Q-VERSE: GENESIS

Rated PG-13 for violence and language

by RJB

DISCLAIMER: Star Trek and all its various series are a copyright of Paramount Pictures. I don't own them, but this is only non-profit fan fiction. No money is involved and no infringement is intended.

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11

Jonathan Archer sat in the brig, staring across at a huge man in Starfleet Security uniform who'd taken over from Malcolm Reed. He wouldn't have thought a lot of people could make him miss his old shipmate, but this fellow was accomplishing the task. He exuded arrogance, as only a dedicated redshirt could.

“So...” Archer said, hoping the guy might be more pleasant than he looked. “Come here often?”

The redshirt peered at him across Reed's desk. “You got a smart mouth.”

“It goes with my brain. I'm guessing yours is more of an economy model.”

The redshirt leaned forward on the desk. “You're Captain Archer, right? Used to be a big man, didn't you? Garth of Izar's right hand?”

“That's... too complicated to get into right now.”

The big security officer came around the desk, glaring at him. “I lost some friends to Garth.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I don't think you are.” The redshirt stopped at the edge of the forcefield. “I think you're cocky. You still act like a big man, but from here, you look tiny. Think that's what I'll call you.”

“Don't do that,” Archer said, eyes cold. “Really.”

“You want to make a move? Gonna hurt me like you did the Athosians? Don't tempt me... Tiny.”

“Don't worry,” said the captain. “It won't hurt a bit.”

The two men locked eyes. The security officer laughed and marched back behind his desk. Archer smiled; judging by that skip in the power systems, he'd learn who the bigger man was in about two and a half minutes. And so would Christopher Pike.

Michael Eddington approached the blonde Lt. Commander while she was checking over their data for the third time. He watched her for a long moment, thinking she didn't know he was in the room. He was in error. He didn't make any threatening moves, so Annika Hansen waited.

“Is that Borg technology?” he asked at length.

“Yes,” she said. “I was assimilated as a child.”

“And then... un-assimilated? I didn't know we could do that.”

“I was fortune; the procedure is extremely difficult.” Hansen arched an eyebrow. “Ironically, the man who performed the operation was an artificial life-form himself.”

“The blind healing the blind?”

“If you like.” Hansen studied the data for another moment. The hint of a smile played at her lips. “He also taught me to sing. I... miss him, at times.”

“I know what it is to miss people,” said Eddington. He leaned against the wall, exhausted. “My only regret about leaving Starfleet is not being able to help fight the Borg. I think I once called the Federation worse than them. That... might have been hyperbole.”

Hansen nodded, bypassing that. “Have you come to an agreement with Major Kira?”

“We've worked out a plan for finding Tain. That is, if you can calculate a range of vectors from those records.”

Hansen nodded. “Already done.”

“Efficient,” said Eddington, leaving open the question of whether that was a compliment. “Our main sticking point seems to be what happens to me and my people after it's done.”

Hansen frowned. “I advise you to surrender yourself and beam aboard the Excelsior.”

“I'm sure you do,” said the Maquis, and he laughed.

“Tell me about Thomas Riker. How did he know Major Kira?”

Eddington blinked at what must have seemed a bizarre change of subject; after a moment, he must have chalked it up to cybernetically enhanced people skills and decided to humor her.

“He came to the station, years ago,” said Eddington. “He posed as William Riker, in order to hijack the ship.”

“What ship?”

Eddington made a face. “The... ship assigned to the station. I forget the name. It all seems like another life.”

Hansen arched an eyebrow. “There has never been a permanent ship larger than a runabout assigned to Deep Space Nine. It is not strategically important. How do you account for this discrepancy?”

“I don't.” Eddington rubbed a hand across his brow. “I'm tired, Commander. These things don't matter anymore.”

Hansen finished with the records, powered down the computer station, and turned to regard him. “We have all assumed these small details are irrelevant. I believe we have erred.”

“Meaning what?”

Hansen peered at the man, so ragged and worn-down, but with a core of Starfleet to him-- or maybe even a little more.

“I consulted your file,” she said, “when I accepted this assignment. AllMaquis leaders can be described as... colorful, but especially so in your case. One Starfleet psychiatrist described you as 'quixotic.'”

