Only Human by Alara Rogers Part III: Yamato With minor revisions to the parts posted before, here is all of Only Human Chapter III. Paramount owns Q and the universe; I own the original characters. No copyright infringement is intended. Not to be sold for profit. ONLY HUMAN (for those who haven't caught the story thus far) is an alternate universe, based on the premise that Q lost his powers for good in "Deja Q." In exchange for protection, he offered the Federation the benefit of his advanced knowledge, and was transferred to Starbase 56. Three years later, miserable beyond endurance, Q attempted to kill himself. Dr. T'Laren, Vulcan xenopsychologist and former Starfleet counselor, turned up at this point, claiming that Starfleet had hired her as Q's therapist. In fact, it turned out that she was really hired by the Q Continuum, in the person of the Q who got Q thrown out, whom T'Laren refers to as Lhoviri. T'Laren persuaded Q to accept her help and allow her to counsel him through his depression. To that end, they left Starbase 56 on T'Laren's ship Ketaya-- a gift from Lhoviri, with some surprising capabilities-- and headed for the starship Yamato, which was currently hosting a physics conference. Over the course of the past weeks of travel, Q has come to trust T'Laren, more or less, though they've had some knock-down-drag-out fights in the process. At the end of Part II, Q decided that he no longer wanted to die. Part III details 's adventures at the scientific conference aboard the Yamato, T'Laren's problems as her somewhat shady past comes back to haunt her in the forms of her young sister-in-law and her former lover, and the ups and downs of Q and T'Laren's relations with one another. Section 14 also deals explicitly with sexual themes, though I consider it suitable for teens and mature Congresspersons (like Patrick Leahy, who opposed the CDA.) Note that elements of this chapter and previous ones contradict the Voyager episode "The Q and the Grey." I remain convinced that my version of the Continuum is more interesting than the vision we were presented with in that episode, and so I have not revised to fit that episode, as it's too stupid to be canon. :-) Parts I - III are all available at the following sites: FTP: ftp://ftp.netcom.com/pub/al/aleph/trek ftp://ftp.europa.com/outgoing/mercutio/alt.fan.q ftp://aviary.share.net/pub/startrek/tng Web: http://www.europa.com/~mercutio/Q.html http://aviary.share.net/~alara http://www1.mhv.net/~alara/ohtree.html Send comments to aleph@netcom.com. * * * As they entered Ten-Forward, Sovaz left them, running off to nursemaid another set of VIPs. T'Laren wondered whose brilliant idea it was to put the girl in charge of liaison duties-- it was not always a good idea to leave Sovaz in charge of fastening her own uniform properly, let alone playing diplomat to an entire conference full of undoubtedly pompous and arrogant people. For just a moment, T'Laren wished for her Starfleet rank back-- counselors from other ships in the fleet had a great deal more business asking a commanding officer why he was placing a subordinate in a completely inappropriate position than civilian psychologists had. But she pushed the thought away-- it was not her place to worry about Sovaz anymore. Obviously Sovaz had learned to take care of herself-- she had been promoted, hadn't she? She no longer needed an older sister to watch over her-- and if she did, she was in trouble, because she didn't have one anymore. T'Laren hadn't the time to worry about anyone but Q. The object of her worries was standing a few feet in from the door, peering about through the multi-species gathering as if trying to decide who it would be most entertaining to inflict his presence on first. The decision was taken out of his hands, however, by a voice from the left. "I *know* you, don't I?" T'Laren turned. For a second, she didn't recognize the man; she wasn't expecting to see anyone else she knew, and if she had been, she'd have expected to see someone from her past, before Q. She certainly didn't expect to see someone from Starbase 56. So it took a second or two to realize that she knew the lieutenant in a blue dress uniform, and another second to recognize him as Harry Roth. "You could be right," Q said. "You look vaguely familiar. It's entirely possible that we've met." "I'm sure of it," Roth said firmly. "I'd never forget a face like yours. I *just* can't place your *name*." "It's such a difficult name to remember," Q murmured. He put on a show of thinking about it. "No, I can't remember your name either. I'm drawing a complete blank." "Don't you hate when that happens?" T'Laren watched with some bemusement. She had never seen the two of them interacting; she had only Roth's word for it that they had any better a relationship than Q'd had with anyone on Starbase 56, and Q himself had seemed to contradict Roth. This, however, seemed like the kind of banter one would see between actual friends. "Tremendously," Q said. "It ruins my entire week." He frowned. "Perhaps if I knew where you were last stationed, that might provide a clue." "Hmm... I was last stationed on... that's right, it was Starbase 56." "Well, now! I've spent the past three years on Starbase 56." "So have I! What a coincidence! You think that's where we met?" "It seems likely." Q pretended to think again. "I'm sure I could remember. It's just that your face is so nondescript. Perhaps another clue...?" Behind T'Laren, Tris's voice murmured, "These two know each other, I take it?" "Rather well, I think," she murmured back. "Exactly *how* well is rather well?" Remembering Tris, and the way his mind worked, it was obvious what he meant. "Not *that* well, I believe." Roth snapped his fingers. "No, I remember you now! You're K, aren't you?" "One down, twenty-five to go," Q said. "You're seeming a bit more familiar yourself-- is it... Harold Godfrey?" Roth shuddered dramatically. "Not even in jest, Q," he said. T'Laren presumed Harold Godfrey was a private joke of some sort. Q smiled broadly. "Oh, *Harry!