I'm a child of the 80's. Grew up on TOS reruns, saw TNG when it was new, and even with the shows I've disagreed with I wanted to find things i liked (Picard's S1 and 2, Disco before getting dumped in the future.) I do not have encyclopediatic knowledge of the franchise. I am going to make mistakes. I am going to mess up. However. I'd like to think this will be a fun mess.
So let's overview the why here. It's quite simple. I ... am not a fan of Picard's morose self wallowing and seemingly gleeful descent into melancholy and a jaded more militaristic starfleet. However! that is not to say I dislike everything that show has to offer. However that is the future that I'm setting out in this fic to alter as the big long term complication.
For the sake of up front clarity I am treating Hobas as exploding on Stardate 64444.5 as happening on June 12, 2387 going off of a couple diffrent calculations I'd seen. If anyone wishes to dispute me. Please feel free to do so.
So. With that small pre-amble out of the way?
Shall we get this train wreck started?
-
CHAPTER 0 :
What the Q is Happening Here?!
I was in a white void. That is both perfectly descriptive, and yet, does nothing to describe where I was. There were no sounds, no smells, no breeze. There was Nothing for my senses to latch onto. There was nothing there, except for me. I looked down and saw no shadows. Heard nothing when I stepped. The only reason I knew i was moving was i could feel my own body.
Was I dead?
"No," A distressingly familiar voice said simply at the unvoiced question. "you are still very much alive Mister Carter."
I turned around, and saw a man taller than myself. Maybe it was the lack of reference points or maybe he genuinely was as tall as my stepfather, though still remarkably slender built. This is someone I both had never met before, yet was exceptionally familiar with. The white suit he wore I'd seen him wear one other time, in a similar white void. Talking to Picard about the tapastries of one's life.
"Q?" I squinted as I looked the other man over. My mind was trying to play catch-up to what was going on, so I went with the default of just running with what was going on until given reason not to.
At the single letter name, Q gave a small bow. "I am sure you have many questions, and I can see the gears and cogs turning in that soggy lump of meat you call a brain."
I forgot how patronizing he could sound.
"OK," I said, while trying to not look too put out and probably failing. "So either you aren't fictional, or the fiction from my time mirrors the reality of another universe."
Q grinned, it was not a wholesome grin, as there was a sort of vindictivness in what he said. "Or you really are dying and this is simply the last gasps of misfiring neurons giving you something to focus on as the lights go out."
That was a cheerful thought...
Instead of snapping at him, I grunted as I paced about. "Well, I can't really test any of those theories, and I'm here. So, since you are one to play games. I want to know what you have in store for me, and if you would be so kind, why me?"
"Why not you?" Q almost looked offended at the question.
"Well, other than the fact that there are more knowledgable sorts in the fandom?" I countered.
That got an approving chuckle, "Would it bruise that poor little ego of yours that you were a random draw I had to make?"
That got a genuine laugh out of me, "So I'm the equivilant of you reaching into a bag for a piece to put on the board so everyone doesn't fight over dibs." I couldn't help but keep laughing. "No Q I suppose I should be flattered in that instance that you're taking time to explain rather than just, 'here you go,' and watching the chaos."
At Q's lack of response, I took that as invitation to continue. "So. If this is a game there are rules yes?"
I continued to pace.
"Can you stop doing that?" Q turned his head to follow me. Considering his physical presence was at best an approximation he wore to make me least uncomfortable, I shouldn't have been surprised that his head went all lynda blair and could rotate all the way 'round as I paced. "It's very distracting."
When I stopped pacing he nodded in approval. "We both know roughly when I will ... Move on... We also both dislike how," He frowned and looked as if he were searching for the right words, "millitaristic Starfleet will be getting. As I can't directly get involved-" There was a motion of his hand as if gesturing for me to pick up on the rest.
"I'm effectivly going to be a proxy to try changing the status quo." I at first smiled, as I dearly hated the twenty four hundreds, to say nothing fo The Burn, and the less said of the temporal cold war the better.
Q stood there waiting. Apparently the ball was in my court.