“Hmm.” Eddington scratched at his chin. “I always thought I was more of a Valjean, but I can live with that.”

“Then I believe you will be intrigued by what I am about to tell you, for I offer the most quixotic quest of all...”

In the Excelsior's engine room, Montgomery Scott called the two of the three night-shift engineers over to the warp core.

“What's the problem, Commander?” said Muniz.

“Did we miss all the action again?” said Carey.

“No, lads, no, I just want ye to have a look at this. They're getting' power fluctuations up on the bridge. Lean in there and tell me what ye see.”

Carey leaned way over the guts of the warp core. “I don't know. Maybe a slight power drain on the inducers.”

“Nah, it's got to be the dilithium matrix,” said Muniz, adopting a similar posture.

“Aye, fine guesses, lads. But yer both wrong, an' I'll tell ye why.” Scotty reached into his pocket, fishing around for something as he spoke. “I think it's sabotage.”

“Sabotage?” Muniz said. “I dunno, Scotty, I don't see any marks; it'd have to be the work of a master.”

“True tha',” said Scott. He found what he was looking for.

Joe Carey said, “By the way, the engineering section is buzzing about you chatting up Crusher in the lounge. Nice work.”

“Ach. 'Twas a small... professional matter, that's all.”

“C'mon, Scotty,” said Muniz. “The night shift lives on gossip. Give us something.”

“All right, I will,” said the chief engineer. “I went to Beverly, complainin' of me troubled sleep, and she quietly prescribed a mild sedative.”

Carey frowned. “I can't imagine you taking sedatives.”

“No, lad,” said Scotty, “neither can I.”

Then he pulled the hypo from his pocket, pressed it into each man's shoulder in turn, and stuffed them in the Jefferies Tube. The third engineer, a small alien named Keenser with huge black eyes, chattered at him from the other side of the engine room.

“Ach, stay out o' this, you. 'Tis for a good cause.”

The little alien sounded annoyed, but didn't interfere. Scotty quickly re-routed power and control to Main Engineering. Thanks to the magic he'd worked on Ops, Lieutenant Leslie would never see a thing. Whistling a jaunty tune, he scanned through the ship directory to find Archer.

“Going down,” he said, and reached for the control that was drop power to the captain's cell.

“Step away from the console!”

Scotty turned, only mildly surprised. Harry Kim stood behind him, holding a phaser.

“Well, lad. I see ye found my tracer in the transporter system. You are earnin' yer lieutenant's stripe today. I'm proud of ye.”

“You won't get away with it,” said the younger man. “I've already told the captain, and security's on its way.”

“So they are,” said Scott, with a glance at the computer screen. “A hair's breadth too late.”

“Scotty... why?”

“Let's just say, lad, when ye misplace a man's prize beagle, yer in his debt forever.”

“You're working with Archer!” Kim gestured again with the phaser. “Step away.”

“Stun me,” Scotty said, and he reached for the power controls.

Harry Kim obliged. Before the world turned dark, Montgomery Scott had the satisfaction of seeing the forcefields blink out of existence...

One minute after the transporter difficulty was cleared up and thirty seconds after Harry Kim left for the engine room, Ensign Hubbell responded to a priority beam-up request from Lieutenant Commander Hansen on the planet. She was understandably surprised to see Hansen arrive, not with Kira and Reed in tow, but with Michael Eddington, Lon Suder, and a team of Maquis.

“Step away from the console and remove your commbadge,” Hansen said.

The ensign reluctantly complied, and Hansen handed her off to the Maquis. Hanson then disabled the console, although she estimated a ninety-seven percent chance that Captain Pike was already moving to reestablish control. That made it essential to move quickly.

“I will go to the brig myself,” she told Eddington. “Proceed carefully toward the bridge. I will contact you with instructions.”

“Sure you want to go alone?” the Maquis asked.

Hansen nodded. “Remind your people: The deal is off if any member of the crew is injured.”

“Relax, Commander. Don Quixote is a man of his word.” Eddington hurried off toward his fellows, shouting orders: “Sakonna, take B deck and proceed to starboard. Suder, C deck and move to port. Stun setting, Lon, I'm not kidding...”

