This story is a parody of A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens,
and a Deshanya story, although she doesn't figure as prominently in
it as the others.  If you like the Deshanya stories, they are (in
order) Q-stume Party, All's Fair in Q and War, Q's Pawn, Truth or
Q? (an adult story, which doesn't directly affect any plotlines)
and this one.  This story can be found on my FTP site,
ftp.europa.com, in the directory, /outgoing/mercutio/alt.fan.q/, or
via the WWW at http://www.europa.com/~mercutio/Q.html.


A Qmas Carol, by Mercutio (mercutio@europa.com)


"Captain, we would very much like you to be part of this Christmas
special.  It would be very important to the children," Troi said
earnestly.

Standing next to her, Deshanya nodded earnestly.

Picard didn't budge, even in the face of two of his most persuasive
officers.  "I'm afraid I don't have the time..."

"It won't take much time," Deshanya said wheedingly.  "I've got
everything all set up on the holodeck already.  It's going to be a
great party!  I even managed to get Father Christmas to attend,
although he did have other plans he had to cancel."

Picard looked at the lieutenant, his closed expression showing his
grave misgivings about anything Deshanya might have planned for him
on a holodeck.  After the misadventure with the surprise party
Deshanya had planned, and Q's subsequent arrival, he had no real
desire to enter a holodeck that she'd programmed.  He didn't even
want to know why a hologram should have enough free will to have
other plans.

"I'm sorry, but no."

They watched him go, Troi with a worried look on her face, and
Deshanya openly pouting.  "Now I'm going to have to get someone
else to be Chief Elf.  This is going to be so much trouble."

"Can't you do it?"

"Well, yes," Deshanya said, "of course I *can*, but I really wanted
to watch.  You never can tell what might go wrong with a
complicated program, especially with this many *people* involved. 
Random factors, you know?"

Troi nodded.  Although she didn't really know what the lieutenant
was talking about, the counsellor had been personally involved in
one of Deshanya's programs and seeing one go awry was not an
experience she wanted to repeat.  On the other hand, Deshanya *was*
the best, and Troi expected this to be one of the best Christmas
parties yet.

****

Picard was seated at the conference table.  All around him were the
delegates, the Kinzhi crouching on one side of the table,
uncomfortable with their chairs, the S'Tai on their perches
opposite, and his own officers ranged around the table.  He looked
down at his briefing material one more time.  While the S'Tai had
a legitimate grievance, in that the Kinzhi were hunting and killing
them for food, the Kinzhi also had their own point of dispute,
namely that the S'Tai were trapping them, killing them, skinning
them, and selling the pelts to off-world traders.  While they had
not yet achieved spaceflight on their own, their planet was near
enough to several other spheres of influence, including the Ferengi
and the Orions, that they had already had contact before asking the
Federation to intervene in their particular dispute.  And a thorny
problem it was.  He had all the available facts and conjectures in
front of him to help him arrive at a possible solution, including
statistics on the populations of both races, mating habits,
territorial rights, alternative food sources and even preferred
entertainment choices.  None of it was helping.

"Surely, we can somehow manage to resolve the differences between
us," Picard began, then stopped as he realized he was getting no
reaction at all from his audience.  They didn't even seem to
breathing.  While this was not unusual for Data, it was quite
unusual for the others, especially the S'Tai, who resembled nothing
more than large hummingbirds.

Everyone appeared to be frozen in place, and Picard felt a chill go
down his spine.

And then Jack Frost himself materialized on the conference table,
sprawled out, with a merry grin on his face and a sprig of
mistletoe twirling between his fingers.

"Johnny!"

"Q!  Put everything back the way it was!"

"Demands, demands, demands.  Why is it always demands with you?" 
Before Picard could answer, Q had moved, now sitting cross-legged
in front of Picard, the mistletoe held over the captain's head. 
"Give me a kiss."

Picard batted an impatient hand at Q.  "Stop this nonsense at once. 
I'm in the middle of a very important negotiation, and I don't have
time for this."

Q cocked his head.  "You never have time to play.  Wouldn't let me
serve on your ship, didn't even want to play a friendly game of
chess with me."

"It was Battle Chess!" Picard said in a tightly controlled voice. 
"You were obliterating my crew!"

