He was clad, as usual, in his appropriated Starfleet uniform. She was happy that Barkley had found his home and his master, who had obviously missed him terribly. She was much less than happy to see Q again. Even as she regarded him, struggling to keep her emotions down, anger roiled to the forefront.
“I might have known you would have something to do with this,” she snapped. “It’s got your stink all over it. I should have figured it out when Will Riker had nothing but good things to say about you.”
He lifted his hands in mock horror. “Kathryn! You wound me to the quick. Such undeserved slurs!”
“Undeserved?” Janeway let her outrage come unchecked. She strode toward Q and shoved her face up to his. “Those gateways had to be your doing. It’s just the sort of thing you’d get your sick amusement from—opening doors here and there, letting innocent people wander through and get lost. Let me count up all the deaths you’re responsible for. There’s the Ammunii ship—two hundred and ten lives. The Kuluuk, whom you didn’t kill outright but who would most certainly be alive in their own space. That’s four hundred and fifty-seven. There are the all the V’enah and Todanians who—”
“I repeat,” Q said mildly, “you’ve got it all wrong. As you humans usually do. Calm down, dear Kathy, and have a spot of tea.”
Janeway found herself sunk deep in the cushions of a flowery chair which had lace doilies on the arms and over the back. She struggled to extricate herself, realizing as she did so that she was clad in a full-length, constricting dress. It was a yellowish paisley pattern, and she strongly suspected that the thing restricting her breathing was a whale-bone corset.
On a lovely oak table in front of her was a delicious-looking spread of finger sandwiches and pastries.
Q, dressed in what Janeway guessed to be formal Edwardian, poured. “Would you like cream or sugar with your Earl Grey?” Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “Whoops, that’s dear old Jean-Luc. You like coffee, don’t you?”
And so quickly it was dizzying, Janeway was in a cozy nook at a coffee bar of the late twentieth century. She was now sitting on a wooden stool in front of a small, battered table. Soft jazz played in the background and in front of her was a large cup of coffee as black as night and smelling as rich as heaven.
She wanted to toss the steaming contents onto Q’s smirking face, but restrained herself.
“All right,” she said with an effort. “I think I know what happened, what you did, but you’re telling me I’m wrong. So explain to me what really happened. I’m listening.”
Q, dressed in black denim pants and a black turtleneck sweater, and sporting an earring in his left ear, took a sip of his own coffee. “Ah, delicious. I can see why you like it so much. Well, it’s a very long story.”
“My attention span is not,” Janeway warned.
He pursed his lips, made a tsk-tsk sound, and then sighed. “What do you want to hear about first?”
“The gateways.”
“Very well.” Suddenly they were in a child’s nursery. To her consternation, Janeway found herself to be a small child, wearing a frilly pinafore that horrified her. Her mind was the same, but trapped in a six-year-old’s body. Q loomed over her, an enormous book in his hands. Its cover was of tooled leather and bore the title The History of This Universe.
Despite herself, Janeway would have given a lot to have been able to get her hands on that book.
“Once upon a time,” said Q in a singsong voice, “there was a wonderful, remarkable, intelligent, benevolent, superior, humorous, witty, handsome—”
“Q,” said Janeway, her high-pitched six-year-old’s voice nonetheless managing to fully convey the depth of her impatience.
Q sighed. “Now, now, little Kathy, mustn’t interrupt your bedtime story or you’ll not get the answers you want.” He glared at her over the enormous book propped up in his lap. Angrily, Janeway folded her small arms over her chest and sank back into the nursery chair. Q was a nearly omnipotent being. If he didn’t want to tell her something, he wouldn’t. In a very real sense, she was entirely at his mercy. She’d have to let this “story” unfold the way he wanted it to.
“Much better.” A plate full of chocolate-chip cookies and a large glass of milk materialized on the table beside Janeway’s chair. She didn’t touch either.
“As I was saying,” said Q, “once upon a time there was a race known as the Q Continuum. Now, of course, being such omnipotent and benevolent beings, they turned their attention some five hundred thousand years ago toward assisting other races in attaining culture and technology.”
