously served for five years on the Bozeman, and had in fact spent several years traveling about the galaxy in Klingon Birds of Prey, Vulcan cruisers, Ferengi traders, and even Cardassian prison ships, but the Enterprise held certain painful memories for the young widow, memories that she never quite been able to exorcise. At night, as she closed her eyes and let the steady thrum of the warp engines lull her to sleep, she imagined the agonized cries of her husband as he sacrificed his life to save his crewmates....

It had been nearly ten years ago when an omnipotent energy being hurled the Enterprise across thousands of light-years into the Delta Quadrant in a fit of pique. The ship's crew, consummate explorers, went about their business as if nothing unusual had happened and sent an away team to an uncharted planet, where they stumbled across a race of beings mercilessly bent on destroying and assimilating every civilization they encountered. The Enterprise crew was unprepared for the single-minded malevolent purpose of the Borg Collective, and consequently eighteen lives were lost when the Borg ship attacked.

That much was generally known throughout Federation space. What was not widely known was that, were it not for the efforts of Lieutenant Ali ibn Akbar al-Ghazali, the entire crew would have perished in a cataclysmic warp core explosion.

When the Borg cube fired upon the Enterprise, the plasma in one of the warp conduits heated just to the point of ignition. Had the plasma actually ignited, safety measures would have contained the explosion to a single sector until it burned itself out, thus minimizing the risk to the Enterprise. Instead the plasma burned slowly, like a dying ember, as the heat worked its way towards the warp core.

The ship's engineers worked feverishly to locate the problem, knowing only that sensors detected unusual levels of heat emanating from the plasma conduit, but unable to determine the exact cause or location of the malfunction. They were reduced to frantically tearing panels away, trying to isolate the problem, when al-Ghazali found the source of the heat as it sputtered towards a critical junction. The fire had to be extinguished before it reached the junction, or else it would spread throughout the entire conduit network, but smoldering plasma cannot be extinguished by conventional methods. Al-Ghazali realized the only way to extinguish the fire would be to block its access to fuel, and thus, without hesitation, he stepped into the conduit, absorbing the fire into his body and thereby extinguishing it. His agonized howls echoed throughout the ship, and on the other side of the galaxy, his young wife screamed uncontrollably as her subconscious mind told her that her beloved Ali had been wrenched from her soul.

Once Q sent the battered Enterprise back to Federation space, Fatima had insisted that Ali's body be returned to Earth, where he could be laid to rest in the crypt of his Persian ancestors in ancient Susa. To Fatima's surprise, the Enterprise's senior officers and engineering staff joined her, even going so far as to wear the traditional robes of mourning. There Captain Picard, looking very much like a priest of Ahura Mazda as he respectfully ignited the ritual fire sacrifice to the spirit world, bestowed upon the widow of Lieutenant Ali ibn Akbar al-Ghazali the Medal of Courage, Starfleet's highest honor.

Fatima was offered extended leave from duty for her people's traditional period of mourning, but when the year was up she realized that she no longer wanted to serve in Starfleet and resigned her commission. She was a skilled physician, and decided to put her arts to good use, and simultaneously honor the memory of her husband, on the battlefield. She spent most of the next several years on Bajor, tending to rebels wounded in the war for independence from Cardassia. She also managed to find her way into bloody skirmishes along the Klingon-Romulan border, seduced a Ferengi pirate in order to steal badly needed medical supplies for the Maquis, and somehow got captured and sentenced to a Cardassian prison ship, where a terminally ill Gul warlord miraculously recovered under her ministrations and, in gratitude, set her free.

During those years of wandering from planet to planet, Fatima earned medals and accolades and respect from Bajor, Cardassia, Vulcan, Romulus and the Klingon homeworld for her bravery and willingness to help the injured even in the thick of battle, without regards to species or political affiliation or territorial claim. Her only impetus was the memory of her husband; as he had sacrificed his life for the survival of others, so would she willingly place her life in danger to bring comfort and assistance to the sick and injured. She had not needed to read the official report on Ali's death, because it had been scorched onto her psyche where his spirit was ripped away from hers. Every new dawn that rose on the horizon, she drew breath from the agonizing loneliness of his absence as her intimate link to his sacrifice sustained her, drove her, motivated her. Though her collection of awards far outnumbered her husband's sole medal, she never felt vindicated, and continued to push herself beyond human limits.

Fatima had also become reacquainted with the ancient and mysterious heritage of her people, the Bedouins of Arabia, while recuperating on the desert world of Vulcan. Even in the twenty-fourth century, little was known about the Bedouins, except that their nomadic way of life had all but disappeared two centuries earlier with the advent of desert farming. Yet the legends of the wanderers persisted, even in the very permanent structures of New Cairo where she had grown up. Traveling throughout the endless desert of space, Fatima felt her spirit communing with her Bedouin ancestors, each planet an oasis where she replenished her supplies but never her soul. She was at home in space, and grateful that starships smelled much better than camels.

