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/startrek 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. * * * T'Laren watched him go, somewhat disturbed. It wasn't at all like Q to simply stop arguing and retreat, circular argument or no. Perhaps he recognized for once that he was out of line... which wasn't like him either, but perhaps he was finally changing. If he'd thrown Sovaz up in her face just now just to be a jerk, he might well recognize what he was doing, and maybe even give in... but she'd gotten the distinct impression that that wasn't what it was, or not all it was anyway. Q seemed to genuinely believe he was helping-- and more than that, that he had the right to "help." It had to be a reciprocal power thing-- Q couldn't stand being in a less powerful position, and had to try to mirror her authority. Maybe he backed down because he recognized that was what he was doing, and that he had no moral high ground to argue from? She wanted to discuss the case with Tris. It had been too long since she'd had a fellow therapist around to help spot her. Back when she practiced regularly, she would discuss cases in detail with fellow therapists on other ships or stations without using the patient's name, and since the others didn't know the patients personally they couldn't figure out who it was from the case description, either. It was unfortunate that Tris knew Q, since it raised the risk of violating patient-therapist confidentiality, but she couldn't think of anyone else she could talk to now, and she felt a serious lack of objectivity. She *had* to talk to someone; she'd just be careful how much she said. * * * The holodeck simulated the botanical lounge aboard Starbase 199, itself a simulation of the Hanging Gardens of Guayaquil. Tris pointed this out as they entered the room. "I think this has to be the ultimate in removal from reality. You realize, this is a simulation of a recreation of a copy?" A simulation of a recreation of a place home to neither of their species, T'Laren thought-- it was hard for her to think of Earth as home, anymore. Nevertheless, Starbase 199's botanical lounge had been important to both of them. "You know why I chose it." "Every so often I wonder if holodecks generate some kind of long- term psychoses," Tris said. "The idea of something that looks real, sounds real, smells real-- and it's completely fake. And there's something very slightly *off* about it, so you know it's not real, but it's too subtle to put your finger on why." "I don't know what you mean. I can't tell the difference between a holodeck and reality unless there are artificial people in the simulation." "And how do you tell the difference then?" T'Laren shrugged. "I suppose it's my telepathy. I know when I'm in the presence of a sentient being, though I can't sense anything *about* them unless I'm touching them." "But you can't tell that you're not really in the Gardens right now?" "Well, I know it logically, because I know I came onto a holodeck. But if I were unconscious and I woke up here, I'm not sure if I'd realize I was on a holodeck." "See, I'd know. Not right away, but I would know." Tris picked a flower off a vine and handed it to her. "Look at it. It looks alive, it smells alive, but it's not. It's not even dead. It's imaginary, a construct of smoke and mirrors." "A difference that makes no difference is no difference, Tris." "But this difference *does* make a difference." He sat down on the bench. "Maybe it's even more insidious if you really *can't* sense it. What's the point to going on shore leave when you can have a much more positive experience on the holodeck? Simulate the planet without the annoying bugs to the funny gravity or the weird smells or the risk that some nutcase alien custom will get you killed. Why go home when you can replicate home on the holodeck? Why do *anything* real?" "Starfleet officers are screened for the potential for that particular psychosis," T'Laren said. "And holodecks were tested for years before they put them on starships." "I know all that. I just wonder... oh well. I don't think you came here to talk about holodecks." He patted the bench next to him. "Why don't you sit down and stay a while." T'Laren plucked another flower off the vine and twirled it in her fingers. "I need to be very careful in examining questions of reality and unreality," she said. "The point isn't a moot one for me anymore." "Why not?" No. She hadn't yet summoned the nerve to talk about that, though she wanted to, though she'd just tried to lead herself up to it. Tris would know nothing that could reassure her, and given his opinion of holodeck creations... mightn't he decide she wasn't real, a Q-created simulacrum of dead T'Laren? Bajorans took concepts like souls very seriously. "Actually," she said, "I'd like your input on my case. I'm not sure... I'm not sure I'm handling it professionally enough." "Fine. Who's been your backup in this?" For a silly moment, she thought he meant backup in the sense of substitute, and thought of Q's reaction to a substitute therapist. That wouldn't go over very well. A second later, she realized he must mean her therapist. People doing therapy were supposed to have fellow therapists they could talk to, to help them stay professional with their cases. She didn't quite think Lhoviri counted. "I don't have backup." "That's ridiculous. Are you kidding?" She shook her head. "Well, that's problem number one!" "I didn't see a way around it at first. I had to get Q off Starbase 56. The counselor there had been completely intimidated by Q; he controlled almost every interaction they had. Everyone there despised him, and either avoided interacting or attacked first." "I've heard they had reason," Tris said. "You know, they had a GIAC made up just for him?" A GIAC-- Guidelines for Interacting with Alien Cultures-- was a memo members of Starfleet, and civilians in official Federation capacities such