-Past-

Something was poking him. Something sharp and metallic. Right in the small of the back. A stabbing pain shot up through his spine and across his entire body, focused on this sensitive pressure point. As the pain became more unbearable and pronounced, Q's eyes fluttered open suddenly and he gazed wide-eyed about himself.

An oddly familiar stained ceiling glared back at Q from his reclining position on his back. His eyes soon adjusted to the new image taking up his field of vision, and he concentrated on it for a long time. The fog surrounding his brain began to clear. There was something about that ceiling. Every muscle in his body was sore, but strangely enough, he felt none of the remaining pain from his experiences on Tätanna.

The thought caused him to suddenly bolt forward in the bed, his eyes wide and searching the room with feverish intent. But he wasn't on the Lusiatia or on Tätanna; he couldn't smell the slightest whiff of Tätarian. Frowning, Q touched the bridge of his nose, remembering the blow it had taken. Instead of gruesome stitches, the only remains of that harrowing infliction were the bumps of newly formed scar tissue.

Fighting off a wave of nausea, Q squinted across the bedroom. The familiarity that prodded the back of his consciousness annoyed him deeply. Some Good Samaritan had rescued him from a bloody death on Tätanna.

Damned mortals, Q thought bitterly. Always sticking their primitive noses where they don't belong. As he thought of this, the idea that the Enterprise crew had found and rescued him lifted his spirits.

Steadying himself on his weak arms, Q swung his legs over the side of the bunk, rubbing the small of his back absently. As he moved to stand, the former entity heard the floor beneath him, squishy under his feet, give way and groan loudly.

Startled, Q jumped back to see a helmeted man sit up from the floor, coughing himself awake. After a moment of rubbing his eyes, he looked up and smiled. "Q? Finally, you're awake."

It took a full minute for Q, in his lesser state, to recognize the speaker. "Shien," he muttered hoarsely, his voice a raspy squeak.

The mercenary breathed a sigh of relief as he stood. "At least you don't have any brain damage. You were in a coma for at least a week. We figured you were going to keel over." He paused thoughtfully. "If we hadn't gotten to you when we did, you probably would have."

Shien started going over the variety of injuries he had suffered, but Q's mind was still swimming from the turn of events, and he heard nothing the other rambled about.

"Wait!" Q exclaimed, cutting him off mid-sentence describing some mutilated appendage. "You saved me? You're the one who sold me to those Tätarian beasts, you lumpen mortal!"

"And it was a mistake," Shien admitted, not understanding the former godling's vehemence.

In this lull of conversation, Q was allowed to not only digest his surroundings, but also notice his new attire. He had been stripped down on Tätanna to the naked skin the Continuum had given him, and apparently someone had taken great care in arranging him with new garments.

"Bleh!" Q exclaimed in disgust as he beheld the Aldreenian armor he boasted, including everything spare the helmet. "What am I? Q, your personal dress-up doll?" He could only imagine what he must have looked like.

"That's from my old wardrobe." Shien stroked his chin. "We don't wear much of anything fancy, unfortunately. I had to stitch some extra fabric into the jumpsuit to make it fit you." He was about to say something more when a chime sounded. "Come in, Trent."

The door parted, and the doctor Q remembered from before entered the filthy chambers that he now realized belonged to Shien. In some form of human embarrassment, Q realized he had been sleeping in the mercenary's own bed.

"I see our little visitor is awake at last," the doctor sneered, examining Q. "Get up and eat some dinner with us."

Shien frowned. "But he just woke up...shouldn't he regain his strength before--"

"He's been lying around on his ass long enough as it is," Trent answered. "And after he's done eating our food, I want him to come down to engineering with me. We sustained some minor damage to our engines when the Banean ship fired on us yesterday when we were evacuating Ralgai V, Sal." He shot his patient another sour glance. "If you're going to stay with us, you're going to work. I have to deal with enough dead weights as it is."

Q felt himself becoming irked. A normal human would have been thankful to be alive, but Q did not want to be alive if all his demands were not met first. "I wouldn't want to stay on this flying crate if you invited me," he spat, turning to Shien. "Return me back to the Enterprise!"

"Q, do you have any idea what the Federation would do to us if we surrendered you?" Shien asked in disbelief.

"I don't care."

