Oasis 3/4 (TNG)
Title: Oasis
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A Starfleet doctor, still grieving her husband's death during the Enterprise's first encounter with the Borg, finds herself faced with an agonizing choice when Q is mortally wounded.
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it encompasses. This story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional satisfaction.
PART TWO
By each spot the most unholy
In each nook most melancholy
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted memories from the Past
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by
Edgar Allen Poe, "Dream-Land"
Q squeezed his eyes shut against the burning wind and sand, forcing tears down his cheeks. Between his legs he felt the steady, rhythmic motion of a galloping horse as the muffled beat of hooves pounding the desert floor echoed in his head. He had no recollection of seeing the moon, but the entire desert seemed to be bathed in the milky cool glow of a full moon. A few paces ahead, Fatima rode a pure white mare, counterpoint to Q's own obsidian-black steed, her robes streaming behind her like the tail on a comet. Silence and darkness hung oppressively low, yet refused to touch the riders or their mounts as they raced across the empty dunes.
Q called out to Fatima, to ask her where she was leading him and why they had left the camp in the middle of the night, but she was either ignoring him or just out of the range of his voice. He spoke to his mount, urging it to go faster, but Fatima remained just beyond his reach. Frantic, Q stretched out his long arm in desperation, silently pleading for her to wait, but to no avail.
Then Fatima reined in her horse, pulling it up sharply, and turned to look at Q. "What is it you wish from me? Haven't I done enough for you already?" Her voice was brittle, resentment and condemnation evident beneath the clipped syllables. "Our journey will be difficult; we have no time to waste on your irrelevant questions."
Q guided the stallion until it stood parallel with the white mare, and realized just how impossibly monochromatic the entire scene was. Everything he saw was in shades of black or white, with not even a glimmer of color to disrupt the stark contrasts. Disturbed by the sight, Q asked, "Where are we going?"
Fatima sighed. "Where I lead, you must follow; where I am going, you cannot go," was her cryptic response. She raised her arm and pointed to an indeterminate point in the distant darkness. "Come; they are waiting for us." She prodded her mount and took off, leaving Q in a whirlwind of dust.
Coughing and sputtering, he chased after her, but the swirling sand obscured his vision and he could not find her. Even the hoof prints had disappeared. He reined in his steed to get his bearings and collect his thoughts.
What had she meant by ordering him to follow, yet refusing to let him go where she went? She was truly a sphinx, or an oracle, or worse. She was definitely too enigmatic for his comfort, and standing in the pale desert, cold, lost and alone, Q felt lonely and frightened.
He had no memory of who he was or where he came from, nor could he recall how he had come to be in the desert. The brief flashes of what he hoped were memories were of the heavens far above this desolate expanse, filled with stars and ships and strangely familiar faces, all ebbing and flowing in a massive ocean of fire, at the center of which stood Fatima and Abu. Q's fractured self-consciousness could not make any sense out of the images and, to disconcert him even further, he suspected that Fatima could help him, if she were not so determined to shroud herself in mystery. And now she was -- or had been, before she abandoned him -- leading Q on this strange moonlit journey across the dunes to heaven only knew where.
Suddenly chilled, Q shivered violently and wrapped his cloak tightly about his shoulders. He dismounted and pulled the reins over his horse's head, leading it behind him as he trudged across the sand in the direction he thought Fatima had been headed.
After what may have been minutes, or may have been hours, for Q's sense of time was as disrupted as his sense of self, he spotted what looked to be a small beacon of color in the distance. As he approached it, he realized that, whatever it was, it was most definitely brown. Not black, or white, but brown. As the object loomed nearer, Q thought it was some sort of statue, or fountain, or perhaps a road sign, though there was no road in sight. Then, as the object's dimensions became more clear, Q recognized it as a herm, a devotional device once found at intersections throughout ancient Greece. It stood about six feet tall, with three bearded heads carved near the top, each head facing a different direction. Midway between the heads and pedestal was a ridiculously enlarged erect phallus. Q stopped to study the statue, and as he walked around it to inspect it from all angles, he noticed that he was no longer standing in the desert, but at a three-way intersection, with each of the three heads facing one of the roads leading away from the herm. Then the herm spoke.
"Whither goest thou, traveler?"
Q nearly jumped out of his skin. "What the--? I wasn't expecting an enchanted herm."
"An enchanted herm? Oh, that's a fine treat. But this is thy dream, so if I surprised thee, it's only thy own fault."
"This is a dream?"
"Is it a dream? Or is it reality? The difference is not so great, I think. When thou hast the ability to translate thought into action, the line blurs. Dreams and reality flow through thee, uniting and separating, until thou canst not tell one from the other."
"Well then, Father Hermes, perhaps you can tell what this dream means? That is your purpose, isn't it -- to interpret dreams?"
"No. I cannot. My home is in the borderlands between Earth and Hades, helping travelers find their way to the Styx, but thou art not like other travelers. Thou art not dead, yet...thou dost not live. Thou art wandering through the borderlands, and now that thou hast come before me, thou must choose thy path. The road behind thee takes thee back whence thou came; do not look back or thy fate will be like that of Lot's wife. Thou must choose from the other two paths. Each road will lead thee to Anubis. There Anubis will judge thee, and thou wilt learn thy destiny. I cannot tell thee which road to choose, traveler; I can only tell thee to seek the phoenix rising from the ashes, for she will lead thee to the sign of life."
Q stepped back, puzzled and frustrated with the herm's riddles. How was he supposed to know which road to choose? Then he noticed a faint glimmer of red on the horizon, in the direction of the road leading to his left. He looked up, and for the first time since his strange journey began he noticed the full moon descending in the west, to his right. Of course! The herm had instructed him to seek the phoenix rising from the ashes -- the sun rising in the east! He turned to retrieve his horse, but it had disappeared. He looked back at the herm, about to ask where the horse had gone, but then he remembered Fatima.
"I was with someone -- a young woman -- earlier, but we were separated. Has she come by here? She had told me that I was supposed to follow her."
The herm waggled its phallus in a grotesque rebuke. "It is thy journey, traveler. Thou must make it alone. Hurry, for Anubis becomes impatient. And traveler? Remember me to Anubis." At that the herm disappeared, and Q found himself in a hardwood forest, the three roads clearly marked between the trees. He turned left and headed towards the sun.
Presently he came upon a tall, dark-skinned man wearing the native costume of one of the American Indian tribes. Though his attire was ornately decorated with beads and feathers, his face remained unmarked except for a small feathered tattoo over his left eyebrow. He stood before Q, strong, proud and immovable. A wolf trotted out of the woods and sat silently at his feet, her lips curled in an eerie grin. Something about the stranger looked familiar to Q, but he could not put his finger on what. The man looked him up and down, then, without saying a word, drew a circle in the dirt with his toe.
Q felt panic rising up within him. The herm had not warned him about any dangers along the road, only about meeting Anubis, the jackal-headed Egyptian Lord of the Dead. Was this stranger Anubis, and if not, then who was he and what threat did he pose to Q? Was he the test, the judgment that Anubis would supposedly impose on Q? What was the meaning of the circle drawn in the dirt?
Then Q remembered the herm's instructions: 'Seek the sign of life. Remember me to Anubis.' Holding his breath with nervous anticipation, Q stepped forward and drew a T, for the intersection where he met the herm, in the dirt below the circle. Tau with Omega ascendant: the ankh, the Egyptian sign of life.
The stranger smiled. "You have met the challenge, traveler. In your dream, I am Anubis, but you have known me elsewhere as Chakotay."
Q's mind reeled. He was flooded with images of a ship floundering far from home, tensions simmering among its crew, a hodgepodge of formerly warring camps, and of a woman, her hands on her hips, her strong chin jutting in defiance, and of a boy...his boy. His child. He staggered, then dropped to his knees as unexpected grief overwhelmed him. The wolf padded over and licked his tears.
"You have one more challenge ahead of you, traveler," Anubis-Chakotay said. "The road behind me forks. One path will lead you home. The other path... it is difficult to say."
Q looked up, but the man and wolf had vanished, and the scene had changed once again. Now he found himself on top of a mountain, with two roads leading to the base. As Anubis-Chakotay had not given him any warnings or instructions, Q turned left, as he had before, and made his way down from the summit.
As he rounded a large boulder, Q spotted a small scorpion standing in the middle of the path, ferociously jabbing her tail at him in a silent challenge for him to attempt to pass as she skittered back and forth across the path. Suddenly a high, keening wail shattered the stillness of the air and the scorpion charged.
* * * * *
A sharp burning sensation roused Q from his slumber. For a brief moment, he thought he had actually been stung by the scorpion, and it was only the sight of a dagger held in Fatima's small hand slicing through the air over his head that convinced him this was reality, and the scorpion was a dream. Frozen by terror, he could not decide if it would be safer for him to remain very still and let Fatima think she had already killed him, or to flee into the desert. Then he heard the unmistakable hiss of a cobra poised to strike.
It was enough for him to make a decision.
