Disclaimer: The only elements of this story that belong to me are the plot and my own clunky writing style, lol. The rest comes from somewhere else.
Summary: A digestional prank leads Q to an explosive end! Witness the aftermath as his essence fractures the very fabric of the multi-verse and leaves Voyager dead in the water at the epicenter of this gastronomical crisis. With the majority of her crew scattered among the far reaches of time and space, will Janeway be able pick up the pieces and find a solution before reality, as we know it, spirals out of control?
Q Bits
Chapter One:
Pepto Dismal
"Aaaaaaaaaaaggggghhhh!!!"
"Mr. Paris!" the Doctor yelled. "Get me ten cc's of inaprovaline! He's going into shock! Just try to remain still, Q," he added, as the medical scanner slid closed over the abdomen of the omnipotent man who was convulsing on his surgical bed. "I need that hypospray, lieutenant!"
"It's coming!" Paris replied as he jogged over. "Here you go."
After sparing his assistant a glare, the Doctor grabbed the tool. He quickly followed up by injecting the contents into Q's neck while Tom moved onto the other side of the bed and monitored the readings on the scanner display.
"No effect," Tom announced. "I'm reading a massive build up of unstable radioactive energy in his intestines!"
The two men quickly backed away before the Doctor spoke up. "Computer, erect a level ten force field around the surgical bay!" he said, before quickly tapping his comm badge. "Sick bay to the bridge!"
"Go ahead, Doctor," Janeway's voice replied.
"Captain, I don't know how or why, but-" The Doctor's voice was cut off by the sound of the surgical console exploding in a shower of sparks.
"What was that? Is everything alright?"
"Captain," Tom said, taking over for the Doctor. "Q's insides have become a catalyst for some sort of radioactive reaction. The energy levels are spiking out of control!"
"Mr. Paris is correct. I have erected a force field around the surgical bay, but that alone won't contain him," the Doctor said.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Yes, Captain," the Doctor replied. "Q is going to self-destruct and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I suggest either boosting power to sick bay's force fields or evacuating the ship. However, I anticipate the explosion will be on par with that of a warp core breach."
"Go to Red Alert," Janeway said to someone else. "All hands, this is the Captain. We're abandoning the ship. Doctor, I'm re-routing all available power to sick bay's containment field to try and dampen the explosion. You and Tom follow everyone else to the escape pods. Janeway out."
"It's too late ..." Tom trailed off as he watched Q's skin suddenly begin to glow brightly.
The ship was rocked violently before an explosion of the purest white engulfed it. PFFFFFFFTT...
-- -- -- -- --
The unrelenting warning klaxons of Red Alert pulled Captain Kathryn Janeway away from the grip of unconsciousness. The first thing she noticed, aside from the fact that she was still alive, was the extra weight that seemed to be holding her against the hard floor. When her eyes fluttered open she recognized the culprit as her dislodged captain's chair lying on top of her. Janeway immediately heaved the loose piece of furniture to the side so she could sit up and gather her bearings.
An acrid smoke simultaneously burned her lungs and limited visibility to just under a few feet in any direction. The only thing she could positively identify was the empty chair of her first officer. "Damage report!" she managed before giving in to a fit of coughs.
When she received no response, the red haired woman climbed to her feet. Using the rail that ran behind her chair as a guide, she made her way to the tactical station before tapping the screen several times and bringing up another menu. Seconds later, the hum of life-support's emergency back-up could be heard as the smoke was sucked out of the room and replaced with less offending invisible atmosphere, revealing the bridge to be empty save for the captain.
Janeway wasted no time dropping her jaw as she visually registered the extent of damage to her immediate area. There was a gaping hole where the view screen had once been, protected only by an emergency force field, and the structure of the bridge was actually split. There was a foot wide crack running along the floor from the turbo lift to her ready room, and several exposed power conduits were intermittently discharging sparks.
The disheveled captain said the first thing that came to her mind. "What in the hell did that guy eat?"