"Isn't that a coincidence," Trent broke in sardonically. "We both have a mutual indifference for the other's life. Either you work for us like a good prisoner, or we toss you out the hatch without a second thought. Which do you think will kill you first? The freezing cold, the vacuum, or the lack of oxygen?"

The former entity narrowed his eyes, about to retort when Shien held up his hands. "That's enough. We can discuss this over dinner."

"Lovely," Trent and the former entity muttered in unison.

Q exchanged a wary glance with the doctor before being led to the dinning room, supported by Shien's guiding arm.

* * *

By reasonable human standards, the dinner served to the mercenaries was hardly fit to bear the name. But Q, having not eaten a meal of any sort in over a week, did not notice the overripe produce, the stale rations, or the molding bread. He gulped down the food and asked for seconds so quickly that the crew, who had been forced to feast this way for several years, could not believe their eyes. Desperation was apparently a strong motivator.

Shien picked at his plate of lifeless shredded lettuce with a fork as the doctor went over a navigational chart in which their next course was mapped. "And how long will it take to get to the system?" he said.

The doctor consulted his chart, stroking his perfectly-shaped chin. "At warp seven? Two and a half days." As his captain absorbed this information, he turned his attention to the former entity. "You. Can you cook?"

Q swallowed a mouthful of undercooked meat, forgetting his self-proclaimed vegetarianism, to give the other an offended glare. "I would not be caught dead in an apron."

"Can you mop? Make beds? Do laundry? Scrub carbon scoring off walls?"

The former entity examined his un-calloused hands. "These are not the hands of a homemaker. My body may be weak from fatigue and unable to protest my staying here, but I will not clean after you." He pronounced the word as if it were a dreaded curse.

The mercenary who worked at the ops station added, "Have you ever fought in armed combat?" When his only response was a terse snort, he went on. "Have you at least operated a phaser?"

The answer was still a 'no,' and the crew stared at him as if he were a being from another dimension.

Rubbing his temples, the doctor mumbled mostly to himself, "Not only can this prick not handle his Yalotta spice, but he's completely useless!"

"I can pilot a shuttlecraft," Q provided half-heartedly. "And perform mathematical calculations that would make your simian brains explode."

The two nameless mercenaries shot the former entity looks that promised many tortures. It seemed the only Aldreenian on board who was not considering tossing Q out the hatch was Shien.

"Hold on, Doctor," Shien said. "Q's smart. That must be worth something." He elbowed the human pointedly. "C'mon, Q, tell him about your casaba theory."

"We have no need for a 'smart,' person," Trent grumbled, grinding his teeth. "I'm the one holding this ship together."

Q, having finished his filling meal, looked around. The dining room was hardly a dining room at all-- it was actually the bridge, except a stack of crates had been added to a corner as a makeshift table. There wasn't even a tablecloth. "What's your secret?" he sneered. "Twigs and duct-tape?"

Q looked on in pleasure as the doctor's handsome face turned a dark shade of red. "Look, you little shit, I healed you and I can take you apart!"

Shien held his hands up to hold off any further onslaughts. "Frankly, Q's talents are of no relevance. We risked too much in kidnapping him to abandon him now." He picked off the last morsel of food from his plate. "In the meantime, while we train him for whatever duty he's capable of, he's going to work with you in Main Engineering, Trent."

The doctor's nose wrinkled, and though he mumbled something about worthless humans under his breath, he did not put up any further fight as he cleared the 'table'.

* * *

Q quickly found that hot, running water held a therapeutic quality. The water, rushing down from the faucet above his head, soothing his flesh and relaxing the wary muscles, calmed Q by degrees, making him temporarily forget the horrors he had witnessed on Tätanna. And aboard the Lusiacia, of course.

Then, as Q glanced down and saw the visual effects of his confinement, the memories flooded back and drowned him. The skin along his arms and chest were strangely creased, white and puffed up. Like open wounds, except without the blood. Repugnant human imperfections. Mortified with his mortal body's appearance, Q fiercely scratched at the deformities on one of his arms with the nails of his fingers, as if they were leaches.

Instead of removing these parasites, however, Q's skin only began to gush crimson, profusely. The shower- water collected the blood and ran it off his body, where it disappeared into the drain by his feet. Nearly hysterical, Q pressed on the open wounds, hoping to stop the flow of blood. He yelped in horror as it continued to bleed through his fingers.