Two years ago, Fatima felt an irresistible urge to return to Starfleet. It had taken her almost a full year to make her way to Earth, and then another six months to convince Starfleet Command to reactivate her commission. She had barely been on duty two months when the Borg ship attempted to assimilate Earth by altering history, but was thwarted by Captain Picard and the Enterprise crew. She had been very busy then, tending to the thousands of wounded, when Picard walked into San Francisco Hospital and offered her the position of assistant chief medical officer aboard the Enterprise. His proposal came as a shock to her, and she very nearly refused him on the spot. The same forces that had driven her from one end of the galaxy to the other, however, also compelled her to reject her doubts and accept the position.

Fatima had now been on the Enterprise for three months, and although she was glad to be back in space, the memory of her husband's untimely death continued to haunt her. She had forced herself to read the report on Ali's death before boarding, but she scrupulously avoided Engineering, and spoke to no one among the crew who had known him. Her healing skills helped Fatima make her mark in Sickbay, but she was unknown to any who had not had the good fortune to be cared for by her. Even Ali's spirit seemed to have abandoned her.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "Kubla Khan"

Captain Picard leaned his head back against the biobed cushion and closed his eyes, trying to dispel his nervousness. For the past hour his thoughts had been occupied with visions of death and dying. His subconscious had apparently decided to play a morbidly perverse joke on him, dredging up images of near-death experiences, the drug-induced living death of zombies, children's bedtime horror tales of premature burial, and memories of his own brushes with death, especially one in which Q played a significant role. In vain Picard tried to focus his thoughts on more enjoyable things, such as Shakespeare or archaeology, but instead the inner workings of his mind coughed up snippets about Ophelia and Macbeth mixed with gruesomely vivid details about mummification.

Picard ignored the perverse whims of his subconscious and instead focused on the activity in Sickbay. Doctor al-Ghazali was attaching a cortical monitor to his forehead while Beverly fussed with a diagnostic unit. He noticed with inward pleasure that Beverly seemed to be about as nervous as he was. Riker remained on the bridge while Data and Counselor Troi stood by, both eager to observe the experience. The young Q was also there, his eyes focused inward, seemingly deep in thought. He is probably making final plans with his father, Picard mused.

At last Beverly finished setting the controls on the diagnostic unit and positioned it over Picard's midsection. Refusing to look him in the eye, she said to him, "This will monitor your respiratory and cardiac systems, while the cortical monitor will provide data on your neuro-synaptic activity." She shifted her attention to the young Q. "If there are any serious fluctuations in his life signs, I want you to bring him back immediately. Do you understand?"

He nodded. "I promise you, Doctor, that Captain Picard will be well cared for. I assume personal responsibility for his safety." He looked at Picard. "Are you ready, Captain?"

Picard nodded and grasped Beverly's hand. "I'll be back before you know it."

She squeezed his hand and smiled grimly. "You'd better -- you still owe me a home-cooked all-crepe breakfast."

"On my honor as a Frenchman, we'll be feasting the morning after I get back. All right, Q, let's go."

Q snapped his fingers and disappeared in a burst of white light. Instantaneously, Captain Picard slipped into a deep coma-like stasis. Beverly and Doctor al-Ghazali watched his life signs nervously as they wavered briefly, then stabilized. "Do you sense anything, Counselor?" Data asked.

"I've lost all contact with him," Troi observed. "It's not like a typical coma, where I can still sense emotions. It's as if his subconscious has been completely shut off from me."

* * * * *

Judging from the size of the filled-to-capacity banquet hall, the reception honoring Q's Ascension was the social event of the millennium. To Picard's human subconscious, he was in an infinitely enlarged version of the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, but he found that if he closed one eye and squinted with the other, he could see that he was actually standing at the center of the galaxy, and that what appeared to be the small flames of countless flickering candelabras were actually billions of stars whirling past the windows and reflecting off the enormous floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The frescoed ceiling, which was as ephemeral as the seemingly marbled floor, brilliantly depicted the epic battle between the Olympians and the Titans, but Picard soon discovered that the flashes of Zeus' lightning bolt were really quantum particles ricocheting off each other as they flew past at dizzying speeds and the boulders hurled by the hundred-handed giants thundered as stars eternally exploding into and out of existence. The effect was, simply put, breathtaking.

Picard looked down at himself and noticed that he looked much as he always did. He was even still wearing the dress uniform he had donned for the occasion. A glance to his left revealed that his escort, Q's son, was likewise unchanged. Yet when he looked at the other guests as they waltzed past him, what his eyes saw and what his subconscious told him he was seeing made absolutely no sense. Standing within earshot a rainbow, which Picard somehow recognized as the color spectrum, was arguing vehemently with a rather triangular fellow who looked vaguely familiar, yet Picard could not quite put his finger on the man's name. Then it hit him: it was the Pythagorean Theorem personified, and he was involved in a heated debate with Spectrum over the merits, or lack thereof, of Ludwig von Beethoven's compositions.