"Details, details," Q said, flipping a negligent hand.  "They're
all all right now, aren't they?  Aside from Riker, of course, but
then that's your fault for not letting me leave him where I put
him."

"That's immaterial, Q."  Picard considered making an additional
demand for Q to leave, but knew it wouldn't do any good.  The
omnipotent entity would leave when he felt like it and not before
no matter what Picard said.  "What do you want?"

"Exactly what I've already told you, Jean-Luc!  I want you to have
some fun!  Loosen up, live a little!"

"I *am* living," Picard said stiffly.

"You have a pulse, nothing more," Q said flippantly.  "That's not
really living."  Then, with another flash of light, he was standing
behind Picard, bending over him, fingers trailing down the rim of
his ear.  "Have a little *fun* with me, Johnny.  I promise I'll
make it good for you."

"A promise from you is the last thing I'd trust," Picard said, lips
clenched tight.  There was nothing he liked less than this half-
sexual half-power game of control that Q liked to play with him.

****

And then the conference room was gone, and they were standing in
the middle of an indistinct blackness.

Picard turned to look at the being with him.  Q was no longer
garbed as a merry sprite, but instead wore dark long robes all
carefully calculated to make the impression of age and importance.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past," Q intoned solemnly enough, a
hint of dark merriment playing at the back of his eyes.

This all seemed very familiar to the captain, both the words and
the situation he found himself in, although he couldn't place the
reference.  He *knew* he recognized the scenario, *knew* he should
be able to tell what was going to happen, but it was as if the
knowledge had been sealed away from him, as if Q didn't want to
allow any interference in his little game.

"Now what?"

Q didn't answer, not in words.  Instead, he waved his hand, the
lights came up.

Picard recognized the scene immediately.  It was his own childhood,
his family home, and Christmas.  Christmas had always been an
important time for him as a child, and a time full of tradition for
his family.

In one corner of the room stood a towering tree, lit with candles
and decorated with a mixture of ornaments, some which had been in
the family for decades, and some which he and Maman had made
themselves.  Underneath the tree, spilling out onto the rug in the
center of the floor were too many gaily wrapped presents to be
counted.  Across the room was a roaring fire, just beginning to
catch light.

The doors to the room were shut, and something caught in Picard's
throat as he realized exactly what time it was.  "It's Christmas
morning.  The tree was never put up until that night."  He looked
at the closed doors.  "Any moment now, Maman and Papa will be
opening the doors..."

He swiveled to look at Q.  "Is this some sort of cruel joke?  To
take me back to when my parents were still alive and taunt me with
their memory?"

"Oh, it's no joke, Jean-Luc.  That much you can be sure of."

Picard watched the scene unfold.  Robert got the largest number of
gifts.  He always had.  Papa favored him, and it was obvious even
to the grown-up Picard that this was so.

But his younger self was quite happy with what he'd gotten, and
Picard found himself drawn forward, into that happy, endless time
between unwrapping and dinner, when Papa sat in his chair before
the fire and Maman was in the kitchen cooking, and he and Robert
enjoyed the things they'd been given.

He was on his knees, watching the younger version of himself play
with a train set he'd gotten, when suddenly everything vanished
again.

"Damn it, Q," Picard said, more to himself than anything else.  For
a brief moment, he'd forgotten who he was and actually begun to
want to join in his younger self's play.  That is, until they were
rudely interrupted by Q.  Picard didn't see the omnipotent being,
but it didn't matter.  Q was orchestrating this whole event, and he
was no doubt somewhere listening to all of it.  Listening and
laughing.

Part of the blackness detached itself, becoming a shadow, and then
a form.  The robed figure turned towards him, and Picard felt a
brief tremor of fear run through him.  Then he recognized the being
wearing the robe, and all he felt was a sense of resigned
annoyance.  Not again.

"Not you again."

"Oh, come now, Jean-Luc.  I'm hurt.  I'm beginning to think you
don't *like* our little excursion."

"Like?  I've been pulled out of a very important meeting, on the
eve of the most important conference, simply so you can taunt me
with scenes from my youth..."