Q rolled to his right and off the bed faster than he thought humanly possible, but he barely made it to relative safety before the cobra sank her fangs into the cushion where his left leg had lain only a second before. Then Q saw the glint of light on metal, and Fatima's dagger flashed down and beheaded the cobra before she could tear herself free of the cushion. Q and Fatima stood there in the half-light, both breathless, he from not breathing, she from exertion. Then Q felt an agonizing, burning fire in his leg and gasped in pain as he collapsed on the bed.
"What is it?" Fatima asked, concern etched on her face.
"I don't think you made it in time," moaned Q, clutching at his thigh. "I think she got a good chunk of me up here."
Fatima raised her dagger, causing Q to shrink back in distrust, but she merely used it to tear a seam in his caftan. She sucked in her breath. "Yes, she did, but I don't think she got you head-on. There may be hope for you yet."
"Hurry," Q gasped, "The pain -- it's like being burned alive."
Fatima looked up, startled. Her face had become deathly pale. Through his haze of pain, Q thought he saw pain and anger in her eyes before she regained her composure and went to work on his leg. She tore one sleeve from her shift and tied it tightly around Q's thigh just above the hole where one fang had pierced his flesh. With her dagger she made a neat incision over the hole, causing Q to cry out, then began methodically sucking the poison out and spitting it into a bowl that seemed to materialize from out of nowhere. When she was satisfied that she had removed as much of the toxin as possible, she dabbed some myrrh on the wound and bound it with her other sleeve. She retrieved a cup and filled it halfway with water, then hooked the cobra's mouth over the rim and squeezed just behind the reptile's eyes, forcing whatever poison remained out through the fangs and into the water. She then handed the cup to Q.
"Drink this," she ordered gently.
Q's stomach lurched. Despite the care she had just displayed in tending his wound, he did not trust her. The memory of that dagger arcing through the air between dream-reality and consciousness, coupled with the gruesome sight of her 'milking' the severed head of the cobra, was just too much for him, and he turned away in revulsion. His confidence only went so far, and with all he had been through lately, it was even more limited than usual.
"I'm not trying to kill you," Fatima pleaded. "This is an ancient folk remedy for snakebites. It's an effective serum. It's diluted enough that it cannot hurt you, although it may make you nauseous."
"I already am nauseous."
"Then it may make you vomit."
"And I'm supposed to want that?"
"Q, I don't know if I was able to remove all the poison from your bloodstream. Drinking this will help your body develop the antibodies to fight what's left."
Q turned at the sound of his name and looked closely at Fatima. It was the first time he had heard her use it, and the gentle, pleading tone in her voice softened his heart. Grudgingly, he accepted the cup and drank the contents in one swallow, although as soon as it hit his tongue he had to fight the impulse to spit it back out. Fatima then removed the cup from his lips and gently eased her arm down and pulled it away from where it had been supporting his neck so that his head rested against the pillow. She tentatively reached out her hand to smooth the hair away from his forehead, prepared to jerk back if he flinched at her touch. He did not.
"You were dreaming when the cobra attacked?" she asked, her voice softened by concern and nervousness.
Q's eyes flew open. "Yes. It was... surreal. I didn't even realize it was a dream until it was nearly over, and I'm not entirely sure that it was just a dream."
"Yes, I know. I had the same dream."
"How do you know? I haven't even told you what my dream was about."
"We were riding across the desert under a full moon, until we were separated. Then we each had to face a challenge posed by a herm, and later by Anubis. Our response to the challenges determined our destiny. Is that what you dreamed?"
The look on Q's face was of pure astonishment. "I -- Yes, that's exactly right. Except then I found myself facing a rather high-and-mighty scorpion, just before I woke up."
There was a faint rustling sound, and Abu Primus stepped out from the shadows where he had witnessed the entire exchange into Q's line of sight. "I sent you both that dream," he said. "The scorpion was specifically sent to Q to warn him about the danger."
Q struggled to sit up. "What? How? To control your own subconscious mind is one thing, but to project that control on others, and to enable two people to experience an identical dream... that would require an incomprehensible amount of telepathic power. You're obviously not just some desert mystic. Who, or what, are you?" For the first time since he regained consciousness yesterday, he was beginning to trust Fatima; Abu's revelation destroyed all that.
"It was necessary. Your life is in serious danger, Q, and you need Fatima's help. You were too busy trying to find answers to your questions and to recover your memory to see that. You've never been able to see the forest for the trees."
Fatima, who had been studying her feet since Abu spoke, raised her eyes to his. "I think we need to tell him everything. He doesn't trust us."
"If we tell him everything, then he definitely won't trust you," Abu responded, any hint of reproof absent from his tone.
Q's eyes shifted back and forth between Fatima and Abu. "Tell me everything? Tell me what? Are you saying that you've known who I am all along? Then why have you been stringing me along like this?" His voice was shrill with pain, fear and distrust.
Abu eased himself down cautiously onto the edge of the bed. "Let me tell you a story first, then we'll see."
"A man set out one day with his beloved son to graze his flock. As they were headed home, a herd of magnificent gazelles appeared across their path. Silently and quickly the father rounded up the flock. Warning the boy not to stray until he returned, he hurried after the gazelles. The wild things leaped in the air and streaked off as soon as he stepped towards them, but he was a keen hunter and loved nothing better than the chase. Eagerly he followed their trail.
"Meanwhile the child waited alone. It was his fate that a She-Ghoul, that monster of the wilderness who loves to feed on human flesh, should spy him as he stood unprotected. With one leap she sprang upon him and greedily devoured him.
"The father hunted long and far but could not catch a single gazelle. At last he gave up and returned to the flock. His son was nowhere in sight, but on the ground he found dark drops of blood. He was inconsolable, but what else could he do but turn home?
"On the way he rode past a cave, and there he saw the She-Ghoul dancing, fresh from her feast. The man shot her, then slashed open her belly and in it he found his son. He laid the boy upon his cloak, pulled the woolen cloak around him tight, and carried him home.
"When he got home he called his wife and said, 'I have brought back a gazelle, dear wife, but it can only be cooked in a cauldron that has never been used for a meal of sorrow.'
"The woman went from house to house in search for such a pot. But one neighbor said, 'We used the large cauldron to cook the rice for the people who came to weep when my husband died.' Another told her, 'We last heated the big cooking pot on the day of my son's funeral.' She knocked at every door but did not find what she sought. So she returned to her husband empty-handed.
"'Haven't you found the right kind of cauldron?' the man asked. 'There is no household but has seen misfortune,' she answered. 'There is no cauldron but has cooked a meal of mourning.' Only then did the man fold back his woolen cloak and say to her, 'They have all tasted their share of sorrow. Today the turn is ours. This is my gazelle.'"
When Abu finished, Q snorted, unimpressed and unmoved. "What a lovely fairy tale. What does it have to do with me?"
Abu stood and looked down at Q, the omnipresent merriment in his eyes dulled by paternal devotion and grief at the loss of a much-loved child. "What the story has to do with you, my child, is that I am the father, and you are the child devoured by the She-Ghoul."
Q's mouth gaped open in shock and disbelief. For what seemed like an eternity he was incapable of formulating a coherent thought, much less a question. He at last had the presence of mind to close his mouth and swallowed loudly. He glanced at Fatima, who sat beside him, her face ghostly pale, her hands trembling violently as she clutched involuntarily at her shift. The only person who seemed to have his wits about him was Abu, so Q redirected his attention to him. "What - I - That is - I mean - you're my father?" he finally managed to stammer.
Abu nodded gravely. "Essentially, yes. You see, Q is not just your name, it's what you are; you belong to a race of immortal, omnipotent energy beings called the Q. And I am the founder of that race."
"And what does the She-Ghoul represent?"
"You were recently attacked by an assassin known to us as Soma. You are, in fact, lying near death on a human starship; everything that you have experienced here is in your mind. But I have, metaphorically speaking, rescued you from Soma's belly."
"What about the cobra, or the vulture, or being left for dead in the desert, for that matter? If this is all in my head, why am I still being victimized like this?"
"Those are all manifestations of the poison Soma used on you. The sunburn represents fire; the vulture, air; and the cobra, earth. You should only have to face the threat of one more material element, water, and then the poison should finally be out of your system. But you will not be out of the woods yet. That is where Fatima comes into all this," Abu added, anticipating Q's question before he even moved his lips. Q looked at her, and she nodded in silent agreement. "Her role has not yet really been defined, although she and I have a sense of what it will encompass. Just let me impress upon you how much you need her if you're going to survive, Q. As she told you in your dream, where she leads, you must follow."
Q closed his eyes and tried to control the flurry of emotions raging within him. As soon as Abu Primus had told Q who he was, a rush of memories flooded him, nearly overwhelming him. He had a vague sensation of the knowledge of his immortality and omnipotence expanding outwards and straining to overcome the boundaries created by the poison, like an overfilled balloon about to burst. He envisioned Chaos mocking him as he tried to make sense of the jumble of images swirling past his eyes. Q forced himself to relax, allowing the memories to wash over him, sifting through them as he sought one memory in particular. The image of a red-faced, middle-aged balding man came to him, and Q recognized Jean-Luc Picard from his vision while whirling in the desert. Q mentally stepped back from the image, studying it, and saw himself, teasing Picard, taunting him because Picard refused to acknowledge Q's power. Then he saw the Borg cube, saw the merciless automatons as they attacked the Enterprise. He saw the plasma heat and the handsome young lieutenant force himself into the conduit, defying all survival instincts on behalf of his crewmates. Then he saw the grief-stricken widow, her face shrouded in tears, and at last he knew. He understood. And for the first time in his infinite existence, Q felt remorse.
