Only Human An ST:TNG Alternate Universe Novel by Alara Rogers ONLY HUMAN is a work in progress, and it's very, very long. I have broken Part I (I think there will be six parts, total) into 10 subsections for ease of posting, and ease of other people reading; Part I is over 300 K, so I've broken it into sections of between 10 and 60 K so no one's newsreader vomits. These sections are done with some eye to logical breaking points, such as major scene changes, but the story was not originally written with the need for breaking points in mind. The separate subsections do not have individual titles; the chapter name for Part I, total, is "Starbase 56/Enterprise". This is, as yet, something of a draft-- if I find it necessary to revise based on what happens in parts IV-VI, or however many I end up writing, I will do so. The most recent version is available from various archive sites. Check out: ftp://ftp.netcom.com/pub/al/aleph/trek ftp://ftp.europa.com/outgoing/mercutio/alt.fan.q ftp://aviary.share.net/pub/startrek/incomplete (though maybe I will move it from incomplete, if I can figure out whether it belongs in TNG or other) http://www.europa.com/~mercutio/Q.html http://aviary.share.net/~alara http://www1.mhv.net/~alara/ohtree.html ONLY HUMAN is an Aleph Press production, not-for-profit, and not intended to infringe on anybody's copyrights. The universe, the Enterprise crew, and the main character were created by Paramount; most of the secondary characters were created by me, with the exception of yet more Paramount characters and some other people who know who they are. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is probably intentional. Send comments, criticism, praise and flames to aleph@netcom.com. Or post your comments here-- I have a very thick skin. Only Human Part I: Starbase 56/Enterprise Commodore Anderson was fond of saying that Starbase 56 was where masochists who enjoyed headaches got themselves stationed. It was true for any of the base's crew, and doubly so for Anderson herself. There were times when she honestly enjoyed her command here, and the challenges that Starbase 56's unique occupant brought with him. Times when she did not kick herself and wonder why she hadn't accepted the promotion to an admiral- ship on Earth. Times when she felt as if being in command of Starbase 56 was the next best thing to captaining a starship, or perhaps even better. Now was not one of those times. She felt the headache coming on, worse than usual, as Lieutenant Veloz's voice came over her comm badge. "Commodore. We have a situation." No need to ask who the author of the "situation" was. "What's he done this time?" Anderson sighed. "He's refusing to see the Klingon delegation, sir. Says that they're far too primitive and underevolved to understand anything he might try to teach them." A particularly sore nerve throbbed behind her left eye. "He said this in front of the Klingons, of course." "Of course, sir," Veloz agreed. "Have the Klingons been restrained?" "The Klingons have shown remarkable forbearance. They merely offered to rip out his spine and strangle him with it." "What did *he* say?" "He just laughed, sir." "Tell him *I'll* rip out his spine and strangle him with it." Anderson amused herself a moment by vividly imagining herself doing just that. "That wouldn't be very good for your blood pressure, sir," Veloz answered dryly. She took a deep breath. "Right. Belay that last order, Lieutenant. I'll be right down." Six years ago, the Galaxy-class starship Enterprise, under the command of Captain Jean-Luc Picard, had made first contact with an immortal, omnipotent and extremely arrogant entity called Q, who had put the starship's crew on trial for humanity's crimes. Picard and his crew had managed to persuade Q to rescind his death sentence, but in the process had unfortunately piqued Q's interest. The obnoxious entity had returned several times to torment the Enterprise crew, usually claiming to be acting in the name of his race, the Q Continuum. It had been difficult for Starfleet analysts to understand why such a vastly powerful and advanced race would send-- or even have-- such a petulant, immature emissary. As it turned out, Starfleet analysts had been right to question. Three years ago, the Q entity had turned up on the Enterprise for the last time, claiming that his race had stripped him of his powers and transformed him into a mortal to punish him for misusing his abilities. He had indeed proven to be indistinguishable from human by any scan known to Federation technology, and in possession of no more power than any human had. It had been decided that he would be relocated to a starbase, where he would give Federation scientists the benefits of his millions of years of