"But he was utterly undisciplined!" Theorem shouted above the din. "He was stone deaf, and he had absolutely no respect for the equanimity of the octave! Bach, on the other hand --"

"Bach, smach," Spectrum interjected. "If I hear one more word about Bach I'm going to turn white."

"But Bach based his compositions on mathematical principles," Theorem insisted. "His cantatas are elaborately constructed matrices, and his Mass in B Minor reflects Einstein's own theory of relativity!"

"Mathematical principles are not the be-all and end-all of music, Pyth," Spectrum rebutted, flashing a bright shade of orange. "Don't you think your argument is a little biased, since it was also Pythagoras who recognized the octave in the first place?" Theorem grunted. "Bach was so dry, so bland, so self-righteous. Beethoven, on the other hand, was passionate, tempestuous, innovative. Just listening to the Fifth Symphony brings out the indigo in me." She melodramatically placed her hand on her chest and colored.

Picard turned and bumped into an eccentric multi-headed individual that barely gave him enough attention to mutter "Excuse me," in four-part harmony before resuming what seemed to be an eternal argument with itself.

"Believe you me, there are few things in this universe worse than being eternally doomed to 'mark the spot,'" snarled one head. "'You are here' -- I mean, come on, how stupid can that be?"

"You think you have it bad?" responded another. "I've spent my entire existence as the number ten in a dead language! After the fall of Rome, I didn't get hauled out of storage and dusted off except for a couple of popes or the occasional Super Bowl or Olympic Games. And I despise sports!"

"You two have it so easy it makes me sick!" snapped the third. "Try getting anywhere when you're the unknown factor in every single eighth-grader's algebra homework! Y's been holding that indignity over my head for centuries."

The fourth head harumphed at his brothers. "Oh please," he snorted. "I'd like to see you three take a shot at being the letter chi in the Greek alphabet. For centuries I was trapped with that blasted rho, doomed to sanctimonious symbolism, and then I was relegated to college fraternity nicknames. I'd take being a place marker or a Roman numeral any day!"

"Oh yeah?" retorted the first head, and the argument continued as it has for millennia.

Picard chuckled to himself as he moved on. Across the room he spotted Amanda Rogers chatting with Zenith, who was very tall, and his wife Nadir, who was very small, and attempted to wade his way through the crowd to speak to Amanda. Halfway across the dance floor, someone grabbed at his arm and spun him around. He could not believe who his accoster was.

It was Kathryn Janeway.

"Captain Janeway, what are you doing here?" he stammered, incredulous. "You've been declared missing in action and presumed dead for almost three years, ever since Voyager disappeared in the Badlands."

"I've been in the Delta Quadrant, trying to get Voyager across 70,000 light years with a half-Maquis crew," she answered. "It's so good to see you, Captain. I doubt you'll remember having seen me once you're returned to the Enterprise, but at least we can catch up. How have things been in the Federation?"

"That can wait -- knowing Q, this party's going to last quite a while. How did you come by an invitation to this event? Or, to be more blunt, how do you know Q?"

"Q? Knowest thou Q? Dost thou seek the A?" babbled a crookedly formed being who had surreptitiously sidled up to Picard and Janeway and was intently eavesdropping on their conversation. "Canst thou by searching find out God? A wounded spirit who can bear? If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat, and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink. To the hungry soul, every bitter thing is sweet."

"I beg your pardon?" Picard asked, nonplused by the string of non sequiturs.

"Tangent, go away. These are humans. Don't bother them." The young Q shrugged and looked at Picard and Janeway as Tangent made a beeline for a lonely helium atom. "Don't mind him; he's harmless. He always speaks in random platitudes. By the way, Captain Janeway is my godmother. Her presence here is about as obligatory as yours."

"Your godmother?" Will wonders never cease? Picard thought to himself. "Now this I've got to hear." The two Starfleet officers, their escort following at a safe but respectable distance, wandered off in search of a place to sit and talk.

They had settled into a semi-secluded window box, eager to share news about the Alpha and Delta Quadrants and about their mutual association with Q, when the massive oak doors at the end of the hall were flung open with a melodramatic flourish and the host himself appeared. He was dressed head-to-toe in a magnificent jewel-encrusted scarlet robe trimmed with ermine, much like ancient European royalty would wear to a coronation. A horde of repulsive toad-like creatures clamored around Q, hopping on him and fawning over him like excited puppies, croaking their congratulations and promising favors in return for his support for their causes on the Council. Their appearance and antics would have disgusted even a Ferengi. Q, however, seemed not to notice the crowd of well-wishers and influence peddlers and swept through them, his eyes darting anxiously about the hall. When they fell upon Picard and Janeway, a huge grin broke across his face. In the blink of an eye, he was before them, the robe instantaneously replaced with a Starfleet admiral's dress uniform.

"Jean-Luc! Kathy! My two favorite humans in all the galaxy!" he cried, gathering them both up in a warm embrace. He then kissed Picard on the top of his head. "Mon capitain, I am so glad you decided to come. This would all be just empty, meaningless rigmarole without the guest of honor present."

