Bastard...I'll admit you had me going for just a split second before it kicked in what day it was.
Glad to know I've still got it.
Seriously, I have no intention of just stopping now, as tempting as it is at times. We're getting close to the halfway mark of Act II. Once we reach that, we're going to get payoff from almost all of the subplots, which in turn will build towards the final, cataclysmic Act.
And not just the subplots, too. Remember some of the factoids and nuggets of information that were pervalent in Act I? Some of them weren't put in randomly and we'll be getting payoff from that as well if all goes according to plan.
Finally, and this is not an April Fool's Joke, I hope to have the next chapter ready this time tomorrow. Thanks as always, guys.
JME2 wrote:
I'm no ordinary fool; I am a witty fool.
Who's the more foolish or the fool or the fool who thinks himself witty?
post count +1
Don't forget the fool that follows him...
That isn't fooling anyone. A fool's follower fools only himself, for fooling a fool twice, I mean, following a fool twice is foolhardy...gah! Let's just stop this foolishness altogether!
Crazedwraith wrote:
Who's the more foolish or the fool or the fool who thinks himself witty?
post count +1
Don't forget the fool that follows him...
That isn't fooling anyone. A fool's follower fools only himself, for fooling a fool twice, I mean, following a fool twice is foolhardy...gah! Let's just stop this foolishness altogether!
Agreed.
I'm sorry for not getting the update this weekend for two reasons. The first, as the HOS vent thread shows, was massive spring cleaning. The other is that the next chapters are going to take longer to write since we'll be approaching the legnth of some of the Act I chapters again (25-30 pages) and with this in mind, then Act II should be finished before the end of the summer.
And wait until you see the cliffhanger I have planned...
JME2 wrote:
And wait until you see the cliffhanger I have planned...
Oh I hate it when authors do that!
DPDarkPrimus is my boyfriend!
SDNW4 Nation: The Refuge And, on Nova Terra, Al-Stan the Totally and Completely Honest and Legitimate Weapons Dealer and Used Starship Salesman slept on a bed made of money, with a blaster under his pillow and his sombrero pulled over his face. This is to say, he slept very well indeed.
Nice sig difference...now if you could find one more realistic of Luke.
PS: I'm sure you haven't realized it yet, but your sig is reflecting a Borg mentality. Constantly adapting, attempting to improve itself, seeking perfection.
Robert Walper wrote:Nice sig difference...now if you could find one more realistic of Luke.
PS: I'm sure you haven't realized it yet, but your sig is reflecting a Borg mentality. Constantly adapting, attempting to improve itself, seeking perfection.
In regards to the former, this is what I get for setting the story during the NJO; The American covers all suck and the Japanese covers are all painted, but I go with them in a heartbeat. And at least you can see the lightsaber emitter itself this time.
And only you would find elements of the Borg in my artwork...
Disclaimer: Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Pictures. Stat Wars created by George Lucas and owned by Twentieth Century Fox and Lucasfilm. I own the story and any original characters/species. No copyright infringement is intended.
Star Trek/Star Wars: The Best of Both Worlds -- Act II, Part VI
"Do not wait to strike till the iron is hot; but make it hot by striking."
- William Butler Yeats -
Author’s Warnings: Well, what do you know? For once, no ROTS spoilers! As always, enjoy.
***
Location: Reman Warbird Scimitar
In orbit of Kamino
Though his people had been enslaved for generations, Vkruk had truly first learned the brutality of Romulans shortly after his mate would have given birth to their first child. Despite the hardships and horrors he had witnessed, his marriage to his mate had eased his suffering and filled him with a hope for tomorrow.
It had been misplaced.
The often sadistic Romulan guards had cared not only for her pregnancy, but had ‘assisted’ in the labor process’ by restraining her and then, with their so-called honor blades, cutting the unborn child out of his mother in order to satisfy some manner of bet as he had been forced to watch.
The shrieks from both mother and child still haunted his nightmares and for the first few years, his every waking moment.
Gazing at the bodies of his angel of the night and his child, he had vowed to not only rebuild his family, but to drive the Romulans off of his world and away from his people one way or another. It was in this time of his mourning and vow that the Romulan guards had brought a creature that the Remans had heard myths of from Romulan overseers into the dilithium mines: a human boy.