Annika Hansen didn't process her emotions the way humans did who'd never been exposed to the Borg collective; she still tended to analyze them instead of feeling them. Thus it was hard to say with accuracy what she felt when she stepped out into the corridor and aimed herself for the brig, effectively ending her career for the sake of a wild hunch. She thought “exhilarated” was the proper descriptive term.

Then, too, it might have been closer to “terrified.”

“She did what?” Kira Nerys snapped, unable to quite fathom the left turns she was taking in quick succession today.

Malcolm Reed hissed. “I'm sorry, Major, it's my fault. I knew she was up to something in the armory, I planned to look into it when we returned, but... it's Hansen. I've never known her to disobey the rules.”

“What do we do now?” asked Pavel Chekov, who'd removed his field jacket and whose tunic resembled something from Kira's worst nightmares of battlefield triage.

A little way off to the side of the Starfleet officers, Gul Dukat chuckled. Kira turned on him, her expression and posture rendering words unnecessary: It would not be smart to gloat about this.

He couldn't help it. “I'm sorry, Major, but it's very amusing: Ever since you arrived, you've been paranoid about getting betrayed by me. Now your tame Borg has turned the tables on you, and my message to Damar is very probably the only thing we've done right so far. I can't help but think all this could have been avoided, if only you'd put more faith in me...”

Kira made a sound that even she couldn't identify. It was hard enough sparring with Dukat when he was wrong. If his soldiers had to kick down the doors and rescue them, not only would Kira never live it down, they'd probably slaughter the remaining Maquis and not make much distinction for regular colonists, either.

“Do you think the Order got to Annika somehow?” Reed asked. “Using her the same way they used Riker?”

The Bajoran hissed; she actually hadn't thought of that. If Dukat was right about yet another thing, that just made this the worst day ever.

“They're not being controlled,” said Miramanee, who seemed to have been delegated by the Maquis leader as the bearer of bad tidings. “Michael would not have done this without a good reason. He said... you'll thank him for it, in time.”

“Funny, that's what the Cardassians said, too.” Kira dismissed the young Native American and addressed her shipmates. “Eddington can't have left more than a skeleton complement. I intend to get our weapons back and end this now.”

“That's all well and good, Major, but to what end?” said Reed. “Whatever Hansen's up to, she'll have done it by the time we can escape from here.”

“One thing at a time,” said Kira. “If Pike is dealing with a mutiny, well... somebody's still got to stop these attacks.”

“Is this where I get to be bait?” Dukat drawled.

“If you can do it quietly,” Kira said. “If you'd rather be insufferably smug...”

“Not smug, Major. Resigned.” Dukat looked at them each in turn. “You have no idea how dangerous Enabran Tain is. With a starship, you'd have been pushing your luck. Now you intend to beat him with... the four of us, plus Dr. Crusher and a rabble of colonists? I believe I'd like to see that.”

“I believe you will. After all, we didn't have much more of that when the Resistance started, and look how we beat you.”

“Yes,” said Dukat, “but Tain is smarter than me.”

You had to really understand the blend of colossal arrogance and culturally-encouraged Cardassian posturing that was Gul Dukat to understand why that sentence chilled Kira right down to her skeleton.

The first thing Annika Hanson saw when she reached the brig was a rather large security officer flying backwards through it. Jonathan Archer stepped out next, cradling a set of bruised knuckles. The security officer didn't stir when the captain approached, though he did groan when Archer landed a boot on his chest and stepped on him on the way out.

“Maybe it'll hurt a little,” said the captain. “Sorry I'm not tinier.”

Hansen arched an eyebrow; his years in exile had changed Archer quite a bit from the legendary captain she'd read about. She feared the task at hand might be beyond him, but as she didn't have any better ideas, she met him in the corridor and offered him a hand phaser.

“Well,” he said, “I was expecting Scotty, but in some ways you're a vast improvement.”

Hansen arched an eyebrow. “Commander Scott is assisting you?”

“Was. I can't get his commbadge.” Archer stopped, staring at her. “Are you really up to this?”

“The evidence suggests you are correct; the Universe has changed. It is my duty to set it right. I assume you have a plan?”