The scars were a part of himself.

Scalding water still beating against his face, Q crouched in the shower as an overwhelming feeling of nausea overcame him. What was wrong with him? Memories of being beaten, torn apart by claws, violated and derided bombarded his mind. Feelings of hunger, helplessness and pain, emotions he was once incapable of understanding, now overtook him at once.

"You brought it upon yourself," the words whispered scathingly into his ear.

Q jerked around, looking for the speaker. But he was alone, left in his misery. The former entity, once omnipotent and invulnerable, now let out a human sob. Steam from the running water engulfed him in a thick, blinding fog. The heat had become unbearable, inhibiting his breathing, and Q closed his eyes.

He was unsure how long he had been lying there in the cramped shower, on the edge of unconsciousness, but he was getting quite used to that state.

"God, I'm a fucking dipshit," Shien was mumbling as he turned off the faucet, stopping the downfall of scalding water. His eyes scoured the bathroom almost frantically in search of a bath towel, a blanket, anything.

Locating a towel, the Aldreenian quickly wrapped up Q's naked, disoriented form. He half-dragged, half-carried the former entity to the next room, where he deposited him in the safety of the mercenary's own bed.

Q blinked fatigue from his eyes, attempting to focus on the figure that was pacing above him. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings, and suppressed a groan of perpetual agony as he fell back into a restless slumber.

Anxiously, Shien watched the human sleep for a moment before bursting through the door. He stood on the bridge with his arms akimbo, glaring at nothing, his features creased in frustration.

At his station, the doctor sighed as his captain kicked a discarded crate across the bridge. "May I help you?"

"Don't start with me," Shien snapped. He paused, prying off his helmet to run a hand through his scalp. "He has more baggage than I expected, that's all."

"That and he's worthless," Trent added. "We nearly had our skeletal structures handed to us by those fucking Tätarians, and we wasted five days and fuel just getting there. Though I found obliterating that entire race rewarding, it was hardly worth saving that human for, Sal." When the other failed to respond, he continued to prod. "Why did you have us go back for him, anyway?"

Shien slipped his helmet on firmly, moving to avoid the question. "We should never have sold him in the first place. No being deserves to be treated like--"

"Cut the philanthropic bullshit. I bet you just want to ransom him back to the Federation." He pulled out a small bag of white powder and distributed a pinch on his tongue, letting it sizzle.

Shien closed the distance between them to dip his hand into the bag. "He's a useful commodity, Trent. Do you know what we could do with a deity like Q?"

"Tap his ass, methinks." Noting the dirty look his captain shot him, the doctor rolled his eyes in acquiesce. "Fine, fine. I'll give the ingrate a chance...so long as you let me handle his affairs."

The other mercenary opened and closed his mouth in hesitation, fearful of the palpable animosity between both parties. "Will you be professional?"

"Cross my heart and hope to be condemned to this shithole for another ten years," the doctor promised, lifting one of his palms solemnly.

* * *

When Q awoke, he found Shien slumped in a chair next to his bed, eyes closed and mouth agape. The cramped bedroom had been artificially cast in darkness to give off the appearance of night, and it took the disoriented former entity a lingering moment to regain his sense of awareness.

Q sat up, and grimaced as he discovered that his entire right arm was numb. Having been human for three weeks and five days, he had found himself in this irritating corporal predicament before, and jiggled the arm in question vigorously until the tingling pinpricks had subsided. Instantly an overwhelming feeling of vertigo overcame him. He felt his abdomen knot, and the taste of acid in his mouth. Knowing what was coming next, the human stumbled hurriedly out of the bed and fled to the dreaded automatic waster receptacle.

Ten minutes later, Q emerged from the restroom to find Shien undisturbed, despite the audible gagging and muttering noises that had emanated five meters away. Everything was still. He suddenly realized that he was naked and hurriedly donned the nearest robe. Creeping across the room clumsily, and nearly tripping over a variety of scattered objects littering the floor in the process, the former entity exited the Aldreenian's bedroom and entered the hallway that led to the bridge.

The only lights illuminating the motionless bridge came from the respective computer stations. Q allowed a brief smirk. Quietly, taking care not to awaken any of the sleeping smugglers, the human skulked furtively to the doctor's panel and quickly glanced over the controls. He had to contact the Enterprise. He had been hanging on to that thought for so long since his imprisoning that it did not occur to him that the Federation had already decreed him dead.