Q waved his hand impatiently.  "Details, details.  Your little
conference meant nothing.  They were just going to self-destruct
once you were gone.  The Kinzhi are carnivores and the S'Tai an
important source of protein for them.  I seriously doubt even your
vaunted negotiation powers could have done anything about that
situation."

"Alternative food sources could have been found," Picard said,
trying to keep some hold on his patience.  "There's no need anymore
to kill other living beings for food."

"Is that all you see the situation as?" Q asked disdainfully. 
"What a pity.  And I actually thought you had potential.  Well, we
all make mistakes.  On with the show!"

Then there was another flash of light, and they were removed to a
dark space.  A dark space checkered with very familiar looking
glowing yellow lines.

"What's this?" Picard asked Q, as they stood in the empty holodeck.

"This is the present time.  We're a few minutes into that boring
meeting of yours that I rescued you from."

"The meeting was *not* boring."

"Oh, hush, Jean-Luc.  You'll make me miss something."

Lt. Deshanya entered the holodeck, and with a few brief words,
summoned up a beautiful room, all decorated and ready to go for a
party.  Outside the windows, it was snowing hard, but inside, there
was a blazing fire, and room enough for everyone who wanted to
come, gaily decorated pillows placed all over the floor for
seating, and a thronelike chair next to the fire, with the word
"Santa" in scrolled letters.

With another command, Deshanya's own costume appeared, the changes
shimmering into place as her ears suddenly grew pointed, and
herself smaller and more elfin.  Her clothing was replaced with the
semblance of elven garb, green from head to toe, with a bell on the
tip of her jaunty cap, and another on the toe of each pointy shoe.

"This is the Christmas party you were so eager to miss, Jean-Luc,"
Q said, watching Picard rather than the scene unfolding.  "Doesn't
your heart just begin to pound at the sight of this?"

"I have an artificial heart, Q.  It beats at the proper rate."

"There's no need to whisper, Johnny.  She can't hear us."  Q looked
him over.  "No heart.  That explains *so* much about you.  But it's
no excuse really.  Microbrain functions perfectly well without a
single thought ever passing through his head.  I must look into
that phenomena sometime.  See if there's some supernatural cause
for it."

"Q..." Picard said warningly.  "Can we just get on with it?  I
assume there's *some* point for your desire to torture me."

"Point?  I'm merely showing you what's occurring on your own ship. 
A captain should be aware of what happens on his ship, don't you
agree?  Now, be quiet.  They're starting."

Indeed, even while Q and Picard had been talking, the room had been
slowly filling up with children and their parents.  There were more
children than parents, but Deshanya handled them all blithely,
leading the parents to the refreshments, and seating the children
on the floor.

"When will Santa be here?" one girl asked.

Deshanya put a finger to her nose.  "I'm not sure.  He has a *lot*
he has to do, you know.  It's a big universe, and he has a lot of
stops to make."

"No, he doesn't.  There isn't any such thing as Santa," an older
boy said.

"Excuse me, Jean-Luc.  That's my cue."

"Your cue?" Picard asked.  "What the hell is going on here, Q?"

But before he could even get the words out, Q had disappeared.

There was a rattle and a clatter from the roof, and all
conversation hushed, the adults smiling, and the children all
looking up in amazement.

And then Santa Claus, Father Christmas himself, was descending into
the room, having apparently appeared from nowhere at all, floating
down, suspended from a bag of presents held over his head in his
right hand.

"Did I just hear someone say they don't believe in Santa?" the
apparition asked in a deep voice.

Picard covered his eyes.  Despite the costume, despite a voice of
faked jolliness, he knew that person, knew very well exactly who
was playing Santa Claus.  Q.

The boy was visibly impressed.  "Uhh... no, sir."

"Well, that's good, because children who don't believe aren't going
to get any presents."

"Q, that's rank bribery," Picard said, outraged.

But no one appeared to hear him.  Q didn't even look up, sparing
only the briefest of twinkling glances for the hapless captain.

Troi pulled Deshanya off to one side.  "Father Christmas looks an
awful lot like Q.  Was that intentional?"

Deshanya glanced at Q and back at the counsellor.  "Why, you're
right, he does!  How strange."