The telepathic abilities that all Remans possessed in one form or another often allowed for….it was difficult to vocalize in either the Romulan or Reman languages. It was, for lack of better term, brief, unexplainable glimpses or flashes of insight. He had taken one look this small, quivering creature and had seen great destiny and potential in the boy. He had comforted him, taken him under his wing, and had named him the Reman name for hope: Shinzon.
That had been twenty standard years ago.
And now here he was, Viceroy to the most powerful man in the Romulan Star Empire and in command of a top-of-the-line warship. But he had never forgotten his roots, his vow to his mate, and the human child that become in so many ways the son that had been stolen for him. He cared for Shinzon and could not help but feel a surge of relief as the Zemba-class dropship and its Scoprion fighter escort set down within the Scimitar’s massive shuttle bay.
“Welcome back, Praetor.”
Shinzon nodded curtly as he stepped down the dropship’s landing raft.”
“Come.”
***
Ever since their mission to Goloroth five years prior, Shinzon had been fascinated with the power of Thalaron radiation. To him, the idea that something so small and insignificant in the grand order of the universe could be so deadly was symbolic, a manifestation of the goals he had set and achieved mere weeks earlier in the very seat of power that had condemned his people for millennia. This was why he chose his discussions and sessions with Vkruk within the shield compartment of the Thalaron generator that graced the backbone of the Scimitar’s bridge. None of the bridge crew would interrupt them; they all respected Shinzon’s privacy and bond with the Viceory and only a major occurrence would bring an interruption to the meeting.
“Report.”
“Sensors show that the while their weapon systems have been deactivated, the planetary turbolaser platforms are still focused on us.
A wise move, to keep the honor blade unsheathed should one’s opponent lunge at you before you realized what was occurring. If Shinzon had been in the Kaminoan’s place, he would be doing the same.
“Have the sensors been able to penetrate the interior of the complex?”
“Yes and no. If we were using Romulan sensors, we would not have achieved accurate readings; another gift from the Dominion sensors we appropriated at Orias.”
“Have you been able to locate cloning facility?”
“We are reasonably certain of its location. The Kaminoans have obviously shielded their cities against precise scans, likely the result of Imperial sanctions from shortly after the conclusion of their Clone War. But we have a general idea as well as a basic layout of said facility.”
Shinzon considered this.
“Vkruk, I need an as accurate as possible map of their cloning facilities as well as a strike team readied for deployment at any moment.
Shinzon quickly explained the bureaucratic wall that he had encountered while in conference with Banu Le.
“They possess a bureaucracy like any in this galaxy or ours and I have a fear that their council’s meeting will not go in our favor. If that happens, we must acquire their cloning technology at any cost lest our hopes and dreams for Remus and our brothers collapse.”
Vkruk nodded.
“Understood, Praetor.”
***
Location: Federation Starbase 324
Beta Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
“Regeneration cycle complete.”
The eyes of the female Borg drone once known as Annika Hansen, but now known by the designation of Seven of Nine fluttered open. It took her a moment to collect her bearings as she stepped down the regeneration alcove that two years prior had been a fixture in Cargo Bay 2 of the Starship Voyager. Now, like Seven, it served the same purpose, but in a different locale.
When she and Chakotay had ended their relationship, he had headed for what had been the Demilitarized Zone, she had set off in the opposite direction at the behest of Starfleet Command to join the anti-Borg think tank at Starbase 324. The Starbase rivaled Deep Space Nine in terms of importance and defense level and Seven had adapted quickly to people who understood the Borg on a different level than the Voyager crew.
“Admiral Lightoller to Seven of Nine.”
The electronic voice of the Starbase’s command officer broke into her thoughts. While Seven tried to plan out the day carefully and in the most efficient way, she had learned from her four years on the Intrepid-class starship to expect the unexpected wrench to be thrown in to the machine.
“This is Seven.”
“You have an incoming Priority One communication from Starfleet Command.”
“Acknowledged,” she replied as she turned towards the customized data-console she had created for her private use. And even before her delicate hands had graced the console, she had computed a number of likely possibilities as to who her caller was. As the Federation logo faded, Seven had found that she had been correct with a seventy-nine point six percentage range.