She quickly pushed that question aside for later when she heard muffled dialogue coming from the Jeffries tube hatch under the console behind her. She spun around and ducked under the console before the doors slid open by themselves. The captain was greeted by the sight of a weary looking Alexander Munroe, the lieutenant and second in command of her hazard team. Behind him were two engineering crewmen and the doctor, without his mobile emitter.
"Captain ... is that you?" the lieutenant asked, as he crawled out of the cramped tunnel.
"You were expecting someone else?" Kathryn replied, her hands on her hips. Upon noticing the matching looks of suspicion on the two other crewmen and the doctor, she felt a little extra worry creep up her spine. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"Incredible ... so that's how it affected you ..." the doctor trailed off.
"Affected me ... what's that supposed to mean? And why aren't you wearing your mobile emitter? If any of you know something I don't then, by all means, debrief me. Well ..." she said, tapping her foot "... report."
The doctor opened his mouth and was about to speak when Munroe cut him off with a loud sigh. "He's human now and, before he goes off on a tangent describing the various nuances of his newly acquired senses again, he's going to calmly explain to you his theory on why each of us seems to have experienced various changes which, in your case, appears to be a pretty obvious one. Go ahead, Doc, the short version, please."
After ceremoniously clearing his throat, and shooting a glare at the lieutenant, the Doc spoke. "Captain, you appear to have been de-aged by a noticeable margin. I would venture to guess that you're around nineteen or twenty years old right now. As you now know, I'm human. Lieutenant Munroe possesses the uncanny ability to randomly switch genders, although he's unable to control it, and we have yet to discover what triggers the change. Crewmen Rodriguez, Hassan, and I have already taken to calling his other form Alexandria," he added, with a slight smirk.
"I hate you ..." Munroe muttered under his breath.
"Anyway," the Doc continued, "Rodriguez here can use very limited telekinesis. Care to demonstrate?"
The dark haired man in his early twenties lifted his left hand before taking on a look of intense concentration. Kathryn stepped back in surprise when her comm badge seemingly unpinned itself from her tattered uniform and floated into the crewman's waiting hand.
"Impressive," Janeway acknowledged, with a nod.
"Indeed," the Doctor said. "Hassan, what do you say?"
The Persian man nodded in compliance before walking over to the bulkhead near the hole in the view screen. He then placed a hand against its surface and closed his eyes for several seconds. Moments later, the damage began to undo itself. After less than a minute, the hole was gone and the view screen restored.
"Incredible," Janeway said, the awe visible on her face. "How did he do that? Can he repair the entire ship like this?"
"I honestly don't know how he does it," the Doctor admitted. "The best theory I have is that he's somehow able to communicate with and manipulate certain sub-atomic particles and will them into recreating things based on his memory. Being that he's an engineer, I have no doubt that he knows this ship well enough to repair most of the obvious damage. However, his ability seems limited to inanimate matter only, which means he won't be able to recreate the gel-packs if there are any unsalvageable ones on board. As for my theory on this as a whole, I believe everything and everyone has been infected with Q's essence. That's the only reasonable explanation for these unreasonable occurrences."
"I see," Janeway replied.
"Captain, you've had a chance to scan the ship with internal sensors, right?" Munroe asked. "Do you know what happened to everyone else? It's strange that we didn't run into any bodies on the way up here. It's like they're just ... gone."
Janeway quickly tapped at the tactical console and ran a quick scan before turning back and shaking her head. "It's true that we're the only ones left on board and none of the escape pods were launched, but I refuse to believe everyone else is dead. Just knowing that Q is involved makes it easier to believe that they've been sent to some random point in time or space. I remember reading about what he did on board the Enterprise during his first appearance. Although, granted, this time it seemed to be unintentional. Regardless of the how or why, it's best we assume that the rest of the crew could be anywhere ... in any time. "
The Doctor cleared his throat. "Captain, shouldn't it be impossible for a Q to die without becoming mortal first? I mean, he was clearly exhibiting signs of extreme indigestion when he arrived in sick bay and appeared to be suffering as if he actually felt pain. However, if he had been mortal when he ... spontaneously combusted, then we wouldn't be feeling the after effects of his power. He would have simply died as a powerless humanoid, like the other Q did. Pardon the pun, Captain, but this whole mess doesn't smell right."