as scientists and diplomats-- were required to read before having dealings with the race in question. T'Laren raised an eyebrow. "He *is* the only representative of his race in known space, but that seems a little extreme." "He's driven people off in tears, provoked violent attacks against him, and apparently gave one guy a complete nervous breakdown. They should *never* have assigned Medellin to him-- I've met her; she's an incredible wuss. Sometimes I wonder who she offended at Starfleet Command to draw *that* particular assignment." "She volunteered. Possibly out of some sort of identification with Q's plight; it's hard not to have sympathy for him if you just hear the facts of what's happened to him, without meeting him personally. Nian Medellin struck me as the sort of woman who would nursemaid the universe if given half a chance." "Which is *not* the sort of counselor a person given to whining self-pity ought to get. Q needed someone who could kick him in the butt." "Whining self-pity?' T'Laren raised her eyebrow again. "An interesting description from someone who met Q only briefly, and that under circumstances in which he was *not* whining or self-pitying." "All right. I'll grant you I'm going mostly from second-hand descriptions. Why don't you describe what you're seeing?" "I'm not totally sure." She sat down. "From studying everything I could get hold of on him before I actually met him, I hypothesized that the only treatable cause of his depression is the fact that he has no social safety nets. He really has been exiled to a life he can't stand; he really does have a hard time with what he perceives as his disability, in being merely mortal; he has a number of excellent reasons to be depressed, and there's nothing I can do about any of those. But he's also a very socially dependent individual, though he would never admit it in those terms. He postures for his audience, he performs, he puts on entire theatrical productions to get people to pay attention to him, or to view him a certain way, or to connect with him, even negatively. If he really didn't care what people thought of him, he wouldn't behave that way. So I've focused my attention on getting him to understand how badly he needs social connections, and to try to form positive ones instead of trying for negative attention." "Okay." Tris watched her with his best sounding-board expression. "Initially he was self-destructive-- and irresponsible with his own welfare, even when he wasn't actively being self-destructive-- to the point where I thought he needed someone to..." She hesitated. "More or less play dictator. Tell him what he should eat, force him to exercise, force him to get a decent night's sleep, that sort of thing." "Play mommy, you mean." "If you like. In a lot of ways Q is very childish-- not entirely his fault; by the standards of his people, according to him, he literally is an adolescent, and by our standards he's had only three years experience with a human body-- but he's been treated as an adult since he first became human. Which meant that people expected him to behave in his own self-interest, and when he didn't, rather than teaching him appropriate behavior or making allowances for adolescent temper tantrums, they tried to exert complete control over him. This didn't work very well. Q's reaction to other people trying to control him is to get extremely stubborn." "So you decided to treat this person who doesn't respond well to authority by playing dictator." T'Laren winced slightly. "I made a few missteps at first, but also I tried to change the parameters of my dictatorship. Rather than acting as if Q was maliciously trying to hurt himself to get back at me, I tried to behave as if I knew he was doing this because he didn't know any better, and show him why the response was an inappropriate one." "You treated him like a kid, basically." "In some ways, yes. And now I think he's developed enough ability to listen to advice without automatically going stubborn on me that I'm treating him like an adult again, and in some ways he resents it. He complained today that I didn't wake him up in time for his conference." "Did you tell him you'd given up the mommy business?" "I told him the night before that I was changing tactics... but I think I didn't make it clear that I was no longer acting in loco parentis before I let him oversleep, no. That was a mistake. I taught him to rely on me instead of taking responsibility himself and then I didn't warn him he'd have to switch back." "Does Q know he's graduated to being a grownup again? For that matter, did he know why you were babying him in the first place?" "I tried to make it clear." "Because that's dangerous, being someone's parent. Q might be an adolescent, but his mommy and daddy are not here. They threw him out of the nest to take care of himself. You're not going to help him solve his problems by taking care of him." "Little chance of that. Q sees himself as fiercely independent. He resents any attempt to take care of him." "That wouldn't stop him from shamelessly taking advantage of it if you're going to do it anyway. It just means he'll resent you when you do it and he'll resent you when you stop." This sounded uncomfortably close to what was happening. "You could be right. He's been obnoxious to me since we came aboard *Yamato.