He opened his eyes. He was alone. Where Abu and Fatima had gone, he did not care to know. All he knew was grief and sorrow.
He pulled his knees to his chest, turned his face into the pillow and sobbed his regret to the cosmos.
If only there were occasion for repose
If only this long road had an end,
And in the track of a hundred thousand years, out of the heart of dust
Hope sprang again, like greenness.
Omar Khayyam, "The Ruba'iyat"
Blaise Pascal once wrote, "The eternal silence of these infinite spaces terrifies me." Though these words were first uttered over 700 years ago, Q thought them entirely appropriate to his own circumstance and reflected upon them as he gazed about him. In every direction, the tan and golden desert sands extended beyond the range of visual acuity until earth and heaven finally embraced like long-lost lovers on some distant unknown horizon. Q felt the barren loneliness crying out from deep within the earth's bowels, a mournful voice rising and falling like the funeral dirge he heard in his dreams, and he longed to mourn with the earth, to mourn with Fatima. Yet he remained silent, fearing that his own plaintive cries of remorse and loneliness would be nothing more than a mockery of their shared primordial grief.
Instead he turned his thoughts inward and wept silently for them. The silence was overbearing, flooding his veins as the sun relentlessly rained down fire and heat upon Q's turbaned head. Even as he was drowning in his own unshed tears, Q was also suffocating in the fierce dry heat of the desert sun. He could find relief nowhere. The gentle zephyr that had earlier accompanied the caravan had fled the sun's oppressive heat, and even the camels refrained from their usual grumbling, save the occasional noisy dispute between bulls over a cow in season.
Abu Primus had ordered them to break camp three days ago, bolstered by Q's quick recovery and eager to reach the oasis Fatima claimed was even now only four days' journey hence. The journey was brutal: they rose before dawn, ate a quick meal of fruit, dried meat and bread, traveled six hours until the sun's heat became too strong for even the camels to endure, then pitched the tent and rested for six hours. Then, as the sun began to sink towards the horizon, they broke camp and traveled for another six hours until the moon had reached its zenith and the cold night air chilled Q to his bones, and rested again.
The hardship created by the rigorous cycle made conversation extraneous, and few words were exchanged as they gathered around the hearth each night. Q found himself lost in his own thoughts and memories as images and sensations extending eternally beyond the desert horizon reminded him just how far from home he was. Envisioning the omnipotent fertility of the Continuum in stark contrast to the impotent desert reawakened his homesickness, from which there was no refuge.
To Q, everything had become a blur. Hours faded into days, each featureless dune only led to more of the same, even the moon seemed to remain in full phase, as if the emptiness and desolation below it held it captive. What terrified Q most of all about the silence and infinity was his realization that the desert was a reflection of him; he stood here, looking inside himself, and all he saw was a vast desert wasteland, extending infinitely into nothingness. He was as devoid of life now as he had been overflowing with creative energy in the Continuum, and his only hope of restoration was a human whose husband he murdered and her inexplicable faith in an unnamed Saint. For all he could imagine of it, the Continuum was as remote and unattainable to him as the oasis towards which they were heading.
On the fifth day, as the caravan crested a dune, Abu came to a sudden halt and pointed excitedly. "There it is!" he called.
Q and Fatima dismounted and walked towards him. Fatima nodded. "Yes, I see it now," she said.
Q squinted and peered in the direction Abu indicated. "See what? I can't see anything but sand, sand, and more sand." He was hot, tired, dusty, thirsty, and in no mood for false hope.
Fatima looked at him, fully aware of his melancholy and frustration. "Look right on the edge of the horizon," she instructed. "You should be able to see a long, low dark spot. That is the mountain range we have to pass through just before we reach the oasis."
Q strained his eyes to the point she indicated. He thought he began to see the spot, but it could as well have been a mirage, and he turned his back on it in anger. Then a slight breeze, the first he had felt in days, ruffled his caftan, and for just a moment he thought he smelled water. He inhaled deeply, reveling in the faint but intoxicating greenness of the aroma.
The scent also encouraged the camels, and several of them lurched to their feet, growling and snarling like mad dogs. "Come, let's go," urged Abu. "We should reach the range within a day." It was all the motivation Q needed to vault into his saddle and take off after the herd.
They pitched the tent at the entrance to a gap that would take them straight through the range and to the oasis where the shrine was located. Outside the tent, the mountains loomed large and inviting like the embrace of a favorite aunt. A small creek that had been steadily carving the mountain pass for centuries emptied into a sparkling pool of fresh water near the camp, and they had all enjoyed the pleasure and relief brought by the crystal clear spring.
Q had been the first to dive into the pool, diving and splashing in the blissfully cold water as he washed away the dust and aches of the long road that now lay behind him. Then, when he felt refreshed and stretched out in a hammock strung between two date-palm trees, Fatima removed her tunic and leggings and waded in up to her waist, scooping the water with her hands to wash her face and upper body. Q gallantly offered to go into the tent so she could have some privacy, but Fatima declined and continued as if he were not there. She never bared her head or removed her shift, though she did eventually duck her head underwater, wringing the excess water from her hair by twisting it into a loose braid.
Q swung lazily, watching her through partially lowered eyelids, admiring her simple modesty that was free of all shame or embarrassment. He felt desire, but the feeling did not spring forth from his libido; something in her evoked an unquenchable yearning in him that was, and was not, like love. He had often caught himself watching her surreptitiously, and wondered at the ache he felt when she was out of sight. Q was familiar with the astonishing range of human emotions and had allowed himself, at several times in his immortal lifespan, to experience most of them, though in general he found emotions to be dreadfully inadequate, irrational and inconvenient. The sensations Fatima evoked, however, were like no emotion he had ever experienced, and as he lay in the hammock watching her, he tried to remember all that he had once known about human relationships before dozing off in the cool shade, a soft breeze kissing his face.
Late that night as they gathered around the hearth, there was a palpable aura of excitement and barely restrained joy in the air. Abu's eyes shone with renewed liveliness, and Fatima smiled and laughed for the first time in a week as she stitched together a new garment made from a length of brilliant white cloth. Even Q was less morose and prone to self-examination than he had been for the past several days as he reclined against a large cushion and savored a cup of potent, steaming coffee. The first time he had tasted the thick, viscous liquid, distilled from crushed roasted beans boiled over the fire, he had nearly choked on its bitterness. Tonight, however, it was a welcome end to an exhausting day as he swirled it around his tongue before swallowing.
His spirit refreshed and his hunger sated, Q felt a peace and a camaraderie he had not felt before. The worst is over, he thought. I will soon be home.
* * * * *
Fatima sensed Q's longing and knew her death was imminent. Abu Primus had warned her that, as they neared the oasis, her spirit would begin to merge with Q's, bringing them closer together until their bond would be as inviolable as love between a man and a woman. When he first explained what would happen, she was afraid, thinking that perhaps she would become involuntarily unfaithful to Ali, but Abu reassured her, explaining that her bond with Q would be one of existence, whereas her bond with Ali, rooted in eternal love, transcended even death. Her undying love for Ali, he added, would secure her metaphysical union with Q.
"It is like a flame," he had said. "A flame can be divided an infinite number of times without material harm, but with each division the flame loses some of its potency. As the flames merge together, it grows brighter, stronger, more alive. You and Ali share a single soul, bound in love. Soon you and Q will also share one soul, bound together by death because of your love for Ali." Fatima only nodded, recognizing the logic in his argument, but not entirely sure she understood. She knew what was expected of her, she understood the choice she had made, and she was prepared to face whatever consequences that choice brought. It was that persistence of vision that sustained her.
With each passing day, Fatima felt herself inexorably drawn to Q like a moth to a flame. She had first become aware of the sensation the night of their shared dream, as if the dream itself had served as a watershed, forcing her subconscious mind to accept the reality of her sacrifice. What she neglected to tell Q, however, was that their shared dream was not identical. Like Q, she had stood before the herm, but she had chosen to turn west, away from the sun. The road entered a forest, where she met Anubis, although in her dream he was accompanied by Osiris. There they instructed her to look for an eagle, but before they could finish, she was awakened by the terrifying hiss of a cobra.
That night, as she tended Q's wound, she was overcome with tenderness, like a mother caring for a sick child. She longed to remain by his side as his memory returned to him, to comfort him, to forgive him for what happened long ago, but Abu pulled her away, insisting that Q face the paradox of his responsibility for Ali's death and his impending debt to her alone.
Hearing Q's muffled sobs that night, Fatima had not been able to sleep.
The journey across the desert had been especially difficult for her; as Q grew stronger, she became weak. She had lagged behind the rest of the caravan, unable to maintain the blistering pace Abu set, struggling to remain on her mount. When they stopped at midday and at night, she collapsed on her bed into a dreamless slumber, and awoke more exhausted than before.