"I agree," Janeway said, with a nod. "It's always wise to be cautious when dealing with the Q. For right now, though, let's just stay focused on getting as much as we can back online and in working order," Janeway said. "The sooner we become mobile, the sooner we can get to the bottom of this. Alright, people, let's get to it."
-- -- -- xxxxx -- -- --
Seven of Nine awoke with a start, and realized that she was standing upright. One quick glance allowed her to assess her situation. She was, in fact, standing upon a shiny black platform, with a polished metal pole directly in front of her, and, beyond that, several people occupied randomly placed chairs within the dimly lit chamber. Further analysis concluded that they were all of the male gender. She quirked an eyebrow as she surveyed the nearest human male extinguish a cigarette in a glass ash-tray before lifting said tray and proceeding to throw it on an interception course for her head. Needless to say, her superior reflexes made dodging the tossed item a simple task.
"Hey! Who let this flat-chested bitch on stage, huh?" the man who had thrown the ash-tray yelled, standing from his seat. "Ain't this s'possed to be a titty bar?"
She barely registered the last half of her would-be assailant's statement as she angled her gaze downward and discovered the truth supporting his accusation. Her skin tight jump suit was noticeably deflated around her chest area. She squashed a pang of worry when she discovered the rest of her vital Borg implants were present and functioning properly. Dismissing the absence of her artificial chest as something to be remedied later, she calmly caught a glass mug in her left hand before it could cause any harm.
"Your attempts to subdue me with blunt trauma are futile. For your own safety, I strongly suggest you refrain from taking further action against me. I am well versed in various forms of self defense that are capable of crippling untrained individuals," Seven said, with a stone face. She then proceeded to shatter the mug with her grip and let the pieces fall to her feet. "Now, where is the exit?"
A random bearded man, after dropping both his bottle of beer and his jaw, lifted a shaky hand in order to point an index finger in the desired direction.
"Thank you," Seven replied, before descending the stage and bypassing the sparse crowd of patrons on her path toward the door.
After a moment of awkward silence, the bearded man spoke. "Either it's just me, or that chick was Jeri Ryan's twin sister."
"Naw," another man replied. "You need to get your eyes checked, dude. Did you see those mosquito bites on her chest?"
-- -- -- xxxxx -- -- --
"Oh shit ... what the ..." Tom Paris panted as he huddled under a large slab of partially crumbled concrete, catching his breath. The breath got caught in his throat as he heard the metallic clicking draw closer. Cautiously, he peered beyond the cover of the large chunk of debris to see how close that thing was to finding him.
The squid-like machine hung in the air with many small radar dishes at the ends of its extended tentacles. The dish-equipped tentacles twitched slightly from angle to angle as they listened in the helmsman's general direction. After what seemed like an eternity, for the lieutenant, the sentinel withdrew the appendages and whirled around in preparation to move on.
Tom exhaled the breath he realized he had been holding and sighed in relief as he watched the thing 'swim' away through the air. He waited several minutes before crawling out from underneath the remains of, what had undeniably been a high rise building. He had no doubt that that's what it had been as he took stock of the many similar surrounding buildings that were in various states of disrepair and looked to have been that way for a great length of time.
"What planet is this ...?" he wondered as he navigated the debris littered streets of the desolate metropolis.
He wandered as stealthily as he could, for the better part of an hour, in hope of finding shelter and or something he could use to defend himself against these mechanized hostiles. His state of ultra caution caused him to flinch voluntarily when three consecutive thunder-claps rung out in the air above him, followed by the distinct revving of an internal combustion engine. Tom spun around, shielding his eyes from the swirling dust with an arm, as a gust of wind and a small craft flew over his head. The pilot whipped around, following the thing with his eyes as it jerkily descended and skid to a halt on a relatively clear patch of pavement. Tom quirked an eyebrow as his mind automatically identified the craft as a sports car from the late twentieth century, albeit heavily modified.
A low hiss accompanied the lifting of the driver's side door shortly before a white haired man stumbled onto his feet. The man's eyes widened to a ridiculous size as he took in his surroundings. "Great Scott ..."