Picard, flustered by the display and instinctively wary of Q's seeming benevolence, smiled weakly. "Guest of honor? No, Q, I believe that designation belongs to you. You have my hearty congratulations."

"Oh, nonsense, Jean-Luc. If it weren't for you and your human compatriots," Q insisted, leering at Janeway, "we wouldn't be here. Something about you and your fascinating little species must have been a good influence on me, or else I would never have ascended. And now that I have, I'm obligated to behave myself. More or less," he added with a mischievous grin. "By the way, I'm sorry you couldn't attend the Rite of Ascension itself, but we Q have to keep some secrets from the evolutionarily challenged. I hope you won't hold it against me."

He did not stop talking long enough for either captain to answer. "I see that you've met my son," he indicated the young Q, who seemed to shrink into the shadows in embarrassment. "You know, considering all that's he's heard about you from myself and my darling Kathy, he feels like he's known you all his life." At this the young Q smiled shyly. "Unfortunately, you've been such a role model for him, he's almost as dull as you are."

Picard thought he detected an wince from the young Q, and in sympathy for the boy's plight tried to change the subject. "Q, how am I able to see -- what I see -- here?" As he was talking, a comet walked past him, undulating her tail seductively and winking at him, before rejoining her escort, a binary star in the form of Siamese twins. "Take her, for example," Picard indicated the comet, "I know she's a comet, yet she looks like a lovely young woman trying to flirt with me."

Q sighed and rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "Always the consummate Starfleet officer, eh, Jean-Luc? These philosophical forays into the workings of the human mind really do bore me, since there's really not all that much to discuss. Elephants possess more imagination than humans. Besides, I must go mingle. A good host mustn't neglect his guests, you know." He winked at Janeway. "Kathy, perhaps you can field his question. You have, after all, been to the Continuum several times." A crowd of dancers swept Q away, laughing and applauding as he displayed his finesse on the dance floor.

Picard looked at Janeway with surprise. "It's true, Captain," she answered. "And each time I've come here it's looked totally different. The first time, it was a way station on a desert road; then it was an American Civil War battlefield --" Picard's eyebrows shot up "-- I'll explain later. Now it's the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. My godson, who is far more considerate and patient than his father, said that our subconscious mind provides the imagery to match the situation we're in. In other words, this --" she indicated the hall "-- is a manifestation of our collective unconscious, which is why you and I are able to perceive the same images."

"So what you're saying, if I understand you correctly, is that our unconscious projects an image within the realm of our mental and sensory capacity that is somehow linked to the object in view?" Picard asked. "Therefore, when I look at Spectrum, my subconscious evokes an image of a rainbow. That's also why you and I perceive each other in Starfleet uniforms; that's an image taken directly from our memories. This is almost like taking a walk through my own subconscious!" he exclaimed, excited in spite of himself.

"Captain Picard, Captain Janeway, may I get you something to drink?" the young Q asked, having regained his composure after his father's cruel remark.

"Yes, Q, thank you," Janeway replied. "Surprise us with something exotic." He walked off. "He's not at all like his father," she said once he was out of earshot. "I'd like to claim some credit for his temperament, but I think his mother is primarily responsible. She's not as adventurous as Q, and she seems to consider humans with little more than disdain, despite what we did for the Continuum. Her temper is rather formidable and she can stand up to Q's antics far better than we can."

"He is a remarkable child," Picard agreed. "I wonder if Q realizes just how fortunate he is."

Picard and Janeway continued chatting, making up for lost time and space, losing all track of their surroundings, until Q rejoined them. "Talking about me behind my back?" he asked. "That's not very nice; and at my own party even. And here I thought we were all friends." He extended his lower lip in a mock pout.

"And what a party it is, Q. I'm very impressed," Picard said. "But I should be returning to my ship soon, and Captain Janeway should return to Voyager as well."

"Duty calls, Jean-Luc? All right, but first a drink, a toast to the new relationship between the Continuum and the Federation." He beckoned a serving girl carrying a tray with drinks on it. As she came closer, Picard felt a sudden chill run down his spine as all his interior warning signals went berserk. The serving girl's eyes were as black and as dense as ebony, and her face, frozen in a grotesque imitation of a smile, resembled a death's-head mask. When Picard sought to identify her in his subconscious, his mind experienced the odd sensation of suffocation, and it took all his concentration to extract himself from the vacuum. He wondered if Q suspected anything, or if it would be appropriate to warn Q about what he had just sensed.

Picard never had a chance. The serving girl handed Q a champagne flute filled with a blood-red liquid, then served Picard and Janeway before stepping back. Q raised his glass in a toast, and the two humans followed suit. "To evolution!" he shouted, and tossed the contents of the glass back.