accumulated knowledge in exchange for protection from various enemies he'd made in his years as an omnipotent bully. That was when Anderson's headaches began. When she'd first been offered the assignment, she'd jumped at the chance. Q represented vast untapped potential for knowledge and exploration. If she had to be confined to a starbase-- and since her spinal injury, it was either a starbase or an Earthbound desk-- she was eager to have it be a starbase that would be a magnet for the Federation's best and brightest. The thought of fighting off numerous aliens bent on revenge hadn't frightened her; she had commanded a starship on the border patrol for the Romulan Neutral Zone, once, and had a great deal of tactical experience. But a chance to talk with an entity who *knew* all the secrets of the universe, and had promised to reveal them in exchange for protection, had excited her almost as much as the prospect of commanding a starship had, once. Then she'd actually *met* Q. He had, in ten minutes, insulted her intelligence, implied that her people were incompe- tent, started calling her by her first name, and made outrageous demands for his living quarters, as well as complaining about the decor, the ambient temperature of the starbase, and the clothing patterns programmed into his personal uniform replicator. Her headache had never entirely gone away since. And that was before she had to start dealing with the scientists who came to see Q and thought she had some control over his obnoxious behavior. Or with the men and women under her command, who were loyal to a fault, but pushed to the limits of human tolerance by Q's remarkable ability to find and exploit weak points. Anderson lived with the nightmare that she would discover Q dead in his quarters one day, murdered by someone he'd pushed too far, and that she would have to prosecute the poor bastard instead of handing him the medal he'd deserve. The Klingon delegation accosted her on her way to Q's quarters. "Commodore! A word with you!" one said. She tried to remember who this one was. Dr. Morakh, that was it. The head of the Klingon Physics Institute, and the unofficial leader of this delegation of scientists. "Dr. Morakh. I'm sorry about--" "We have waited for six months for an opportunity to speak to this creature about physics. Not to be insulted by him." "It isn't you, Doctor. He does this to everyone." "He has agreed to see any allies of the Federation in exchange for his protection. If he refuses to carry out his end of the bargain, I would recommend that the Klingon High Command pressure the Federation into withdrawing that protection, and I would encourage other races to do likewise." "He *will* talk to you, Dr. Morakh. I promise. I haven't used up my bag of tricks." "I sincerely hope so." "Give us five minutes alone with him," one of the other Klingons suggested, in a tone that promised death. "He will talk to us then." "I'm afraid I couldn't allow that, as tempting as it sounds. He's too valuable to harm--" "Oh, we wouldn't *harm* him," the scientist said, smiling ferally. "It would be dishonorable to harm such a weak, unarmed opponent." "But you wouldn't have to tell him that, would you?" Anderson murmured. "Very tempting, doctor, but no. Frightening the living daylights out of him might get him to talk, but he won't say anything useful if he's that scared. He'll just whine a lot. No, if you'd all just hang on for an hour or so, I promise you he'll see you." "We will wait one hour. No more," Morakh said. Anderson nodded, and headed down the corridor past them. Q was waiting in the foyer of his suite, with Lieutenant Veloz. Obviously he'd expected her, or he'd still be in the suite proper. With a bright smile, he said, "Commodore Anderson! Come to slum in the gulag with us poor wage slaves?" When Anderson was feeling sympathetic, she could see how miserable Q was by the ravages time had played on him. Three years seemed to have aged him ten. He was thin and drawn, losing his hair (which he mockingly claimed was because he wanted to be just like his idol Picard), and generally looked like hell. Right now, however, she was feeling anything but sympathetic, and the only thing she noticed about his appearance was his smug smile. "What right did you have to refuse those Klingons, Q?" she demanded. Q leaned back in his chair, looking bored. "I already explained my reasons. They simply aren't advanced enough to benefit from my knowledge." "Q--" "There's an old Earth saying that applies to this situation perfectly. It goes something like this: 'Don't try to teach physics to a gorilla. It only wastes your time and annoys the gorilla.'" "These particular 'gorillas' have wasted a great deal of time getting to see you. They're going