"Damn this archaic technology," Q muttered as he glowered at the terminal. His paltry mortal brain was having difficulty deciphering the exotic mixture of Aldreenian, Klingon and Romulan symbols before him. He ran his hands over the controls, lost in thought.

Q gasped in shock as he felt another pair of hands suddenly land on top of his own.

"Gotcha!" a voice hissed from the darkness as the human yelped, recoiling.

Q narrowed his eyes as he stepped back, his heart thudding uncomfortably in his chest, attempting to make out the silhouette. "You!"

"Quiet down," the doctor snapped, his eyes darting to the hallway. "You'll wake the children." Once he noticed the other calm down somewhat, he went on. "So what was the curious little human up to this time of night?"

"What?" Q flailed his arms around. "I must've been sleep walking! We humans often do that...good night!"

"Nice try, dumbass." The Aldreenian caught him by his arm with a ferocious grasp. "You were trying to call the mothership, weren't you." It was not a question.

"How dare you insinuate such a thing!"

Trent pressed a button on the panel in front of him, and the lights on the bridge immediately turned on. Q mentally noted that the Aldreenian looked much different without his armor on. "Well then, it wouldn't bother you if I informed you that our communications array only has a range of five kilometers. And since it's been a week since we rescued you from those monstrosities you were stupid enough to piss off, the Enterprise has probably already forgotten you exist. And if you think they're even going to bother to track down this ship's energy signature, our cloak has been blocking all traces since Sal kidnapped you, you ingrate." He paused. "And by the way, don't even bother trying to take over the ship's computer. It's commanded by the fingerprints of Shien and myself, and not even your 945 IQ can outwit it."

Q felt his shoulders collapse, deflated.

"What's this?" the doctor sneered. "Is the almighty Q disappointed in something?"

Q's temper immediately flared. "Look here, you benighted little cave-dweller, I don't care if I have to float back to the Enterprise...I'm getting off this ship!" Fuming, he turned to walk off in a rage and nearly fell down a hole in the floor he had never noticed before.

Fortunately the other was quick enough to grab the former entity's arm and pull him away from the precipice before Q could drop into the abyss. "Whoa there! Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"What is that?" Q wailed, pointing accusingly at the hole in the floor that had nearly killed him.

"Ah yes, that. That's the...storage room." Off the human's suspicious sidelong glance, he rolled his eyes. "It isn't a fucking forbidden room, Q. You're entirely welcome to go down there."

Q continued to stare at the maw in discomfiture. His curiosity was piqued, as always. But he also was afraid of, well, everything.

"Fine!" Trent exclaimed in irritation. "I'll go down there. I have to feed the cat anyway."

"Cat?" Q asked. But the doctor had already climbed down the ladder rungs leading to the basement room under his feet. The human mumbled under his breath, but the curiosity was too great, and he found himself peering down the hole with the intent of climbing down.

"It's not that far," he heard the doctor's voice echo off metal walls from down below. "You might as well just jump down."

"No thank you." Q gripped the first rung with the entire strength of his hand and propelled himself downward into the pitch darkness, afraid of falling. It took him a total of two minutes to climb down the ladder's twenty rungs, and he let out a rush of relief when he reached the comforting security of the floor.

By the time Q reached the basement, Trent had already turned on the lights and was shaking his head to himself. Stacks upon stacks of crates filled the room to its two and a half meter ceiling. The air was dank and thick with mildew, and Q could sense the vibrations from the ship's thrusters. The room's contents quivered slightly.

Q jumped as an animalistic roar surprised him. He rounded a large group of crates and found Trent murmuring soothing words to a barred cage that had been bolted to the grates. The former entity stepped back once catching sight of the creature imprisoned inside.

"It's an aumvorix," the doctor elaborated, dumping a handful of rodents into the cage's vent before closing it off. "Its pelt itself is worth a considerable amount of latinum. Isn't that right, girl?" he patronized the obviously sedated animal. A meter long with four-centimeter claws on each of its eight legs and copper fangs, it appeared to be a dangerous and valuable creature.

"How did you...?"