She was relieved when they reached the mountain range, with its cool, clear spring, and could barely contain herself from indulging her fatigue and her thirst before Q had had his fill. Under normal circumstances, she would never have bathed in another man's presence, but this time she did not shy away from Q's penetrating gaze. She luxuriated in it, letting his unfulfilled yearning wash over her like an exquisite perfume.
That night, after praying for the first time in a week, she began preparing her funeral robes. The end is near, she thought. I will soon be with Ali.
* * * * *
It took them two days to reach the oasis as they traveled from dawn to dusk, stopping only for a midday siesta.
The path was narrow and occasionally treacherous as it wound through the range, bordered by the stream on one side and a sheer rock face on the other, but Abu led the caravan at a nerve-wracking pace, pressed by an urgency only he knew. Throughout the entire journey he had remained on foot, the caravan following behind at a steady pace in single file, but as he led them through the mountains even the camels had to jog to keep up with him. Q turned in his seat to look at Fatima behind him, wondering at the speed with which they were traveling, but her face remained a stony mask, not even acknowledging his unspoken question. He knew she had stayed awake the entire night, working on the garment. Q wondered if it had something to do with the shrine they were visiting.
On the second day, the path widened enough for them to pass two abreast, and Q and Fatima rode side-by-side in silence. It had finally occurred to him that the impending anniversary of her husband's death was what quieted her, and the memory of his role in Ali's death kept him quiet. At one point he considered remaining behind, out of respect, but then Fatima turned to him, as if she had read his thoughts, and said, "The Saint will be able to help you get home."
By mid-afternoon on the second day, Q spotted a round white dome in the near distance and rightly guessed it to be the shrine. Next to the domed building stood a slender tower -- a minaret, he supposed -- and as the building grew larger he saw a magnificent eagle land on the golden crescent moon that stood atop the minaret and let loose with an ear-shattering scream, calling to its mate much like a muezzin would call the faithful to prayer.
Fatima gasped loudly, startling Q from his reverie. He looked at her, puzzled by her reaction, and for the first time noticed just how pale and drawn she had become since their journey began. Her cheeks were hollow, and dark circles accented the omnipresent haunted look in her eyes. Her once-lustrous hair hung limp down her back and she moved with the fragility of a woman decades older. Her lips were thin and colorless.
Sensing Q's eyes on her, Fatima turned to face him. The dark, brooding passion in his eyes that she remembered from the Enterprise logs but had never seen herself until now caused her to blush involuntarily. She slowly reached out her hand and placed it over his. "I'm all right," she murmured. "It's just been a long day."
Q swallowed and closed his eyes. Her hand was as light as a feather, yet the contact left him with a burning ache that both terrified and invigorated him. He carefully pulled his hands away and spurred his mount forward just enough to reach out and grab the bridle on Fatima's camel. Halting both animals, he leaped down, then coaxed Fatima's mount to its knees. In a single fluid motion, he grabbed the reins and sprang up behind Fatima as the camel lurched to its feet, bellowing at the additional weight, and securely wrapped his arms around Fatima's waist. When she turned to look at him, puzzled, he merely said, "You look tired enough to fall off. Why don't you rest while I take the reins." She stiffened momentarily at his closeness, but exhaustion quickly usurped any residual feelings of distrust and modesty and she nestled into his embrace.
Entwined like two trees growing from a single root system, Q and Fatima rode the rest of the way in comfortable, intimate silence. As the dome loomed larger, Q noticed the tops of trees swaying in the breeze, bedecked with the plumage of a thousand species of birds chirping and twittering with delight. The eagle he saw earlier had been joined by its mate, and the two graceful birds perched atop the minaret like monarchs surveying a kingdom, occasionally turning to each other to rub beaks in a tender avian kiss.
Then the caravan rounded a large boulder, and Q was awestruck at the splendid panorama that lay before him. He did not know what the oasis more closely resembled -- the Garden of Eden, the Elysian Fields, or the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. What he did know for certain was that he was at the very edge of Paradise.
His strongest impression was of the sheer greenness of the place. A thick canopy of trees surrounded the shrine, and the aftenoon sun intensified the reflections of foliage on the white dome, giving it a warm green glow like a spring meadow. Within the forest Q could see oak, maple, ebony, cedar, locust, poplar, cypress, sandalwood -- trees that never grew together in nature -- all in full foliage. The birds that Q had heard and seen earlier continued their joyous singing, undisturbed by the humans or the eagles perched nearby. The western edge of the forest was bounded by a wide river as blue as lapis lazuli, and Q could see elephants, zebras and lions gathered by the sandy banks. As the caravan entered the forest, monkeys chattered their friendly greetings and gazelles bounded shyly away, turning at a safe distance to peek at the newcomers. Q was startled to recognize the forest from his dream, and his arms tightened unconsciously around Fatima.
The trees soon thinned into a large clearing where the shrine sat, and Q was once again rendered speechless by the beauty that defied his infinite knowledge. The shrine was perfectly square, bounded on each side by four graceful columns topped with Corinthian capitals painted to resemble locust trees. The columns themselves were painted a bright yellow and decorated with intricate blue script Q recognized as Arabic. Inscribed in gold over the door was the shahada, and Q found himself reciting the creed as he gazed in wonder.
He dismounted, intending to explore the interior of the shrine, but Abu Primus stopped him from entering. "No," he commanded. "It is not yet time. When it is appropriate, then you may enter." Q hesitated, curiosity waging war with obedience, but unwillingly acquiesced.
He turned to assist Fatima with her dismount. "Thank you," she said, and took Q's hand and led him over to the shrine. Pointing to the two columns to Q's left on the front of the building, she said, "Those tell the story of Fatima and Ali, the daughter and son-in-law of the Prophet. Ali was supposed to be the fourth Caliph, but he was brutally murdered by his enemies. Those columns," she continued, indicating the two to Q's right, "tell the story of the Saint who is buried in this shrine. He, too, was a martyr." She looked at Q. "His name was also Ali."
Q did not move a muscle as he held Fatima's gaze for what seemed to be an eternity. At first, he did not know what words he should say, what words he could say, to ease her pain and beg her forgiveness. Then, as he saw the tears coursing down her face, words ceased to matter and he pulled her into his arms with an anguished sob, burying his face in her shoulder. His chest heaving, he managed to pull himself away and take her tiny face in his hands, bending down until their foreheads touched. "Forgive me," was all he could say.
Fatima closed her eyes and smiled. "We are beyond forgiveness, Q," she said. "Guilt and pain and death have all been washed away. Here there is only reconciliation and redemption." She reached up and gently wiped the tears from Q's face. "Ali forgave you even as he died. Now you must forgive yourself." With that, she removed herself from Q's arms and began unpacking the tent.
* * * * *
They pitched the tent on the eastern side of the shrine, near a warm mineral spring that bubbled up from a subterranean source. Above the tent, the stars twinkled like a million tiny candles, and Q gazed fondly at them, remembering the joy he once felt dancing among them like the firefly that danced above his face.
That night, for the first time, Abu Primus dined with Q and Fatima. Their meal had been unusually simple -- a small loaf of hard, unleavened bread and a chalice of wine they passed back and forth between themselves -- but Q felt as if he had dined at the palace of a king. After dinner, Abu explained the ritual they would undertake at dawn the next day.
"First," he said, "we must fast. Our bodies must be cleansed of pollutants, so tonight we have eaten this simple meal, to ease us into slumber, but it will be our last meal. As soon as the sun is completely above the horizon, we pray. Then I will go and prepare the shrine for the rites while you go down to the river." At this, Fatima rose and handed Q a white bundle. "You must wear these garments into the River of Life as you wash away your sins and purify your spirit. Only then may you enter the shrine and plead your case before the Saint."
Q was confused. "Plead my case? But you've assured me all along that the Saint could help me, that he would help me. Now you seem to be suggesting that he won't help me."
Abu's brow knitted, making his bushy eyebrows seem even more so. "He will help you, no doubt. Whether or not you accept his help on his terms, however, is another matter."
"His terms?"
"He will put you to a challenge, much like the figures in your dream. How you face that challenge will determine the final outcome."
"So are you saying that there's still a chance I won't get home?" Q's voice was rising with his panic. How could he have come so far, only to fail? He had trusted them! He looked to Fatima, imploring her with his eyes to help him. She briefly returned his gaze, her eyes full of warmth and compassion, then dropped her gaze to the ground with a small sigh. Q shifted his eyes to Abu, who remained infuriatingly silent. Unable to contain his anger any longer, Q stood and stalked outside.
He flopped down on his back by the bubbling spring and laced his fingers over his chest. High above him, an owl hooted, but there was no other sound. Q looked up at the stars, calling each of them by name. He longed to be among them again, skipping across them like a stone across the water. He closed his eyes and imagined himself back home in the Continuum, free to roam the galaxy to his heart's content. For all its faults, the Continuum was his home, and he missed it, he missed his brothers and sisters, he missed his son. He even missed that stick-in-the-mud Picard. Come hell or high water, he thought, I will get back home, challenges be damned.
At that last thought, Q grinned. He was definitely feeling more like himself.
