Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Fun Will Now Commence
Captain’s Log, stardate 43161.2. I have received an urgent voice-only message from Captain Nilssen of our sister ship, the U.S.S. Challenger, via a heavily encrypted subspace channel. She claims to have gained some very troubling and highly classified intelligence regarding the Romulan Empire, too sensitive to be relayed via subspace, and requests a rendezvous in order to give me this information in person. We are to then carry this intelligence back to Starfleet Headquarters with all possible speed. The Enterprise is now en-route to the rendezvous point just outside of the Neutral Zone.
To say that I am wary of such a message is an understatement. Still, it is hardly a claim I am able to ignore; nor can I risk contacting Nilssen to confirm, given the probability of Romulan surveillance of all subspace communication. We are proceeding with extreme caution.
~****~
I am that merry wanderer of the night.
I jest to Oberon and make him smile
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal.
Captain Picard resettled himself in his chair and turned the page.
“Riker to Picard. We’ve arrived at the rendezvous coordinates, but the Challenger isn’t here.” Picard frowned and shut the Annotated Shakespeare with a snap. He had been afraid of this, but half-expecting it. “That is troubling, Number One. Raise shields and ready phasers and go to Yellow Alert. I’ll be right there.” He stood and straightened his uniform, then crossed to the end table, quickly but carefully setting the beloved book on its stand and replacing the glass cover over it. With three quick strides he was through the ready room doors and on the Bridge.
“Captain on the Bridge!” Commander Riker nodded in greeting. “Think it’s a trap?”
“I think it’s somewhat likely,” the captain answered dryly, striding to his usual position in the center of the Bridge. Riker chuckled. “So do I. Should we go to Red Alert?”
“No, Yellow Alert will suffice for now.” Picard gazed thoughtfully at the empty space on the viewscreen. “If it’s not a trap, and Nilssen does have sensitive intelligence…” He rubbed his chin.
“I know. This could be big. Could make you an admiral,” Riker said, only half-joking. “Still, I think it’s much more likely that this is some kind of Romulan ruse.”
“Agreed, Number One,” Picard nodded, moving to sit in the captain’s chair. “We should be prepa—"
PPPPPFFFFFFFFTTTTT.
As the captain sat, his words were drowned out by the long, loud sounds of explosive flatulence, emanating from the captain himself. Everyone on the Bridge turned to stare; Riker’s eyes went wide with shock and amusement, and Data cocked his head questioningly. Picard leapt up as if burned. He looked absolutely scandalized as the unmistakable odor of bodily gases began to permeate the deck. Riker raised an eyebrow. “Bolian stew for dinner last night, sir?” He was clearly fighting back a grin.
“I—that was not my doing,” Picard stated firmly, his eyes immediately going to the chair to search for the cause of the noise. He didn’t have to look hard: lying on the seat was a small, red, circular object. It looked rather like a flattened balloon, and it most certainly had not been there before he’d sat down. “There—what is this?” As he lifted the unfamiliar object, a white flash (all too familiar) lit the Bridge and disappeared, revealing a tall man in an admiral’s uniform in its place, perched on the railing behind the First Officer’s chair.
Picard gritted his teeth. “Q,” he ground out. “What is the meaning of this…this childish prank?!”
Q was lounging on the narrow railing in a sprawling position that would have been impossible for him to maintain, had he truly been human. “Ah, Mon Capitaine, you wound me,” he drawled, amusement lacing his tone. “You don’t approve of my little joke? It’s a piece of your own species’ past, after all.”
“No, Q, I do not approve,” growled Picard. “This is an extremely tenuous situation as it is. A visit from you is the last thing we need.”
Q smirked. “Oh, you mean those Romulans that were waiting to ambush you?” Picard and Riker glanced at each other with expressions of grim satisfaction. “Don’t worry, Picard, I did you a favor and…relocated them.”
“’Relocated them,’” echoed the captain. “To where, Q?” The trickster gave him a sly grin. “Back to Romulus, of course. Where else? I’m sure their superiors won’t be happy to see them.” Riker let out a breath, puffing out his cheeks. “That’s probably an understatement,” he muttered.
Picard’s lips thinned, but he didn’t press the issue. He could hardly object that Q had sent the Romulans back to their home planet, thereby saving the Enterprise from what would probably have been a long and bloody battle. At least Q hadn’t “relocated” the warbirds to an area where they could be a danger to the Federation. He sighed. “All right. I’ll indulge you in the conversation you so clearly want. I take it that this—” he gave the deflated object in his hand a small, emphatic shake, “—is something from Earth’s history?”
Q swung his legs over the railing and stood, straightening his uniform. “Yes. You see, Jean-Luc, your previous attacks on my character cut me to the quick. I thought long and hard about what you’ve said, and I realized that you’re right—I do subject beings to cruel and unusual torments!” He placed his hands on the railing and leaned forward in mock earnestness. “That’s why I’ve decided to limit myself to mere harmless pranks from now on. And I thought I’d start by experimenting with some classic practical jokes from your own history!” He pointed dramatically to the red thing in the captain’s hands. “That is a marvelous little device known as a whoopie cushion. Crude and primitive, yet it gets the job done—namely, to simulate flatulence when sat upon.”