to be a lot more annoyed if you *don't* teach them." "It's hardly my fault how evolutionarily unprepared they are." He sat up straight and looked at Anderson with an expression that would have been sincere on anyone else. "Don't get me wrong. Klingons are great if you need beings to beat their mighty thews and charge in where angels fear to tread. All of their evolution has been aimed at making the perfect warriors: strong, tough, violent and unimaginative. Marvelous killing machines, but they're not much on the higher brain functions. I mean, they make you humans look positively advanced, and that's really saying quite a bit." "Q, your bigotry is not the issue here. The issue--" "Oh, I wouldn't call it 'bigotry', Eleanor." Anderson did not quite clench her teeth. Q used her first name quite deliberately when he wanted to annoy her. "'Bigotry' implies an irrational, unreasoning prejudice. I did quite a bit of research on the Klingons back when I was omniscient, and I'd say I remember a significant portion of it. I speak of facts, not blind bias." "Regardless of what you want to call it, those Klingons want to talk to you. It's completely irrelevant whether you think they're capable of understanding you or not. These are Klingon scientists--" "Now there's an oxymoron if I ever heard one," Q muttered. "--in good standing, the brightest of their race--" "Which is rather like saying 'the best-looking Ferengi'." Anderson ignored him. "--and they want to talk to you. By your agreement with Starfleet, you are bound to talk to anyone Starfleet invites to talk to you." "And if I don't? What will you do? Throw me to the wolves?" "Quite frankly, Q, nothing would give me greater joy right now than to toss you out the nearest airlock." He was completely unfazed by the comment. Either he was positive she wouldn't do it-- which was true enough-- or he simply didn't much care anymore. "Perhaps it would. But you can hardly afford to indulge such fantasies, now can you? I may be the most valuable commodity your precious Federation currently has. You would have lost to the Borg two years ago if not for the information I gave your tacticians and scientists. You wouldn't dare rescind my protection without a *much* better reason than a few disgruntled Klingons." Anderson sighed. "I suppose you're right. If you refuse to talk to a few scientists, there really isn't much we can do about it." "I'm glad you see it my way," Q said, surprised. He was obviously waiting for the other shoe to drop, so Anderson obligingly dropped it. She turned to Lieutenant Veloz. "Confine Q to his quarters, without computer access, until he agrees to see the Klingons." Q shook his head. "Oh, no. Not this again. I'm not falling for it this time." "'Falling for this'? This isn't a bluff, Q." Anderson stood. "Lieutenant--" Veloz nodded and took Q's arm, pulling him to his feet. Q yanked his arm free. "You can't do this." "I just did." "You know perfectly well what confinement without computer access would do to me. My life is tedious enough as it is. You'd make it utterly unbearable." "I suggest you decide which you find more unbearable-- boredom or talking to Klingons." "You don't know what you're setting in motion, Eleanor," he warned. "How many times are you going to pull the same trick? It's gotten very tiresome, you know." "So has your obstructionist behavior. It's my job to make sure the people under my command do their jobs-- and that means you. Now make up your mind. Will you talk to the Klingons, or spend a few weeks staring at the ceiling?" Q stared at her for several seconds, his expression unreadable. Finally he sighed with excessive boredom. "If it's so important to you, I'll talk to your precious Klingons," he said. "Though I can't guarantee they'll get anything out of it." "I thought you'd see reason," Anderson said approvingly. She turned to Veloz. "Monitor the conversation. If you think he's being deliberately dense, get Commander Sekal to sit in, and if Sekal thinks he's being deliberately dense, lock him away." "Yes, sir," Veloz said, with enthusiasm. No doubt the opportunity to lock Q up was one the crew looked forward to eagerly. Commander Sekal, the head of Starbase 56's Science Division, was one of the few people who could tell the difference between Q genuinely having a hard time expressing a concept in terms his audience could understand, and Q being deliberately obscure. In addition, as a Vulcan he was less vulnerable to Q's unpleasantness than most, and thus could deal with Q even at the entity's worst without losing his temper as most of the humans on the base would. Anderson found him rather cold and aloof personally, as she found most Vulcans, but she felt she owed her sanity to him. "So how did it go?" she