Picard and Janeway echoed, "To evolution," then gasped in unison as they saw Q's reaction to the drink. His eyes bulged, and he clutched his throat, gulping for air. Drops of foam collected around his lips as blood began to flow freely from his nose and ears. The flute fell to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces, spilling its contents over the marble, as Q's free hand flailed frantically, struggling to find a support, until his eyes fell upon the serving girl. His face, already pale from the seizure, grew even more ashen as he recognized her. "You --" He sputtered, "Soma --" then collapsed, his eyes rolling back until only the whites showed. The serving girl cackled with glee, then disappeared in the gathering crowd.

Through the rushing sound of blood pounding in his head, Picard heard a woman's scream. He knelt beside Q and instinctively felt for a pulse as Janeway cradled Q's head in her lap. Much to his surprise, he found one -- slow, but steady. He also noticed that the vacuum he felt in the presence of the serving girl was now affecting his subconscious perception of Q; the entity appeared to be shifting in and out of Picard's perception, like a flickering flame. He looked up as the young Q rushed over. "What happened?" he demanded to know.

The boy was as pale as his father. "Soma. She's the worst enemy of all energy beings. Her poisons are so deadly, we have no serum for them. I've heard stories about her, but I never really believed she existed --"

"Who is she?" Picard prodded. "I thought the Q were omnipotent. How can she be so dangerous?"

"Soma is pure matter. Her poisons convert energy beings, such as the Q, into matter." He sniffed a large fragment of the glass, which lay beside the prone form of his father, then dipped his finger in the puddle of liquid and held the droplet to his lips before turning away in disgust. Only then did Picard realize that his drink was not the same as what had been served to Q. "This drink was a mixture of the four basic material elements -- earth, air, fire and water," the boy said. "When blended in the right proportions, they are almost always fatal to a Q. Captain, we have to get him out of here. Matter cannot survive in the Continuum, and if we don't find a cure soon, he will die. Will you grant him sanctuary aboard the Enterprise, while I try to find someone who can help him?" the boy pleaded. Picard nodded his assent, and with a blinding flash he was back in Sickbay.

Death come knockin' on that gambler's door,
Said, "Ol' gambler, are you ready to go?"
No, no, no, no, no, no, no,
Because I ain't got on my travelin' shoes,
Ain't got my duty singing
No, no, no,
Oh Lordy no, no, no,
Because I ain't got on my travelin' shoes

Source unknown, "Travelin' Shoes"

Picard bolted upright, slamming his sternum into the diagnostic unit that lay across his midsection. Doctor al-Ghazali pressed her hands firmly on his shoulders and ordered him to lie down. "You've been through quite an ordeal, Captain," she insisted. "You need to regain your equilibrium."

"Doctor --" he gasped, wincing from the impact, "Q -- where's Beverly?"

"Doctor Crusher has the situation under control. Q appeared in Sickbay the moment you regained consciousness. She's trying to stabilize his condition now."

"What is his condition?"

"Pretty serious, I'm afraid. He hasn't responded well to resuscitative efforts and is virtually catatonic, with just the barest of life signs." She checked the readouts on the diagnostic unit, then slowly swung it away from Picard. "You may get up now, but I urge you to take things easy for a few hours. You may have a few bouts of vertigo, which is to be expected; any headaches, heart palpitations or nausea, however, and I want you back here immediately."

"Yes, Doctor. Where is Q?"

"They're working on him in the quarantine lab. Try to stay out the way, however; it's pandemonium in there."

Picard watched through the parasteel observation window with Data and Counselor Troi as Doctor Crusher and her staff worked frantically to stabilize Q's life signs over the course of an hour. After repeated attempts at cortical stimulation, CPR and even open-heart massage (a procedure virtually unheard-of in the twenty-fourth century), she was satisfied that Q would at least survive with the assistance of life support and beckoned Picard into her office.

"What the hell happened, Jean-Luc?" she demanded. "Did the Continuum decide to punish Q after all?"

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what's going on," Picard admitted. "We were at the reception and Q had just toasted us when he experienced a severe reaction to whatever he was drinking. Q's son claimed it was the work of some creature named Soma, who apparently goes about the galaxy assassinating energy beings like the Q. I think I saw her at the party, disguised as a serving girl." He shuddered involuntarily at the memory of her dead, black eyes. "She's supposedly made of pure matter, and uses matter in some way against her victims. In this case, it was the drink; Q's son said it was a highly toxic poison consisting of earth, air, fire and water."

"I don't understand," said Deanna.

"Ancient Terran scientists believed that all matter consisted of those four elements," Data said. "And in classical Greek, 'soma' meant 'flesh'. Philosophers such as Aristotle and Basil of Caesarea referred to 'soma' in metaphysical arguments defining and explaining what they thought was the nature of God and the created universe. Those debates essentially focused on the relationship between spirit and matter and how -- or if -- the two could co-exist."

"So this Soma turned Q into matter by poisoning him with matter?" Deanna asked.

"That seems to be the case."