*" "You mean that isn't normal?" She shook her head. "I think you've been overly influenced by people's stories about him, Tris. He actually behaved quite well at the conference-- no worse than anyone else there. In fact, I would consider Lt. Dhawan to have been far ruder than Q, considering that she is supposed to be the science officer of the host vessel." "Well, that's Shara for you," Tris said, shaking his head. "Why *did* you think we gave her job to Sovaz?" "Why Sovaz?" T'Laren returned. "If you were looking for a person with social polish and diplomatic skills..." "She doesn't do too badly," Tris said. "Besides, she makes everyone here feel good, the way she asks them questions constantly. Nothing to make a scientist feel like an expert than having a good- looking girl hanging on their every word; *they* don't know Sovaz pumps everyone for information. Or how immature she is." "Perhaps. My point being, though, that Q is not being that bad-- except to me. I'd thought we'd achieved something of an understanding aboard *Ketaya--*" "And that's probably exactly why he's doing it," Tris said, interrupting. "T'Laren, come on. You should *know* people do things like that. He probably feels like you've gotten too far under his skin, and now he needs to push you away, or something." "That isn't the main thing," T'Laren said, shaking her head. It wasn't that simple. It couldn't be. "I could deal with mere obnoxiousness. But he seems to have taken it into his head that he needs to fix *my* life." "It does kind of look like someone needs to." "Tris..." "All right, all right. You have any idea why he might be doing something like that? I mean, from what I understand of him, fixing other people's lives is not exactly what he does." "Yes. Nonetheless, he's doing it. At first I thought he was simply being maliciously amused; now I wonder if it's a power game of some sort. An attempt to compensate for my greater power as therapist by trying to play therapist to *me*." "Well, why's he *say* he's doing it? That's probably a clue." "He says he's doing it because friends don't let friends dress like Vulcan schoolmarms." "Okay... is that what he's attacking you on? The way you dress?" "The way I dress, the way I behave to Sovaz, my relationship with you..." "What's *he* know about our relationship?" "He overheard you calling yourself my *taran*." Tris' eyes widened. "He knows the door trick?" "Apparently." The words sank in. "What door trick, Tris?" "The trick you use when you want to eavesdrop on somebody. I don't know whether to be pissed off or impressed. How much of our conversation did he hear?" "As nearly as I could tell, the whole thing. He found it amusing." "Yeah, I can see how he would," Tris said darkly. Then he shook it off. "All right. So you think maybe it's a power game. Sounds that way to me too, but is there anything else?" "Well, there was something somewhat odd... Q doesn't simply quit arguments, most of the time. He allows them to become circular, he prolongs them, seemingly for the joy of arguing. But last night he... First he invited Sovaz to my quarters, then attempted to provoke her into attacking me. When I apologized to her and she accepted it, Q seemed to think that that wasn't enough-- that Sovaz should have extracted a pound of flesh for her troubles. After she left, we began to argue-- and then Q backed down, admitting the argument had become circular and claiming he had work to do. Normally he doesn't do that." "Maybe he's learned circular arguments are boring?" "I don't think he thinks they are. He revels in the stimulation of arguing; I've never before known him to back down unless he was either proven wrong or the topic moved onto an uncomfortable subject for him." "Well, could *that* be what happened? What were you arguing about when he backed down?" T'Laren summoned up her memory of the conversation and summarized it, excluding the tangent about Lhoviri. Tris' stare became more intent as she spoke. When she finished, he said, "I suggest you get out now." "What?" "I mean it. I think you're getting way too emotionally involved. I mean, I wasn't there, but it sounds to me like if Q even *thinks* you're playing 'I-am-the-almighty-therapist' power games on him one minute and then whining because he should play nice with his friends-- unless it's total bullshit that he made up for effect, it means you're in too deep. First you tell me you've been playing mommy. Now he seems to think you're playing friend, and you shouldn't be *playing* anything." "I'm not." "You sure about that?" Tris stood and began to pace. "Listen, you were on a spaceship for two weeks with him." "Three." "Three, then. That's worse. People in that kind of proximity either get forced together or pushed apart, and either way you wouldn't be able to help him. *Look* at yourself, T'Laren. You're upset because your patient is attacking your personal life. Why do you care? Is it because you feel he's backslid and you want to see him do better? But you *know* people do this kind of thing, try to put distance between them and their therapist when they think stuff's cut too close to home. Are you *sure* it isn't because it personally bugs *you? *That you've gotten in deep enough that you *care* what he thinks?" "I have hardly heard it said that a good therapist is uncaring." Tris let out an exasperated sigh. "You're not *listening* to me. Sure, you should care about what he thinks of you-- for *his* sake. Making fun of your clothes and the way you treat your sister-- which, by the way, I'm totally behind him on-- doesn't mean he's lost his trust in you or his respect for you. It *does* mean he doesn't think you're the Prophets, or Mommy, but you're not supposed to be, so that's just as well. And it *also* does mean that if you've started to get emotionally involved, you could get emotionally hurt. And if you even start to give me that crap about not having emotions, I *will* smack you." "I wasn't planning on it." Her world took an odd lurch to the side. Had she gotten too emotionally involved? Could she do anything about it if she was? She knew herself to be somewhat obsessed with Q, but that what Lhoviri was paying for. Was that getting in her way? There was a difference between getting too emotionally involved to avoid getting hurt and too emotionally involved to do Q any good. What if the latter had happened? "I don't believe I'm too involved to help him," she said calmly, hoping it was true. "And I'm afraid there are no other considerations." Tris stared at her. She had just said