“You’re lying again. That’s a direct violation of what you’ve told us before,” said Janeway. “It was my understanding that in the case of Amanda Rogers, for example, she had to either join the Continuum or forsake her powers.”
“That’s quite true. You may have a cookie.”
One appeared in her hand. Irritated, Janeway tossed it back onto the plate. Warm chocolate clung to her fingers.
“However,” Q continued, “that was a few short, human years ago. And the reason we have adopted this new, improved policy toward inferior species was because things had gone wrong earlier. You’re vaguely able to grasp the wisdom of such strategies yourselves, you Federation types, with your own Prime Directive.”
Janeway nodded. She was starting to get some answers, and she felt herself calming a little. She wiped her chocolate-stained fingers on the pinafore.
“So, there was a very pleasant and promising race called the Iconians.”
“Iconians! The gateways … of course,” breathed Janeway. It all made sense now. She had thought the strange portals had looked familiar, but she hadn’t been thinking in terms of ancient, vanished technology. Therefore, she hadn’t made the connection.
Q sighed heavily. “Kathy, do you want to hear the story or just go right to bed without any supper?”
“Q, please. A favor.” The sound of a child’s voice issuing from her own lips was driving her crazy. “Restore me to my adult image. Your talking down to me this way doesn’t help my listening skills any.”
“All you needed to do was ask,” he said, maddeningly. In a heartbeat, they were on the porch Janeway had glimpsed earlier, both in the surprisingly comfortable rocking chairs. Between them was a small wicker table bearing, as Janeway had guessed, a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses with ice and slices of lemon. Moisture condensed on the metal pitcher and slipped silently down the side.
“No stories. No teasing.” Suddenly Q was wearing a trench coat and a fedora. “Just the facts, ma’am.” Just as suddenly, he was in his Starfleet uniform.
On the lawn in front of them, the little boy—Q’s child, her godson—romped with Barkley/Fluffy. She wanted to hear about him too, but she needed to learn about the Iconian gateways first.
“The facts are these, and they’re very simple. We liked the Iconians. We wanted to help them.”
“We, or you?”
“Oh, I can’t shoulder all the blame for this one,” said Q. “There were others involved. We gave them technology, and they used it for benevolent purposes. Everything was working according to plan. Then, somebody got mad at them.” He sighed. “A feeling I know all too well.”
“So, in the end, their own technology—the technology you gave them—was their destruction,” said Janeway.
“Well,” and he squirmed a little in his rocking chair, “kind of. I’m not supposed to tell you everything.”
“Well, for Heaven’s sake, please at least tell me something!”
Q hesitated, choosing his words with care. “The technology that enabled them to become the fabled ‘Demons of Air and Darkness’ was what caused other civilizations who didn’t understand their technology to become afraid of them. And that led to the downfall of their civilization.”
Janeway wondered what the difference was between “destruction” and “downfall of their civilization.” Then she inhaled swiftly: Q was hinting that the Iconians hadn’t become extinct. That was a choice tidbit of information, but she kept silent about it.
Instead, she asked, “Then why did you give them something so powerful?” In over two hundred thousand years, no known civilization had come close to re-creating the transportation system of the Iconians. She’d reviewed the information Picard had provided, as all Starfleet captains had soon after the incident. What was it Captain Donald Varley had said, on those poignant records? Something about being a Neanderthal looking at a tricorder?
“It wasn’t.” Q sipped his lemonade and watched his son with affection.
“Excuse me?”
“It wasn’t that tremendous a piece of technology.” He shrugged.
“Kathryn, I continue to manifest myself and the Continuum in ways that you can readily comprehend. You keep forgetting that. You think that this”—he waved an elegant hand down his torso—“is the real Q. That this happy, tranquil scene in front of you is the real Continuum. It’s but an illusion. Remember, Kathy, my little q was able to pull planets out of their orbits when he was but a baby.”