*" He grabbed Roth's shoulder and hugged him in a parody of friendliness. "How've you *been?*" T'Laren raised an eyebrow. Q released Roth before the other man made any attempt to get free. "Can't complain," Roth said. "And you? You look much better." "I'd better. Considering what I looked like the last time you saw me." Q jerked a thumb at T'Laren. "This creature's been making me exercise." "Is that true?" Roth demanded, wide-eyed. "Have you actually forced this poor being to engage in strenuous physical activity?" "Vulcans cannot lie," T'Laren said, deadpan. "I admit it." "How shocking! How astounding! I salute you, dear lady-- you've done the impossible." Roth turned to Tris. "This is the most astonishing Vulcan I've met, did you know?" "We've met before," Tris said calmly. "T'Laren's got a number of astonishing talents." There was no way Roth, of all people, would miss that one. T'Laren resisted the temptation to glare at Tris, and kept her face impassive as Roth raised both eyebrows. "Is that so?" "Are you having fun without me, Harry?" a woman asked. "It's against Starfleet regs." The newcomer was an apparently human woman, a lieutenant commander in blue with dusky skin and long black hair. "Commander Dhawan, what a delight!" Roth said. "Q, T'Laren, this is Shahrazad Dhawan, chief science officer on this lovely ship. Commander, this is Q--" "We've met," Dhawan said flatly. T'Laren gathered the distinct impression that if she'd realized Roth was talking to Q, she wouldn't have come over. "Have we?" Q asked. "I can't say I remember... though, of course, I've met so many petty little science people." Before Dhawan could react, Roth charged in. "And this is Dr. T'Laren, his psychologist. Dr. T'Laren is the most astonishing Vulcan, Commander. Not only does she tell jokes, but she actually managed to get Q to exercise." He glanced at Q slyly. "I'll be polite and keep from speculating on what sort of exercise program, exactly." Q smiled cheerily. "Good for you. Because if you did, I'd have to say something vicious and scathing, and we'd all prefer to remain civilized at a gathering of the Federation's finest minds. Which reminds me, Harry, what *are* you doing here?" Roth laughed. "Still with the same wit and charm as ever, I see," he said. "Believe it or not, I am in fact one of the Federation's finest minds." With a tragically horrified expression, Q said, "I had no idea things had gotten so bad." "Oh, ha," Roth said. "Truly, think about it." He spoke as if reciting to a concert hall. "Bright Jove, radiant as a thousand moons, pales next to the blaze of the sun." "Oh, nicely said." In a voice pitched for Vulcan ears only, Tris said, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but are those two flirting, or what?" "Or what passes for it," T'Laren murmured back. "After all, consider who I had for a teacher," Roth was saying. "You have a point." Q turned to the other three. "I taught Harry everything he knows." "It's true," Roth nodded. He glanced sideways at Q. "Now, if only he would let me teach him everything *I* know..." "Can I break up this mutual admiration society here?" Dhawan asked, at exactly the wrong point-- T'Laren would have loved to see how Q would respond to such a blatantly flirtatious overture. "I don't see why," Q said. "*I'm* having fun." "You can stand here and trade double entendres with Harry all night for all I care. But the captain would like to meet you at some point." "Oh, the mysterious Captain Okita finally deigns to grace me with his presence?" "Now, Q, let's try not to be a complete ass, shall we?" Roth said. "Though admittedly you do it so well." Q shrugged. "When one has a talent as well-developed as mine, it seems a shame to waste it." "Use it on someone other than Commander Dhawan, then. She's been known to pull knives on Klingons." "Really." Q turned to Dhawan. "Should I be frightened?" Dhawan smiled ferally. "You're not a Klingon." She let a beat pass. "I wouldn't waste a knife on you." "I think a good kick in the butt would do the job, myself," Tris said. "If you think it's necessary, Shara, I hereby volunteer." "You think I can't fight my own battles, Tris?" Dhawan asked cheerfully. "Hardly. I think Derek would have a fit if a human officer attacked one of the guests, though. Whereas I'm a crazy Bajoran, so I can get away with it. Besides, it's always best to pick on someone your own size." T'Laren blinked. That had to be another Tris-ism. "Tris, what does size have to do with it? Commander Dhawan is much smaller than Q." From Tris's expression, she realized she had just played straight woman for him again. "Exactly. It'd be a terribly unfair fight. Everyone knows a short vicious woman can kick a tall man's butt from here to Romulus, and if he tries to defend himself physically everyone jumps on him for hitting a small woman. Whereas *I* can