“Cap -- Admiral,” Seven said, correcting herself in mid-sentence. Even two years after their return to the Alpha Quadrant, it was difficult to address the leader of what she had considered her new Collective by her new rank. It was an annoying trait and violation of her goals towards perfection. From the console, Kathryn Janeway smiled.
“Seven. It‘s good to see you again. It’s been too long.”
“Six months, ten days, seven hours, forty seconds, eight --”
“And I thought I had to deal with that enough from Tuvok,” Janeway said, her chuckle coming in loud and clear. While humor was not beyond Seven, she found laughter to be a wasteful facial contortion that required a great deal of misplaced energy. In short, it was an inefficient use of resources and so she rarely, if ever, engaged it in. That didn’t mean she didn’t have a sense or humor, though…
But now was not the spatial or temporal locale from which to speculate on such matters.
“I’d like to talk and catch up, but unfortunately, this is a luxury I simply don’t have the time for. Simply put, I need your help and expertise.”
“I surmise that this involves Unimatrix Zero’s presence in Sector 001.”
Janeway nodded.
“You’ve obviously seen the battle footage from the previous week. You saw that the Fusion Cube took heavy damage. What we haven’t released is what caused the cube to shut down or the fact that primary systems haven’t been engaged since the battle. With Uptopia Planita and Earth Station McKinley already operating at full capacity to repair the Federation, Republic, and Klingon fleets, we’ve only been able to spare handful of S.C.E personnel."
“Was this requested by Axum as well?”
She hadn’t forgotten her relationship with the leader of the Borg Resistance, but she had been…unwilling to contact him with word had reached Starbase 324 of the development and of how the Collective was destroyed, instead finding any number of excuses and burying herself in her work and data that Starfleet had bestowed upon her.
“Axum’s currently involved in a mission to the Gamma Quadrant and Korok hasn’t been able to contact him. Korok and his teams can’t figure out why they can’t bring the Fusion Cube back online and if the Vong should attack again, we would need their firepower; both our fleets are spread pretty thin at the moment. They could really use the help of an expert in Borg mechanics.
Seven was silent for a moment, calculating and pondering Admiral Janeway’s request. Not officially a member of Starfleet, Starfleet could turn down such a request. Yet…
“I accept,” she said at last.
A sign of relief appeared on Janeway’s face.
“Thank you. I’ll contact Captain Elric of the Rockbell. His ship is passing through your area on a return to Earth in the next day or two. They’ll pick you up and you’ll arrive within the week. I’ll also inform Admiral Lightoller of your departure.”
“Thank you Captain. It…will be good to see you again in person.”
“Likewise. Janeway out.”
Seven stood silently long after Janeway’s communication terminated itself. So, Axum was gone. Then why was it she felt the slightest hint of what the Doctor would identify as trepidation as the prospect of returning to Earth and walking through a fully functional Borg vessel once again?
As Tuvok would say, “Highly illogical.”
***
Elsewhere, the individual of a million voices watched this development through one a million eyes spread out across the cosmos. She had planned for this eventuality and had in fact welcomed it. This had been a possible resultant from the stalling in the Fusion Cube’s re-activation algorithms. The return of the prodigal child to Sector 001 would prove interesting and beneficial.
But there was time for that later.
It was time to turn her attention back to the Gamma Quadrant and the chaos she had unleashed there. Her line of vision retreated from Starbase 324 and hurled across the cosmos to a point thousands of light years away, where her small force of servants had engaged the joint Starfleet/Unimatrix Zero/Dominion force --
-- and for the first time since the Restoration had begun unfolding, she found herself genuinely surprised, perhaps even a tad shocked at what awaited her.
The Interceptor that had been sent on a suicide run had succeeded, but it had missed the main bridge, instead impacting in the middle of the dorsal hull. The remaining Jem’Hadar ships, the Diamond, and the Defiant were pulling alongside of the crippled ship, their communications intercepted and decoded within a fraction of a second.
“…are you alright?”
“Shaken, Defiant, but still fine. If you could spare a team…”
“…beaming over on my…”
Emotion was not foreign to her, but she preferred the dedication to order rather than chaos, a move that Vulcans surprisingly had rejected when they should have seen the logic in joining their cause. Yet, she was tempted to let emotion overwhelm here if for a brief moment at the opportunity that she had been denied.