"Hey!" Tom called, with a sense of urgency in his voice, as he jogged up to the man.
Doctor Emmitt Brown jumped nervously before visibly deflating at the sight of the other man's non-threatening approach. The black and red clad blonde man held his hands up as he made eye contact.
"Listen to me," Tom started. "It's not safe here. Your noisy approach wouldn't have gone unnoticed by the locals. If you've got room for one more, I'd appreciate a ride out of this place. I'm Tom, by the way. Nice to meet you," he said, with a hopeful smile plastered on his face in an effort to put the other man at ease.
"I'm Emmitt," he replied cautiously. "Who are you and why should I trust you? As a lone man wandering a futuristic waste land, I can't help but be wary of you, no offense."
"None taken," Tom replied. "But seriously, this place isn't safe for either of us. There'll probably be a swarm of evil machines here any moment to investigate what happened. I'd be more than willing to explain myself on the way out. Please, we don't have much time."
Doc scrutinized Tom's pleading expression for a moment and, upon finding nothing but sincerity and the obvious urgency, he waved the man over with an arm before retaking his seat inside the time machine.
Tom wasted no time finding the passenger door, lifting it, taking his seat, and shutting it tightly behind him. He briefly admired the interior before noticing Emmitt's door was still open. "I'd close that if I were you," he commented.
Upon noticing the distant and ominous hum that seemed to be growing louder by the second, Doc nodded in agreement before closing his door and returning his attention to the center console. His fingers flew over the cluster of buttons and switches on the console before his hand moved upward to enter a numeric value into the digital display. Tom found it hard to keep up with the older man's actions not only due to a lack of knowledge of this particular system, but also due to his heavy sense of apprehension.
"Um ... Emmitt?" Tom queried. "I'm sure you heard it too. Those things are closing in. Unless this thing's reinforced with heavy armor or equipped with energy shielding, we won't last long in a conflict with them. They have high intensity lasers that could easily cut through us."
"No, no, no ... this isn't good!" Doc said with a panic laced voice. "Great Scott!"
"Yeah, tell me about it," Tom quipped.
"No, I mean the time circuits aren't responding! They're completely fried! We're stuck in this era!"
"Wait, time ... what are you talking about? Are you telling me that you built a time machine ... out of a ..."
"Delorean, yes," Doc supplied. "But that's beside the point. With no targeting system, navigating the space-time continuum is impossible! Strap yourself in, we'll have to escape the old-fashioned way," he said, before taking his own advise and buckling up.
The Delorean's engine rumbled to life before the quiet hum of the hover drive joined it and the sports car lifted off of the ground. It was not a moment too soon, as the immediate area was suddenly invaded by flying metallic squid with menacing red eyes. With nowhere else to go, the silver coupe veered upward and over-shot the perimeter of robotic squid.
Said squid were quick to give chase and wasted little effort catching up to the small two-seater as it leveled out just below the old skyline. The sentinels tag teamed it as they threw their bodies into zigzag patterns in an attempt to slam into the fragile automobile and knock it out of the sky.
Doc was sweating profusely as he barely managed to evade the persistent creatures on his tail. Tom purposely remained silent for fear of disrupting the concentration of the man who was clearly struggling to keep them both from becoming minced meat. However, after the car was grazed by a hostile tentacle, he decided that he should do something.
"Why don't we switch?" Tom blurted out.
"What? Are you crazy? I can barely manage this, and I built the damn thing! There's no way I'm letting you into the driver's seat," Doc protested.
"It's okay, really," Tom assured. "Lieutenant Tom Paris, at your service. I'm the senior helmsman of one of Starfleet's most advanced starships, which basically means I'm qualified to fly just about anything. Besides, I'm willing to bet I've seen more scrapes like this than you have."
Doc spared a glance toward his passenger and noted the serious expression on his face. He was forced to admit to himself that the guy's uniform did seem to support his claim of being in some sort of service, although he had never heard of Starfleet before. Also, he hadn't turned out to be a liar thus far, so why would he lie now ... especially with his own life at stake? Anyway, at this rate, they were going to be caught regardless, so what did he have to lose? His life, for one ... He sighed as he realized he may never get a chance to rescue his young friend from the past. "I'm sorry, Marty ..." he muttered under his breath.
