REP: Oasis 4/8 [PG-13] (TNG, Q)
Laura Taylor
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."
*************************
Almost without volition, Fatima found herself headed towards
Engineering. This was not the same ship Ali had died tried to save —
that ship was destroyed several years ago in a confrontation with the
Duras sisters — but Ali had been an engineer, and the Borg had recently
tried to establish a new collective on the engineering deck of this
Enterprise. As far as her fragmented spirit was concerned, it might as
well have been the Enterprise-D. She was surprised to find Engineering
empty, except for Data and Geordi.
"Doctor al-Ghazali, is there something I can help you with?" Geordi
asked solicitously.
"Uh, no, Commander, thank you, I'm just out for a stroll," she replied.
Turning to Data, she added, "Is Counselor Troi all right?"
He inclined his head. "She is in her quarters and resting comfortably."
"Did she give any indication of what happened to her?"
"I overheard her tell Doctor Crusher that the magnitude of Primus's
emotional power overwhelmed her, much in the way an undertow might
overwhelm a swimmer. She claimed to be unhurt." He pursed his lips in an
android imitation of a worried frown. "Are you all right, Doctor?"
She smiled weakly. "You could say that I, too, have been sucked into the
undertow of overpowering emotion."
"Doctor?"
She ignored him and walked towards the warp core. The plasma pulsed in a
glorious splendor of iridescence, like a star about to go supernova. The
warp core is truly the heart of a starship, powering all of the vessel's
lesser functions much like a human heart forces life-giving blood
through the entire body. And just as the human heart is subject only to
the brain, so the warp core is subject only to the computer. Yet the
heart will continue to beat, reflexively, even when the brain is dead.
Fatima stood before the warp core, mesmerized by the steady whoosh and
thrum of the plasma coursing throughout the ship. The hypnotic rhythm
soothed her jangled nerves, and she turned to look at Geordi and Data,
who had followed her, puzzled by her strange behavior. "It's ironic, you know."
"What's ironic?" asked Geordi.
"Plasma is one of the fundamental components of our blood. You could say
that the plasma that fuels the warp core is the lifeblood of this ship.
Yet human plasma is never deadly."
Geordi stepped closer, finally understanding what was on her mind. "I
was there, you know. I saw it happen."
"Yes, I know. Captain Picard gave me a copy of the full report. It said
you burned yourself trying to pull him from the conduit." Her voice was
ragged and hoarse, barely above a whisper. She could not bear to lift
her eyes to his face, for fear that his memories of the horrible sight
would jump from his eyes to hers.
"I tried to stop him, but...he was right. There was no other way to stop
the slow burn. At least, none that would have worked in time." He put
his arms around her. "Your husband was not just a very brave man, he was
a remarkably intuitive engineer. He had a flair for binary code that
I've only seen in Vulcans. He used to brag that it was because his
people invented the zero."
"Lieutenant al-Ghazali also created some excellent encryption programs,"
added Data. "I found breaking the codes to be quite challenging. His use
of the Arabic and Farsi alphabets, rather than Greek, was inspired."
Fatima smiled at their memories. Ali had tried to teach her Farsi, the
ancient language of Persian emperors, not long after they were married,
and gave up in disgust. A code written entirely in Farsi would have
probably convinced the Romulans to beg for peace.
She knew little of Ali's life on board the Enterprise. They had
intended to serve together, but two months before her transfer was to
come through the Enterprise had been sent to the Delta Quadrant, and
soon thereafter the transfer became pointless.
Ali was a great storyteller, and his letters to her had consisted mostly
of news about planets the Enterprise visited, or the peccadilloes of
other crewmembers, or, more often, ancient legends about Persian
emperors. Ali loved to tell Fatima stories about Darius, and Cyrus, and
even Alexander, though he was not Persian. His eyes took on an eerie
shine and his entire body became very animated as he relived those
glorious times when even Memphis and Athens looked east to Susa with
envy. He could easily have put Scheherazade out of business. But now he
was dead, and his stories had died with him. It was good to hear
Geordi's and Data's stories about Ali.
She stepped away from Geordi's embrace and straightened her shoulders.
"Thank you, Commander, Data. You've been a great help," she said, and left.
*************************
"Fatima, are you sure this is what you want? Do you realize the
consequences?" Doctor Crusher asked gently when Fatima arrived at
Counselor Troi's quarters. Deanna was lounging on a sofa with a cup of
tea while Beverly sat in a chair opposite her. Fatima suspected that
Beverly had been relating to Deanna all that had happened in Sickbay
after she fainted.
"Do I realize that I will die if I help Q?" Fatima asked in return.
"Yes, I'm well aware of that. But that doesn't matter to me. Death
is...I've never feared death. In fact, for the past few years, I've
courted it. Not that I'm on a suicide mission," she added hastily. "It's
just that, since Ali's death, my life has been — not empty, exactly, but
not complete. Not whole."
Deanna gazed at her, weighing Fatima's emotions. "Do you think that, by
dying, you will be reunited with Ali and become whole again?"
"There's some truth to that, but it's not exactly right. Q was
responsible for Ali's death. There's a part of me that thinks that, if Q
dies and I haven't done everything I could to save him, then I will be
responsible for Q's death, and I will become even more divided. Another
part of me believes, however, that my fate, my destiny, is to bring
humanity and Q one step closer together, and that the only way I can do
this is to help restore Q to his natural state."