“Not so much a plan as a map. We've got to get to the bridge.”

Archer moved through the corridors more quickly than Hansen could have led him; as Excelsior's former captain, he knew her as well as anyone save Christopher Pike. He found the least-traveled corridors and the fastest junctions; they only had to hide a couple of times when crew members ran past at alert status.

When the latest detachment passed, Hansen said, “I have also brought aboard a group of Maquis. They will prove useful if the Starfleet crew refuses to assist us.”

Archer laughed. “Maquis, huh? How'd you swing that?”

“I gave them the Excelsior.” When the captain boggled at her, Hansen only shrugged matter-of-factly. “If our contention is correct, they will never have the chance to use it. If we are wrong, and fail... at least we'll have a job.”

Archer laughed aloud. Hansen felt pleased with herself; it wasn't often her deadpan wit got recognized for what it was.

More sincerely, she said, “Their commander is an unusual man. He may have helped us, as I believe the expression goes, for the hell of it.”

“And why are you helping me?”

“I told you: My duty requires...”

“That's the business reason. You don't believe a crazy-ass story like mine without a personal reason, too. So what is it?”

There is was, wasn't it? The question Eddington had neglected to ask; the Annika Hansen had barely acknowledged to herself. She took a deep breath.

“The Borg have made great advances into our territory; their threat is greater than those who have not been assimilated can realize. Every day, I hear her in my mind, calling to me, coming closer. I estimate she will assimilate Earth within the next five years. I will do what I must to save my people from suffering as I did.”

The captain cocked an eyebrow at her; Hansen felt almost... ashamed, though she couldn't imagine why.

“Don't you mean, save yourself from suffering?”

“That is not my--”

“Bullshit.”

“It is not my primary goal.” Hansen looked away. “If the Universe resets... if their advance is pushed back... it is possible that I will not have been assimilated. That I will have... lived a normal life. That my family will not have suffered. Is that not a desirable outcome?”

Archer started to answer. He was interrupted by Hansen's commbadge.

“Yes?” she said.

“It's Suder,” said a flat voice. “We've got Captain Pike.”

Five minutes earlier, on the bridge of the Excelsior, Christopher Pike was getting tired of talking to static.

“Engine room, respond! Transporter room! Hubble! Dammit!”

Lieutenant Leslie looked up from where he was buried to his waist in the Ops console, trying semi-desperately to reset it. “Sir, at this point I suggest we secure the bridge.”

“Against what?” Pike suggested. “We can't bring our people back up, we can't even track what the hell is being done under our noses. Scotty knows the ship too well; we'll never untie all the knots he left us. Dammit! Piece of advice, Leslie, when you have your own command: Neverfollow regulations.”

“I'll... try not to, sir.”

“May I make a suggestion, Captain?” said Glinn Damar on the viewscreen. “I could beam over a detachment of Cardassians...”

“Over which of our dead bodies will this be occurring?”

Damar shrugged. “Just trying to be helpful.”

“Well, stop it. It's eerie.” Pike hissed and checked the tactical station for himself. He saw several red blips, flagged by the internal security. “Hell. I make at least three groups headed for the bridge. Two from the transporter room, a minute away. One near the brig, further behind. It's Archer.”

Leslie climbed to his feet. “I'll alert Security.”

“Wait,” said Pike. “When you have that command, Leslie, you'll have to think outside the box.”

He trailed off. The lieutenant blinked at him for a moment. “Sir?”

“Give me your phaser,” Pike said, “and take off your shirt.”

“I'm... sorry?”

“The first ones through the door won't know me on sight,” the captain said. “So... today... you get to be Christopher Pike.”

Leslie stared at him as though he was expecting the whole thing to be declared a practical joke.

Pike grinned. “And you thought Harry got a field promotion. I'm not kidding, Lieutenant. Your jacket, now!”

Leslie frowned and handed the captain his weapon, then his duty jacket and rank pips. A moment later, Lieutenant Christopher Pike stood at the turbolift doors.

“Secure this door behind me,” Pike said, “and stall them as long as you can. I'm going to try to surprise Archer for once. Can I count on your assistance, Glinn Damar? It would be very helpful if you'd rant and rave at my lieutenant as though he were me.”