it was okay to break one of the cardinal rules of therapy, she knew-- Thou Shalt Not Get Involved. "Let's assume for the sake of argument that you're right, and you being too involved *isn't* going to get him hurt or ruin any attempt to do therapy, even though that's *usually* what happens when therapists get personally involved. Why is your happiness less important than his? Why are you going to take the risk of having an emotional leech attached to you?" "Q's hardly an emotional leech. You don't know him." "Maybe not, but he's a disaster waiting to happen. That, I do know." He stared at her as if a horrible thought had just occurred to him. "You're not in love with him, are you?" T'Laren blinked, somewhat stunned at the irrelevancy of the question. "No." She shook her head slightly. "Where do these notions *come *from, Tris? Must you always bring sex into everything?" "I didn't bring in sex. I brought in love. You of all people know there's a difference. And for that matter, even if I *was* just talking about sex, it's hardly that weird. You have a bad habit of falling for self-centered, arrogant assholes with emotional problems." She let her face soften slightly. "Present company included, of course?..." "Oh, of course. But all right. You're not in love with him. Good, I don't have to pretend I don't know you." Her eyes narrowed. "Tris, are you jealous?" "What?" The flat, disbelieving tone in his voice was the exact equivalent, for him, of her blinking before. "You have spent a good portion of this conversation sniping at Q. You know him only by reputation, yet you seem to feel free to attack him. You have raised the possibility that I am in love with him. And I don't believe what passed between us was ever adequately resolved. So I ask, reasonably, are you jealous?" "*No*, I'm not jealous," he snapped, and then some of the anger drained from his face. "You just got out of a relationship with one emotional cripple, T'Laren. If I thought you were getting into a relationship with another-- and if Q's as badly off as I've heard, he makes Soram look like Mr. Sensitivity-- I'd be really concerned for you. Not to mention disappointed. I'd like to *think* you're not the sort who gravitates to men who are really incredibly lousy for you." She touched his arm, gently. "If I was, it would provide additional explanation for why I left you." "I doubt it." He took the hand that was on his arm, covered it as he sat down with her. "Why *did* you leave, T'Laren? You never really explained." "I said I wasn't willing to give up being Vulcan. I thought you understood." "And loving a Bajoran somehow compromises your Vulcanness? Funny, you guys do it with humans all the time and no one kicks them out of the Vulcan Sibhood." "It wasn't loving a Bajoran that threatened my Vulcan citizenship. It was loving him enough to contemplate leaving my husband for him." Tris nodded, as if he should have known-- which, indeed, he should have. She had explained to him once that divorce was impossible. "So how come he could ditch you?" "Because I was insane." "Seems like a shit of a double standard," he said, his voice dark with anger against all those who had hurt her, his face very close to hers. T'Laren was abruptly uncomfortably conscious of his proximity. Tris might try to kiss her, she thought, considering that she was free now, and that the chains of bonding were the only reason she had left him in the first place. But she had other chains now, obligations she needed to fulfill. She stood up, breaking the moment. "I'm sorry. I wish there had been another way, then." "But what's done is done, huh?" He shrugged slightly. "Okay. If that's how you want it." "It is less a question of what I want than what must be," she said softly. "I have obligations to fulfill before I can even consider fixing the wreck of my personal life." "Obligations to Q?" He shook his head. "I always knew you could get fairly obsessive about what you think your duties are, but you know you're pushing it now, don't you?" "I owe a debt, Tris. One I can never fully repay." "To *Q?*" "To the one that asked me to help Q. I cannot consider quitting until I am sure either that Q no longer needs me-- that he has developed enough of a safety net of friendships with others that they can carry him when things get bad-- or that I am doing more harm than good. I owe too much to do otherwise." "Are you sure you'll know it when he doesn't need you anymore?" Tris asked. "Or especially when you're starting to do more harm than good?" Before she could answer, his combadge bleeped. Tris rolled his eyes and touched it. "Tris here." Wilde's voice over the intercom said, "Professor Yalit is transporting aboard at Transporter Room 3. You should be there." "Right. How long?" "About five minutes-- if you're not in dress uniform, don't worry about it. This is going to be... interesting, Tris." "Interesting how?" "Apparently she's a Ferengi." T'Laren's eyebrows went up. "A *female* Ferengi physicist?" "You're right. 'Interesting' sounds like an understatement. I'll be there." Tris toggled his combadge off and looked at T'Laren. "Now this I gotta see." * * * The second day of the conference had been even more entertaining than the first. Q had gotten a chance to utterly demolish three other theorists, including the incredibly idiotic Dr. Pergiun, whose presence at the conference assured Q that whatever criteria they'd used to invite the guests, value to Federation science was *not* it. One of the others he'd demolished was Elejani Baii. He'd taken a special delight when he'd seen that opportunity; the Laon'l were almost religiously non-confrontational, and he had more or less expected her to metaphorically curl up in a ball and whimper. After the way she had publicly humiliated him at the reception, the thought of destroying her theories in a public arena took on a special savor. He hadn't gotten quite what he'd expected from her, though; she