asked. "It was less unpleasant than I'd have conjectured," Sekal replied, his hands folded neatly in his lap. "Initially he was offensive and obstructionist. When Lieutenant Veloz and I reminded him that he was in danger of losing computer privileges, he claimed that he no longer cared, and that he didn't 'have to put up with any of this'. Lieutenant Veloz proposed that we might leave him with the Klingons for a few minutes, to which he replied that he couldn't care less. At this point, I suggested that if he were truly so apathetic, perhaps he should enter sickbay for a few weeks of observation. That seemed to be effective-- he made a few outraged protests, but calmed down quickly and behaved reasonably afterward." "Reasonably?" Anderson asked. "As reasonably as one can expect, from Q. Commodore, I think there may be reason for concern." "About what?" "Frankly, Q seemed to give in too easily. He calmed down too quickly-- as if he no longer cared enough to press the issue, which would be unusual for him. I am hardly an expert on human emotions, or Q's emotions for that matter, but I was left with the distinct impression that he is more depressed than usual." Anderson sighed. "He's always depressed. And he's always taking it out on the rest of us." "I have reason to believe it has been steadily getting worse." "I'll have Counselor Medellin talk to him." "That might be a wise idea." As Sekal left, Anderson checked on Medellin. The counselor was off-shift right now, relaxing in the rocketball court. It would be a shame to drag her away from her free time to have her talk to Q-- besides, Q was always depressed. It could wait until tomorrow. She took a deep breath. In an hour or so, she would get to go off-shift herself, at least if no emergencies came up. The day's paperwork was done, the Klingons had left reasonably satisfied, and there were no visitors scheduled for another week or so. Her head didn't even hurt overmuch. Finally, she had time to read her mail and the Starfleet newsbriefs. Halfway through the newsbriefs, she paused over one item. A query to the main newsbase delivered no more information about the notice than the newsbrief had contained. She stared at the brief for several seconds, trying to decide whether Q's right to hear this outweighed her desire to not deal with him right now. Eventually, she sighed and stood up. Q was in his suite, sprawled on cushions on the floor and listening to music as he read. He put down the viewer as Anderson entered. "What is it now?" he asked, annoyed. "I was nice to your Klingons." "This isn't about that. I just got some information I thought you might want to know." "Really." Q sat up. "Enlighten me." "I'm afraid that Captain Picard is dead." Q blinked. "You have an interesting definition of 'want to know', Commodore," he said. "I needed to hear this? I needed to be any more depressed than I already am?" "Forgive me if I've intruded on your vast self-pity," Anderson said sarcastically, "but I thought you had the right to know." She started to turn toward the door. "How did it happen?" Q demanded. Anderson turned back. "It didn't say. Just that he died in the line of duty." "It was probably something stupid," Q muttered. "Something unworthy of him. He should have taken me up on my offer when I wanted to join his crew, when I still had my powers. I could have protected him..." "I don't think he wanted your protection." "Foolish of him. Now he's dead." Q looked away. "Funny. Ever since the incident with the Calamarain, I've thought Jean-Luc would probably outlive me. Silly of me, I suppose... he's been out there in the middle of nowhere, with no protection, while I have an entire starbase dedicated to protecting me... I can't imagine him dead, you know that? It's not as if I haven't seen mortals die before. I've outlived thousands of beings I knew, before. But it comes as a surprise, this time, somehow..." "I'm sorry," Anderson said. Just when she thought it was safe to despise Q, he showed some signs of having feelings other than his constant self-pity. He looked at her. "Commodore, I don't often make personal requests..." He made them all the time, actually-- but no, she knew what he meant. He almost never made requests of any emotional significance. "Go on." "I'd rather not see any visitors for the next few days, if it's possible." "I understand." Since he had no visitors scheduled, it wouldn't be difficult to grant him that much. "I think it can be arranged." After she left, Q walked into the bedroom proper, over to his chest of drawers. He pulled open the top drawer and lifted out a bottle of etching solution. For a minute or so he studied it. "When I make a decision, you'll be the first to know," he told it, and put it back in the drawer.