"Well, whatever she did, she was very thorough," Doctor Crusher said. "Q's barely alive, and I don't know how much longer life support can sustain him. His nervous system has absolutely no electromagnetic impulses, which means that he is completely paralyzed, his heart cannot beat on its own, and there's no brain activity of any kind. This isn't like when the Continuum made him human; then, he at least retained a sense of his former self. Now, there's nothing; Q is just a shell of a human, without memory, personality, or self-consciousness. By his standards, he might as well be dead."

"I can't even sense him empathically," added Deanna. "Before, whenever he was on the Enterprise, I could at least sense his infinity, although it was far too complex for my abilities to grasp." She looked at Picard. "It's not like when Q's son took you to the Continuum; as I tried to read your emotions, it was as if a steel door had been slammed shut in my face. When I try to sense Q, I don't feel a barrier, I feel... nothing. I don't mean I don't actually sense any emotions, I mean that I feel nothingness."

"I know exactly what you're saying, Counselor," Picard said. "When Soma approached, it felt as though my subconscious was being sucked into a vacuum. Then, after she poisoned Q, I experienced the same sensation in his presence."

"Did Q's son say if there was any cure, or an antitoxin for the poison?" asked Doctor Crusher.

"It doesn't seem likely," said Picard. "He said that Soma's poisons were almost always fatal. To be honest, I think he was trying to hold out hope for himself, and didn't want to say there was no chance of Q surviving. He did say, however, that he was going to try to find help."

At that moment the young Q appeared in Sickbay, accompanied by an extremely old man. The boy looked around anxiously, then studied the faces of the humans staring at him curiously for clues. "My father?" he asked hesitantly. "Is he--?"

"He's in critical condition, Q," Picard answered. The young Q heaved a sigh of relief. "We've done all we can, and from our perspective it doesn't look like there's much hope for his survival. I'm sorry," he added, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I wish we could do more."

"That you've managed to keep him alive this long may be just the edge we need," the young Q replied. "Most of Soma's victims die within seconds, and those that don't suffer torturous agony until they are driven to suicide, or madness, or both. I've brought someone who may be able to help," he added, indicating the old man, "in fact, he's the only one who can help."

Picard stepped towards the stranger, self-consciously straightening his dress uniform's tunic as he did so. Something about the old man seemed oddly familiar, yet he was also uniquely alien. He looked human, but Picard could tell with a glance that he was anything but human.

His hair, bristling in countless directions from a single topknot on his head, was brittle and yellow with age. His face, which gave the unique appearance of both arrogance and compassion, was lined with deep creases, yet his neck and chin lacked the jowls and dewlaps that so often befall old faces, leading Picard to think that perhaps the stranger only wished to appear old. His coal-black eyes glittered with a vivacity found only in young children as they stared out at Picard from beneath bushy yellow eyebrows. He was dressed in a simple tunic that, when it caught the light of Sickbay as the man shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other, shone with an eerie iridescence. In one hand he held a stick, with which he beat an endless rhythm on the floor. Picard then realized that the man's feet were moving in a slow but steady cadence equal to the rhythm produced by the stick. Somewhat unnerved, Picard extended his arms in greeting.

"Welcome to the USS Enterprise. I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the --"

"I know who you are, human," the man began. His voice was strong and sonorous as it echoed throughout Sickbay. He grasped Picard's hand with a grip that would make a Klingon whimper and gazed deep into his eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

"Captain, I --" Deanna began, then fainted. Beverly and Data bent down to attend to her.

"Counselor!" Picard turned to look at the young Q. "Do you know what happened to her?"

"I'm sorry sir," the boy responded. "I'm afraid that Primus may have overwhelmed her empathic senses. Perhaps she should be taken away from here. She should recover soon."

"Doctor?"

Beverly nodded. "She's unconscious, but unharmed."

"Mr. Data, take Counselor Troi to her quarters."

"Yes sir."

Picard turned back to the two figures before him. "I think maybe some explaining would be in order. For starters, who is Primus and why is he here?"

"Yes, sir. Primus is the progenitor of all Q." He paused a moment to let Picard digest the enormity of this news. "He is, in mortal metaphysical terms, the Alpha and the Omega, the Prime Mover, thought thinking itself. All Q can trace their origin directly to Primus. We are omnipotent, but Primus is pandynamic -- his creative energy flows throughout the entire cosmos, and every act of creation that occurs draws its energy from him. That's why you recognized him; you are actually recognizing that of him which is within you."

"Are you saying that Primus is the Creator, is --" Picard caught his breath. "-- God?"

"Yes and no. Primus did not actually 'create' anything, not even the Q. Over ten billion millennia ago, before Chaos gave birth to Time, Primus thought the Continuum into existence. You could even say that Primus is the Continuum. From that ocean of energy the Q emerged, and with the creative potential inherent within them, went about the messy business of creation."

"So then the Q are our creators?" Picard asked. "That's an unwelcome thought, to say the least."