The death of a Founder, like the deaths of six Masters during Outbound Flight, would have been like a vibroblade in their abdomen; an attack on morale was one she was well versed in. True, she could order another force there within hours, if not minutes -- but that would detract from the other key stages of planning she was engaged in. She needed her pawns where they were; the attack had been a small luxury she had allowed herself.
So, how could this have happened? Had she underestimated her control over her servants or the new foes she faced? Then, from the corners of her mind, one of the million voices suggested one such possibility to their apparent error. She was silent as she contemplated this suggestion, then immediately opened up sensor readings and analytical algorithms with barely a thought.
She quickly found what she was looking for: A Federation Temporal signature, masked against the backdrop of natural emissions and stellar phenomena. And judging from the frequency and the sheer audacity of interference with the Restoration, it could only be one individual.
“Daniels.”
***
Location: Coruscant
That Galaxy Far, Far Away
From the time she had undertaken her first covert mercy mission aboard the Tantive IV, Leia had skirted with danger most of her life. She had braved blaster fire, political branding, Force Lightning, and more. Yet, each time, she, her friends, and her family had emerged stronger and victorious from each encounter. This had all changed with Chewbacca’s death at Sernpidal, but Mara’s miraculous recovery had given her renewed hope.
Now, she knew it was a false hope
Leia Organa Solo, daughter of Senator Bail Organa and Anakin Skywalker, former Chief of State for the New Republic and loving mother, knew she was going to die within the next few moments and with her, all hope for tomorrow.
The Skyscraper quickly grew in size as the damaged hovercar sped faster and faster towards impact. Behind her, Data and Scotty were crossing wires, attempting to hotwire and bypass the damaged controls and regain control of the craft. But it was a futile exercise, no way of delaying the inevitable.
Not even Leia’s Force abilities could save them. Despite her heritage and the Skywalker’s talent with the Force, she had never truly achieved the bond with the mystical energy field that her brother and her children had. That was one of the first regrets to go through her mind, of what her dedication to politics had cost her personally.
Jaina was the next to come to her mind as she turned towards family. Her first child, so like her, so full of passion and charm and dedication -- no wonder Jag Fel liked her. But filled with such resentment towards their past history, of how she had accused Leia on Duro almost a year ago of being more dedicated to the New Republic than to her own family…
And she was right. She had sacrificed everything for a government that hadn’t learned its lessons and had committed itself to destruction long before the Yuuzhan Vong’s initial invasion forces had crossed the intergalactic void, a government that …
Leia blinked as she suddenly realized that she was no longer sitting within the cockpit of the hovercar. She was in a white expanse, with no clear beginning or end. She had opened up to the Force, but not by her own volition. She once again began to curse at how little she knew of the mystical energy field when her attention became focused elsewhere.
Images began flashing around her a rate that was near impossible to keep up, but somehow, Leia saw them, a possible result. And she saw:
…thousands upon thousands of Yuzzhan Vong and Borg craft clashing in orbit of what may have been Coruscant, but if it was the capital, then it was a Coruscant in flames…
…Tendrils of Fire and energy lashing from planet across planet in both galaxies, ultimately meeting at converging at the opposite openings of the Terran-Nubian wormhole…
…Her daughter lying in an elegant chamber with her lightsaber blade pointed at her throat by a blonde-haired female humanoid…
It was the last one that got her attention like none other. “Always in motion the future is,” Yoda had told Luke. She attempted to pull the image back into focus, to hold it and try to determine what would happen to her daughter. She needed that focus, she needed to know why was this happening. Was this a sign of things to come or was happening now?
“All of them and none of them.”
Who had said that? The voice seemed to come from all around her...
“Each of you has a role to play, as do you. Stand firm and believe in yourself.”