had debated with him for a bit, calmly, and then when it became blatantly obvious that he was right she'd graciously backed down and thanked him for his insights. That had been mildly annoying, but at least the unpredictability of it had been marginally amusing. But now he was getting restless. Dhawan and Tamal, the Cardassian woman, had been in a shouting match for the past ten minutes, with one of the human scientists, a man named Sinclair, desperately trying to get them to calm down, and several other people, Q included, egging them on, when Sovaz' combadge bleeped at her. Sovaz answered it, making no attempt to conceal the conversation from the delegates. "Sovaz here." "... obvious bankruptcy of Federation science..." "Sovaz, Yalit is boarding. You should come on down." "... at least we don't decide what theories the State will allow to be published in some sort of secret star chamber..." "On my way," Sovaz said. As she stood up, Dhawan broke off her tirade against Cardassian science and turned. "Sovaz, where are you going?" "Professor Yalit is arriving," Sovaz announced. Q had been watching Sovaz, having grown somewhat tired of Dhawan and Tamal rehashing their arguments. He raised an eyebrow at that. "You *must* invite us along, Sovaz. I confess to an overwhelming desire to meet our mystery alien." "I doubt Commander Wilde would appreciate it if I--" "Oh, come now. Surely he couldn't object to a delegation of Yalit's colleagues and fellow scholars coming to greet her?" Actually Q was less interested in meeting Yalit-- though he *was* curious as to what her race was, and how he'd managed to never hear of someone important enough in the field to warrant an invite her-- as he was in getting out of the room. "Don't be an idiot, Lucy," Markow said. "Of course he could. He's Starfleet." "I don't understand," Sovaz said. "Just as well," Q replied, getting up. Dhawan glared at him. "She just said you're not invited, mister." "Perhaps I should stay here, then, and attack the political beliefs of the other guests? Oh, but I suppose Starfleet frowns less on that than on a delegation of scientists greeting a fellow." "There's nothing against Starfleet policy in that," Roth said. "I'm *quite* sure of it. Let's all go!" "A wonderful notion," Tamal said. "Perhaps we could demonstrate that one need not be a member of Starfleet to show hospitality." She shot a look at Dhawan. "I'm going to be late," Sovaz said, trying to push her way past Q without actually invading his space, difficult because he kept shifting his body weight so she couldn't get past. "Truly a tragedy. I hear they frown on that in Starfleet." In the end some others took pity on Sovaz, and managed matters so that only Q and Roth ended up leaving with her. Sovaz looked mildly bewildered; Q wondered if he should feel guilty for pressuring someone so obviously clueless about humanoid interactions into something she didn't want to do, and decided that regardless of whether he *should*, he wasn't going to. Guilt was for lesser beings, and besides, this promised to be entertaining. * * * It was not Derek Wilde's day. Truth be told, it hadn't been his week; but he had so far at least managed to greet all the incoming VIPs without mortally offending any of them. That might conceivably have changed. Fifteen minutes ago he had been on the bridge when a report of an incoming ship came in. A Ferengi ship. Since there were no Ferengi delegates-- since the death of Dr. Reyga, there were no Ferengi physicists of any renown-- this was unexpected, but then, Ferengi would ferry people if the passengers paid them enough. Captain Okita had hailed them, and their DaiMon, a man named Dar, had replied, in that sort of smarmy, not-quite-insulting way that Ferengi had, that they were bringing the Lady Yalit to the conference. That had been all right. When they had demanded to accompany her, Wilde had demanded to know why, whereupon Dar had informed him that the Lady Yalit was his mother. At this point Wilde's jaw had dropped to the floor, and he'd said, "Yalit is a *Ferengi?*" What he'd *meant* was that she was a Ferengi female, and *he* had been under the impression that females weren't allowed to read, let alone become great physicists of interplanetary renown. DaiMon Dar had not taken it quite that way. After about ten minutes of trying to apologize and explain that of *course* he didn't mean Ferengi couldn't be great scientists, everyone knew they could, hadn't Dr. Reyga invented the metaphasic shield? and so forth, he had heard an imperious voice from off screen telling Dar to shut up and make boarding arrangements. An imperious, aged and very definitely female voice. God but he hoped she was waiving the "no clothes" rule. That was all he needed. And now, as he waited in the transporter room, while Yalit and her family entourage were being fashionably late, Sovaz came in with Q and one of the Starfleet delegates. Of all people. Wilde groaned inwardly. "Mr. Sovaz, what are the civilians doing here?" Roth blinked. "Commander, with all due respect, exactly when did I become a civilian?" "They wished to pay their respects to Dr. Yalit," Sovaz said, naively sincere. *Here's a few credits, Sovaz. Buy a clue. *"Well, that's very admirable of them, but they really aren't supposed to be here." "Why not?" Q asked. "Because it's policy," Wilde answered in total desperation. Q looked to Roth. "You're in Starfleet, Harry. You ever hear of a policy like that?" "Never did," Roth said. "Sir, what chapter and subsection of the regulations is that policy?" At that point Tris came in, with another civilian. The Vulcan who'd been so rude to Sovaz. *Just* what Wilde needed. He was about to use the fact that Roth *was *Starfleet to order him to leave and take his civilian buddies with him, when the transporter chief spoke. "Yalit's party is ready for transport," she said. Wilde sighed. He could order Roth to leave, but getting Q to go would be a