PART FOUR
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A Starfleet doctor, still grieving her husband's death during the Enterprise's first encounter with the Borg, finds herself faced with an agonizing choice when Q is mortally wounded.
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it encompasses. This story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional satisfaction.
PART TWO
By each spot the most unholy
In each nook most melancholy
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted memories from the Past
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by
Edgar Allen Poe, "Dream-Land"
Q squeezed his eyes shut against the burning wind and sand, forcing tears down his cheeks. Between his legs he felt the steady, rhythmic motion of a galloping horse as the muffled beat of hooves pounding the desert floor echoed in his head. He had no recollection of seeing the moon, but the entire desert seemed to be bathed in the milky cool glow of a full moon. A few paces ahead, Fatima rode a pure white mare, counterpoint to Q's own obsidian-black steed, her robes streaming behind her like the tail on a comet. Silence and darkness hung oppressively low, yet refused to touch the riders or their mounts as they raced across the empty dunes.
Q called out to Fatima, to ask her where she was leading him and why they had left the camp in the middle of the night, but she was either ignoring him or just out of the range of his voice. He spoke to his mount, urging it to go faster, but Fatima remained just beyond his reach. Frantic, Q stretched out his long arm in desperation, silently pleading for her to wait, but to no avail.
Then Fatima reined in her horse, pulling it up sharply, and turned to look at Q. "What is it you wish from me? Haven't I done enough for you already?" Her voice was brittle, resentment and condemnation evident beneath the clipped syllables. "Our journey will be difficult; we have no time to waste on your irrelevant questions."
Q guided the stallion until it stood parallel with the white mare, and realized just how impossibly monochromatic the entire scene was. Everything he saw was in shades of black or white, with not even a glimmer of color to disrupt the stark contrasts. Disturbed by the sight, Q asked, "Where are we going?"
Fatima sighed. "Where I lead, you must follow; where I am going, you cannot go," was her cryptic response. She raised her arm and pointed to an indeterminate point in the distant darkness. "Come; they are waiting for us." She prodded her mount and took off, leaving Q in a whirlwind of dust.
Coughing and sputtering, he chased after her, but the swirling sand obscured his vision and he could not find her. Even the hoof prints had disappeared. He reined in his steed to get his bearings and collect his thoughts.
What had she meant by ordering him to follow, yet refusing to let him go where she went? She was truly a sphinx, or an oracle, or worse. She was definitely too enigmatic for his comfort, and standing in the pale desert, cold, lost and alone, Q felt lonely and frightened.
He had no memory of who he was or where he came from, nor could he recall how he had come to be in the desert. The brief flashes of what he hoped were memories were of the heavens far above this desolate expanse, filled with stars and ships and strangely familiar faces, all ebbing and flowing in a massive ocean of fire, at the center of which stood Fatima and Abu. Q's fractured self-consciousness could not make any sense out of the images and, to disconcert him even further, he suspected that Fatima could help him, if she were not so determined to shroud herself in mystery. And now she was -- or had been, before she abandoned him -- leading Q on this strange moonlit journey across the dunes to heaven only knew where.
Suddenly chilled, Q shivered violently and wrapped his cloak tightly about his shoulders. He dismounted and pulled the reins over his horse's head, leading it behind him as he trudged across the sand in the direction he thought Fatima had been headed.
After what may have been minutes, or may have been hours, for Q's sense of time was as disrupted as his sense of self, he spotted what looked to be a small beacon of color in the distance. As he approached it, he realized that, whatever it was, it was most definitely brown. Not black, or white, but brown. As the object loomed nearer, Q thought it was some sort of statue, or fountain, or perhaps a road sign, though there was no road in sight. Then, as the object's dimensions became more clear, Q recognized it as a herm, a devotional device once found at intersections throughout ancient Greece. It stood about six feet tall, with three bearded heads carved near the top, each head facing a different direction. Midway between the heads and pedestal was a ridiculously enlarged erect phallus. Q stopped to study the statue, and as he walked around it to inspect it from all angles, he noticed that he was no longer standing in the desert, but at a three-way intersection, with each of the three heads facing one of the roads leading away from the herm. Then the herm spoke.
"Whither goest thou, traveler?"
Q nearly jumped out of his skin. "What the--? I wasn't expecting an enchanted herm."
"An enchanted herm? Oh, that's a fine treat. But this is thy dream, so if I surprised thee, it's only thy own fault."
"This is a dream?"
"Is it a dream? Or is it reality? The difference is not so great, I think. When thou hast the ability to translate thought into action, the line blurs. Dreams and reality flow through thee, uniting and separating, until thou canst not tell one from the other."
"Well then, Father Hermes, perhaps you can tell what this dream means? That is your purpose, isn't it -- to interpret dreams?"
"No. I cannot. My home is in the borderlands between Earth and Hades, helping travelers find their way to the Styx, but thou art not like other travelers. Thou art not dead, yet...thou dost not live. Thou art wandering through the borderlands, and now that thou hast come before me, thou must choose thy path. The road behind thee takes thee back whence thou came; do not look back or thy fate will be like that of Lot's wife. Thou must choose from the other two paths. Each road will lead thee to Anubis. There Anubis will judge thee, and thou wilt learn thy destiny. I cannot tell thee which road to choose, traveler; I can only tell thee to seek the phoenix rising from the ashes, for she will lead thee to the sign of life."
Q stepped back, puzzled and frustrated with the herm's riddles. How was he supposed to know which road to choose? Then he noticed a faint glimmer of red on the horizon, in the direction of the road leading to his left. He looked up, and for the first time since his strange journey began he noticed the full moon descending in the west, to his right. Of course! The herm had instructed him to seek the phoenix rising from the ashes -- the sun rising in the east! He turned to retrieve his horse, but it had disappeared. He looked back at the herm, about to ask where the horse had gone, but then he remembered Fatima.
"I was with someone -- a young woman -- earlier, but we were separated. Has she come by here? She had told me that I was supposed to follow her."
The herm waggled its phallus in a grotesque rebuke. "It is thy journey, traveler. Thou must make it alone. Hurry, for Anubis becomes impatient. And traveler? Remember me to Anubis." At that the herm disappeared, and Q found himself in a hardwood forest, the three roads clearly marked between the trees. He turned left and headed towards the sun.
Presently he came upon a tall, dark-skinned man wearing the native costume of one of the American Indian tribes. Though his attire was ornately decorated with beads and feathers, his face remained unmarked except for a small feathered tattoo over his left eyebrow. He stood before Q, strong, proud and immovable. A wolf trotted out of the woods and sat silently at his feet, her lips curled in an eerie grin. Something about the stranger looked familiar to Q, but he could not put his finger on what. The man looked him up and down, then, without saying a word, drew a circle in the dirt with his toe.
Q felt panic rising up within him. The herm had not warned him about any dangers along the road, only about meeting Anubis, the jackal-headed Egyptian Lord of the Dead. Was this stranger Anubis, and if not, then who was he and what threat did he pose to Q? Was he the test, the judgment that Anubis would supposedly impose on Q? What was the meaning of the circle drawn in the dirt?
Then Q remembered the herm's instructions: 'Seek the sign of life. Remember me to Anubis.' Holding his breath with nervous anticipation, Q stepped forward and drew a T, for the intersection where he met the herm, in the dirt below the circle. Tau with Omega ascendant: the ankh, the Egyptian sign of life.
The stranger smiled. "You have met the challenge, traveler. In your dream, I am Anubis, but you have known me elsewhere as Chakotay."
Q's mind reeled. He was flooded with images of a ship floundering far from home, tensions simmering among its crew, a hodgepodge of formerly warring camps, and of a woman, her hands on her hips, her strong chin jutting in defiance, and of a boy...his boy. His child. He staggered, then dropped to his knees as unexpected grief overwhelmed him. The wolf padded over and licked his tears.
"You have one more challenge ahead of you, traveler," Anubis-Chakotay said. "The road behind me forks. One path will lead you home. The other path... it is difficult to say."
Q looked up, but the man and wolf had vanished, and the scene had changed once again. Now he found himself on top of a mountain, with two roads leading to the base. As Anubis-Chakotay had not given him any warnings or instructions, Q turned left, as he had before, and made his way down from the summit.
As he rounded a large boulder, Q spotted a small scorpion standing in the middle of the path, ferociously jabbing her tail at him in a silent challenge for him to attempt to pass as she skittered back and forth across the path. Suddenly a high, keening wail shattered the stillness of the air and the scorpion charged.
* * * * *
A sharp burning sensation roused Q from his slumber. For a brief moment, he thought he had actually been stung by the scorpion, and it was only the sight of a dagger held in Fatima's small hand slicing through the air over his head that convinced him this was reality, and the scorpion was a dream. Frozen by terror, he could not decide if it would be safer for him to remain very still and let Fatima think she had already killed him, or to flee into the desert. Then he heard the unmistakable hiss of a cobra poised to strike.
It was enough for him to make a decision.