The voice…seemed familiar, but whose it was she could not quite place. It certainly wasn’t that of her father -- biological, anyway-- whose voice she had not heard since the truce at Bakura twenty years past. Was it perhaps Ben Kenobi or --
The visions faded and in their place came the forward view of the cockpit, the cityscape of Coruscant still rushing through. But the space scraper was gone. She was also suddenly aware that Picard, Data, Troi, and the others were all starring at her in awe. She realized that she had been in a moment of full concentration and that the hovercar was no longer hurtling towards the space scraper. Leia had through the Force altered the craft’s trajectory and they were now advancing back into the Governmental District
But they were still going to crash and Leia took one look at where the crash site would be to know that it wasn’t going to pretty..
“Hang on!”
***
Location: The First City
Q'onoS, Beta Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
For as long as he could remember, Anakin had been a technological whiz, known effortlessly for explaining the inner workings of a hyperdrive’s super-conductive coils as he engaged in lightsaber dueling at the praxeum on Yavin 4. Technology was just as essential to his life as was the Force and the Skywalker and Solo families. And yet, he had trouble with the basic fact as he rematerialized on the floor of the Great Hall that the transporter technology was essentially disintegrating him and then reassembling him piece by atomic piece.
Yet, all the denizens of this galaxy gave it almost no second thought.
Well almost all of them. His discussions with technicians at the S.C.E. and Daytstorm Institute had revealed that there were a select few out there that even in this day and age remained fearful and wary of using the transporter. The most prominent had been someone named L.H. McCay, or was it McCoy? All thoughts on transporters and disintegrations vanished, however, as he received his first glimpse of the Great Hall.
According to both Alexander and Worf, the original structure had been destroyed during Morjod’s attempted coup four years earlier. The young usurper had accomplished this by way of a low-yield nuclear bomb dropped from low orbit on the day of Martok’s coronation. Despite his posthumous notoriety, the act had earned a place in the annals of Klingon warfare as “Morjod’s Hammer.” Though many had wanted the Great Hall rebuilt on the same spot, a public memorial had instead taken its place, honoring those that had died in order to satisfy a twenty-year old thirst for revenge.
So, the Emperor’s Palace -- no relation to the structure Palpatine had occupied during his reign of terror -- had served as a temporary meeting hall into two years earlier when construction on the new Great Hall had been completed. As per Klingon tradition, Martok would continue to occupy the palace until the return of Kahless, who had vanished shortly after the final battle at Boreth.
If he survived his injuries.
The new Great Hall, to continue, reminded Anakin of what had been the Assembly Hall on Yavin 4 before the Vong had taken the world. But whereas the ancient Massassi had, at the direction of Naga Sadow and later Exar Kun, been more streamlined and ancient, the Great Hall possessed an almost blockly, yet dagger-like feel to it. It was difficult to explain, for Anakin, while versed in the ways of circuitry and the Force, wasn’t exactly a master architect.
While Anakin took the structure in, Worf glanced at three figures approaching from the entrance to the Southern Gate. He recognized from the High Council Councilor Kopek --- a leading and respected member -- and the Katai Angwar -- a warrior poet of Boreth that had practiced the earliest, forgotten teachings of Khaless and aided Martok in the final fight on Boreth. Leading the charge was the chief of Imperial Intelligence and friend to the House of Mogh, Lorgh.
“Director.”
“It is good to see you again, Ambassdor -- excuse me, it’s Commander now, is it not?”
Though he had been happy to resign from the Diplomatic Corps, even Worf was having trouble adjusting to the return of his former designation of Commnader rather than Ambassdor.”
“Indeed.
Lorgh nodded to himself before looking at Worf once more. There was upon his face a weariness that Worf had only seen perhaps once or twice.
“You received all the appropriate material while en route?”
“We did. Have you identified how the shooter bypassed the Hall’s security net?”
Lorgh shook his head.
“Not yet. My I.I. technicians have several theories in mind, but…”
Lorgh trailed off as he caught sight of Anakin Solo.
“This is Anakin Solo, a representative of the New Republic and a Jedi.” Worf quickly explained.
If he had been a Vulcan, the Director would have raised his eyebrow in curiosity. Instead, he quickly sized up the five foot six Jedi, his plain, homespun robes, and the lightsaber that hung from his belt -- most particularly the weapon. He then finally looked back at Worf, giving him the look a parent gives their child when they’ve brought something into the house that they shouldn’t have. This didn’t mean that Lorgh was racist, he was simply wary of outside penetration of the Great Hall, especially in the wake of the attempted assassination on the Chancellor; this Anakin could see quite clearly.