"Again, it's not that black and white. Some of your ancient philosophers claimed that life, as you understand it, was the result of the emanation of creative energy through various stages. These stages were generally known either as 'demiurges' or 'aeons'. Creative energy originates with the Prime Mover and then flows through these demiurges and so on down through the chain of causality until it reaches its completion in matter-based life. That life, in turn, is a weak reflection of the Prime Mover."

"Let me see if I've got this straight," Picard said, scowling in disbelief. "Primus is the source of the energy that powers creation. That energy resides in -- or, rather, is -- the Continuum. The Q emanated out of the Continuum, from them emanated other life forms, and so on and so forth until that creative energy reached its goal in humanity?"

"You are not exactly the goal of creation," Primus rumbled with laughter. "Creation will continue. What you are, however, is the tool that will eventually enable my creative energy to evolve. Energy, by itself, cannot evolve, because, contrary to what your narrow-minded physicists claim, it is not inherently kinetic. Laws of inertia do not apply to energy. Matter, on the other hand, is kinetic, and can evolve. As my creative energy emanated into countless lifeforms, it gradually began to merge with matter until it reached a perfect balance in humanity. As your race evolves, the blending of energy and matter will give the Continuum the necessary potency to regenerate and replenish itself."

"Really?" Picard asked, intrigued in spite of himself. "Yes, Q told us that we would eventually evolve into Q-like beings. So what does this have to do with Q?"

"My child," Primus began, and Picard sensed a note of paternal devotion in his voice, "has been stripped of creative energy and exiled from the Continuum that sustains him. He is like a clay statue, devoid of life. The link between the shell he has become and the Continuum that gave him life must be re-established or he will die. I can provide a bridge to the Continuum, but pure matter and pure energy cannot mix, and Q will die from the effort. There must be a filter through which the creative energy may pass."

Picard did not like the direction this conversation was taking. "What do you mean by a filter? What kind of a filter? What is involved here?"

"In order to save Q, I must have a lifeform in which matter and energy already co-exist in harmony."

"A human."

Primus nodded, sending sparks flying from his hair. "By linking my creative energy to Q through a human, I can restore the emanation from the Continuum to him. There will be a high cost, however."

"What cost?"

"The human will die." Picard caught his breath. "Because human energy will be filtering my energy, the two will coalesce into a single emanation and pass into Q. Once a human loses the link to creative energy, that human dies. There is no other way."

Picard seethed with frustration. He felt certain that no one on the Enterprise would willingly sacrifice his or her life to save Q; too many of them remembered the way he had tormented them for his amusement in the past. Q would not survive the journey to Earth, however, and Picard doubted the Federation would be willing to send someone to their death just for the sake of an important and advantageous alliance with a notoriously unreliable and arrogant entity. On the other hand, Q seemed to have gradually changed over the years that Picard had known him, to the point that Picard thought Q actually liked him, and the debt Q would owe Picard for literally saving his existence would be immeasurable. He turned to Beverly for support. "Just where am I supposed to find someone who wants to die just so that Q may live to harass us another day?" he asked ruefully.

The young Q stepped towards Picard, his voice strangled with fear and unshed tears. "Please Captain," he implored, "I know it seems like too much to ask, for a mortal to die so that a being that is supposed to be immortal may live, especially considering my father's somewhat malicious dealings with your crew in the past, but can't you see that's why I brought him here? He always talked to me about how humans were often willing to risk their lives for what seemed to be insignificant things. He admired your noble sense of purpose, your courage and your compassion. Don't you see, Captain? You're our only hope."

Picard turned as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and heard a slight cough. "Captain -- sir -- I would be willing to help Q," said Doctor al-Ghazali. All eyes in the room turned to look at her.

"Fatima, no! Are you crazy?" asked Doctor Crusher.

"Doctor al-Ghazali, do you realize what you are saying?" Picard asked, his eyes betraying his concern. "Need I remind you about the circumstances of your husband's death?"

Fatima's face paled momentarily. "No one knows better than I that Q was indirectly responsible for Ali's death. That is exactly why I must do this."

Picard scowled in disbelief. "Beverly, may we use your office?" he asked.

She nodded slowly, then said, "I'll stay here and monitor Q's condition. He's stable for now, but I don't know how long that will last. I'll let you know of any changes."

Picard nodded in reply, then motioned for Fatima to follow him. When the door to Doctor Crusher's office had closed behind her, Picard wheeled around and confronted her. "Doctor al-Ghazali, what the devil do you think you're doing?" he raged. "What's all this nonsense about you being the sacrificial lamb? What do you mean?"

Fatima studied the floor, collecting her thoughts. With a deep breath, she forced herself to look Picard in the face, knowing that her eyes were about to overflow with tears. "You know that Ali was a Zoroastrian?" she asked, somewhat rhetorically. Picard just maintained his steady gaze, hoping that alone could break her resolve. "What do you know about Zoroastrian beliefs?" she continued.

"I know that Zoroastrians believe in a strict duality between good and evil, that Ahura Mazda, the god of light, is constantly at war with Ahriman, the god of darkness. That's about the extent of it."