major headache-- the man had a reputation for doing whatever you told him not to do. And after he'd offended the DaiMon, he really didn't want to keep Yalit's party waiting. "Energize," he said tiredly. Four columns of sparking light appeared on the platform. As they formed with more precision, Wilde fought to keep from moaning. Three of them were fairly average-looking Ferengi, with the funny little hatlike things hanging from the backs of their heads, wearing loud clothes as Ferengi were wont to do. The fourth, in the middle, was wearing earrings dangling from small, droopy earlobes, and otherwise was completely naked. "I think I am about to lose my lunch," Q said, quietly, but probably not quietly enough. Wilde stepped forward, smiling. "Welcome to the Yamato, Professor Yalit--" The three male Ferengi glared at him. "Our *mother* will not *speak* to strange men," one of the three, not the DaiMon, said sharply. How the hell was she going to be at the conference if she didn't talk? And what were they going to do about the fact that Starfleet regulations clearly stated that all humanoids should wear clothing that concealed the genitalia while aboard a Starfleet vessel? Outdated, but there it was. Yalit looked at her son with a touch of incredulity, as if she couldn't believe he was bothering to make a big deal. "All right," Wilde said, controlling his urge to scream at the Ferengi. "Lieutenant?" Sovaz stepped forward. "Welcome to the Yamato, Professor Yalit," she said promptly. "I'm Lieutenant Sovaz, science department liaison to the conference. May I show you to your quarters?" Yalit laughed. "Don't mind my sons. They're far too overprotective of their old mother." She turned to the errant son.! "Ril! How am I supposed to speak at the conference if I can't speak to men, eh?" With that she whacked him on the side of the head. "I feel positively nauseous," Q murmured. "This was your idea," Roth whispered. He wasn't being quiet enough, either. "So who are you?" Yalit peered up at Wilde, who was now somewhat confused by the interplay between the Ferengi. "You the captain?" "No, I'm Commander Derek Wilde, first officer." "I don't rate the captain, hmm?" "The captain didn't come to see any of us," Roth piped up. He stepped forward. "How do you do? I'm Dr. Harry Roth, one of your fellow inmates." "Why is it that she gets to run around in the altogether, when *I* was forced to put on clothing aboard the *Enterprise* because of some silly Starfleet regulation?" Q asked. "Have they actually done something sensible and changed the regulations, or is this rampant discrimination against members of the Q Continuum in favor of Ferengi?" T'Laren said warningly, "Q..." "Fine," Tris said. "Take off *your* clothes if it would make you feel better." "It certainly would be less nauseating to look at if I did," Q said. "Is that true?" Yalit asked. "There's a Starfleet regulation that says I have to wear clothes?" "Mother! You can't be thinking of *degrading* yourself like that- - *denying* your womanhood--" "You don't have to wear clothes if you don't want to," Tris said. "It's a Prime Directive thing, isn't it?" He turned to Wilde, who nodded gratefully. "Then why did *I* have to wear clothes?" Q asked. "Because *you* don't come from a society where nudity's the norm," Tris said. "So no one was violating your cultural beliefs." "Yes, but they made me wear a hideous color. That *does* violate my cultural beliefs." "Q, be quiet," T'Laren said. "Mother, these men are *not* paying you the respect you deserve--" "Shut *up*, Ril." Yalit yanked on Wilde's tunic, hard. He turned back, startled. "Is it going to hamper my ability to attend the conference if I don't wear clothes?" "Terribly," Q said. "Everybody will be too busy vomiting to listen to your undoubtedly silly theories." Tris turned around. "Q, either shut up or get out," he said. "Let him talk," Yalit said. She stepped off the transporter platform and over to Q, glaring up at him. It was a bizarre confrontation. Yalit barely came up to Q's waist-- a tiny, wizened, troll-like woman with sagging skin covered with liver spots and narrow, piggy eyes, facing off against a tall, frighteningly thin, sardonic human man whose attire was the picture of sartorial elegance. Yalit seemed almost a monster, a Baba Yaga from ancient tales, not a sentient being at all. "What's your name?" she demanded. Q looked down at her as if she were an offensive bit of debris he had found on his shoe. "I am Q," he said coldly. "Why haven't I ever heard of you?" "I travel in far more refined circles than you do, apparently," Q said. "You've got a nasty tongue on you, young man. Better be careful. Someone might cut it out." "'Young man?'" Q raised an eyebrow. "I suppose that in this current body I *would* have to admit to the man part, but young is hardly an appropriate term for me." "Compared to me? You're a baby." Q snorted. "I *hardly* think so. I was old when your people were first crawling out of the sludge-- girlie." "You look it," Yalit said, nodding. Peremptorily she turned to her sons. "Get me a robe! Now!" "Mother! You can't seriously be--" The DaiMon glared at his brother. "The Lady Yalit gave you an *order*, Ril," he said sharply. "Get her a robe!" "I'd suggest one with a hood, myself," Q said, "Preferably one that goes over the entire head." Yalit turned back to him. "You think you're so wonderful, young man-- excuse me, *old* man? A woman would *cut* herself on those bones of yours." Q shrugged. "I'm thin. But I can gain weight. You, my dear, are ugly-- and *nothing* can change that." T'Laren grabbed Q. "I think that's quite enough," she said. "Come on." She started dragging him toward the door. Yalit cackled. "Not only is he skinny and ill-mannered, but he takes *orders* from *women!