Q rolled to his right and off the bed faster than he thought humanly possible, but he barely made it to relative safety before the cobra sank her fangs into the cushion where his left leg had lain only a second before. Then Q saw the glint of light on metal, and Fatima's dagger flashed down and beheaded the cobra before she could tear herself free of the cushion. Q and Fatima stood there in the half-light, both breathless, he from not breathing, she from exertion. Then Q felt an agonizing, burning fire in his leg and gasped in pain as he collapsed on the bed.
"What is it?" Fatima asked, concern etched on her face.
"I don't think you made it in time," moaned Q, clutching at his thigh. "I think she got a good chunk of me up here."
Fatima raised her dagger, causing Q to shrink back in distrust, but she merely used it to tear a seam in his caftan. She sucked in her breath. "Yes, she did, but I don't think she got you head-on. There may be hope for you yet."
"Hurry," Q gasped, "The pain -- it's like being burned alive."
Fatima looked up, startled. Her face had become deathly pale. Through his haze of pain, Q thought he saw pain and anger in her eyes before she regained her composure and went to work on his leg. She tore one sleeve from her shift and tied it tightly around Q's thigh just above the hole where one fang had pierced his flesh. With her dagger she made a neat incision over the hole, causing Q to cry out, then began methodically sucking the poison out and spitting it into a bowl that seemed to materialize from out of nowhere. When she was satisfied that she had removed as much of the toxin as possible, she dabbed some myrrh on the wound and bound it with her other sleeve. She retrieved a cup and filled it halfway with water, then hooked the cobra's mouth over the rim and squeezed just behind the reptile's eyes, forcing whatever poison remained out through the fangs and into the water. She then handed the cup to Q.
"Drink this," she ordered gently.
Q's stomach lurched. Despite the care she had just displayed in tending his wound, he did not trust her. The memory of that dagger arcing through the air between dream-reality and consciousness, coupled with the gruesome sight of her 'milking' the severed head of the cobra, was just too much for him, and he turned away in revulsion. His confidence only went so far, and with all he had been through lately, it was even more limited than usual.
"I'm not trying to kill you," Fatima pleaded. "This is an ancient folk remedy for snakebites. It's an effective serum. It's diluted enough that it cannot hurt you, although it may make you nauseous."
"I already am nauseous."
"Then it may make you vomit."
"And I'm supposed to want that?"
"Q, I don't know if I was able to remove all the poison from your bloodstream. Drinking this will help your body develop the antibodies to fight what's left."
Q turned at the sound of his name and looked closely at Fatima. It was the first time he had heard her use it, and the gentle, pleading tone in her voice softened his heart. Grudgingly, he accepted the cup and drank the contents in one swallow, although as soon as it hit his tongue he had to fight the impulse to spit it back out. Fatima then removed the cup from his lips and gently eased her arm down and pulled it away from where it had been supporting his neck so that his head rested against the pillow. She tentatively reached out her hand to smooth the hair away from his forehead, prepared to jerk back if he flinched at her touch. He did not.
"You were dreaming when the cobra attacked?" she asked, her voice softened by concern and nervousness.
Q's eyes flew open. "Yes. It was... surreal. I didn't even realize it was a dream until it was nearly over, and I'm not entirely sure that it was just a dream."
"Yes, I know. I had the same dream."
"How do you know? I haven't even told you what my dream was about."
"We were riding across the desert under a full moon, until we were separated. Then we each had to face a challenge posed by a herm, and later by Anubis. Our response to the challenges determined our destiny. Is that what you dreamed?"
The look on Q's face was of pure astonishment. "I -- Yes, that's exactly right. Except then I found myself facing a rather high-and-mighty scorpion, just before I woke up."
There was a faint rustling sound, and Abu Primus stepped out from the shadows where he had witnessed the entire exchange into Q's line of sight. "I sent you both that dream," he said. "The scorpion was specifically sent to Q to warn him about the danger."
Q struggled to sit up. "What? How? To control your own subconscious mind is one thing, but to project that control on others, and to enable two people to experience an identical dream... that would require an incomprehensible amount of telepathic power. You're obviously not just some desert mystic. Who, or what, are you?" For the first time since he regained consciousness yesterday, he was beginning to trust Fatima; Abu's revelation destroyed all that.
"It was necessary. Your life is in serious danger, Q, and you need Fatima's help. You were too busy trying to find answers to your questions and to recover your memory to see that. You've never been able to see the forest for the trees."
Fatima, who had been studying her feet since Abu spoke, raised her eyes to his. "I think we need to tell him everything. He doesn't trust us."
"If we tell him everything, then he definitely won't trust you," Abu responded, any hint of reproof absent from his tone.
Q's eyes shifted back and forth between Fatima and Abu. "Tell me everything? Tell me what? Are you saying that you've known who I am all along? Then why have you been stringing me along like this?" His voice was shrill with pain, fear and distrust.
Abu eased himself down cautiously onto the edge of the bed. "Let me tell you a story first, then we'll see."
"A man set out one day with his beloved son to graze his flock. As they were headed home, a herd of magnificent gazelles appeared across their path. Silently and quickly the father rounded up the flock. Warning the boy not to stray until he returned, he hurried after the gazelles. The wild things leaped in the air and streaked off as soon as he stepped towards them, but he was a keen hunter and loved nothing better than the chase. Eagerly he followed their trail.
"Meanwhile the child waited alone. It was his fate that a She-Ghoul, that monster of the wilderness who loves to feed on human flesh, should spy him as he stood unprotected. With one leap she sprang upon him and greedily devoured him.
"The father hunted long and far but could not catch a single gazelle. At last he gave up and returned to the flock. His son was nowhere in sight, but on the ground he found dark drops of blood. He was inconsolable, but what else could he do but turn home?
"On the way he rode past a cave, and there he saw the She-Ghoul dancing, fresh from her feast. The man shot her, then slashed open her belly and in it he found his son. He laid the boy upon his cloak, pulled the woolen cloak around him tight, and carried him home.
"When he got home he called his wife and said, 'I have brought back a gazelle, dear wife, but it can only be cooked in a cauldron that has never been used for a meal of sorrow.'
"The woman went from house to house in search for such a pot. But one neighbor said, 'We used the large cauldron to cook the rice for the people who came to weep when my husband died.' Another told her, 'We last heated the big cooking pot on the day of my son's funeral.' She knocked at every door but did not find what she sought. So she returned to her husband empty-handed.
"'Haven't you found the right kind of cauldron?' the man asked. 'There is no household but has seen misfortune,' she answered. 'There is no cauldron but has cooked a meal of mourning.' Only then did the man fold back his woolen cloak and say to her, 'They have all tasted their share of sorrow. Today the turn is ours. This is my gazelle.'"
When Abu finished, Q snorted, unimpressed and unmoved. "What a lovely fairy tale. What does it have to do with me?"
Abu stood and looked down at Q, the omnipresent merriment in his eyes dulled by paternal devotion and grief at the loss of a much-loved child. "What the story has to do with you, my child, is that I am the father, and you are the child devoured by the She-Ghoul."
Q's mouth gaped open in shock and disbelief. For what seemed like an eternity he was incapable of formulating a coherent thought, much less a question. He at last had the presence of mind to close his mouth and swallowed loudly. He glanced at Fatima, who sat beside him, her face ghostly pale, her hands trembling violently as she clutched involuntarily at her shift. The only person who seemed to have his wits about him was Abu, so Q redirected his attention to him. "What - I - That is - I mean - you're my father?" he finally managed to stammer.
Abu nodded gravely. "Essentially, yes. You see, Q is not just your name, it's what you are; you belong to a race of immortal, omnipotent energy beings called the Q. And I am the founder of that race."
"And what does the She-Ghoul represent?"
"You were recently attacked by an assassin known to us as Soma. You are, in fact, lying near death on a human starship; everything that you have experienced here is in your mind. But I have, metaphorically speaking, rescued you from Soma's belly."
"What about the cobra, or the vulture, or being left for dead in the desert, for that matter? If this is all in my head, why am I still being victimized like this?"
"Those are all manifestations of the poison Soma used on you. The sunburn represents fire; the vulture, air; and the cobra, earth. You should only have to face the threat of one more material element, water, and then the poison should finally be out of your system. But you will not be out of the woods yet. That is where Fatima comes into all this," Abu added, anticipating Q's question before he even moved his lips. Q looked at her, and she nodded in silent agreement. "Her role has not yet really been defined, although she and I have a sense of what it will encompass. Just let me impress upon you how much you need her if you're going to survive, Q. As she told you in your dream, where she leads, you must follow."
Q closed his eyes and tried to control the flurry of emotions raging within him. As soon as Abu Primus had told Q who he was, a rush of memories flooded him, nearly overwhelming him. He had a vague sensation of the knowledge of his immortality and omnipotence expanding outwards and straining to overcome the boundaries created by the poison, like an overfilled balloon about to burst. He envisioned Chaos mocking him as he tried to make sense of the jumble of images swirling past his eyes. Q forced himself to relax, allowing the memories to wash over him, sifting through them as he sought one memory in particular. The image of a red-faced, middle-aged balding man came to him, and Q recognized Jean-Luc Picard from his vision while whirling in the desert. Q mentally stepped back from the image, studying it, and saw himself, teasing Picard, taunting him because Picard refused to acknowledge Q's power. Then he saw the Borg cube, saw the merciless automatons as they attacked the Enterprise. He saw the plasma heat and the handsome young lieutenant force himself into the conduit, defying all survival instincts on behalf of his crewmates. Then he saw the grief-stricken widow, her face shrouded in tears, and at last he knew. He understood. And for the first time in his infinite existence, Q felt remorse.