Fatima remained silent. She was not Zoroastrian, nor was she as inclined to categorize darkness and light as resolutely as Ali had; thus, explaining her decision in terms of Ali's faith to Captain Picard would require some delicately constructed polemic. "There is a Persian myth about the end-time that may help explain where I'm coming from," she began. "According to the myth, Saoshyant, the savior, will come to prepare the world for its rebirth and Ahura Mazda's ultimate triumph over Ahriman. As the world becomes purified the demon of lust will starve and turn on Ahriman, who in turn will beg Ahura Mazda to protect him, but he will banish Ahriman from creation. Then Saoshyant will raise the dead, and Ahura Mazda will at last be able to reunite body and soul. All the metal in the mountains of the world will melt, and each person must walk through the river of molten metal to be purified. Those who were faithful to the Path of Light will feel as though they are bathing in warm milk, but those who turned to darkness will suffer as their sins are burned away."

She paused to let Picard consider what she had just said. "As much as Q has harassed you, he has also championed you and served as the advocate of humanity in the Continuum. If what Primus says is true," she said, jerking her arm toward the quarantine lab, "if we are the perfect blend of matter and energy, then we need Q as much as Q needs us. We cannot let him die."

"I am well aware of that necessity, Doctor," Picard retorted. "And having him as an ambassador to the Federation could provide untold benefits to the balance of power in the Alpha Quadrant. But I still don't see why you have to be the one to make this sacrifice and, in fact, I think you're the least viable candidate to do so." He sat down on the edge of the desk and took Fatima's hand in his own. "I understand what you're trying to say with that myth; you consider yourself to be Saoshyant, raising Q from the dead so Primus can restore him to his former state, but that is a myth from your husband's tradition. You are not Zoroastrian."

"No, but I was raised in the Sufi tradition, which, though it is not dualistic like Ali's faith, does proclaim a unique bond between body and soul. We have a saying: 'To die in hope of union with Thee is sweet, but the bitterness of separation from Thee is worse than fire.' We strive for union with God; Q longs for union with himself, with the Continuum. Life is union; death, separation. The same is true for Zoroastrians, for Sufis -- and for Q."

Picard grimaced. "So you're telling me that you're on some mystical religious quest? Do you think this is your idea of a 'dark night of the soul'? Or do you have some sort of a 'Good Samaritan' complex? Oh yes, I'm well aware of your activities along the Cardassian and Romulan Neutral Zones. You still haven't convinced me, Doctor, and I don't think you've even convinced yourself."

Fatima sighed softly. "You may be right. I haven't convinced myself here," she said, tapping her head. She then placed her hand over her heart. "But here, the issue has already been resolved and carried out."

She looked up and noticed that Picard was looking over her shoulder, and turned to see that Primus and the young Q had silently entered the office and were listening intently to the debate. She addressed herself to the young Q. "My husband sacrificed his life to save the Enterprise and her crew after your father sent the ship to the Delta Quadrant. It seems only fitting that I should sacrifice myself to save Q."

Primus gazed at Fatima, understanding everything in an instant. "It is right," he intoned solemnly , placing his hand on her shoulder.

"No, it is not right!" Picard exploded in fury. "Forgive me, Doctor, but how do I know you don't have some ulterior motive? How do I know you won't try to avenge your husband's death on Q?"

"The same reason why you knew that I belonged on the Enterprise, even after what happened here," she responded. "I didn't understand it then, but I realize now that I was destined to be here, to do this. For years after Ali's death I kept throwing myself into dangerous situations, praying to die at the hands of renegades or stray sniper fire. Ali's self-sacrifice has haunted me and driven me from one end of the Alpha Quadrant to another. Giving life to he who took my husband from me will finally bring the circle to completion."

"Captain," she said softly, "please. Let me do this. I have no children, Ali is gone, I feel as though I don't belong anywhere, yet this seems so... right. So destined. Do not mourn my loss, and do not wish me to live. For years I have been wandering through the desert, and I can finally see an oasis in the distance." Her eyes shone with anticipation and unshed tears. "Ali is waiting for me there, I know it."

Primus stepped forward and looked Picard squarely in the face. "Can you not see that her spirit has been torn away, much like Q's? She and her husband were as one being, energy and matter joined in perfect balance. But Q's thoughtlessness divided her soul, and now she stands before you as mere flesh, slowly dying, just as Q lies dying outside this room. This human and Q are now on the same journey, struggling through the desert to reclaim their lost halves and to heal their wounds. They cannot make that journey alone. Only together will they succeed, and be reconciled and restored."

Picard snorted in disbelief. "You still haven't provided me with a suitably logical argument," he insisted. "Doctor al-Ghazali, I'm giving you twelve hours to seriously consider the consequences of your choice. After twelve hours, if you still wish this, I will give you one more chance to persuade me it is for the best. Only then will I consider permitting it. In the meantime," he concluded, tugging on his tunic, "let's hope Q doesn't die."

PART TWO