Picard studied the cushion with a bit more interest than before. “Yes, I recall reading about these once,” he said. “They operated upon the simple workings of air and valves.” He raised his eyes to Q and lifted an eyebrow. “But I don’t recall reading that odor was included. Or invisibility.” Q waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I just improved upon it a little. No biggie, as you humans used to say when these little things were popular. Well, more or less. Within a century or so.” He turned his head, smiling unpleasantly, to look at Worf, who was manning the tactical station beside him and wearing an expression that suggested barely-suppressed homicidal rage. “Hello, Commander Worf! Still haven’t made amends with your cousin the Sasquatch?” The Security Chief curled his lip but otherwise ignored the jibe.
The captain scowled at the trickster. “And to get rid of the smell? Would that be no biggie for you, either?” The odor hadn’t lessened one bit since first released. If anything, it had intensified. Q quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “Of course, Mon Capitaine. But where’s the fun in that?” Picard pinched the bridge of his nose, as he so often found himself doing when Q was around. The object of his annoyance straightened up and began to pace around the Bridge.
“Yes, Captain, human history is such a wonderful repository of practical jokes. I only regret not having researched it before. I have all sorts of ideas for new jokes to play on y—on beings across the universe, and you have the unique distinction of being my test subject! Unfortunately, I can’t place a bucket of liquid on top of a door, or I would have booby-trapped your ready room with a large container of your beloved tea, Earl Grey, hot. But this was—”
“I thought you said you were confining yourself to harmless pranks, Q,” Riker interrupted. “Dumping a bucket of scalding tea on someone’s head is not harmless.”
Q looked affronted at the interruption. “Oh, I do apologize. I forgot human skin was so delicate,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his words. “All right, tea, Earl Grey, partially frozen. But as I was saying, this seemed like such a good, classic prank to start out with. Really, I’m surprised at you, Jean-Luc! I thought you’d appreciate my turning over a new leaf.” He stopped walking and stood facing one of the computer panels on the back wall, hands clasped behind his back. The ensign at the station darted nervous glances over her shoulder and edged to the right, out of his way.
Picard sighed deeply. “Q, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the idea,” he began, adopting a slightly more diplomatic tone, “it’s just that…frankly, I don’t believe you truly intend to ‘turn over a new leaf.’” Q spun around, clutching a hand to his chest dramatically, his mouth open in an over-the-top show of shock. “You don’t believe me?!” he gasped. “Oh, Jean-Luc, why do you hurt me so?” The captain stared back at him, stone-faced. When nobody showed any sign of reacting to Q’s theatrics, the trickster sighed and dropped his hand. “Fine. You know, you’re right. It was a foolish idea anyway—why should I perform such primitive tricks when I can do so much better?” His mouth stretched into a huge, impish grin as he spoke these words. Everyone looked horrified, except for Data, who merely blinked curiously.
“Wait, Q—” Riker began hastily, but Q held up a hand. “Tsk, tsk, Number One, I’m thinking.” He tapped one long finger to the cleft in his chin, pretending to consider. Then he snapped his fingers. “Ah! I know—since we’re talking about things from 20th century Earth, how about I bring someone to weigh in on the matter?” He turned the grin on Picard. “Someone…qualified. How about a child? I know how you just love children.”
The captain’s face had paled almost imperceptibly. “Surely even you couldn’t tear a person from the 20th century to the 24th,” he said, his voice low and steady but laced with uncertainty. “And surely even you wouldn’t harm an innocent child.” Q’s grin widened even more, and he arched a brow. “Oh, couldn’t I?” Picard’s eyes widened at his tone. “No, Q! You can’t. You could destroy the timeline! Centuries of progress, of life, wiped from existence—you mustn’t!”
Q rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You people and your obsession with ‘the timeline.’ Do you know how many times your lauded Captain Kirk jumped around through the centuries? And did he ever ‘destroy the timeline?’ No!”
“Actually,” Data began, but Q steamrollered over him. “Time isn’t the fragile thing you people make it out to be, you know. It’s like a living organism—it heals itself, as evidenced by the fact that no disasters occurred as a result of Kirk’s temporal meddling. Oh, and I would hardly be harming anyone. The kid won’t feel a thing.”
“In fact,” Data tried again, but before he could point out that disaster had, in fact, occurred as a result of Kirk’s temporal meddling, the trickster raised a hand and snapped his fingers loudly.
The sound of the snap seemed to echo around the deck, distorting as it repeated over and over again. There was a bright flash of white light in the center of the Bridge, lasting longer than Q’s flashes usually did; when it subsided, leaving everyone blinking, in its place stood a small child with shoulder-length brown hair. She stared confusedly around with wide, anxious brown eyes. Her clothes, to the best of the knowledge of everyone present, were indicative of the late 20th or early 21st centuries—a loose green “t-shirt,” denim pants, black sports shoes. She was holding a small plate, which she promptly dropped. It cracked in two as it hit the floor.
Picard drew in a deep breath. “Q!” he exploded.