“He is here at my invitation. He volunteered his help in assisting us find the Chancellor’s --”
“If you please,” Kopek interrupted, “it is not my intention to interrupt, but we do have real business to attend to. The Chancellor is conscious and wishes to speak with Captain Klag and Commander Worf as soon as possible.
“The Councilor is right,” continued Lorgh. “His condition could reverse itself at any moment. As for your guest, I’m afraid that for security reasons he’ll have to stay here in the main hall for the moment.”
“That’s fine,” Anakin replied.
“Right, then, if you will follow -- Councillor Angwar?”
“I’ll be along in a moment.”
As Worf and the others departed down through the Southern Gate, Anakin was aware that Angwar was studying him intently. But whereas Lorgh had been perceiving a possible security threat, Angwar seemed absolutely fascinated by the third Solo child.
“You are a Jedi, yes?”
Anakin nodded. As a leading member of the High Council, he had obviously read the data files that the New Republic had given in the opening rounds of diplomatic negotiation.
“You are considered warriors, yes?”
Anakin hesitated.
“Yes, but we prefer to see ourselves more as defenders of the peace and guardians of the Republic.”
Angwar considered this for a moment.
“The Katai in certain respects think of themselves in the same way.’
He paused for a moment, gazing out at the late afternoon sky through the arches of the Great Hall.
“Tell me more of the Jedi, from one defender of the peace to another.”
***
Location: Lady Luck
Outer Rim Territories, That Galaxy Far, Far Away
Lando starred down at his chronometer.
“Wait for it.”
Quark blew air impatiently.
“You’ve been saying that for the last nine frinxing hours!”
Like any good Ferengi -- especially in light of his idiot brother’s ascension to the position of Grand Nagus -- Quark used the 285 Rules of Acquisition as the guiding principles of his life and one of the few proud moments of his life had been reciting them all form memory to his father. But on occasion, there were times when he bent the rules to suit how own endeavors or rules
But by agreeing to traveling into this galaxy, he had now broken Rules Number 53, “Never trust anyone taller than you” and Number 231, “There's a sucker born every minute; be sure you're the first to find each one.” In the case of the latter, he had a sneaking suspicion that said sucker was him and the you was Mr. Calrissian.
He took satisfaction in knowing that if this endeavor fizzled and if Calrissian had tried to con him, well, there was always a call he could make to the psychotic, but highly talented Leck -- assuming Leck was able to acquire a hyperdrive and/or transwarp drive. And Quark had no doubt that if the Republic ratified their end of the Articles of Alliance proposed in San Francisco two weeks prior, such products would make their way onto the open market
“I’m sorry Quark; my associate has a rather bad habit of being -- well speak of the devil.”
Quark followed Lando’s gaze through the transparisteel viewing ports of the modified SoroSub luxury yacht --
-- and not the first time since meeting Calrissian, the Ferengi bartender’s jaw dropped. What he had here was a classic example of what happened when you either a.) blinked or b.) looked away for just the briefest of moments.
“What in the name of the Divine Treasury is that?”
A kilometer-long, triangular craft was rapidly approaching the Lady Luck. Quark recognized the ship configuration from the holographic feed that he, Rom, and Lando had watched from the confines of the Chamber of Opportunity at the Tower of Commerce. What made this craft different was that it was painted a rather peculiar shade of red. Quark hadn’t seen a ship this large in person since the Dominion War. While he sat gaping at the crusier, Lando was speaking into his commlink.
“Booster, do you copy?”
“I’m here, Calrissian,” came a raspy voice from the durasteel covering of the commlink. “What kept you?”
A look of bemusement flashed across Lando’s face.
“What kept me? You’re starting to lose it, old man.”
There was a long silence, the only sound being the flickering static of the commlink channel.
“Booster?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response, Calrissian. Have you got our new partner with you?”
“He’s right here.”
“Good. Bring your piece of junk underside us towards the main docking bay.”
“A credit says I finish docking before you even drag yourself down to the bay.”
The silence and sound of static returned.
“Booster?”
The only response was the sound of user on the channel clicking off.