"Do you blame Q for Ali's death?" asked Beverly. She understood too well
the pitfalls of culpability for a husband's death.
"Once, I blamed Q, I hated him, for what he took from me. A part of me
still does. But now I see that, if Ali was not dead, then I would not be
making this choice, and Q would die. If Q were to die, then the
Federation would lose a valuable ally, humanity might very well lose its
soul, and the Continuum would not evolve as it should."
"You're taking a rather large load on your shoulders, don't you think?"
Beverly prodded, not challenging, but not comprehending Fatima's argument.
"Look at it this way. Primus said that humans represent the perfect
balance between energy and matter. My spirit died with Ali. Q's spirit
died at the hands of Soma. I truly believe that Q and I can help each
other become reunited with our respective spirits, and become whole
again. It may very well be that I cannot become whole unless I am
reunited with Ali in death, but according to my people's beliefs, direct
suicide is not the way to go. I need to make the ultimate sacrifice,
believing in my heart that what I do is for the good of others, and not
just for my own selfish interests."
"Do you know what I refer to Will as?" Deanna asked after a moment of
uneasy silence. "I call him my 'Imzadi.' It means, essentially,
'soul-mate.' Will and I never married, but to a Betazoid, an Imzadi is
bound to you far more than a spouse. I can appreciate your sense of
fragmentation."
She paused long enough to place her teacup on the table. "There are many
cultures that believe our lives are like an intricate spider web,
hanging precariously between life and death, good deeds and sin, all
actions delicately intertwined and vulnerable to the slightest outside
interference. I can tell that you truly believe your sacrifice, whatever
your motivations may be, will both atone for Q's 'sin,' give meaning to
your husband's death and thereby repair your own damaged web. Although I
cannot pretend to understand your logic, I cannot fault your resolve. I
will speak to the captain on your behalf."
*************************
Fatima was waiting in Sickbay at the appointed hour with Primus and the
young Q when Picard swept in with Beverly and Deanna hot on his heels.
He did not look pleased to see her there.
"How long have you been here?" he barked.
"About four hours, sir."
"Are you still determined to go through with this?" he asked, already
knowing the answer.
"Yes, sir. I see no other choice."
Picard laced his fingers behind his back and began pacing. "I'm not sure
that I do either. There's no question that Q has been a fly in our
ointment from the day I took command of the Enterprise. Without him,
however, we might never have defeated the Borg, we might never have
deepened our understanding of the fragility of time, and I might not be
standing here before you now. There is no question that Q has been an
asset to humanity as much as he has been a liability."
"What I have just said does not mean that I condone what you seem to
think is your predetermined destiny. As captain of the Enterprise, I
have, on occasion, had to order another officer to his or her death. My
command decisions have also inadvertently caused the deaths of other
officers. But Q is supposed to be immortal, and yet here he lies dying,
and now I have to decide if his immortality is worth the price of one
mortal life. I've never put much stock in destiny; I believe our actions
define our lives, not vice versa. Can you see the quandary I'm in?"
Primus stepped towards Picard. "Do you wonder, human, why I beat the
ground with this stick? It is the pulse that forces life throughout the
cosmos. You can hear it in your heart, but it also beats in your spirit.
It resounds throughout space. My feet move in time to that rhythm in the
dance of creation. As I dance, worlds come into being and worlds fall
away. The reverberations of my feet send out vast concentric circles of
life and death like ripples on a still pond. I do it not because it is
my destiny, I do it because it is who I am. Destiny is not as linear as
you would have it, human. Listen to the girl. For her, destiny is not
the why or the what; it is the because. She has already made the
sacrifice. Now it is your turn. Let go."
Picard looked at the young Q, who had remained silent. He returned
Picard's gaze, then said, simply, "Please."
Picard knew when he was outnumbered and outflanked. He had known hours
ago that he would acquiesce, but he was not sure if it was because of
the political advantages, or because he knew he did not have a choice.
Despite his continued reservations, he nodded in agreement.
Fatima embraced the captain. "Thank you for believing in me, and for
giving me the chance to redeem myself."
Resigned to her determination, Picard sighed. "I have given you nothing.
I am only permitting you to take what you will have. Let me warn you,
however, that I have given Beverly explicit instructions to take
whatever measures are necessary to preserve your life." He turned to
Primus. "Primus, I leave her in your hands. What must we do?"
Primus took Fatima's hand and guided her to the biobed where Q lay. "Are
you at peace with your decision?" he asked her.
For a moment she hesitated, leading Picard to think that she had changed
her mind, then she smiled beatifically. "Yes."
"'Once you have been delivered from this cage, your home will be the
rose garden...'" Primus began.
"'...Once you have broken the shell, dying will be like the pearl,'"
Fatima recited after him. Her grandfather had been a devotee of Rumi,
and she knew his writings better than she knew the Qur'an.
"Place your hand over Q's eyes," Primus instructed. As she obeyed, he
switched his stick to the hand closest to her and wrapped her fingers
around it before sliding his own hands over both of hers. "I will catch
you when you fall," he murmured as everything went black.
TBC...
--
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"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