"Well?" Tom asked, expectantly.
"Okay, let's do this quickly," Doc said.
Several seconds and awkward positions preceded the switch, but as soon as Tom took control Doc knew he had made the right decision. The older man was thrust against the door by excessive g-forces as the lieutenant made a radical change in course. The stainless steel time machine banked left and went into a barrel roll before angling into a controlled nose dive toward the surface. Tom made sure the sentinels in his rear view mirror were close enough as he sped toward the other cluster of flying robots that were amassing below him. He twisted out of the way at the last possible moment before shooting off horizontally and chuckling to himself. His laughter died abruptly when his mirror failed to show him a tangled mess of falling squiddies. Instead, there was now an even bigger group of them on his trail.
"That's some pretty fancy piloting you've got there," Doc commented, a little shakily.
"Maybe," Tom replied. "But, apparently, it's not fancy enough. Look behind us."
"Great Scott!"
"Yeah, something like that ..." Tom replied, dryly. "Okay, squiddies, let's see how coordinated you really are," he said, after spotting the opening to a large underground tunnel.
Doc was once again rocked in his seat as his creation accelerated and approached the massive opening in the side of the mountain at an unsafe clip. Once inside, he found it hard to ignore the countless other tunnels that branched off from the main one and noted that the majority of them went down into the abyss. He glanced nervously over to Tom, desperately hoping that the pilot didn't get any bright ideas that involved going any deeper than they already were. What if they got lost?
"Hang on, Emmitt," Tom warned.
Doc silently swore as the younger man took them down and began to weave through the winding network of descending tunnels.
-- -- -- xxxxx -- -- --
After less than twenty minutes of exposure, not only had Seven been able to determine that she was on Earth, at the cusp of the twenty-first century, but she had also discovered it to be an alternate version where she existed, not as a former Borg, but as an actress portraying a character on a television show called 'Star Trek'. She had initially been quite adamant about denying such allegations to the first groups of people who had approached her in search of autographs, after finding suitable padding to stuff her uniform with of course, and found it odd that so many people in the immediate area donned several variations of Starfleet uniform, as well as those of several other familiar species. It took even less time for her to uncover the reason behind the masquerade. Apparently, she was in Hollywood during the time of a large gathering of 'Star Trek' fans. That tidbit had certainly explained a few things, as her knowledge of Earth history did have Hollywood listed as the fictional-entertainment capital of the world.
With that information taken into consideration, she had decided to forego her protests against the persistent fans to avoid any possibly negative repercussions that could have potentially resulted from the revelation of her true identity. She didn't have to be a certified professional to recognize the multiple signs of mental instability in several of her so-called 'fans'. So, under the temporary guise of her alter ego 'Jeri Ryan', Seven had been accepted and allowed to move about without so much as a hint of suspicion.
Seven quickly finished signing her forty-seventh autograph before escaping into an already over-crowded Starbucks in hope of catching a break. To her disappointment, she was approached by an out of shape man with a receding hairline who addressed her with an overstated tone of familiarity.
"Jeri, baby, what are you doing here? I thought I told you to wait in the trailer until I got back with the drinks. You must've really been craving a latte, huh?" he asked.
"I was merely trying to ... expedite the process," she replied, attempting to respond in what she thought was an appropriate manner.
"Already in character, I see," the man replied. "I'll never understand you method actors, I swear. C'mon, let's get you back to the trailer."
-- -- -- -- --
A tall blonde woman impatiently paced the length of the walkway inside of her cramped trailer, absently scratching at the props that were glued onto her face and hands. When she accidentally bumped her head on an over-hanging cupboard, she decided that taking a seat was the better option. She plopped down on the make-shift sofa and folded her arms across her chest, sighing as she did. Even as the rest of her remained still from the seated position, her fidgetiness found an outlet in the form of a rapidly tapping foot. She let go an audible sigh of relief when a door of light, appearing from nowhere, opened a few feet beside her to reveal a middle aged man dressed in a white suit.