“The countdown’s begun, then,” he sad, a grin upon his weathered face. He saw Qurark remained gaping on the plush leather couch of the Lady Luck’s lounge.
“What, uh, what is…”
“That’s the Errant Venture, under the command of Booster Terrik. And it represents the true beginning of our beautiful friendship.”
***
Location: Q Continuum
Somewhere in the Universe
As virtual gods, the Q were in theory omnipresent. Like Big Brother, they saw all and knew all. In practice, this wasn’t always the case. There were things that the Q with whom the Federation -- or rather, as he put it, the bald, elitist control freak that commanded the most advanced ant on the anthill -- had encountered most frequently didn’t understand. This ranged from the trivial and minute, from the human fascination with the accordion and coconut oil to, as recent events showed, the exact specifics of the crisis known as The Merging.
This was especially relevant as the Great and All-Powerful Q glared down at Q over the sparks of the Force lightning, starred at him, and said, “You will tell me everything the Stranger told you about the Merging and everything you have done to combat it.”
For a moment, despite the pain and the onset of seizures that Q thought he would only have experienced by seeing a dyslexic, yellow rodent shoot out electricity through a television screen, Q raised an eyebrow in a Vulcan-like manner, likely result of lingering mannerisms of when he had channeled Spock‘s personality.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Why didn’t you just say that from the beginning? Is this just a manner of de-briefing? If it is, then could you drop this façade, pull out the recliners and a couple of lattes instead of continuing to ruthlessly exploit B-movies.”
This quite possibly explained all. The Q on high, while agonizingly dull at times, had an occasionally brilliant sense of humor. That was all this was, a joke. A very sick and ingratiating joke, but a brilliant one nonetheless -though the greatest joke ever told still belonged to the monks on --
“No, Q, it is not,” the GPQ said, all too quietly.
He turned and raised his hands outwards and gestured to the window, to the barren farmland and the distant sounds of the lobotomized Q still dancing around the cosmic pond.
“I hate this place,” he said at last. “I hate this zoo, this prison, this reality -- whatever you want to call it. I hate what our Continuum has become. I cannot, will not stand it any longer”
“You could just change the scenery, you know.”
The GPQ simply ignored him, continuing his oration.
“We have stagnated, Q. We reached our zenith eons ago and look how we have fallen. We are mocked rather than feared and respected in all corners of the universe. We’ve become soft and weak. We have failed in the very trial that we tested humanity with. We can’t go on like this anymore. We need an out. And the Merging has provided a window. Everything races towards entropy and this universe is doing just that now.”
“Cataclysm is not entropy,” Q replied, quoting the very words that Spock had used against him during their debate over whether or not to save twentieth-century humanity from an asteroid the size of Montana.
“On the contrary, it is. All things must end, Q. And the universe has been racing towards this for eons. What we are seeing is larger cosmic forces at work, forces that we both serve and are manipulated by. It is our duty to usher in the final act of the universal tragedy.”
He paused, a look of sadness sweeping across his face.
“But there are those who always exist to stem the progression of order, to delay the inevitable. That was the Quintessence’s true goal all along, to deny the very basic fundamental laws of universal existence. But I have the ringleader in my hand, yet he has not been forthcoming, Your family obviously knows nothing. And so, you are our last hope for righting the unrightable wrong, Q. Join me and we can end this destructive conflict!”
Q looked him up and down, then seemed to contemplate what the Great and All-Powerful Q was asking of him, and lowered his head. When he looked back up, shades had appeared on his face, the only use of his powers that he could muster whilst chained. He starred intently and seriously at the GPQ.
“All right, how about this. How about I give you the finger,” which he prompted to do, though shackled he may have been, “and then you give me my phone call.”
The look of passion, seriousness, and the hint of desperation that had been exhibited on the Great and All-Powerful Q’s face melted into a seething cauldron of rage.
“So be it,” he hissed between clenched teeth.
“Oh, assholes do vex me,” Q muttered as the lightning began to flow forth once again.