"OK..." I spread my hands out and started listing items on my fingers. "Picard retired because Starfleet's botched response to the Romulan Refugee Crisis. That happened because Hobas exploded and something about that-" I paused mid sentance. "Is it iconians? Are we following STO's reason behind Hobas?"
Q gave a shrug and raised his hands, "Spoilers my dear boy."
"Fair," I nodded to Q. Bad enough I had the inside baseball knowledge I do have, which might or might not apply depending o nthe universe I get punted into. "Anyway Hobas explodes. Refugee crisis. Synth crisis happens and Starfleet gets .... "
I let out a sigh. "OK. To minamize any disruptions? We don't want an Ensign Sue debacle on our hands."
Again. Q said nothing, but I could see the faintest traces of a smile on his face. Maybe he was fearing he'd grab someone that would start begging him for cool and amazing things? Maybe giving starting advantages would take points away? Hard to say. Still. I had an amount of self respect and through the decades I'd learned of the Ur Example of self insert parody. I'd actually seen the webcomic that took and ran with that. Actually had that whole series saved to my phone along with a whole kit and kaboodle of other things largely because I'd never trusted 'online' to always be an option so was a firm believer in local copies of media. That, it would seem, was potentially going to pay off here.
"Hrm. How hard would it be to put me on a sleeper ship? Put a few of my things in a radiation hardened locker or something to justify the data surviving, and plop that in front of a ship? Any oddities after that could be attributed to a space-time rift or other anomoly, like the Continuum civil war."
"That could work," Q sounded thoughtful. "The rules do state that once the board is set, I can't get involved, and if nobody knows I was invovled at all that makes it even better."
"That's another thing," I told Q, "You're going to need to erase, or block, this convrosation and put in just enough ambiguity in play so I'll just wake up thinking I was there from the start. If this is going to be the scenerio, there's too many telepaths and body surfing entities. I both don't want to disrupt whtever game you have, and it just feels... wrong to get dumped somewhere important."
Beat.
Then I added ruefully. "I'd probably get snapped up by temporal investigations or section thirty one anyhow. So-" I gestured to the white nothingness. "Shall we?"
"Yes," Q smiled as he raised his hand. There was a twinkle in his eyes. "Let's."
The last thing I was aware of was the sound of his fingers snapping.
So let's overview the why here. It's quite simple. I ... am not a fan of Picard's morose self wallowing and seemingly gleeful descent into melancholy and a jaded more militaristic starfleet. However! that is not to say I dislike everything that show has to offer. However that is the future that I'm setting out in this fic to alter as the big long term complication.
For the sake of up front clarity I am treating Hobas as exploding on Stardate 64444.5 as happening on June 12, 2387 going off of a couple diffrent calculations I'd seen. If anyone wishes to dispute me. Please feel free to do so.
So. With that small pre-amble out of the way?
Shall we get this train wreck started?
-
CHAPTER 0 :
What the Q is Happening Here?!
I was in a white void. That is both perfectly descriptive, and yet, does nothing to describe where I was. There were no sounds, no smells, no breeze. There was Nothing for my senses to latch onto. There was nothing there, except for me. I looked down and saw no shadows. Heard nothing when I stepped. The only reason I knew i was moving was i could feel my own body.
Was I dead?
"No," A distressingly familiar voice said simply at the unvoiced question. "you are still very much alive Mister Carter."
I turned around, and saw a man taller than myself. Maybe it was the lack of reference points or maybe he genuinely was as tall as my stepfather, though still remarkably slender built. This is someone I both had never met before, yet was exceptionally familiar with. The white suit he wore I'd seen him wear one other time, in a similar white void. Talking to Picard about the tapastries of one's life.
"Q?" I squinted as I looked the other man over. My mind was trying to play catch-up to what was going on, so I went with the default of just running with what was going on until given reason not to.
At the single letter name, Q gave a small bow. "I am sure you have many questions, and I can see the gears and cogs turning in that soggy lump of meat you call a brain."
I forgot how patronizing he could sound.
"OK," I said, while trying to not look too put out and probably failing. "So either you aren't fictional, or the fiction from my time mirrors the reality of another universe."