"I thought you *programmed* this.  That *is* what you programmed,
isn't it?" Troi was starting to get worried.  She couldn't tell
whether "Santa" was a hologram or the real thing.  And the real
thing could prove to be far more than they could handle.

Deshanya cocked her head and appeared to consider the issue.  "I'm
not really sure.  I don't think it matters much.  Maybe I
subliminally wanted Q to be here and made Father Christmas look
like him."

"You don't know?"

"How would I know what I was subliminally thinking?"

Before the counsellor could ask any more questions, Deshanya had
bounced away.  She clapped her hands together as she knelt down
next to Father Christmas, taking a seat on the low stool next to
his chair, the solemn look on her face in direct contrast with the
merriness in her eyes.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Q positively leered at her, at least to Picard's outraged eyes. 
"What a good little elf you are."

Deshanya wriggled delightedly, and Q handed her his bag.  "The list
is somewhere in the bag.  If you're *very* good, and don't take a
peek at anything else, you may find your name somewhere on it."

"A present?  For me?" Deshanya glowed, then unlaced the drawstrings
of the bag.  Inside the huge, red velvet bag, stuffed full with
interesting shapes and bulges, she felt a piece of rolled up
parchment and pulled it out.  Under the approving eyes of Santa
Claus, she unrolled it and began reading.

"Sarah Masters, nice."

To Picard, the scene was precisely like the one that had occurred
during the Farpoint mission.  Q was enthroned on his chair, garbed
in red and black, with white trimming this time, and a short person
was by his side, reading off the charges.  Only this time, children
were the target of Q's little game.  With a sick feeling at the pit
of his stomach, Picard watched the drama unfold.

Sarah, a serious looking eight year old with long dark hair,
squealed happily and jumped forward.

Deshanya held the bag open for Q who pulled out a large doll and
handed it to the girl.  She took the doll, then hugged Q tightly
around one leg.

To Picard's surprise, Q did not push the child away or say anything
derisive.  Instead he smiled, patted her on the head and then
looked at Deshanya for the next name.

Each of the children came forward one by one to receive their
presents, all appearing to be suitably awed to be in the presence
of the real Santa Claus.

Even the older doubters could not fail to believe when they saw
Santa leaving through the chimney, then out on the rooftop of the
house, and driving off in his sleigh.  It was the holodeck, to be
sure, but flying reindeer?

****

And then the scene had vanished again.  Picard was beginning to get
very tired of this.

"What was the point of that, Q?" Picard demanded angrily.  "Are you
trying to show me how it could have been done differently?  If I'd
given in and agreed to go there, it wouldn't have happened like
that.  You wouldn't have been able to resist the opportunity to
badger me."

"Au contraire," Q said, then placed a finger to the side of his
nose.  "Tsk tsk.  Not believing in Santa Claus.  Coal in *your*
stocking this year."

"Just get to the point."

"The point, mon capitaine?"

"The lesson that I'm supposed to be learning.  I know you have one,
so why don't you tell me, and get it over with?"

"No, no, no, no.  That's not the way that this works.  You've only
had two ghosts.  There's one more yet to come."

"Couldn't you just send me a Christmas card?"

Before he could say anything else, they were gone.

****

"The Ghost of Christmas Future," Q intoned solemnly.  He was clad
all in white, as he had been on the occasion when he had welcomed
Picard to the afterlife.  His face was absolutely still, no trace
of mockery written anywhere on it.  He could have been a carved
statue of himself.

Picard didn't say anything.  His first impulse was to demand an
explanation, to find out what point Q was trying to make with this
particular scenario.  But he couldn't bring himself to demand
anything at all of this Q, of this completely godlike incarnation
that made Q's usual formidable appearance seem clownish and clumsy.

A woman entered the room, which Picard now recognized as some sort
of waiting room.  It was Beverly Crusher, but a strangely altered
Beverly, much older, with a tired, dispirited face.

"He's dead."

"Finally?" a man asked.  He was in the prime of his life, and
Picard didn't immediately recognize him, although his features were
familiar.

Beverly barely lifted her head.  "Yes.  I wish you wouldn't put it
that way, though, Wesley.  I loved him."

"He wasn't worth it, and you know it," Wesley Crusher retorted. 
"He never loved you, and he wouldn't have even bothered to marry
you if it hadn't been for that accident with the Nexus that left
him shorebound for three months."