*" Her sons laughed appreciatingly. Q turned at the door and smiled. "Like your sons, you mean?" And then, as the male Ferengi purpled and Yalit glared, he was gone. "You'll have to forgive us," Wilde said, filled with dread. He had handled this all wrong. He had been practically paralyzed by the interplay between Q and the woman. "Q is one of the other delegates, *not* someone Starfleet has any control over. He behaves that way to everybody." "Does his girlfriend drag him out of the room every time he does it?" Yalit asked, and then cackled again. The Ferengi that hadn't spoken so far stepped off the transporter platform with a loud greenish plaid robe, far too big for Yalit, but she put it on. "When you're with aliens, follow their custom if you want their latinum," Yalit told her sons. "Rule of Acquisition number 203." "I can show you to your quarters now," Sovaz suggested. "The *Lady Yalit* will not be *guided* by a *female underling!*" Ril shouted. Sovaz blinked. "Professor Yalit is female. How does it impugn her honor to be guided by a fellow female? I don't see the logic." "That's because there isn't any," Yalit said. "One more *word* out of you, Ril, and I'll send you back to the ship. You're almost as ill-mannered as that fellow Gyu." "Q, actually," Sovaz said. "Whatever. Take me to my room, child. No one has *any* manners these days." "What did you think you were doing?" T'Laren asked, barely managing to keep her anger out of her voice. Q shrugged. "Merely greeting a fellow scholar." "No. That is not what you were doing. It is undoubtedly not what you think you were doing, either." "The keenly observant Vulcan telepath strikes again! Tell me, what other facts have you gleaned from your mind-reading expeditions, T'Laren? What else do you know that I don't about my own thoughts?" "One hardly needs to be a telepath. One merely needs to look." She pulled him around the corner and released him when she saw people coming; despite her anger, she had no particular desire to humiliate Q further by dragging him past various members of the crew. "Then why don't *you* tell me what I was doing, since you seem to know so much about it?" he asked cheerily, obviously enjoying the argument. "Why was it necessary to humiliate Professor Yalit like that?" "She was asking for it," Q said. "I mean, really, how much temptation do you expect me to be able to withstand?" "Is this more of your bigotry?" T'Laren asked quietly. "For one so supposedly knowledgeable, you display an appalling close-mindedness on occasion." Q removed his guest combadge and dropped it on the floor. He glanced down at it. "Hmm. It seems the laws of gravity are still working today!" He bent at the knees to pick it up and looked up at her with a mocking expression in his eyes. "One wouldn't want to be close-minded about such things." "Considering that most of your insults revolved around the professor's supposed ugliness--" "It's true. Humans will think she's ugly. So will Bajorans, Cardassians, Klingons, Betazoids, Andorians, and nearly anyone else one could mention, at least as far as races at this tinpot conference go." "But how is that relevant? Professor Markow is hardly very attractive, for reasons far better under his control than Yalit's species is under hers. Yet you don't insult *him*." "I don't *need* to insult him any more." "Any more?" "What, is there an echo in here?" They arrived back at their quarters-- which was interesting, because T'Laren hadn't actually intended to come here. Q was officially still supposed to be at the conference. Right now, though, she was on the trail of something. "Did you ever need to insult him?" Q rolled his eyes. "I suppose you think that I really did think your accent is the most hilarious thing I ever heard, too." The non sequitur puzzled T'Laren. "What does my accent have to do with anything?" With a disgusted snort, Q walked over to the replicator. "Children's alphabet blocks. In bright primary colors." As T'Laren watched, bemused, Q turned around with an armful of alphabet blocks and set them down on the table. "This is a C. See the C? *Pretty* C." He set the C block down. "And this is an *A*. Can you say, A?" "I hardly think you are in any position to accuse *me* of being infantile," T'Laren said. "Oh, I wouldn't think of accusing you of being infantile, my dear. I'm accusing you of being *stupid*." T'Laren controlled a sigh of exasperation. She had no desire to play Q's games. On the other hand, she would lose his respect if he thought her stupid, and while most of what he was saying sounded like the usual Q smoke and mirrors, the hardness that edged into his voice on the word "stupid" made her think that he was on the verge of meaning it seriously. She quickly reran the conversation in her head. Alphabet blocks weren't just a symbol of childhood; he was telling her she needed things spelled out, and that he was contemptuous of her for it. So what was it that he was refusing to spell out? Obviously he believed he had told her everything she needed to know... "You attack people when you meet them for the first time. Because you're testing them for something. What?" "Very *good*," Q said, placing a T block down next to the C and A with a flourish. "Maybe next we can learn our multiplication tables." "What are you testing them for?" T'Laren repeated. "Or maybe not," Q said. He leaned forward. "The truly obnoxious thing about you is that you seem to need to have everything spelled out. And if I won't do it you insist on doing it for me. Really, you have no class whatsoever." "Fortunately," T'Laren said dryly, "I come from a classless society." Q's eyes widened. "I think you just tried to make a joke. Careful. You could strain yourself." "I do need to have things spelled out for me," T'Laren said. "And when you won't do it, I do need to reflect what you just said back to you. That's part of a therapist's job. I cannot take it for granted that I know what you mean-- that breeds misunderstanding and anger." "And what a tragedy that would be," Q said. "Besides, if I tell you what I think you mean, and it is *not* what you