kick Q's butt from here to Romulus, and no one would criticize him for trying to fight back." He beamed at Q. "See, this is Starfleet. It's very important for us to fight fair." "Are you both truly complete psychopathic savages, or is this an act you're putting on for my benefit?" Q asked. "In Tris's case it's an act," T'Laren said. "He may consider a beating to be highly therapeutic for you, but he won't actually administer one without a prescription. I would watch Commander Dhawan if I were you, however. She seems formidable." "Thank you," Dhawan said. She turned to Q. "I don't want you on my ship." "The very soul of diplomacy. I can see why they got a Vulcan child to do your job." "I don't believe in beating around the bush. I don't want *any* of you on my ship. I'm perfectly capable of analyzing the singularity myself, and I don't need every physicist in the Federation second- guessing me. And I consider you personally to be highly overrated." "Really." "Yes, really. If you're so brilliant, if you're bending over backwards to help out us mere mortals, why are we still limited to warp? Why haven't you given us the secret of teleportation, or something?" "Because," Q said, as if talking to a very small child, "the way I know how to teleport is to travel to the Q Continuum, then back out to the mundane universe. And I really don't think that sending a pack of teleporting savages to go romping through my old hometown will endear me any to the folks sitting on my parole board. Not to mention that you'd consume the power of an entire sun every time you did it, and the stress of channeling such energy would derange your petty little minds. Does the name Gary Mitchell ring a bell?" It didn't, actually. It didn't seem to enlighten Dhawan, either. "It was an example, Q. Surely a superior being like yourself can think of *something* we mere mortals are capable of." "Certainly. But being capable of something and being ready to do it are two entirely different things. As I understand it, human children are capable of reproducing themselves when they're twelve. No one suggests it would be a good idea for them to do so, however. If I gave you a dramatic advance in theoretical understanding, enough to support something like, oh, say, a working transwarp drive, it would disrupt the balance of power in your little area of the galaxy. I trust the Federation more than the Romulans or Cardassians; I do *not*, however, trust them with dramatic increases of power. And I find it very interesting that you, a member of an organization whose Prime Directive is not to contaminate less advanced cultures with technology they're not ready for, should think less of a member of a more advanced culture for holding back what he knows." "He's got you, Shara," Tris said. "Of course, I always thought the Prime Directive was arrogant and patronizing, myself." "No problem," Roth said. "Q will cheerily admit to being arrogant and patronizing, I'm sure." T'Laren raised an eyebrow. "Harry, if this is how you treat people you like, I'd hate to see your behavior toward one you hated." "I never said I *liked* Q, Doctor. I said I could tolerate him." "You love me, Harry. Admit it. You were the secret admirer sending the boxes of chocolate to my room." "Couldn't have been. Maybe that was Nian, trying to cheer you up. I send my secret admirees things like black silk briefs." Roth paused a second, as if thinking. "You suppose it could have been Amy?" Q grimaced. "Oh, *please*." A man in an antigrav-chair floated up behind Q. He was a stick figure, skin and bones, limply lolling in the chair; his head was connected to the chair by implants at his temples, which touched against two bars coming out from the chair. The contraption seemed to be all that was holding his head in place. "I see you're still winning friends and influencing people," his chair said in the same kind of slightly flat voice the subvocalizer Q had used during his hospitalization produced. It would have sounded normal at first if T'Laren hadn't known it to be coming from a chair. Q turned. "Daedalus!" he exclaimed. "What a delight! Though I must admit it doesn't come as a surprise-- I saw your name on the guest list." "I saw yours as well," the chair said for the man in it. "I don't know why I didn't cancel then." "Because you knew this conference would be condemned to utter dullness without me, and you wished to provide me moral support in my ambition to liven it up." "I suppose that must have been it." The man's head turned slightly, eyes focusing on Q. In contrast to the debilitated state of the rest of him, his eyes were shockingly bright. "You look terrible, you know that?" "I'm *wounded*. I spent three hours in front of a mirror trying to control the damage and you see through me immediately." "I always saw through you, Lucy. It's the curse of being the greatest mind humanity currently has." "Who is this, Q?" T'Laren asked. Dhawan and Roth looked at her as if she had confessed she really hadn't known that stars weren't painted on the sky. "The estimable Dr. Peter Markow, intrepid explorer into regions where no man has gone before and angels fear to tread," Q said. He pronounced the name Markov; T'Laren remembered the spelling from the conference guest list. "And Daedalus, this is my charming Vulcan companion, T'Ex." "It must be a private joke," Tris said. "Not private enough," T'Laren murmured. "I'm pleased to meet you, T'Ex," Markow said. From