"Oh, a poacher was nice enough to leave it unguarded at his bunker. We usually don't deal with animal stock, but we couldn't pass it up. Was a bitch to get down here, though. We also found some of this nice Buronian pottery lying around in a temple on Ralgai V." He opened one of the top-most crates to reveal a series of ancient vases and stoneware, carelessly stacked with little protection from the ship's unsteady movements. "Beautiful, isn't it? All those centuries of history and blah, blah, blah." The doctor unceremoniously deposited the vase back into the crate without any further interest.

Q wondered what Picard would say to such a blatant disregard for ancient treasures. "Then what is it you normally deal in?"

"I was hoping you'd ask that." The Aldreenian approached a nearby crate that had been marked with red symbols. He pried open the sealed container and beckoned the timid Q to gaze inside. An uncountable amount of vials containing unknown substances filled the crate. Trent pointed to the vials. "This here is felicium. Bad stuff! We used to pick it up from a contact on Brekka and sell it to the Ornarans, but for whatever reason there isn't much of a demand for it anymore." He shrugged it off. "We also have a few crates of tropolisine, iolera root, andris, cordrazine, et cetera. Hey, how the hell did this hytritium get here?"

"You're drug smugglers!" Q exclaimed, stating the obvious.

"I prefer the term mercenary. We don't just deal in drugs. There's also some contraband weapons here somewhere, things your Federation has dubbed illegal and dangerous for prudish reasons. If it's valuable, we'll smuggle it, that's our motto." He noted the human's unimpressed look and held up his hands defensively. "Hey, getting exiled from your own planet isn't the illustrious dream the revolutionaries made it out to be. It's horrible! How the hell were we supposed to make money to feed ourselves? Assimilate into some common culture and take it up the ass from the mores and the societal rules and regulations? Hell no! That's why we left Aldreen, to get away from that shit."

Q stood still, mystified. He had never thought about it that way before. "Better a short-lived life under freedom..."

Trent paused and looked Q in the eyes. "...Than a long one toiling under an oppressive social system?" He shrugged.

Q broke the gaze angrily, feeling suddenly betrayed and indignant. "You're telepathic."

"Not quite," the doctor said. "That was the main reason why we left Aldreen." He started to pace, entrenched in his own story-telling. It was obvious that this was an issue in which he and the crew were impassioned. "At birth, each Aldreenian is forced to join minds with the council, much like Vulcan mind-melding, but by the masses. Keeps peace. Keeps the populace under control. No one can cause an unattractive uproar if there is no individuality." Trent paused to sprinkle some Yalotta spice on his tongue from his baggie, and continued, having caught Q's attention. "There had been growing unrest among certain groups. There were those who wanted gradual reform inside the system itself, and then there were the so-called 'extremists' who knew that was fucking ridiculous. So about ten years ago, the extremists scheduled a revolt. It failed miserably, of course. As punishment, we were exiled and our telepathic connection was severed. The leaders were executed, and the rest were shipped off the planet like cargo on a freighter. We all had our differing ideas on how to live our lives, so we split up. Of the two-hundred of us that were excommunicated, this crew is what's left."

"How heart-wrenchingly tragic," Q scoffed, biting a finger as if holding back tears. Part of him, however, was giving way, because...

"Oh please, Q. I know you see the parallels. Your species dumped you for the very same reasons! You can't stand conformity as much as us!"

The doctor was right. Q hated that. "And I'm paying for it! Of course I can't stand conformity! I can't stand authority, tradition, or routines for that matter." He stamped his foot petulantly to enunciate his point. "I'm bored! I'd rather roll over and die than continue with this humdrum existence of eat, sleep and excrete."

"Ha!" the doctor countered. "Then why were you gripping those rungs up there as if you were so afraid you'd die of a nasty fall? If you're so accepting of death, why haven't you committed suicide yet?"

Q glared at his hands. "I don't like pain."

"Who does? I know why you're so afraid of death. You think the Continuum is going to take you back. And the longer you're alive, the greater your chance for readmission." He nodded when Q grimaced as if he had been skewered, and dropped his voice. "You're not the only one who longs to be accepted. But as long as we resent authority, we're going to continue to be fucking ostracized. The council is not coming back for me, and it's certainly not coming back for you."

Q clenched his teeth. "Then there's nothing for me here, or anywhere."

"There's less for you in death," Trent muttered as he climbed up the rungs to return to bed. "Nothing at all."