He opened his eyes. He was alone. Where Abu and Fatima had gone, he did not care to know. All he knew was grief and sorrow.
He pulled his knees to his chest, turned his face into the pillow and sobbed his regret to the cosmos.
If only there were occasion for repose
If only this long road had an end,
And in the track of a hundred thousand years, out of the heart of dust
Hope sprang again, like greenness.
Omar Khayyam, "The Ruba'iyat"
Blaise Pascal once wrote, "The eternal silence of these infinite spaces terrifies me." Though these words were first uttered over 700 years ago, Q thought them entirely appropriate to his own circumstance and reflected upon them as he gazed about him. In every direction, the tan and golden desert sands extended beyond the range of visual acuity until earth and heaven finally embraced like long-lost lovers on some distant unknown horizon. Q felt the barren loneliness crying out from deep within the earth's bowels, a mournful voice rising and falling like the funeral dirge he heard in his dreams, and he longed to mourn with the earth, to mourn with Fatima. Yet he remained silent, fearing that his own plaintive cries of remorse and loneliness would be nothing more than a mockery of their shared primordial grief.
Instead he turned his thoughts inward and wept silently for them. The silence was overbearing, flooding his veins as the sun relentlessly rained down fire and heat upon Q's turbaned head. Even as he was drowning in his own unshed tears, Q was also suffocating in the fierce dry heat of the desert sun. He could find relief nowhere. The gentle zephyr that had earlier accompanied the caravan had fled the sun's oppressive heat, and even the camels refrained from their usual grumbling, save the occasional noisy dispute between bulls over a cow in season.
Abu Primus had ordered them to break camp three days ago, bolstered by Q's quick recovery and eager to reach the oasis Fatima claimed was even now only four days' journey hence. The journey was brutal: they rose before dawn, ate a quick meal of fruit, dried meat and bread, traveled six hours until the sun's heat became too strong for even the camels to endure, then pitched the tent and rested for six hours. Then, as the sun began to sink towards the horizon, they broke camp and traveled for another six hours until the moon had reached its zenith and the cold night air chilled Q to his bones, and rested again.
The hardship created by the rigorous cycle made conversation extraneous, and few words were exchanged as they gathered around the hearth each night. Q found himself lost in his own thoughts and memories as images and sensations extending eternally beyond the desert horizon reminded him just how far from home he was. Envisioning the omnipotent fertility of the Continuum in stark contrast to the impotent desert reawakened his homesickness, from which there was no refuge.
To Q, everything had become a blur. Hours faded into days, each featureless dune only led to more of the same, even the moon seemed to remain in full phase, as if the emptiness and desolation below it held it captive. What terrified Q most of all about the silence and infinity was his realization that the desert was a reflection of him; he stood here, looking inside himself, and all he saw was a vast desert wasteland, extending infinitely into nothingness. He was as devoid of life now as he had been overflowing with creative energy in the Continuum, and his only hope of restoration was a human whose husband he murdered and her inexplicable faith in an unnamed Saint. For all he could imagine of it, the Continuum was as remote and unattainable to him as the oasis towards which they were heading.
On the fifth day, as the caravan crested a dune, Abu came to a sudden halt and pointed excitedly. "There it is!" he called.
Q and Fatima dismounted and walked towards him. Fatima nodded. "Yes, I see it now," she said.
Q squinted and peered in the direction Abu indicated. "See what? I can't see anything but sand, sand, and more sand." He was hot, tired, dusty, thirsty, and in no mood for false hope.
Fatima looked at him, fully aware of his melancholy and frustration. "Look right on the edge of the horizon," she instructed. "You should be able to see a long, low dark spot. That is the mountain range we have to pass through just before we reach the oasis."
Q strained his eyes to the point she indicated. He thought he began to see the spot, but it could as well have been a mirage, and he turned his back on it in anger. Then a slight breeze, the first he had felt in days, ruffled his caftan, and for just a moment he thought he smelled water. He inhaled deeply, reveling in the faint but intoxicating greenness of the aroma.
The scent also encouraged the camels, and several of them lurched to their feet, growling and snarling like mad dogs. "Come, let's go," urged Abu. "We should reach the range within a day." It was all the motivation Q needed to vault into his saddle and take off after the herd.
They pitched the tent at the entrance to a gap that would take them straight through the range and to the oasis where the shrine was located. Outside the tent, the mountains loomed large and inviting like the embrace of a favorite aunt. A small creek that had been steadily carving the mountain pass for centuries emptied into a sparkling pool of fresh water near the camp, and they had all enjoyed the pleasure and relief brought by the crystal clear spring.
Q had been the first to dive into the pool, diving and splashing in the blissfully cold water as he washed away the dust and aches of the long road that now lay behind him. Then, when he felt refreshed and stretched out in a hammock strung between two date-palm trees, Fatima removed her tunic and leggings and waded in up to her waist, scooping the water with her hands to wash her face and upper body. Q gallantly offered to go into the tent so she could have some privacy, but Fatima declined and continued as if he were not there. She never bared her head or removed her shift, though she did eventually duck her head underwater, wringing the excess water from her hair by twisting it into a loose braid.
Q swung lazily, watching her through partially lowered eyelids, admiring her simple modesty that was free of all shame or embarrassment. He felt desire, but the feeling did not spring forth from his libido; something in her evoked an unquenchable yearning in him that was, and was not, like love. He had often caught himself watching her surreptitiously, and wondered at the ache he felt when she was out of sight. Q was familiar with the astonishing range of human emotions and had allowed himself, at several times in his immortal lifespan, to experience most of them, though in general he found emotions to be dreadfully inadequate, irrational and inconvenient. The sensations Fatima evoked, however, were like no emotion he had ever experienced, and as he lay in the hammock watching her, he tried to remember all that he had once known about human relationships before dozing off in the cool shade, a soft breeze kissing his face.
Late that night as they gathered around the hearth, there was a palpable aura of excitement and barely restrained joy in the air. Abu's eyes shone with renewed liveliness, and Fatima smiled and laughed for the first time in a week as she stitched together a new garment made from a length of brilliant white cloth. Even Q was less morose and prone to self-examination than he had been for the past several days as he reclined against a large cushion and savored a cup of potent, steaming coffee. The first time he had tasted the thick, viscous liquid, distilled from crushed roasted beans boiled over the fire, he had nearly choked on its bitterness. Tonight, however, it was a welcome end to an exhausting day as he swirled it around his tongue before swallowing.
His spirit refreshed and his hunger sated, Q felt a peace and a camaraderie he had not felt before. The worst is over, he thought. I will soon be home.
* * * * *
Fatima sensed Q's longing and knew her death was imminent. Abu Primus had warned her that, as they neared the oasis, her spirit would begin to merge with Q's, bringing them closer together until their bond would be as inviolable as love between a man and a woman. When he first explained what would happen, she was afraid, thinking that perhaps she would become involuntarily unfaithful to Ali, but Abu reassured her, explaining that her bond with Q would be one of existence, whereas her bond with Ali, rooted in eternal love, transcended even death. Her undying love for Ali, he added, would secure her metaphysical union with Q.
"It is like a flame," he had said. "A flame can be divided an infinite number of times without material harm, but with each division the flame loses some of its potency. As the flames merge together, it grows brighter, stronger, more alive. You and Ali share a single soul, bound in love. Soon you and Q will also share one soul, bound together by death because of your love for Ali." Fatima only nodded, recognizing the logic in his argument, but not entirely sure she understood. She knew what was expected of her, she understood the choice she had made, and she was prepared to face whatever consequences that choice brought. It was that persistence of vision that sustained her.
With each passing day, Fatima felt herself inexorably drawn to Q like a moth to a flame. She had first become aware of the sensation the night of their shared dream, as if the dream itself had served as a watershed, forcing her subconscious mind to accept the reality of her sacrifice. What she neglected to tell Q, however, was that their shared dream was not identical. Like Q, she had stood before the herm, but she had chosen to turn west, away from the sun. The road entered a forest, where she met Anubis, although in her dream he was accompanied by Osiris. There they instructed her to look for an eagle, but before they could finish, she was awakened by the terrifying hiss of a cobra.
That night, as she tended Q's wound, she was overcome with tenderness, like a mother caring for a sick child. She longed to remain by his side as his memory returned to him, to comfort him, to forgive him for what happened long ago, but Abu pulled her away, insisting that Q face the paradox of his responsibility for Ali's death and his impending debt to her alone.
Hearing Q's muffled sobs that night, Fatima had not been able to sleep.
The journey across the desert had been especially difficult for her; as Q grew stronger, she became weak. She had lagged behind the rest of the caravan, unable to maintain the blistering pace Abu set, struggling to remain on her mount. When they stopped at midday and at night, she collapsed on her bed into a dreamless slumber, and awoke more exhausted than before.