"Al, geez, what took you so long?" the blonde woman asked, removing herself from her seat. "I've been flying nearly blind here for the last hour and a half."
"I'm sorry, Sam, " Al replied, in a placating manner. "Things are pretty hectic on my end. Ziggy seems to have caught a virus somehow and it's really slowing us down. I do have some very important pieces of information for you, though."
"Alright," Sam sighed. "Shoot."
"Firstly, you're an actress on a spin-off series of Star Trek. The name's Jeri Ryan and-"
"... And I play somebody called Seven of Nine, yeah, yeah. Al, I know that much already. I hope the rest of your important info can explain why I made it back to nineteen-ninety-nine but not back to my own body. I've already got a bad feeling about this one so, the sooner you get to the point, the better."
"Right, well, I guess since you know that, you've probably already realized the problem with the date, then?" Al queried.
"What do you mean? The problem's with this body, not the date," Sam insisted.
"Wrong," Al said, shaking his head. "I'll forgive you 'cause of your chronic case of Swiss-cheese brain." In response to the perplexed glare he received, he continued. "Listen, Sam. We don't know how or why it happened, but you've come to the future ... approximately six months, as far as we can tell. What's even more baffling is that Ziggy was actually able to get a picture of events that, by all rights, haven't happened yet. I think her glitchy behavior might be related somehow. Anyway, it's not like we have many options. As far as the rest of us are concerned, you should proceed as if this were any normal leap."
"Are ... you sure?"
"Yeah," Al confirmed, as he pulled a cigar from a pocket on the front of his blazer. "Our best people are trying to make sense of this as we speak, but since we are in uncharted territory there's nothing to disprove that you won't leap out of here like normal once you make the necessary changes."
"I suppose you're right," the blonde woman said, rubbing her chin in thought. "That said, do you have anything for me to go on?"
"Well, according to Ziggy, the only major event that's scheduled to happen around this time in Jeri's life is her announcement of her plans to leave the show prematurely. For what reason's, we are not sure, but since that's supposed to happen sometime during this three day convention, that's probably what you should focus on. In the meantime, I'll have a chat with our guest and see if she can enlighten us as to what her motivations are."
"I see ... alright then," Sam trailed off.
Both occupants' respective trains of thought were abruptly diverted when a rattling of the outside door handle interrupted them. The rattling paused, talking ensued, and then it was replaced by a deep yelp and solid 'crack', followed by the sound of a sack of potatoes hitting the pavement.
-- -- -- -- --
Seven reached out to grab the door handle just before she felt a hand lightly smack her bottom. She let go of the handle and turned around to level her eyes upon the man who had guided her to their present location. Her acute observation immediately made apparent the lustful gaze directed at her, and the subtle change in the man's body language. She quirked one of her eyebrows while giving him an appraising look.
"Curious," she started. "Your behavior suggests that you wish to copulate with me. Furthermore, your familiar way of addressing me seems to support the possibility that we may have consummated such an affair on prior occasions. However, I suggest you exercise restraint in this instance. There are circumstances beyond your comprehension that would make such an act inappropriate at this time."
"It really turns me on when you talk like that, ya know," the man said, excitedly. "Let's hurry up and get inside so we can get it on. I've got a meeting with the other studio executives within the hour, so I can't be wasting time," he finished as he trailed a hand up her inner thigh.
"Your non-compliance is troublesome," Seven replied, before casually reeling a fist back and breaking the man's nose with a well-aimed punch. The man yelped as her fist made contact, and then fell to the ground like dead weight. She dusted her hands off before performing an about face and entering the trailer. Once inside, she came face to face with a near carbon copy of herself in the company of an older man dressed in a white suit. She looked upon them with casual interest before addressing her counterpart. "Jeri Ryan, I presume."
Sam shot an inquisitive glance toward Al, urgently hoping the holographic man would take this time to provide a useful suggestion.
"Well, this is an unexpected development ..." Al commented, as he visually inspected Seven of Nine up close. "Either this broad's a really good look-a-like, or she's a clone. Hm ... Ziggy's background check didn't say anything about a twin sister either ..."