the flatness in the artificial voice and the lack of expression in his slack face, it was impossible to tell if he knew that T'Ex wasn't her name. "I'd be more pleased if I knew who the hell you were, though. I can't imagine Lucy getting a woman into bed, so what are you, his bodyguard?" "Among other things," T'Laren said. "Dr. T'Laren is Q's psychiatrist," Dhawan said. "Therapist, actually. I haven't got a psychiatric license." T'Laren concealed her annoyance at Dhawan. "Dr. Markow, why do you call Q 'Lucy'?" "Aren't you halfway curious as to why he calls me Daedalus?" "Yes, but I'm more curious about Lucy." "Short for Lucifer," Markow explained. "And Q screwed it up. It should have been Icarus." "It should have been. Then I could have called you Icky, and we would *really* have bewildered people." Roth turned to T'Laren. "Dr. Markow's one of the greatest minds in Federation physics. When we were working against the Borg, he and Q worked together quite a bit, moreso than many of us. I'm afraid we all got a little strange when we were working against the Borg." "I can imagine." "Well, it was good to talk to you again, Dr. Markow," Dhawan said. "I've got to go keep Morakh and Milarca from killing each other." "Oh, Morakh! My favorite bonebrain. I'd forgotten he was here," Q said. "Daedalus, do you mind terribly if I go over and bother him?" "Of course I mind. I want to talk to you about this damned singularity, not watch you get smeared into pulp." "No need to be afraid of Morakh. For all the Klingon bluster, he's really a big pussycat. A very big, very ugly pussycat." "I'm not worried about Morakh. I'm worried about Dhawan." Tris nodded. "He's right. You're probably beneath Morakh's notice. --In the sense of physical combat, of course." "I personally think it's a side effect of time travel," Markow said. The non sequitur threw T'Laren for a moment, but not Roth. "What makes you say that, Dr. Markow?" he asked. "Stop with the Dr. Markows, Roth, you're going to make me feel old. I say that because if you look at the pattern formed by the fifth-dimensional interstitial matrices--" "Oh, *please*, Daedalus. You're supposed to be a bright man, for a human." Tris turned to T'Laren as the three physics experts descended into technobabble. "I suppose that's our cue to either leave or let our eyes politely glaze over and murmur like we know what they're talking about," he said. "I really should stay and keep Q out of trouble." "You're not doing too well so far." "I can't exactly gag him." "I don't know. I'd consider it if he were my patient." "No, you wouldn't. You wouldn't actually kick him in the posterior either if he were your patient. Admit it, Tris." "I suppose you're right-- which is why I'm glad he's not my patient." The two of them had started to walk away from the knot of arguing scientists. "I'm warning you, T'Laren, either he keeps himself under control or he *is* going to get a punch in the face, either from me or Shahrazad. It's our job-- not to mention Sovaz's-- to keep this madhouse under control. We've got all these volatile, obnoxious, arrogant assholes aboard, and adding Q to the mix was *maybe* not the most brilliant idea anyone had. I'm not going to interfere between you and your patient, but if he gets too disruptive, his ass is grass and I'm a terraformer. You understand?" "You've gotten much better at the colorful Terran metaphors," T'Laren said. "Yes, haven't I? It comes from being Bajoran. We already swear better than anyone else in the known universe." "I had forgotten." "Yeah." He snagged some hors d'oeuvres from a tray. "Want some?" "I'll take a rice ball." "Gone veggie again?" Tris shook his head. "I don't care what Starfleet says about tolerance for other races' customs, I *know* humanoids weren't intended to be vegetarians." "Meat on Vulcan is bad for one; it's much richer in heavy metals than our plant life is." "You're not on Vulcan." T'Laren shrugged slightly. "You're not on Bajor. You still wear that earring." "That's different." "I don't see how." He sighed. "Do you really want to have a stupid argument right now?" T'Laren shook her head. "I've had enough of them lately." Tris nodded. "I figured." He took a deep breath. "So. How've you been?" She studied him intently. This was another ploy to get her to talk about it, she was sure. With Tris, it was best to be blunt. "Tris, I really don't want to talk about it, all right? The last few years have been... very bad. I just... would rather not speak of them. Not yet." "All right." "But I'll ask how you've been, if you're willing to tell me." "Sure I'm willing... you've heard the big news, haven't you? You must have, unless you were in a monastery the past year or so." "The big news?" "The Occupation's over. The Cardassians packed up and went home. And a Starfleet officer found out that the Celestial Temple of the Prophets is really a stable wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant, so Bajor's actually of interest to someone. We've got a Provisional Government that *may* even last another three months before degenerating into chaos. You must have heard." "Yes, of course. To be honest, Tris, I'd forgotten for a moment that Bajor was still occupied when I last spoke to you. It seems like... a much shorter time ago than it actually was." She grew pensive. "I was occupied with personal problems when I first heard about it, but once the significance sank in, I remember wondering if you