"Wesley, please," Beverly said.

"No, mother, I won't stop.  You have to stop beating yourself up
over him.  It was bad enough when you were embarrassing me and
everyone else by throwing yourself at him.  It was obvious then
that he didn't want you.  While you were spending your time trying
to have cozy little breakfasts with him and providing him with a
homelife, he was off chatting up Vash.  You remember her, don't
you, mother?  I heard all about her.  And how even that didn't make
you open your eyes about what Captain Jean-Luc Picard was *really*
like."

"Wesley, that's enough!" Beverly said sharply, finding enough
energy from somewhere to reprimand her son.

"Is it, mother?" Wesley asked softly, bitterness tingeing his
voice.  "Will anything ever be enough to make you give up on him?"

She shook her head weakly, a very faint negation.  "You don't
understand..."

"I understand just fine.  You wanted children, and he wanted
someone who would keep his life the comfortable cage it had always
been.  Did he ever care what you wanted?  What anyone wanted?"

"He was very devoted to Starfleet..."

"That's not enough to make a life and you know it.  He didn't care
about you at all."

Q had shown him the future once before, when time itself had been
splintered, and Picard had found himself living in three times at
once, the past, the present, and a distant future when he'd been
living on his family's land in France, a victim of Irumodic
syndrome.

But this was a far different future from that, a bleaker one. 
Picard found tears prickling his eyes.  It didn't matter, it
shouldn't matter -- this was just one of Q's games, and this never
really happened, never would happen -- but somehow it did matter.

The scene kept going, mercilessly continuing.

"Even when he left again, as soon as his new ship was ready, you
didn't stop running after him."

The old woman bowed her head.  "I was his Chief Medical Officer and
his wife.  What else could I have done?"

There was a tangible aura of sorrow surrounding her.  Wesley
stepped forward and put his arm around her.  "Nothing.  You
couldn't have done anything to change him.  He was who he was."

She turned into him, resting her head against his shoulder.

"You ruined her life, you know that, don't you, Jean Luc?"

Picard turned towards that quiet voice.  "You stay out of this, Q."

Q held up his hands.  "I'm only trying to help.  I *could* leave
you here, you know.  In this timeline, you're quite, quite dead. 
With no one to mourn you, no one to sing your praises, not even any
children to carry on your name.  It's very sad, really.  That
someone so *concerned* about all the fate of the universe could end
up like *this*."

"At least Beverly cared about me," Picard said, unable to find
anything more coherent to defend himself with.

No sooner was the observation out of his mouth than he saw Beverly
pull away from her son, wiping her eyes.  "You're right, Wesley. 
I've wasted too much of my time grieving over men who left me. 
Let's... let's go celebrate Christmas."

A relieved smile broke out on the young man's face.  "That's my
mother talking."  He put an arm around her waist.  "We can't let
this spoil Christmas for you."

****

And then, before he even had time to process what he'd just seen,
they were elsewhere, and Q's ghostly figure was leading him to a
solitary grave.  A man and his adult son were standing beside it,
and Picard felt a spurt of hope at that.  It was his grave, he knew
that.  Q wouldn't have brought him here for anything else.  But
maybe someone did mourn his passing.

"I don't see why we have to give space to this man.  Who was he
anyway?"

"It's a family obligation," the older man said, his face hard.  "Or
he would have been burned to ashes for all I care."

"He should have been.  Who would have known?"

"*I* would have known.  And my integrity matters to me."

The son nodded, accepting that.  "I still think that someone else
should have taken him."

"There wasn't anyone else.  No one loved this man at all."

And then the two men were walking away, and Picard looked up at Q,
his throat tight.  "What was the point of that?  That I'm
worthless?"

Q didn't answer that, simply waving his hand over the grave,
causing it to open up, leaving a deep hole in the earth.  "It's
time, Jean-Luc."

"Time?  Time for what?"

There was no sound from the silent entity, but Picard felt himself
being pulled forward nevertheless by some invisible force.  With a
sense of horror, he realized what was going to happen, where he was
headed.