He cocked a meaningful eyebrow in the direction of his playful son. Janeway felt suddenly chilled, as if a dark cloud had passed over the sun.
“Do you mean to tell me,” she said, slowly, “that all the Q Continuum gave the Iconians was the most casual piece of technology?”
“Bravo!” Q clapped his hands enthusiastically. Janeway was suddenly dressed in a black robe and wore a mortarboard on her head. The tassel flipped from one side to another as if by unseen hands.
“You graduate at the top of your class!”
At once, the outfit was gone and Q had sobered slightly. “I wouldn’t even go so far as to call it technology, really,” he continued. “That’s too grandiose a term. You’ve got no children of your own—not that you didn’t have the chance, you know—but perhaps you are familiar with some archaic toys with which children of yesteryear used to play.”
Janeway, who in truth had not had much contact with children in her career-oriented life, tried to think. Mobiles. Rattles. Tops. What other old-fashioned toys had yet survived as nostalgia pieces for infants? Kites. No, that was for older children. Blocks.
“Precisely,” said Q. He had, of course, read her thoughts. “When a child plays with blocks,” and he waved his hand to create a few, “he learns how to spell.”
The blocks moved, turned, and spelled out the word “cat.”
“Oops. Sorry. I meant,” and suddenly the word “dog” was spelled out in large carved letters. “That’s your favorite animal, isn’t it?”
Janeway felt almost ill with the revelation. Q was right. By appearing to her as a human, and taking her places like dusty way stations and antebellum mansions, he had undercut the sheer wonder that she would of necessity feel toward beings so much more advanced. The thought that the fantastic gateways of the fabled Iconians, so magnificent and still so incomprehensible and awe-inspiring, were little more than child’s toys to the Q was both frightening and humbling.
“q,” called Q. The boy looked up. “Come here for a moment.” Obediently the boy ran toward the porch, Fluffy/Barkley at his heels.
“Show your aunt Kathy your block trick.”
Little q made a face. “Aw, come on, Dad, that’s baby stuff.”
“I know, I know. But it wasn’t such baby stuff a while ago, was it?”
The boy hung his head. “No,” he admitted. Janeway was alert. What had happened?
“Now, show her your block trick, that’s a good q.”
The boy plopped down on the slatted white boards of the porch. Rolling his eyes, he assembled the blocks—there were seven of them now, Janeway noticed—to form a single word:
GATEWAY.
The hairs at the back of her neck prickled. Right in front of her, an Iconian gateway sprang up. She recognized its beveled interior, like the edge of a mirror, and saw in front of her not blackness, but the bridge of her own ship. Chakotay was seated in her chair, leaning forward, hands clasped. He looked worried and anxious. This was another reason she had not immediately recognized the gateway on the planet to be of Iconian design, when Fluffy/Barkley had first ambled into her life. An Iconian gateway, at least as far as she understood, showed what was on the other side, as it did now with this view of Voyager ’s bridge. The gateway on the planet which opened into the Q Continuum had, both times, revealed nothing. Q had not wanted her to know what she’d be stepping into.
Typical.
“Now put the toys away,” Q instructed. Little q disassembled the blocks and the gateway disappeared. He looked up questioningly at his father, who nodded. The child grinned and bounded back down the steps, to return to playing with his canine friend.
“I’m not sure I understand,” said Janeway, forcing herself to sound calm and in control when she felt anything but. “Your son created these gateways?”
“Only the one. As he told you himself, it’s baby stuff. He’s moved on to other things now.” Q beamed. “Bright little fellow.”
“But the Iconian gateways existed hundreds of thousands of years ago. The technology to operate them has vanished.”
“Very, very few things truly vanish, Kathy,” said Q, and for once she could tell he was being quite serious. “More often, they’re simply lost or forgotten. Sometimes, others come along and find them.”
“So who activated the gateways?”