Q stared after him thoughtfully, replaying the conversation in his mind. The thought that the Continuum would never return his powers to him and that he'd die a mortal was harrowing. But did he really want his powers back if it meant answering to those intransigent bureaucrats for the rest of his immortal life?

Even worse, to even regain his powers, he'd have to actually accept the Continuum's absolutism. He'd have to swear never again to toy with lesser races and civilizations, or harass Starfleet personnel and put them through demeaning tests. And though it stunned him to admit it to his consciousness, what was the point in being a Q if you couldn't wreck havoc? At least as a mortal, he could do whatever he damn-well pleased and not worry about getting his humanity taken away. After all, death wasn't so bad.

And reformation took effort, patience and motivation. Why bother, when he could easily rape, pillage and burn as a human and not have to submit to the consequences or waste any of his human energy? Q laughed to himself, shaking his head as he ascended the ladder to obtain his eight-hour mortal rest. He had outsmarted the Continuum once again. And it felt good.

Sitting on the pile of crates in the dank room, Ahriman slapped his forehead at the logic.

* * *

As the doctor had said, it took the crew two and a half days to reach their destination, a small colony on the outskirts of the Federation boarders. During that time, Q aided Trent in repairing the damaged engine with ease, pointing out miscalculations that the Aldreenian had overlooked. Now, only Q and the Aldreenian at the conn station remained on the ship. According to him, the ship's actual name was the Anathema, which made perfect sense to the human. It was apparently Klingon in design, with Romulan upgrades.

Q was grudgingly scrubbing the carbon scoring off the bridge's main wall while the other three mercenaries dropped their cargo-- Federation armaments-- to their contact on the colony. The former entity whined at how the combination of grime and soap was making his delicate hands greasy, and that the scour-pad was damaging his skin. The pilot paid little attention.

Standing up from his crouching position on the floor, Q glared out the viewport, seeing only the docking bay. "What's taking them so long, anyhow?" He had been scrubbing this wall for an hour and a half, and no one was here to appreciate it.

As if in response to his impatience, the sound of phaser-fire could be heard from outside the Anathema. Through the viewport, Q caught sight of the three Aldreenians sprinting towards the craft's entry ramps, firing at the pursuing squads every few steps. The Starfleet officers puffed after them, but it was to no avail. In a matter of moments, the smugglers had boarded the ship and were crying out, "Take off! Take off!"

The pilot obligingly operated his station immediately, and the ship took off with the squad's phaser-blasts bouncing off their shields. In another minute, they had escaped the planet's atmosphere intact.

The three mercenaries crouched with their hands over their knees, panting as they tried to regain their bearings.

"Warp...8," Shien gasped, "bearing...Dessica II."

"Aye, sir," the pilot said, nodding as the other nameless mercenary took the station beside him.

The doctor pointed to Shien's foot, bracing himself as the ship lurched, going into warp. "What's wrong...with your ankle?"

Shien sunk to the floor. "I rolled it." He pried off the boot covering the ankle in question as Trent got out his medical kit. "Fuck! Goddamn Federation bastards! They think they're the policemen of the universe."

"Mhm," the doctor said, tending to his patient. "They came out of no where. But at least we got our due. Those terrorists seemed to want those Valerian weapons bad."

Q stood with his hands on his hips, frustrated at being ignored this long. "What about me? Look at the wall!"

Shien glanced up. "I had no idea our walls were white. Good job. With you around, Q, I have a feeling this place is going to look a lot more homey."

"If I wanted homey, I would've brought my mother along," Trent grumbled as he finished tending the injured ankle. He smiled as Q's face reddened in a definite mixture of anger and embarrassment.

* * *

The trip to Dessica II was long, and of course, boring. Q felt claustrophobic for the entire duration of the week, and being trapped in a cramped starship with four other mortal beings was beginning to incense the human. And it was clear the doctor and the two nameless mercenaries were beginning to lose their tolerance to his whining.

Q hated how mortal he was already beginning to act. His ship-wide routines were unbearable, and he often kept up his spirits by remembering how the Aldreenians had fired on the Federation officials who had attempted to meddle in their contraband trade. To his relief, he wasn't the only one forced to perform demeaning 'chores,' as Trent dubbed the menial labor, which included feeding the aumvorix, cooking, repairing damaged circuitry, and cleaning parts of the ship that had not been otherwise touched in ten years.

So it was of little surprise when Q nearly somersaulted down the ship's entry ramp once they reached their destination.