She was relieved when they reached the mountain range, with its cool, clear spring, and could barely contain herself from indulging her fatigue and her thirst before Q had had his fill. Under normal circumstances, she would never have bathed in another man's presence, but this time she did not shy away from Q's penetrating gaze. She luxuriated in it, letting his unfulfilled yearning wash over her like an exquisite perfume.
That night, after praying for the first time in a week, she began preparing her funeral robes. The end is near, she thought. I will soon be with Ali.
* * * * *
It took them two days to reach the oasis as they traveled from dawn to dusk, stopping only for a midday siesta.
The path was narrow and occasionally treacherous as it wound through the range, bordered by the stream on one side and a sheer rock face on the other, but Abu led the caravan at a nerve-wracking pace, pressed by an urgency only he knew. Throughout the entire journey he had remained on foot, the caravan following behind at a steady pace in single file, but as he led them through the mountains even the camels had to jog to keep up with him. Q turned in his seat to look at Fatima behind him, wondering at the speed with which they were traveling, but her face remained a stony mask, not even acknowledging his unspoken question. He knew she had stayed awake the entire night, working on the garment. Q wondered if it had something to do with the shrine they were visiting.
On the second day, the path widened enough for them to pass two abreast, and Q and Fatima rode side-by-side in silence. It had finally occurred to him that the impending anniversary of her husband's death was what quieted her, and the memory of his role in Ali's death kept him quiet. At one point he considered remaining behind, out of respect, but then Fatima turned to him, as if she had read his thoughts, and said, "The Saint will be able to help you get home."
By mid-afternoon on the second day, Q spotted a round white dome in the near distance and rightly guessed it to be the shrine. Next to the domed building stood a slender tower -- a minaret, he supposed -- and as the building grew larger he saw a magnificent eagle land on the golden crescent moon that stood atop the minaret and let loose with an ear-shattering scream, calling to its mate much like a muezzin would call the faithful to prayer.
Fatima gasped loudly, startling Q from his reverie. He looked at her, puzzled by her reaction, and for the first time noticed just how pale and drawn she had become since their journey began. Her cheeks were hollow, and dark circles accented the omnipresent haunted look in her eyes. Her once-lustrous hair hung limp down her back and she moved with the fragility of a woman decades older. Her lips were thin and colorless.
Sensing Q's eyes on her, Fatima turned to face him. The dark, brooding passion in his eyes that she remembered from the Enterprise logs but had never seen herself until now caused her to blush involuntarily. She slowly reached out her hand and placed it over his. "I'm all right," she murmured. "It's just been a long day."
Q swallowed and closed his eyes. Her hand was as light as a feather, yet the contact left him with a burning ache that both terrified and invigorated him. He carefully pulled his hands away and spurred his mount forward just enough to reach out and grab the bridle on Fatima's camel. Halting both animals, he leaped down, then coaxed Fatima's mount to its knees. In a single fluid motion, he grabbed the reins and sprang up behind Fatima as the camel lurched to its feet, bellowing at the additional weight, and securely wrapped his arms around Fatima's waist. When she turned to look at him, puzzled, he merely said, "You look tired enough to fall off. Why don't you rest while I take the reins." She stiffened momentarily at his closeness, but exhaustion quickly usurped any residual feelings of distrust and modesty and she nestled into his embrace.
Entwined like two trees growing from a single root system, Q and Fatima rode the rest of the way in comfortable, intimate silence. As the dome loomed larger, Q noticed the tops of trees swaying in the breeze, bedecked with the plumage of a thousand species of birds chirping and twittering with delight. The eagle he saw earlier had been joined by its mate, and the two graceful birds perched atop the minaret like monarchs surveying a kingdom, occasionally turning to each other to rub beaks in a tender avian kiss.
Then the caravan rounded a large boulder, and Q was awestruck at the splendid panorama that lay before him. He did not know what the oasis more closely resembled -- the Garden of Eden, the Elysian Fields, or the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. What he did know for certain was that he was at the very edge of Paradise.
His strongest impression was of the sheer greenness of the place. A thick canopy of trees surrounded the shrine, and the aftenoon sun intensified the reflections of foliage on the white dome, giving it a warm green glow like a spring meadow. Within the forest Q could see oak, maple, ebony, cedar, locust, poplar, cypress, sandalwood -- trees that never grew together in nature -- all in full foliage. The birds that Q had heard and seen earlier continued their joyous singing, undisturbed by the humans or the eagles perched nearby. The western edge of the forest was bounded by a wide river as blue as lapis lazuli, and Q could see elephants, zebras and lions gathered by the sandy banks. As the caravan entered the forest, monkeys chattered their friendly greetings and gazelles bounded shyly away, turning at a safe distance to peek at the newcomers. Q was startled to recognize the forest from his dream, and his arms tightened unconsciously around Fatima.
The trees soon thinned into a large clearing where the shrine sat, and Q was once again rendered speechless by the beauty that defied his infinite knowledge. The shrine was perfectly square, bounded on each side by four graceful columns topped with Corinthian capitals painted to resemble locust trees. The columns themselves were painted a bright yellow and decorated with intricate blue script Q recognized as Arabic. Inscribed in gold over the door was the shahada, and Q found himself reciting the creed as he gazed in wonder.
He dismounted, intending to explore the interior of the shrine, but Abu Primus stopped him from entering. "No," he commanded. "It is not yet time. When it is appropriate, then you may enter." Q hesitated, curiosity waging war with obedience, but unwillingly acquiesced.
He turned to assist Fatima with her dismount. "Thank you," she said, and took Q's hand and led him over to the shrine. Pointing to the two columns to Q's left on the front of the building, she said, "Those tell the story of Fatima and Ali, the daughter and son-in-law of the Prophet. Ali was supposed to be the fourth Caliph, but he was brutally murdered by his enemies. Those columns," she continued, indicating the two to Q's right, "tell the story of the Saint who is buried in this shrine. He, too, was a martyr." She looked at Q. "His name was also Ali."
Q did not move a muscle as he held Fatima's gaze for what seemed to be an eternity. At first, he did not know what words he should say, what words he could say, to ease her pain and beg her forgiveness. Then, as he saw the tears coursing down her face, words ceased to matter and he pulled her into his arms with an anguished sob, burying his face in her shoulder. His chest heaving, he managed to pull himself away and take her tiny face in his hands, bending down until their foreheads touched. "Forgive me," was all he could say.
Fatima closed her eyes and smiled. "We are beyond forgiveness, Q," she said. "Guilt and pain and death have all been washed away. Here there is only reconciliation and redemption." She reached up and gently wiped the tears from Q's face. "Ali forgave you even as he died. Now you must forgive yourself." With that, she removed herself from Q's arms and began unpacking the tent.
* * * * *
They pitched the tent on the eastern side of the shrine, near a warm mineral spring that bubbled up from a subterranean source. Above the tent, the stars twinkled like a million tiny candles, and Q gazed fondly at them, remembering the joy he once felt dancing among them like the firefly that danced above his face.
That night, for the first time, Abu Primus dined with Q and Fatima. Their meal had been unusually simple -- a small loaf of hard, unleavened bread and a chalice of wine they passed back and forth between themselves -- but Q felt as if he had dined at the palace of a king. After dinner, Abu explained the ritual they would undertake at dawn the next day.
"First," he said, "we must fast. Our bodies must be cleansed of pollutants, so tonight we have eaten this simple meal, to ease us into slumber, but it will be our last meal. As soon as the sun is completely above the horizon, we pray. Then I will go and prepare the shrine for the rites while you go down to the river." At this, Fatima rose and handed Q a white bundle. "You must wear these garments into the River of Life as you wash away your sins and purify your spirit. Only then may you enter the shrine and plead your case before the Saint."
Q was confused. "Plead my case? But you've assured me all along that the Saint could help me, that he would help me. Now you seem to be suggesting that he won't help me."
Abu's brow knitted, making his bushy eyebrows seem even more so. "He will help you, no doubt. Whether or not you accept his help on his terms, however, is another matter."
"His terms?"
"He will put you to a challenge, much like the figures in your dream. How you face that challenge will determine the final outcome."
"So are you saying that there's still a chance I won't get home?" Q's voice was rising with his panic. How could he have come so far, only to fail? He had trusted them! He looked to Fatima, imploring her with his eyes to help him. She briefly returned his gaze, her eyes full of warmth and compassion, then dropped her gaze to the ground with a small sigh. Q shifted his eyes to Abu, who remained infuriatingly silent. Unable to contain his anger any longer, Q stood and stalked outside.
He flopped down on his back by the bubbling spring and laced his fingers over his chest. High above him, an owl hooted, but there was no other sound. Q looked up at the stars, calling each of them by name. He longed to be among them again, skipping across them like a stone across the water. He closed his eyes and imagined himself back home in the Continuum, free to roam the galaxy to his heart's content. For all its faults, the Continuum was his home, and he missed it, he missed his brothers and sisters, he missed his son. He even missed that stick-in-the-mud Picard. Come hell or high water, he thought, I will get back home, challenges be damned.
At that last thought, Q grinned. He was definitely feeling more like himself.
PART FOUR