Inexorably, he was dragged to the open grave, and then pushed in,
landing hard on his back.  Picard felt something give in his back
and a wave of bright pain.  He couldn't have moved then even if the
force hadn't been holding him down, pinning him into place.

The last thing he saw as the grave slowly began to fill in with
earth were Q's quiet, grave eyes.  "I warned you, Jean-Luc."

And then there was nothing.  Not even the white light he'd seen the
last time he'd died, only black cold nothingness as he was slowly
buried alive.

****

And then he was seated at a conference table.  All around him were
the delegates, the Kinzhi, the S'Tai, and his own officers, staring
back at him, all with identically shocked looks.  He must have said
something, but he didn't know what.

In any case, it didn't matter.  He was alive!  Everything was back
to how it had been, and he had a second chance.

"Mr. Worf, what time is it?"

The Klingon looked slightly puzzled.  "It is..."

Picard held up his hand.  "It doesn't matter.  I'm sure there's
time enough."

"Time enough for what, sir?"

"Why, to make it to the Christmas party, of course."

"Christmas party?  You're going to a Christmas party in the middle
of an important negotiation?" one of the S'Tai delegates inquired
incredulously in her high, fluting voice.

"I'm not only going to a Christmas party, I'm going to have to
change clothes."  Picard looked down at what he was wearing.  "Not
very elf-like, I don't think."

One of the Kinzhi stretched.  "Actually, a break sounds good."  He
looked meaningfully at the S'Tai delegation opposite him.  "I could
use a snack."

The S'Tai were highly agitated now.  "But what are we supposed to
do?  They're going to *eat* us!"

"Decide how you'd like to be served?" one of the Kinzhi suggested.

Picard looked between them.  Nothing could spoil how he felt right
now, how happy he felt to even be alive.  "Oh, yes, that."  He
glanced down at his briefing material again, then back up.  "I feel
that the Federation has no right to interfere in this matter.  Both
of your species are non-space-faring, and as such, we are
contravening the Prime Directive and influencing the development of
your respective races.  Accordingly, we will leave you to your own
devices."

Before either group had time to do anything but trade identically
shocked looks, Picard had stood up and made his way out the door. 
The issue would not be settled *quite* that easily, but the loose
ends could be tied up later.

In the turbolift, Picard found Q leaning against one way, idly
fiddling with the controls.

"Jean Luc, I'm surprised at you.  Condemning those poor innocent
little tweety birds to die?  You couldn't stand the idea of 18 of
your crewmen dying to save your whole *race* from the Borg, and
suddenly you're sentencing other people to death?"

Picard gave the turbolift his deck and was mildly surprised when it
actually moved.  Apparently Q was going to let him attend the
party.  He looked over at him.  "I can't judge other races by human
standards.  The S'tai and the Kinzhi have different modes of
living, ways that more closely relate to the Darwinian concept of
natural selection than any idea I might have about the value of
life.  To impose my standards on them would only hinder their
development."

"What is this, Jean Luc?" Q asked in mock-surprise.  "You're
actually developing moral values?"

"We all have our flaws."  Picard glanced over at Q as the turbolift
stopped and the doors opened.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe
I have a party to attend."

****

Deshanya looked up as Picard entered the holodeck.  All activity
stopped as the captain looked around.  While Father Christmas had
not arrived yet, the children and their families were all there. 
And all keeping a respectful, yet slightly frightened silence.

"Captain?" Deshanya asked tentatively.  "Is there something I can
help you with?"

"Actually there is, Lieutenant."  Picard tried to put on his best
stern-captain-chiding-the-troops face, but the good cheer he felt
underneath kept trying to break through.  "I wanted to talk to you
about this nonsensical party you insist on having?"

"You did?" Deshanya asked, face falling.  His tone left no doubt in
her mind that not only did he *not* want to help, but that he was
going to ruin Christmas for the children by calling the whole thing
off.

"Yes.  Lieutenant, you leave me no alternative -- but to serve as
Head Elf."  The wide smile Picard had been suppressing broke over
his face.  "I don't suppose you have a costume that would fit me,
do you?"

"Yes, I think I might."  Deshanya grinned at him.  "Right this way,
sir.  And may I say, merry Christmas."

"I think that sounds splendid."


-the end-