Damar laughed. “By all means, Captain. I'd like to see how all this turns out. Just understand that if you fail, I'll be beaming over those soldiers.”

Pike snorted. “Pleasure doing business with you, Glinn Damar.”

“Good luck, Captain Pike.”

Pike stepped through the doors and exited the turbolift on the deck below, only a few seconds ahead of a party of scraggly Maquis. One of them saw the lowly junior officer making his escape. Their team leader, an intense Betazoid, said to let him go.

They were only after the captain.

Jonathan Archer burst back onto his bridge with a vengeance, with a phaser pistol in each hand and Annika Hansen at his back. Suder aimed a weapon right back, and after a moment both of them holstered their weapons.

“Where's my friend Chris?”

“Absent,” said a man on the far said of the bridge, whom Pike took to be the Maquis commander. “I'm afraid Lon got taken in by an old trick.”

He gestured to a Vulcan woman, and she pushed forward a man with a Captain's rank pips... and the frazzled looks of a Lieutenant J.G..

“Ed Leslie, how the hell are you? You're looking important these days.”

Leslie made a face at Archer; he all but had a stroke when he saw Hansen. “Commander?”

“Detain him,” Hansen said without emotion. “Humanely.”

Suder pushed the lieutenant forward, while Archer relished the feel of sitting down in the center seat. Whether or not his loss of command had been real, he'd felt every hour of it. Now he felt like himself for the first time in a very long while.

The Maquis commander said, “We've got most of the crew bottled up below Deck Five; your engineer's progam made it easy. I have people out looking for stragglers.”

“Good work, Mister... Eddington is it?” Archer waited until the slender man acknowledged. “Speaking of Scotty, he's probably filling up my old cell by now; I'd love to have him back.”

“Come on,” said Eddington to Suder.

The two men left, along with a couple of the others. The Vulcan woman took the helm. Archer frowned at the Galor-class warship confronting him.

“Hail the Cardassians.”

The viewscreen blinked over to Glinn Damar on his bridge. He tsked with annoyance.

“Ah hell, have you changed commanders again? You're more confusing than the Central Command.”

The human grinned. “I'm Jonathan Archer. I think you've heard of me.”

“Yes. You're the crazy one.” The Cardassian snorted. “Glinn Damar. I'm the drunk. Pleased to meet you.”

“You won't be for long,” said Archer. He cut the comm and turned to Hansen. “Are her shields still down?”

“She's powering them as we speak.”

“Photon torpedoes, target the engines and transporters. Just make sure she can't get in our way.”

Twin points of light streaked out from Excelsior's forward launchers, striking the Cardassian vessel precisely. Little lightning storms chased themselves up and down her length as key systems shorted out. The warship listed for a moment, then righted itself.

“Glinn Damar is not amused,” said Hansen.

“Me, either. Now, tell me about Pike. What's he like these days?”

His new exec sidled up to the command chair, lowering her voice. “If he is loose, we have a serious problem. He is an excellent officer and will be fighting on his ground, with the loyalty of the crew.”

“Yeah,” Archer said. “Loyalty. I remember when I used to have that.”

“This is not personal,” Hansen warned him. “It must not be.”

“Everything's personal, Annika.”

Archer looked up at the blonde woman, who was trying so hard not to admit that to herself. He reflected on the hopelessness of what she'd told him in the corridor: Events in this Universe were meant to approximate those in proper timeline, particularly... singular events. If Annika Hansen was part-Borg here, it was because she was somehow part-Borg over there, too. How or why didn't matter much; fundamentally, there was no such thing as a normal life for Annika Hansen in the timeline they meant to restore. Archer knew this.

He also knew that she had to know it. She could calculate the odds better than he could, work out their probable fates at least as well. She'd confided that small, selfish goal mixed in amongst her more tangible motivations out of a very human tendency to hope.

Archer didn't have the heart to rob her of that hope. Bad things were going to happen before they were done; if hope would get her through them, so be it. In general, though, he thought the Universe sucked for doing this to her.

Hansen saw him watching her, and looked a question at him.