Q took a deep breath of the fresh air and coughed.

"I suggest you not actually breathe the atmosphere," Shien advised darkly. "Doc, you and the boys see if you can get rid of the aumvorix while Q and I search the bar for Yranac."

"Whatever," Trent said, boarding the ship again to unload the living cargo.

Shien looked Q over a moment thoughtfully.

"What are you looking at?" Q said, disgruntled whenever Shien eyed him like that.

The Aldreenian frowned slightly and adjusted the armor plates covering Q before stepping back critically. "Hmm. Q, you gained back most of the weight you lost when you were with the Tätarians, but you still look a little..." he chose his words carefully, deciding 'gangly' was not the best adjective to use. "Fragile."

"No I don't!"

"I suppose as long as you act tough, no one will be suspicious," Shien said, softening his tone.

As they left the hangar, Q caught a glimpse of Dessica's current condition. The class-M planet had once been occupied by the Romulans, but it was clear now that this was no longer the case. Filth, raw sewage and vagabonds littered the streets, and Q distantly felt as if he were on Medieval Earth.

"Yuck!" Q exclaimed as his left foot sank up to the knee in a puddle of mud. "Help! It's getting all over me!"

Shien effortlessly rescued the whimpering human from the puddle and heaved a sigh when Q violently shook his leg, carelessly flinging the mire onto him.

Wiping slime off his face, Shien pointed to a decrepit building in the distance. "That's the bar. Now our contact is a Yridian..."

"Wonderful," Q scoffed.

"Yes. He appears at first to be a harmless merchant, but he's slime. So don't try to provoke him, because he's important to our business."

Q twisted around in feigned offense. "Moi? Provoke someone? You wound me."

Shien opened the door to the bar, holding his breath as tendrils of smoke and stench slithered out and into the street.

As Q entered, he nearly went into a sensory overload, allowing the smuggler to lead him through the muddle of truculent and unconscious patrons.

"There he is," Shien directed with his chin to a small and beady-eyed being sitting alone at a table in an obscure corner of the tavern.

As they approached, the Yridian caught sight of them and made the universal hand gesture of "come here."

"Sit down, sit down!" Yranac greeted cordially. "It's good to see you again, Shien. Who's your human friend?"

The Aldreenian cast his eyes down at the sullied floor tiles, his mind racing as he noticed something. "Label...er...Abel Keynan."

"Keynan? Like the ale brand?"

Shien covered the alcohol label with his foot. "No, no, it's just a quaint coincidence. We picked him up at a Cardassian colony about two weeks ago while on a run, and he's been with our party ever since. His presence has been quite beneficial." He sat down in an attempt to change the subject, barely noticing that Q had already wandered off in a fit of inquisitiveness.

"Of course," the other agreed. "But you should keep an eye on him, he doesn't seem to be fit for your career path."

"Perhaps," Shien drawled, searching the crowd for his comrades.

"So I take it your run was successful?" Yranac asked, lowering his voice.

"Quite." Shien provided a padd and pointed to a list and tilted his head slightly as he listened to the hidden communicator in his headgear. "This is what we have for you. Fifty crates of these, another twenty of this and that as well as fifteen crates of..."

"I have no need for that much. Nine is all I require."

"You told us fifteen, and that's what we brought. If you can't follow through with your own requests..."

"Fine, fine. I'll take the fifteen crates of felicium. But the real profits now are in Yalotta, andris and raethemine."

"Well, we have several cases of andris and two crates of raethemine."

"Good, good."

"Oh, and I almost forgot. We also have six crates of artifacts of an unknown worth. But considering the effort it took to retrieve them from their owners, I'm guessing they have some value."

"I'll have my appraiser take a look at them."

At that moment, Trent, the two pilots and another Yridian circled the mess of tables and approached Shien and their employer.

"Hello, Yranac," the doctor said flatly.

"Trenton." The trader turned to address his assistant, handing him the padd with the list of merchandise. "Go load these into my ship."

The subordinate acknowledged the order and left along with the two Aldreenian mercenaries.

Yranac made an extraneous gesture and pulled out another padd. "Now allow me a moment to calculate your payment..."

Trent's brow creased as his eyes narrowed searchingly. "Hey, Shien, where's--?"

