REP: Oasis 3/8 [PG-13] (TNG, Q)
Laura Taylor
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.
TBC...
--
=====
"This city of monuments [Washington, D.C.] is itself a monument to
blunders, bungles and boondoggles. Part of what makes this country great
is it can survive Washington year after year."
Tom Shales