He rolled his eyes. “Must you know everything? You’re worse than q. Why this, why what, where’s my pet, who activated all the gateways. A little mystery is good for the soul. Besides, I’m not the only one who has the answer to that. The next time you chat with your little Starfleet friends, you might ask them.” He waggled his eyebrows in a meaningful fashion.
Janeway smiled. “All right. I will. They probably will actually answer any questions I might have.”
Q clutched melodramatically at his chest. “You wound me, madam. I thought I did answer most of your questions. All the ones I’m allowed to, anyway.”
“I have more.”
He sighed. “But of course you do.” Janeway didn’t speak at once. She watched the young q child romping happily with the brief-lived creature on the lawn, and felt a pang.
“Fluffy won’t live very long,” she said softly. “Your son is going to get quite the lesson in loss, Q.”
“I know, believe me.” He looked suddenly haunted. “You’ve no conception of how often it’s happened to me.” He turned and beamed at her, chasing away the shadows that had lurked in his eyes. “And yet, I continue to care for you silly mortals.”
“What happened with the one gateway? The one you said little q made?”
“Oh, that. Well, he was playing with his blocks, as I said. He’d already outgrown them, but he still liked traveling places and hasn’t quite mastered this yet.” Q swooped his hands in a flourish. Janeway braced herself for whatever might happen, but nothing did. Apparently, Q was just doing a “for instance.” “So he and Fluffy, as you call him—”
“We also call him Barkley.”
Q stared. “As in that oaf Reginald Barclay?”
Janeway nodded, feeling a smile curve her lips.
“Now that,” said Q, “is truly painful. As I was saying, he and Fluffy would go off exploring together. Once, Fluffy ran through a gateway and wouldn’t come home. Little q kept looking for him, but his skills aren’t yet mature. He’s not allowed to leave the Continuum unsupervised yet, so he asked me to find his pet. I told him that since he was the one who carelessly misplaced Fluffy, he was the one who had to find Fluffy. It was time for him to learn responsibility.”
“Why Q,” said Janeway, only partially teasing, “I’m so proud of you.”
Q beamed. “So am I. Little q left the gateway open in case Fluffy wanted to come home. Of course, Fluffy was in no real danger. His natural life is short enough as it is. I watched over him, making sure he was all right.” He looked at Janeway out of the corner of his eye and an impish grin started to curve his full lips. “I knew he was in very good hands.”
“You keep tempting me with puppies,” said Janeway. “This time it worked. I’ll miss him.”
A thought occurred to her. “You said that neither you nor your son was responsible for all the Iconian gateways opening. But it wouldn’t make sense that so many of them would open in the same area.”
Now Q did look uncomfortable. Alert, Janeway fixed him with her gaze.
“Well,” said Q, squirming a little, “I may have slightly…. modified….where they opened, yes.”
“To what end?”
“For their own good.” He looked at her. “Who better to help lost little lambs than someone who’s been lost herself for a while?”
She softened, and felt sorrow wash over her at the loss of life and, in the end, the loss of hope with the vanished gateways. “I think your trust was misplaced.”
“Oh, I don’t.” He nodded toward the lawn. “Look how well Fluffy came through the ordeal. And think about the Iudka and the Nenlar. They might have destroyed one another, and instead—oh, wait. You don’t know about that yet.”
“The Nenlar? They weren’t killed?” Janeway sat up straight in her chair, hope flooding through her.
Q waved a hand. “All in good time, be patient, Kathy. And the V’enah and the Todanians. It took an extreme situation in order to force Arkathi to show his true colors, and for that feisty Marisha to get herself together enough to throw off the shackles of slavery. Do you think that would have happened if they hadn’t been separated from their homeworld? Not a chance! Not to mention the Ones Who Will Not Be Named.” He sniffed a little. “Pompous term. I know their name. They’ve been around for quite some time and I have never seem them interact so deeply with another species. It was quite touching to see, really.”
Janeway didn’t respond. All she could think of were the failures. They were so tragic, they loomed large in her imagination. Especially the thought of the Kuluuk, knowing the last emotion they experienced was fear caused by someone they ought to have been able to trust.