Archer half-smiled. “I was just thinking... I hope you get what you're looking for.”

“Thank you,” she said. “So do I.”

Archer took a deep breath and studied his viewscreen. “Helm, set course for Ceti Alpha V. Warp factor six. Engage.”

The Vulcan woman worked the controls with nearly-Starfleet competence. Archer watched the stars extend and shoot past, as Excelsior suddenly rocketed to speeds that left their light behind.

“Ceti Alpha V is a dead planetoid,” Hansen reminded him. “What do you hope to find there?”

Jonothan Archer smiled and said, “A very old friend...”

It had taken Kira and Reed maybe fifteen minutes to disarm the remaining Maquis at their Dorvan V base-- that only because they hadn't had a proper amount of prep time, or so the armory officer claimed. The unrepentant ones were locked away in rooms similar to the one where they'd left Dukat. Some of the others, like Tora Ziyal and Kris DeMarco, were permitted to function as trustees, pending Federation justice. Dukat's daughter seemed more angry at her father than actually criminal, and the medic, true to his word, had done everything he could to assist Crusher with the wounded.

Around midnight, they'd finally seen the last of the their charges out of the crisis stage, one way or another. She bid DeMarco goodnight and collapsed at a portable mess table, exhausted. A few minutes later, she felt a presence. Tora Ziyal slid a coffee cup in front of her.

“I think this tastes nasty, but humans seem to like it. Are you alright?”

Crusher nodded wearily. “We couldn't save enough people today, but... we tried. In the end, that's all I have the right to expect.

“You've done amazing work, Doctor. Kris told me you saved at least a dozen lives he couldn't have. We're all in your debt.”

“The doctor's the one in debt, to Death. We spend our whole lives paying.” Crusher frowned. “So... what happened between you and your father?”

“It's... a very long story. Right now, I've got a message from Major Kira: Excelsior has left orbit. That woman, Hansen? They think she's running the show.”

“Damn.” Crusher hung her head and sighed. “Godspeed, Chris. I hope you're alright...”

Ziyal gave her a lopsided smile. “I spent most of my life in a work camp, and even I heard stories about Christopher Pike. He's not the one you're really worried about.”

Crusher peered at the younger woman. “You inherited your father's gift for being annoyingly perceptive.”

“You're wearing The Look. I see it a lot around here. You're missing your fill-in-the-blank: Husband, Wife, Son, Daughter, Brother, Sister, Parents, Best Friend, Favorite Pet. So which is it?”

“My son.” Crusher laughed at the gallows humor. “And cats are my favorite pet, for the record.”

“Noted,” said Ziyal. “So where is he?”

She took a deep breath and exhaled it for a very long time. “My son Wesley is an ensign attached to the Excelsior. When we came out here, he volunteered for a mission: He and another ensign were sent to Ilana VI to observe the Cardassian activity and report back.”

Ziyal nodded slowly. “The Cardassian government dispersed the human population of Ilana VI three weeks ago.”

“And we haven't heard from Wes,” Crusher said. “He's probably continuing the mission from another planet. He could have been anywhere in the sector. He could have been on Dorvan V.”

“He wasn't,” Ziyal promised her.

“How do you know?”

“Because I know about parents and their children. You have a connection. If my father had cared about me the way you care about your son...”

“He does.” Crusher surprised herself by defending their nemesis. “Don't be too hard on him.”

“Too late.” Ziyal gave a little shrug. “If you taught your son half as well as I think, he can take care of himself. You'll find each other.”

Crusher smiled. A glimmer of understand passing between them. Ziyal gripped the doctor's hand quickly, then wandered off to clean up. Beverly Crusher remained where she was, afraid to fall asleep.

I should have taken some of those sedatives I gave Scotty, she thought ruefully. I think I'll be afraid to dream until I know Wes is safe...

Cardassian Galor-Class Warship Takora
Somewhere in the DMZ

At a small table in a warm, darkened room, a flabby old Cardassian sat sipping at a mug of warm fish juice. He appeared to be the least dangerous creature in the Quadrant. In fact, the reverse was true.