would choose to go home." "I thought about it." He shrugged. "I think I can do more good here." He lied well to total strangers. To friends, though, his inclination was to be honest when possible, and as a result he was transparent to one who knew him well. "If you say so," T'Laren said evenly, indicating her disbelief by a slightly raised eyebrow. Tris smiled wryly. "You still know how to see through my bullshit, I can tell." He looked away. "I'm... not sure how well I'd be received at home. They published my name as one of the 'Unsung Heroes of the Resistance' or some crap like that, but to most people I probably still look like a suck-up to the Cardassians." He shook his head. "Bajor's got too much history. I'm not interested in history. I don't like my history much-- I don't want to be the man I was on Bajor. And if I go back, that's what I'll be." He turned back to her. "Besides, while there's Bajorans in Starfleet, they all went through the Academy and got the edges polished off. Counselors can serve with Starfleet without being Starfleet officers themselves, so I can be out here and prove that Bajorans aren't all crazy terrorists. So in a sense, I *do* actually think I'm more use here." "And you know aliens better than your own kind, now?" she asked softly. "A little, yeah. I'm not as alienated-- ooh, bad pun, I didn't mean it-- as you are-- or were; you seem to be pretty comfortable in a Vulcan skin now. Except, of course, that real Vulcans don't get so upset with people who didn't do anything to them that they turn specifically and viciously cold to their loved ones." "Real Vulcans do indeed," she said, refusing to rise to the bait. "Someone has been telling you tales about real Vulcans, I suspect." "That would be Sovaz." His eyes wandered over to where she stood in a conversational knot, eagerly interrogating a Tellarite and a human about some arcane concept of physics. "She's a great kid, you know." "You are not thinking what I suspect you're thinking." "Of *course* not." His voice dripped disgust. "What do you think I am, a child molester? Give her ten years and maybe." T'Laren shrugged. "I'm sorry if I've offended you, but Sovaz is twenty-seven. Most humanoids would consider her fair game." "Sovaz is incredibly immature, even for a Vulcan. And I know about Vulcans being late bloomers." He looked at her. "It's because you're vegetarians," he said solemnly. "Look at you. You ate meat on Earth and you told me *you* got started when you were fifteen. Most Vulcans don't until their late twenties, isn't that what you told me? I personally think we should start a charity. Feed the starving Vulcans some protein. It'll do wonders for your sex lives." "Early blooming is hardly an advantage on Vulcan; besides, I 'got started' because I was frightened, and you know me. Show me something I'm afraid of, and I'll dive headlong into it--" "Like maybe dealing with your little sister?" T'Laren shook her head. "Cruel, Tris." "But true." She changed the subject. "How long have you been counselor on the Yamato?" "I got posted here as backup counselor, oh, maybe nine months ago. Then Counselor Seligman retired to teach the natives of Penu about learned optimism, about six months ago, so I ended up as main counselor on a Galaxy-class starship. Pretty impressive for a boy from Bajor, huh?" "I'd thought you were going into psy-ops." "Too much like what I did before. I wanted something completely different." He looked at her. "What about you?" "You're astonishingly persistent, did you know?" "It's one of my charms." At that point a snatch of conversation caught her attention. "Excuse me." She headed back over to Q, quickly. Q was facing Dr. Morakh, smirking slightly. Morakh's expression was unreadable, masked under an impassive Klingon scowl. "Oh, you can admit it, we're all friends here," Q was saying. "For all your education and your posturing at being a rational being, you *really* would rather be ripping my head off than debating with me. Go ahead, confess. You Klingons are simply unfit for civilization." "I doubt there are very many sentient beings you have ever met in your life who would not wish to rip your head off," Morakh retorted. "That depends on how you define 'sentient'." Morakh ignored that. "The distinction you are failing to make is that a civilized being would *not* rip your head off. Despite provocation. In fact, a civilized being, such as myself, would not *want* to." "Oh really?" Q raised any eyebrow. "And here I thought you were supposed to enjoy that sort of thing. The joys of mayhem. Glorious battle and all that." "If I attacked you, it would not be a battle," Morakh said. "It would simply be a slaughter." "Same thing." T'Laren interposed herself between the two. "I'm afraid I couldn't permit that," she said evenly. Morakh scowled at her. "I had heard Vulcans were pacifists." He made it sound like a curse. "We were forced to be," T'Laren said calmly. "We were far too good at war." For several seconds they stared one another down. Then Morakh broke the stare, laughing. "I like you," he said. "You have courage. Be assured I won't attack your charge, T'Laren." He gazed at Q as if examining a herd animal. "It would be beneath my dignity to assault such a weakling." "Or perhaps you're just afraid of Starfleet," Q said snidely. Morakh looked at him again. "I have heard you tried to kill yourself," he said. "If you are too much of a coward to do the job properly, that