"All of those conclusions would be incorrect assessments on your part," Seven replied, making eye contact with Al.
Al's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as he stepped back in surprise. "You can see me?" he asked, pointing at her with his unlit cigar.
"Clearly," the former Borg replied dryly.
"Um ... Al?" Sam asked.
"Don't look at me, kid. I don't know how this is possible. Then again, weird things seem to have been happening for no apparent reason since this morning. Excuse me, um ... miss? Who are you, exactly?" Al asked.
Seven took a brief moment to consider her options. She had already anticipated the probability of running into her dimensional counterpart, although she had not had sufficient time to formulate a plan of action to deal with such an event. In fact, she was still at a loss for how to escape this alternate reality and return to the Voyager, despite her knowledge that Q was somehow involved. However, given the older man's statement that 'weird things' began to occur during a time coinciding with Q's apparent disembowelment, it was reasonable to conclude that the effects were wide spread enough to cross into other universes. If such were the case, then revelation of her identity to this pair was unlikely to cause any more harm than Q had.
"I am Seven of Nine. Given Jeri Ryan's status as a cast member of the show, I assume the both of you are already familiar with my background. My presence here is likely the result of the after-effects of Q's spontaneous combustion," she explained. "Now, to what strange occurrences were you referring? Other than the obvious ..." she added.
Al and Sam exchanged skeptical glances before the latter spoke up. "Al, what do you think? I mean, she can see you, right? That shouldn't be possible. What if she's telling the truth?"
"Why do you insist that I should be unable to see this man?" Seven queried.
"Technically, I'm a holographic projection tuned specifically to Sam's ... that is ... Jeri's senses only. I'm invisible to everyone else ... or at least I'm supposed to be," Al explained. "That's why my mind is boggled as to how you're aware of my presence. Are you really who you claim to be?"
"I have no reason to be deceptive," Seven replied. "As far as your concerns go, if you are being truthful, I believe I have an explanation. My Borg implants allow me to perceive many frequencies on the multi-spectrum that far exceed normal human comprehension. Although, it is strange that I should be able to detect you without my sensory implants being calibrated to your specific wavelength. Perhaps Q has a hand in this as well," she surmised. "More importantly, your reference to my counterpart seems to conflict with what I have learned so far. Who is Sam?"
"Er ... you see ..." Sam started. "I'm not Jeri Ryan. I mean, at the moment I may look like her, but I'm actually just inhabiting her body for a short time. In fact, according to Al, it shouldn't even be possible for me to be here. I've never leaped to the future before."
"That's right," Al continued. "We always believed leaping into the future was impossible. You said something about Q causing this. Is that a person?"
"Should you not already have access to that information?" Seven asked.
"Well, no offense, but we're really not much of television watchers, so details like that are pretty fuzzy for us," Al said. "And, as far as Ziggy goes, we're still having problems making sense out of the sudden influx of data that has been slowing down her processes. Ziggy, by the way, is our super-computer," he added.
"I see," Seven replied. "Q is, to put it simply, an omnipotent being. Nearly all recorded encounters with him and members of his species lend support to this assessment. Furthermore, this particular Q is well known for his eccentric behavior and general lack of regard for the rules of his own society. In fact, I find myself doubting that these events are the result of an accident. In any case, I believe I can safely assume that we were not the only ones to be displaced, nor is it likely that such displacement is limited primarily to this time and location."
"It sounds like this Q guy has limitless potential to spread chaos while ignoring the laws of physics as we know them," Sam said.
"That is an accurate statement," Seven said, nodding in agreement.
"So, what do we do about it?" Al asked.
"I have, as of yet, been unable to formulate a ..."
"Hey, Seven of Nine, you okay?" Al asked, waving a hand in front of the former drone as she suddenly zoned out. He glanced back over to his time traveling friend while still attempting to get Seven's attention. "You think maybe she caught a glitch? I mean, she is half machine or something, right?"
"Al, lookout!" Sam yelled before darting over to catch Seven as she collapsed to the ground.
-- -- -- xxxxx -- -- --