Q grinned, it was not a wholesome grin, as there was a sort of vindictivness in what he said. "Or you really are dying and this is simply the last gasps of misfiring neurons giving you something to focus on as the lights go out."
That was a cheerful thought...
Instead of snapping at him, I grunted as I paced about. "Well, I can't really test any of those theories, and I'm here. So, since you are one to play games. I want to know what you have in store for me, and if you would be so kind, why me?"
"Why not you?" Q almost looked offended at the question.
"Well, other than the fact that there are more knowledgable sorts in the fandom?" I countered.
That got an approving chuckle, "Would it bruise that poor little ego of yours that you were a random draw I had to make?"
That got a genuine laugh out of me, "So I'm the equivilant of you reaching into a bag for a piece to put on the board so everyone doesn't fight over dibs." I couldn't help but keep laughing. "No Q I suppose I should be flattered in that instance that you're taking time to explain rather than just, 'here you go,' and watching the chaos."
At Q's lack of response, I took that as invitation to continue. "So. If this is a game there are rules yes?"
I continued to pace.
"Can you stop doing that?" Q turned his head to follow me. Considering his physical presence was at best an approximation he wore to make me least uncomfortable, I shouldn't have been surprised that his head went all lynda blair and could rotate all the way 'round as I paced. "It's very distracting."
When I stopped pacing he nodded in approval. "We both know roughly when I will ... Move on... We also both dislike how," He frowned and looked as if he were searching for the right words, "millitaristic Starfleet will be getting. As I can't directly get involved-" There was a motion of his hand as if gesturing for me to pick up on the rest.
"I'm effectivly going to be a proxy to try changing the status quo." I at first smiled, as I dearly hated the twenty four hundreds, to say nothing fo The Burn, and the less said of the temporal cold war the better.
Q stood there waiting. Apparently the ball was in my court.
"OK..." I spread my hands out and started listing items on my fingers. "Picard retired because Starfleet's botched response to the Romulan Refugee Crisis. That happened because Hobas exploded and something about that-" I paused mid sentance. "Is it iconians? Are we following STO's reason behind Hobas?"
Q gave a shrug and raised his hands, "Spoilers my dear boy."
"Fair," I nodded to Q. Bad enough I had the inside baseball knowledge I do have, which might or might not apply depending o nthe universe I get punted into. "Anyway Hobas explodes. Refugee crisis. Synth crisis happens and Starfleet gets .... "
I let out a sigh. "OK. To minamize any disruptions? We don't want an Ensign Sue debacle on our hands."
Again. Q said nothing, but I could see the faintest traces of a smile on his face. Maybe he was fearing he'd grab someone that would start begging him for cool and amazing things? Maybe giving starting advantages would take points away? Hard to say. Still. I had an amount of self respect and through the decades I'd learned of the Ur Example of self insert parody. I'd actually seen the webcomic that took and ran with that. Actually had that whole series saved to my phone along with a whole kit and kaboodle of other things largely because I'd never trusted 'online' to always be an option so was a firm believer in local copies of media. That, it would seem, was potentially going to pay off here.
"Hrm. How hard would it be to put me on a sleeper ship? Put a few of my things in a radiation hardened locker or something to justify the data surviving, and plop that in front of a ship? Any oddities after that could be attributed to a space-time rift or other anomoly, like the Continuum civil war."
"That could work," Q sounded thoughtful. "The rules do state that once the board is set, I can't get involved, and if nobody knows I was invovled at all that makes it even better."
"That's another thing," I told Q, "You're going to need to erase, or block, this convrosation and put in just enough ambiguity in play so I'll just wake up thinking I was there from the start. If this is going to be the scenerio, there's too many telepaths and body surfing entities. I both don't want to disrupt whtever game you have, and it just feels... wrong to get dumped somewhere important."
Beat.
Then I added ruefully. "I'd probably get snapped up by temporal investigations or section thirty one anyhow. So-" I gestured to the white nothingness. "Shall we?"
"Yes," Q smiled as he raised his hand. There was a twinkle in his eyes. "Let's."
The last thing I was aware of was the sound of his fingers snapping.