The other smuggler blanched suddenly and jumped to his feet. "Oh shit, he was here just a moment ago!" His stomach knotted. Nothing good could come of this.

As if to verify that feeling, a combination of whimpering and yelling broke through the background noise of dozens of conversations. At once, both men were shoving their way to the source of the disturbance.

"What the hell--?" the doctor gasped.

Near the bar stood two obviously disgruntled Klingons baring their teeth at the bartender and towering over a human who was curled into the fetal position at their feet.

"That's enough," The bartender, a robust Dessican with spotted skin and brow ridges, was saying. "You've taught him his lesson."

Shien knelt down beside Q and examined his state. The human was quivering with fear and covering his head in his hands, sobbing softly.

There was a prominent bruise surfacing on the side of his face and a few cuts, but nothing serious enough to warrant such a defensive action. The Aldreenian put his arms around him in an attempt to pacify him.

The two Klingons sneered at the sniveling creature. "You are right," one grunted. "There is no honor in further disciplining this worm. Perhaps next time he will think before provoking those larger than himself."

"I doubt it," Trent grumbled as the Klingons lost themselves in the crowd.

"What was that all about, Freggus?" Shien asked the bartender as he guided Q to a more dignified sitting position on one of the bar stools.

"He picked a fight with the Klingons," replied Freggus the tapster. "I didn't hear what he said, but if I hadn't stepped in he woulda been a red smear on th' floor."

Trent shook his head unsympathetically. "That sounds about right." He remembered the alias Shien had used when referring to Q in his conversation with Yranac. "Abel's only fighting talent is calling his enemies 'blighted Neanderthals'."

"How dare you take their side!" Q protested angrily, having recovered himself somewhat. "I did nothing to provoke that primitive act of brutality."

"Right."

Freggus returned to his place behind the counter, serving some new patrons although he continued to show interest in the situation. "Fer a mercenary, Shien, yer friend isn't much good at defending himself."

The doctor opened his mouth to agree, but Shien sharply cut him off. "It's unfortunate, I know." He shot Q a pointed look. "He used to be one of the greatest fighters in the Beta Quadrant until many years ago he was nearly bludgeoned to death by a Cardassian and sold into slavery. He survived, but he no longer knows who he is or how to defend himself."

The tapster leaned on the counter in surprise. "He has amnesia?"

"Yes, he does," Shien said solemnly.

"What?" Q exclaimed, not understanding the ploy. "No I--Ow!" He twisted as the doctor brutally pinched him in the side.

"He sure doesn't have th' build of a fighter," the Dessican noted.

Shien tossed some golden-blond hair out of his eyes. "Y'know how it is...you stop working out for a day and it all goes to shit."

Freggus grunted, and then asked, "Why the fuck don't you just re-train him, then? Dessica II has a shit-load of facilities."

"I'd pity his instructor," Trent snorted.

"It would be helpful if he could defend himself," Shien murmured thoughtfully. "We don't exactly live peaceful lives."

"And you won't allow us to dump the pussy on the nearest planet either," the doctor added bitterly. "Come to think of it, training the ingrate sounds like a good idea." It would take months of constant practice to train Q in self-defense. As a result, they would be seeing much less of him. Why hadn't he thought of this earlier?

"I want nothing to do with your barbaric rituals," Q fumed. "I'm a pacifist."

"That might work dandy in immortal fantasy land," Trent said, "but this is reality. This is where inept humans die because they can't learn to shut their fucking mouths." He turned to his leader. "I'm going to make a request."

Shien looked obliquely at him. "What?"

"Yranac is gonna pay us soon, and we'll have enough funds to live comfortably for at least five months. I suggest you stay here with Q and take him to one of the training camps for four months while me and the boys look for more work."

The other Aldreenian balked. "Are you serious?"

"It's for his own good, and ours. Maybe he'll learn some self-discipline and the ways of the mortal while he's at it."

Shien considered it for a long moment. "Q...Abel...how does this sound to you?"

"I am not cooperating in your loathsome experiment with my dignity." Q glowered, not realizing that he never cooperated and had lost considerable dignity in his skirmish with the Klingons.

Trent smiled. "Oh, we don't expect you to cooperate. Now, Captain, shall we finalize our arrangements with our boss before we go our separate ways?"

Shien nodded, following the doctor back into the fray of bodies, grabbing a disheveled and irate Q by the wrist.