The door slid open in front of Enabran Tain, and a tall, professional female gul appeared. Tain sipped at his drink and favored her with a smile: As a rule, he only smiled when one of his officers impressed him, and as a rule they never did. Jenika Rees tended to be the exception to that rule.

“They've taken the bait on Dorvan V,” she said. “They're in with the Maquis.”

“Excellent,” he smiled. “And Dr. Crusher?”

“She'll perform as we expect. The only thing we don't understand: The Excelsior recently left orbit, leaving behind its Away Team. We don't know where she's going.”

“She'll be back. We have time.” Tain sipped at his drink again. “How are the subjects?”

Rees' expression tightened slightly. Expecting disapproval. “The female gave out this morning. The male's still alive. We haven't learned anything from him yet.”

Tain wagged a finger at her, a master teacher correcting the pupil. “That's where you're wrong, Jenika. We're always learning things, every moment we spend with a subject. Even where they're silent, they talk.”

The Gul inclined her head, accepting his wisdom, and at length Tain put down his mug and pulled a shawl around his shoulders.

“Bring him to me,” he said. “Let's see what we can learn today.”

Like a good officer should, Rees had anticipated his request. She snapped her fingers at a couple of glinns in the corridor outside, and the junior officers dumped a battered, ragged human on the floor in front of Tain.

“Hello, Wesley,” Tain said. “Your name is Wesley, isn't it? Wesley Crusher, son of Beverly and Jack? Father killed on the Stargazer in the line of duty, poor bastard. You're fond of Georgia peaches, and do not enjoy... yogurt, isn't that what they call it? Would you like to tell me your serial number, or shall I tell it to you?”

Wesley looked at him with swollen, bloodshot eyes peering out of a bleeding face. He struggled almost to his feet before Rees made him kneel.

“I didn't talk to her,” the human said. “I won't talk to you.”

“I've been looking forward to this. They say you're brilliant, Wesley. You're an artist when it comes to warp theory. Is there anything you'd like to say about that?”

“I once ascended to a higher plane of consciousness, but it didn't take.”

The young human proceeded to spit a mouthful of bloody saliva at Enabran Tain's feet. The head of the Obsidian Order threw back his head and laughed.

“I like a young man who retains his sense of humor in a difficult spot.” Tain leaned in closer. “Now, Wesley, tell me about Excelsior. I'm sure an adventurous young man like you must enjoy that assignment. Tell me how much fun it is. Tell me about Christopher Pike.”

“I won't.”

“Well, we don't have to talk about Pike right now.” Tain shrugged. “Have you met Jonathan Archer? Don't bother to lie, I already know you have. He was a friend of your father. Archer's been acting strangely lately, don't you agree?”

Wesley glared at him, settled back on his haunches, trembling with rage.

“They say you're pretty smart, too. You don't act like it.” He drew in a ragged breath. “I'm not going to talk. Just kill me, like you did Sito.”

“If you insist,” Tain said cheerfully. He turned to Rees. “Kill him.”

The gul obediently drew her disruptor and shoved it against the back of Wesley Crusher's head. The young human's eyes betrayed surprised, then disbelief that Tain had acceded to his suggestion. When he heard Rees flick the safety off, he involuntarily flinched.

Tain gestured for the Gul to lower her weapon.

“You see, Wesley? You don't want to die. Not yet. And I don't want to kill you yet. So, really, it's in the best interests of both of us to have these little chats. But if you're feeling solitary just now, I understand that.” Tain glanced at Rees. “Put him back in his cell. We'll have another talk tomorrow. And the next day, and the day after that, for as long as it takes.”

Something in Wesley Crusher snapped. He lunged at Tain, growling incoherently, until Rees pistol-whipped him to ground with grim efficiency. Then she stepped back, eying the blood on her weapon unhappily.

“Good-bye, Wesley,” Tain said. “I hope we'll have a better talk tomorrow.”

The pair of glinns dragged Wesley Crusher from the room, trailing blood behind him. It was a shame, in a way: He reminded Tain of his own son. So clever, so... dedicated.

Of course, Tain had broken his own son, and soon enough he'd do the same to Wesley.

“All things in time,” he said to Rees, and went to the replicator for a refill.

