I must admit, I hate Q

I must admit, I hate Q. I really, really do. He is the most annoying creature ever to walk the threads of time, and for some unconceivable reason, he is always interrupting my life right when I most need him not to be.

Why he delights in torturing me I have never been able to conclude. He seems to find pleasure in hurtling me through random bits of time and space into other continuums as if it were the grandest bit of fun in the Universe. I have never understood it.

"But then," as he always aggravatingly reminds me, "you're human, and I don't expect you to understand why we Qs do what we do. You're such a puny race, you humans. How you could ever conceive the full potential of something so much grander and significant than yourselves is completely beyond me. It's a shame really. You humans certainly have my sympathy, if nothing else."

And so yet another "eye-opener", as he called them, would begin. Usually, it started from the security of my Ready Room, but this time, it was even more unexpected.

Mr. Worf and I had been sent to Cardasia, in order to aid negotiations between Cardasia and the Klingons. It was hardly a mutual desire; Mr. Worf was having difficulty accepting the idea that Cardasia might actually want an alliance. I considered it highly unlikely that anything profitable would come out of this, but I tried to keep my chin up. Stranger things had happened before….

At the moment, we were not only having difficulties dwelling upon our journey's mission, we were also having trouble with the navigation systems. Worf, using his undeniable strength, slammed his large fists into his control panel, hoping, I assume, to jar the computer's systems back online.

"That was very helpful, Mr. Worf."

He growled, but to his credit, did not retaliate. "My apologies, Captain," he rumbled. "I will secure the emergency generator."

Though I couldn't help but see the humor of the situation, I wasn't about to drop my guard. Drifting in a 9x5 shuttle in the middle of nowhere hundreds of light-years from both our destination and our home was a bit unsettling; I certainly hoped we could contact the Enterprise of our situation.

Mr. Worf was banging around in the cargo hold, curses in horrendous Klingon echoing through the shuttle. I think I smirked, though that was the last thing I remember doing.

The next thing I knew, I was dangling from outside the shuttle, feet swinging, perspiration springing to my skin. Somehow I was in one of the spacesuits we use for emergencies, and I was sweating. I must admit, I was panicky.

But it didn't take me long to understand what was happening.

"Captain Picard," he was laying Greek-style on the roof of the shuttle above me, his usual position. "Glad you decided to join me."

I groaned, and tightened my grip. It was useless of course; Q snapped his fingers.