is your problem. I will not be provoked into doing it for you." He turned away. Q stared after him for several seconds, a look of astonishment on his face. "Why did you provoke him like that?" T'Laren asked sharply. Q shrugged. "To see what he'd do." He smiled. "Who'd have thought it? There actually *is* a brain under that craggy forehead. I'm impressed." "I'm not," Markow said. "You're going to get yourself killed one of these days, Lucy." "What can I say? Live dangerously, that's my motto." "Get a new motto, then." "I don't think he was in much danger, Peter," Roth said, giving the name the self-conscious edge of a man trying deliberately to use a first name. "I've dealt with Morakh before. He's really quite a calm fellow, for a Klingon." A small albino woman with oversized golden eyes approached the small group. Her hair was short, a chin-length pageboy cut that curled under at the bottom, and she wore a tight blue satin bodysuit that left very little to the imagination. T'Laren saw Tris' eyes widen slightly in appreciation. She glanced back at Q, who nodded at the newcomer. "Dr. What's-your-name. A pleasure to see you again." "I'm glad to see you made it to the conference, Q," the woman said. Her voice was soft but firm. "Rumor had you dead of acid poisoning." "Well. The rumors of my death--" "-- were greatly cliched," Markow said. "Try an original one." "Dr. Markow, Dr. Roth, would it disturb you if I requested a few moments of Q's time? My researches have turned up an interesting question that I believe he's best equipped to answer, if he's willing." "Of course not," Roth said. "We'd no intention of utterly monopolizing him." "An interesting question regarding the singularity? Or some other aspect of physics?" Q asked. "As regards history, actually. A hobby of mine." Q rolled his eyes. "How typically Laon'l." He turned to T'Laren. "Her people are positively obsessive about their own history. I can't imagine why. A more tedious history would be difficult to come up with." "There were intriguing spots," the woman said. She nodded at T'Laren. "I have heard you are an associate of Q's? Dr. T'Laren?" The phrasing left it ambiguous as to whether the woman knew T'Laren was not a fellow physicist, but T'Laren didn't feel the need to explain her relationship with Q again. "Yes." "I am Professor Miari Elejani Baii of New Laon." The woman clasped her fists together between her breasts and then spread her palms out toward T'Laren in what was obviously a ritual greeting. "I must warn you that I am an empath." In other words, she had noted the relaxed condition of T'Laren's mental shielding, and thought T'Laren should know that she could read T'Laren's emotions through it. "Thank you for warning me," T'Laren said, but didn't strengthen her shields-- she was perfectly comfortable at the moment. She recognized the species now. Laon'l were a very recent addition to the Federation, powerfully empathic relatives of the Scamarans, who had been Federation members for some time and had very slight empathic gifts. Laon'l mindhealers were supposed to match Betazoids for their skills in repairing damaged psyches. But Laon'l, unlike their Scamaran cousins, were supposed to be physically fragile and emotionally reclusive, preferring to stay on their own world. T'Laren had never met one. Elejani Baii turned back to Q, who picked up his drink and sipped at it serenely. "Since the Reunification, Laon'l scholars have been fascinated by the circumstances of our separation from the Scamarans," she said. "There has been a revitalization of interest in the question of Emaroth." "No doubt your Scamaran cousins think you're wasting time." "Scamarans are people of action. We Laon'l have undertaken only one major action in our history. Of course you are familiar with our history?" "Fairly conversant," Q said. "I'm not," Markow said. T'Laren thought she detected slight irritation in Elejani Baii's face. No doubt she really wanted to pose her question to Q, not to explain herself to Markow. But Markow was far too respected in the scientific community, even by people who thought his theories were ridiculous, for her to ignore him. "Then I shall tell the whole story, so that we all understand and can converse," Elejani Baii said-- it sounded like a ritual phrase. "How about you just ask me the question, and if Daedalus really wants to hear it, you can tell him the whole thing later," Q suggested. "The question concerns Daisheneon Emaroth." "Why does that not surprise me?" "Who?" Markow asked. "Ignore Lucy, he's being an ass. I want to hear this." Q sighed. "Oh, go on, Dr. Elejani," he said. "Heavens forfend that the great Peter Markow should misunderstand a single minute of a conversation not aimed at him." "If it is acceptable," Elejani Baii said. She turned to face Markow and Roth. "My people are a very old race, older far than humanity. We had a civilization on our homeworld of Old Laon for ten thousand years, with a technology based primarily on biogenetics and our empathic powers. But we had never left our world. We held no interest in space. In fact, in our mythos, the sky was what you might call Hell-- the source of metaphysic dangers to the soul, the home of demons and the land of the tormented dead. We feared that when we looked to the stars, the stars might suck out our souls. We were, in fact, the only race I've ever heard of who developed a high level of technology without so much as putting up a