U.S.S. Excelsior
Orbiting Ceti Alpha V

Jonathan Archer stepped into the transporter room feeling like a new man. They'd managed to find enough of his old friends amongst the ship's crew to run Excelsior's vital operations, and the balance of the crew hadn't made any progress in getting around Scotty's multiple safeguards.

Speaking of Scotty, the man himself waited at the transporter console when he stepped into the room with Hansen.

“How're you feeling, Mister Scott?”

The Scotsman groaned and rubbed the back of his skull. “Ach, Cap'n, I've had worse headaches after a pub-crawl in Aberdeen. Dinnae worry about me.”

Archer slapped the engineer on the shoulder. “All the same, I owe you a lot.”

“Just change th' Universe so I'm free of this bucket o' bolts and we'll be square, sir.”

Archer laughed; trust an engineer to know his ship from a false one, no matter what the timeline. “Energize.”

Scott worked the controls, filling the room with the familiar, pulsating whir of a transporter. Two forms materialized on the pad: A large metal box on a dolly, and a dark-skinned woman in flowing robes, wearing a rather unusual hat.

“Guinan,” Archer said, and he stepped to the pad to embrace her. “Are the pieces in play?”

“A few snags, but we've got what we need.” Guinan turned and smiled at Annika Hansen. “Lieutenant Commander. I know you've risked a lot for us. Believe me when I say, it will be worth it.”

Hansen only cocked her head like a curious beagle, something Archer knew well.

“An El-Aurian. Is it your unique sense of the timestream which tells you this Universe is not right?”

“No,” the Listener said, “it's my unique sense of one man that tells me he isn't right. But we'll change that.” She turned to Archer. “Will you have someone get my luggage, please?”

Archer nodded to a Maquis crewman at the door, who hurried to wheel the box after them as Guinan left the transporter room with the officers.

“What's in th' box?” Scotty asked. “Have ye a wee time machine fer us tae borrow, lass?”

Guinan chuckled in her worldly-wise way. “I don't have any miracles to offer you, or Jon. Only friendly advice, and an ear to hear your troubles. I hope that'll be enough.”

“It always has been,” said Archer. “We're heading to the next stop, right on schedule.”

“That's excellent. The Prophets have sent Kirk on his way, Vash and Kassidy have made contact with their targets, and I have my... personal connection to events on Romulus. You're the last domino to fall.”

“We'll try not to feel inadequate.”

Thump. Thump-thump. Archer stopped in the corridor. Annika Hansen frowned.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Oh... nothing,” said Guinan.

“It came from inside the box.”

The El-Aurian smiled. “I admit it's very troublesome luggage...”

Archer gestured to Scotty, who produced a cargo jack, unlocked the box, and pushed off the lid. The officers from Excelsior gasped and stepped back in unison. There was someone inside the box; disheveled, barely breathing, hair tousled, quite unconscious.

Annika Hansen looked at Guinan with the wide eyes of a woman who feared she'd made a terrible mistake. “It is... a man?”

“It's not a man, it's a Q. It's the Q. The one who did all this.”

Scott and Hansen were nonplussed, but Arched showed a flicker of recognition. He peered into the box.

“That's him, huh?” The captain shrugged. “Doesn't look like much. The way you talk, I'm surprised you didn't kill him.”

“Believe me, I thought about it.” Guinan's eyes, previously full of warmth, turned frighteningly cold. “But there's the little problem that he's holding this timeline together by literal force of will. Killing him would probably not work out so well.”

“So what are we t' do with the bugger?” Scott asked.

“That's the fun part, Mr. Scott: I really don't know.” Guinan shrugged. “We'll think of something.”

She walked on toward the quarters they'd provided. Scott and Hansen remained where they were, staring at each other, their expressions saying: Oh, well as long as we'll think of something, that's alright then...

For his part, Jonathan Archer shrugged and followed Guinan, because they would think of something.

He hoped.

THE END, FOR NOW....

The story continues in FIVE shorter stories:

Q-Verse: Enterprise
Q-Verse: Stargazer
Q-Verse: Voyager
Q-Verse: Defiant and
Q-Verse: Excelsior

Coming soon (in new story files) to fanfiction dot net!