“You did more good than harm, Kathy,” said Q in a surprisingly gentle voice. “As you always do. And you took very good care of my son’s beloved pet.” He was suddenly serious. “I’d like to do something to thank you for that. Name your favor.”
Janeway didn’t have to think twice. “Send the others home,” she said. “They’ve only been away a brief while. They’ve been through so much; they deserve to get home to their loved ones as quickly as possible.”
“Well, that’s easy enough for me to do,” said Q. He leaned over toward her and said in a conspiratorial tone of voice, “But can’t I tempt their team leader into the same journey?”
Smiling, Janeway leaned over her own chair arm in return until their faces were almost touching.
“We’ve been down this road before,” she said. “I’ll take no favors from you, Q. Who knows what strings they’ll have attached to them?”
Q looked offended, but she pressed on quickly. “We’ve come so far, we mortals. On just our own courage and ingenuity and good, old-fashioned hope. You yourself know that we’re in contact with Starfleet, and that doesn’t look like that’s going to stop. I want us to get home on our own, and I think we’re going to do it. Don’t take that victory from us, Q. Not when we’ve worked so hard, come so far.”
Q said nothing.
“Besides,” she added, looking at him intently, “I’ve got a feeling that we were meant to be here, somehow. That this was the journey my crew and I were supposed to be on, even though we didn’t know it. Look at how many people we have helped, the good we have done. You yourself steered little lost lambs to us for help and guidance. Don’t you, who know so much, agree that Voyager has a purpose being here in the Delta Quadrant all these years?”
“Ah, ah,” remonstrated Q with a twinkle in his eye. “That would be telling.”
Janeway’s smile broadened. She had her answer.
Suddenly little q was standing beside her. He cradled Fluffy/Barkley in his arms. “I have something for you. Your ball rolled into our yard.”
Suddenly Janeway was holding the small probe she had tossed through the gateway, what seemed like an eternity ago. She couldn’t help but smile as she turned the small orb over in her hands.
“Thank you for finding my dog for me, Aunt Kathy, and for bringing him safely home.”
The last four words made her eyes sting. Gently, Janeway reached out and patted Barkley/Fluffy’s furry head for the last time.
“You’re welcome. He’s a good dog. And I know he missed you, q.”
She took a long, searching look at her godson. Considering who his parents were, he had an interesting lack of arrogance about him. The boy, if such he could truly be called, had an open, sweet face. The smile was genuine, and the love in his eyes for the innocent, mortal creature was palpable.
She gazed a final time at her surroundings. Q had brought her to a dusty, stagnant way station, and a war-torn battlefield. She liked this view of the Continuum, a nurturing place with images of serenity and comfort, much better. If this was the direction in which the Q were truly headed, then there might be a whole new age of enlightenment for the galaxy.
“The galaxy? Pshaw,” said Q, reading her thoughts again. “Try the universe. Or three or four of them.” But his arrogant boast was tempered by a look of real affection in his bright, sparkling brown eyes.
“Farewell, my wild, sweet Kathy. We’ll meet again.”
Janeway found herself standing outside the gateway, once again on the tranquil, uninhabited class-M planet. Even as she turned to see if she could glimpse the Continuum through the open door, it disappeared.
“Captain? Were you unsuccessful?” Tuvok’s voice had more than a touch of concern in it.
She took a deep breath and mentally returned to the here and now. “On the contrary, Tuvok. Janeway to Chakotay.”
“Captain?” Chakotay’s voice sounded puzzled. “What happened? Were you somehow unable to get through the gateway?”
“I’ve come and gone,” she replied.
“But you just….never mind. So, what was on the other side?”
Janeway debated telling him, then decided to keep this trip to the Continuum to herself. It really didn’t involve the rest of the crew, and sometimes, silence was the best option.
“Fluffy’s home.” She gave Tuvok a mysterious smile. “Tuvok and I are ready to beam up, Commander. And I have some good news. I think the other ships in the caravan are going home.”