satellite." "They were, in fact, the most *boring* people you've ever heard of," Q said. "No ambition, no drive to learn, no need to explore. They explored their own pathetic little world, covered it with their holistic and oh-so-terribly harmonious cities, and then sat and analyzed their own navels for ten thousand years." "You speak as if you were there," Elejani Baii said. "I was." "Good, then you *will* be able to answer my question." She turned back to the others. "Three thousand years ago, we were... confronted with a being who called herself Emaroth. She claimed to come from space, and so we dubbed her a demon-- a term that seemed more and more accurate as the years went by. Emaroth was a creature of immense power, and to us it seemed great malevolence. She informed us-- in terms not unlike those that Q just used-- that we had wasted our potential, squandered the promise of our sentience and the bounty of our world, and that therefore she was taking possession of our planet. Every year, she would extract a tithe of 1,000 of our best and brightest, and carry them off to Hell." "And you believed this?" Markow asked. "That she was taking them to Hell?" "Oh, yes," Elejani Baii said calmly. "You must understand that we were not a superstitious people-- we rarely spoke of things like Hell and demons. But I have watched the records we made at the time, and it is hard to see how a thinking being could *not* believe. Emaroth could-- and did-- level buildings with a gesture, make people vanish and reappear, raise the dead or kill with a thought. We called her Daisheneon-- a term that's something of a pun; it can mean either Great Lady, Empress, or Great Demon. The word Emaroth itself was intrinsically meaningless but seemed to be related to our words for 'judge' and 'challenger'." She sipped at a drink Roth handed her. "Also it may help to understand that just as humanity has a predisposition toward patriarchy, we Laon'l have a predisposition toward matriarchy. Our sexes were equal under the law, but we were more likely to perceive a woman as an authority figure, just as you are more likely to see authority in a male." She cast a sidewise glance at Q, who had a studiedly bland expression. "We did whatever we could to stop Emaroth. We shot at her, poisoned her, blew up our own buildings around her. She merely laughed-- she didn't even exact retribution for the attempts, which terrified us even more. Our best efforts were completely beneath her. Our most powerful psis united in an attempt to read her mind. Their brains were burnt out by the effort, and Emaroth implied that she hadn't even consciously assaulted them-- according to her, she was simply too advanced a form of life for the comprehension of our limited brains." "Sounds like you'd get along with her," Markow said to Q. "Undoubtedly." "Some of us tried desperately to propitiate her, reinstituting the ancient custom of child sacrifice. Emaroth resurrected the children and opened the ground beneath the sacrificers, dropping them into the core of Old Laon, because she was annoyed by the attempt. She insisted that there was nothing we could do to stop her, that so long as we lived on Old Laon she would take her claim of 1,000 every year. "And somehow that sparked an idea. Emaroth had told us that the stars we feared were suns like ours, that harbored worlds like ours. Space itself might be hellish, but if we could cross through it to a new world... it was our *world* and the people on it Emaroth had laid claim to. She made that very clear. Somehow, after ten thousand years of fearing the stars, we became desperate enough to try to flee to them. "It took three generations of feverish work for us to develop a ship. The best we managed was impulse drive; our ships would be generation ships, but once we were free of our world we would be free of Emaroth, whether we had found a new world yet or no." "Only three generations?" T'Laren raised an eyebrow. "I've never heard of a species that developed impulse drive that quickly without some outside help." "You must understand the impetus. All the most intelligent of our kind were going into physics. People who might have gone into biochemistry or psychology were driven by the fear that Emaroth would take them as part of her tithe. Our leaders, who fancied themselves the best and brightest of Laon, feared the same, and so all our world's resources were being diverted toward escape." She sipped again at her drink. "Finally it came time. We persuaded all but six million of our people to leave in the generation ships; those six million were either too stubborn to go, or feared that Emaroth was tricking us into space where she could take us all, or suspected that Emaroth would never get around to them or their families with all the other people left behind to choose from. So we parted from our remaining people, and left our world for the 100-year-journey to New Laon. "50 years away from Old Laon, we saw our sun go nova. Old Laon and all the people we left behind, all our history, all our ruins, were no more than elemental particles. And we believed Emaroth had done it out of malice or rage, that we'd escaped her grasp, and we cursed her name for 3,000 years. And after we reached our new world, we once more averted our eyes from the stars. "Fifteen years ago, we were contacted by the Federation. We discovered that those taken in Emaroth's tithe had been transported to a harsh, deadly