***
Location: Coruscant
That Galaxy Far, Far Away
If the brave men and women of the Rebel Alliance had failed to eliminate one of the key failings of the Old Republic, it was the attention to pomp and circumstance. It had been their blind attempt to restore ‘traditional’ values and regulations that had accounted for the instability that the New Republic had faced since before the treaty with the Imperial Remnant. And it was this focus on tradition and repetition that Viqi Shesh of Kuat had exploited to not only sit not only in the Senate, but on the Advisory Council as well.
Shesh was attired in a glittering dress sown by the finest tailors on all of Kuat. On either side of her head hung expensive earrings of Emeraudes set against intricately carved Kuati gold. She was truly the living embodiment of Kuati elegance and aristocracy and took great pride in her appearance and the effect it had on those around her. It was their charm that allowed her to continue to play both the Republic and the Yuuzhan Vong, though the former was more successful than the latter.
But, it wasn’t her fault that the Vong didn’t views beauty as being in the eye of the beholder, at least not in the conventional sense. If they wanted a physical appearance similar to that of a tattooed Zabrak or stark baldness of a Rattak, then so be it. She remained committed to doing what she did in style and that was why she was here and now: to further to sabotage of the Republic‘s approval of the Articles of Alliance.
She already had a number of arguments prepared for when the debates and meetings began tomorrows, acts that more or less summed up the state of political affairs in the Galactic Senate and she was also in place to perform her dirty work in the midst of what was meant to be a simple reception. So far, it was so good except for one small detail:
There was no sign whatsoever of the team that that…fool -- Viqi refrained from engaging in the language of the masses -- Grey’si had assembled to convince the Republic of the need to ratify the treaty. Small talk was continuing through the Reception Hall, but people were beginning to wonder where the ‘good’ Captain was.
She could see the tall, sinewy form of Dif Scaur overlooking the festivities from the upper level, frowning and speaking into a commlink. Then suddenly, without warning, his calm, almost bored expression transformed into one of urgency and alarm. As he did, Shesh cocked her head to the side and could swear that she heard the whine of repulsorlift engine, one that was getting louder by the second. She glanced in the direction that Scaur had been looking at--
-- and along with all the other aides, diplomats, and Senators within her general vicinity, dove for cover as the transparisteel surface of the Reception Hall’s roof splintered and shattered, the fragments raining down from the heavens upon the lowly mortals below. The cause of the shatterpoint, the executive hovercar skidded into and destroyed a buffet table of Mon Calamari aquatic delicacies as it crashed into the wall of tapestries that depicted the ancient heroes and fighters of a thousand different worlds.
There was silence, marked only by the flowing wind, the sound of emergency alarms and sirens, and the sound of the hovercar’s boarding ramps groaning as they released themselves from the craft.
As the smoke cleared, Senators gasped at the glimpse of fallen Yuuzhan Vong bodies, visible through the shattered cockpit. From the smoke, a queen, a diplomat, and seven alien men, women, and artificial life forms emerged. Captain Picard stepped forward first, brushed himself free of dirt, straightened his tunic, and then looked over the stunned assemblage of the New Galactic Republic’s power brokers.
“Are we late for the party?”
***
To be continued…
***
Author’s Notes
* Okay, so we didn't quite get the 20-25 page chapter format as I promised, but this will most certainly change in the next several chapters with the plots that will continue/end/re-surface.
* I hope that the anime fans in the audience enjoy the two in-jokes in this installment.
* Rule of Acquisition # 53 was never stated on-screen in any of the Trek series. The rule comes from the DS9 relaunch novel Mission Gamma: Twilight.
* Angwar, the Katai and Morjod’s coup were once again established in the Left Hand of Destiny duology by J.G. Hertzler & Jeffrey Lang.
* Councillor Kopek first appeared in the novel A Time to Kill, by David Mack.
* Q’s encounters with Spock can once again be found in the audio dramatizations of Spock vs. Q and Spcok vs. Q: The Sequel.
Nice chapter. I particularily liked the following:
“I hate this place,” he said at last. “I hate this zoo, this prison, this reality -- whatever you want to call it. I hate what our Continuum has become. I cannot, will not stand it any longer”
Good matrix parody there
And so, you are our last hope for righting the unrightable wrong, Q. Join me and we can end this destructive conflict!”
ESB parody...
“All right, how about this. How about I give you the finger,” which he prompted to do, though shackled he may have been, “and then you give me my phone call.”