mean, you will either get exasperated, or you will seize on my interpretation and confirm it to cover your own fears of being exposed." "I can do *that* anytime. I hardly need your help." "Considering that you seem to dislike directly lying to me, it would seem to be much easier for you to do it when I help. I can usually persuade you to tell the truth if I don't ask you leading questions." "And how do you know I'm telling the truth?" "I don't. I believe you are, since your statements have an internal consistency, but I do not take any of my beliefs for granted. Which is why, although I believe I know the answer, I will ask again: why do you test people when you first meet them? What are you testing them for?" "To see if they're worth my time." Q picked up one of the blocks and began off-handedly tossing it up into the air and catching it again, not looking at her. T'Laren nodded slowly. "Did you decide Morakh was worth your time, when he refused to be provoked by you?" "No, I decided he was worth making fun of back on Starbase 56. See, there's two kinds of people who are worth my time. There are people who are actually interesting, and then there are people who are fun to make fun of. So far Morakh *still* falls in the second category; he's too stupid to be interesting any other way." "You are going to get badly hurt one of these days. You were fortunate with Morakh, that he isn't as easily provoked as a typical Klingon. Someday you're going to push someone too far, and they're going to push back. Possibly with their fists." Q shrugged. "I get beaten up all the time. If I was going to live in terror of being hurt, I would crawl under my bed and whimper until I died." The remark was too offhanded, too studiedly casual. T'Laren pounced on it. "You believe you have no control over being hurt? That it's going to happen anyway, and so you may as well do as you like?" He turned and stared at her. "I thought you just said you couldn't go about making things up that I supposedly think." "For one who prides himself on his ability to deceive, your body language can be remarkably transparent at times," T'Laren said. "I'm right, aren't I? You don't think you have any control over being hurt, so you don't bother to exert what little control you actually do have." Something else fell into place. "That's why you don't fight back, why you think of yourself as powerless and weak, even though you would be a reasonably strong human if you took care of yourself. You're so powerless, compared to what you were before, that it seems to you that you have no power at all. And you don't want to learn self-defense techniques because you're so firmly convinced that you're powerless and the effort would be useless that you feel certain of failure, and you despise failing at anything. You would rather simply not try." "I think this is one of your fairy tales again. We can chalk it up there along with 'I hate myself' and 'I tried to kill myself because I don't have any friends.'" "You decided on Ketaya that you did not, in fact, want to kill yourself. Exactly what was different about your life between then and the last time you were on Starbase 56?" "I no longer had to deal on a daily basis with crushing idiocy, Anderson jerking me around like a puppet and Medellin's moronic sappiness." "So you wanted to kill yourself because Counselor Medellin is sappy and Commodore Anderson kept taking away your computer privileges. I see. Such terrible things could devastate *anyone's* existence." Q glowered at her. "Vulcans aren't cut out for sarcasm." "You only resort to bigotry when you know I'm right." "*You* pull statements out of thin air when I score a point." "Did you score a point? I hadn't noticed." "Why is it that you weren't capable of speculating on why I test people, but you were perfectly capable of making up a tale about why I tried to kill myself out of whole cloth? This seems remarkably inconsistent of you, T'Laren. Make up your mind." "Make up *your* mind. One moment you are deriding me for stupidity because I haven't played your guessing game. The moment I start playing and winning, you decide you would rather have had me keep my mouth shut. Are you that terrified of losing?" "I wasn't aware that therapists were supposed to play games with their patients." "When the patient will respond to nothing else, we're perfectly capable. And you seem incapable of relating to anyone outside the context of a game or a test." She stepped closer to him, getting in his space, staring intensely up at him. "Tell me, Q, doesn't that seem a little limited to you? To be incapable of saying what you truly mean, asking for what you really want, getting what you really need, because you're boxed in by the rules of a game that no one else is playing? You may take points off their score when they don't cooperate, but you can be sure that they're scoring *you* poorly for refusing to engage in the social interactions *they* expect. And there are far more of them than there are of you, and they have far more power than you do, and whether you like it or not, you depend on them for everything that makes your life marginally bearable. Didn't it ever occur to you that it's foolish to play a game if no one else will play with you?" "You've turned quite vicious," Q said. "Don't like being on a ship with people who remember how you cracked up, do you?" Abruptly T'Laren realized what she was doing. She had come perilously close to a personal attack, and when you attacked people they got far too defensive to listen to what you were saying. Not to mention that Q in particular could turn very vicious if pushed too far; and he had far too keen a sense for people's weaknesses to have entirely missed hers, especially when she'd been so obvious about them. She had made her point; it was time to back off and let it sink in. She composed herself serenely. "Think about it," she said, and turned away, walking to her bedroom. * * *