world, that they had fought and finally tamed-- the world they called Scamara. Our lost brethren had also developed space flight, built colonies, and joined the Federation. They had technology we had only dreamed of, and access to the bounties of a hundred worlds. They persuaded us that space was not inhabited by devils, and we consented to join the Federation, overjoyed by our reunion with them. "And so the question of Emaroth has been reopened-- who she was, what her motives were, how she did the things she did. Most of my people still believe Emaroth to be malevolent-- that she chased us from our world out of petty malice. And yet recently we have used warp drive to intercept the light from Old Laon, from before the nova, and we've discovered that there was evidence of the impending nova hundreds of years before Emaroth's arrival. So I have wondered if perhaps Emaroth did not save our world; that, with full consciousness of the upcoming nova, she harried our people into developing the tools to save ourselves. If one takes the premise that Emaroth truly believed that we had squandered our potential, then her actions with the Scamarans make sense-- by being forced to live on a harsh and unforgiving world, the Scamarans were forced to become problem solvers and explorers, and ended up achieving space flight on their own, at a much higher level than we did." "Which is why the Scamarans are so much more interesting than you," Q said. "Exactly." Elejani Baii turned to Q. "When I heard of *you*, and your race, I was struck by the similarities between your kind and Emaroth. A race of powerful beings that arbitrarily pronounce judgment on less advanced races, that perform malevolent acts that are in the long run beneficial-- such as your warning humanity about the dangers of the Borg..." Q shrugged. "There are a lot of near-omnipotent races out there. She could have been a Douwd. Or a Metraskan. Or an Organian, though probably not." "But that is what I have wanted for some time to ask you. You should know, one way or another. Was Emaroth one of your people? And if she was, was she acting out of sheer malevolence, as many of my kind believe, or was she trying to save us?" "What do *you* think?" Q asked, in his best I'm-certainly-not- going-to-give-everything-away voice. Elejani Baii smiled. "I think that I am an empath," she said. "And I think that for all the control you have of your face, you have very little control over what an empath may sense of your emotions. And therefore I think that you have just answered both of my questions- - Daisheneon." As Q's eyes widened, Elejani Baii suddenly reached up and put her arms around his neck, pulling herself up. T'Laren tensed, prepared to grab Elejani Baii if necessary, but the Laon'l woman merely kissed Q on the cheek and released him. "Few of my people would appreciate what you've done for us," she said. "But I understand. I give you the gratitude of all my people." She turned away and walked off into the crowd before anyone could say anything. Finally, Markow said, "Well?" "Well what?" Q asked, still staring after Elejani Baii as if she'd just revealed that she was his long-lost mother. "Well, was she right? Did you save her people?" Q turned to Markow and smiled evilly. "*She* thinks so," he said. "And who am I to turn down a potential ally? Even perhaps a deluded one?" Roth laughed. "You utter dog. You tricked her?" Q shrugged, an innocent expression on his face. "What she wants to believe isn't any concern of mine, is it?" T'Laren studied him, unconvinced. She had more experience reading Q's expressions than the others here, she suspected. And when Elejani Baii had called him Daisheneon, he'd had the same expression he got when T'Laren surprised him by figuring out something he'd hidden from her. It struck her as curious, if it were true-- not the idea that it was true; she saw nothing inconsistent between Elejani Baii's story and Q's personality. He had never given her any kind of detail on the things he'd done in his past life, and none of the incidents mentioned in his records were instances of him helping a race out-- but then, this story hardly described an unambiguous situation in that regard, either. What would the Scamarans do to Q if they decided that he was the being who had exiled them from their original home? Even if Q had done it to save them from their star going nova, they might demand retribution-- after all, someone with Q's powers *could* simply have prevented the star from going nova, or could have transported them to a kind world like their own, not a hellhole that killed thousands before they finally tamed it. It was entirely possible that some of the ones who'd come looking for Q had benefited from his actions in some roundabout way-- T'Laren had no trouble reconciling that with what she knew of him. But why, if it were true, would he hide it from Roth and Markow? Everyone knew Q had committed atrocities. Why wasn't he eager to let people know that he had done good deeds as well? She thought she knew why he didn't go about protesting that he'd done wonderful things, but why, when someone had stood up and described a good deed he'd done, did he lie and imply he hadn't done it? Was he getting some emotional benefit out of being perceived as entirely villainous? If so, she'd have to work on that with him-- it would be very difficult to get him to make friends if he wanted everyone to think of him as the bad guy.