The room stretched on forever.
This description, usually employed by writers, historians and liars to convey a massive open space (or a trick with mirrors), here loomed essentially true in the absolute sense of the word 'forever'. Reality must sometimes be allowed to define itself, and the infinite of space and time both manifested in this particular manner: the Hall. The Hall defied any rational boundaries. Stars decorated it, supernovas heated it, and black holes provided spectator sport. Yet simultaneously, neutrinos danced in joy, quarks outpaced galaxies, and dark matter cavorted with desperate abandon.
No light illuminated, for protons had no power here. Darkness gained no foothold, cowering behind its own empty shadows. Time wailed helplessly as space bowed its head before the existence of forces far more fundamental and eternal than mere dimensions. In a supernal hush, the Hall whispered the secrets of all that had not yet been and would occur again in its endless mobius spiral of power.
Ingress or egress to the Hall, despite its simple complexity, remained a minor matter, provided that one possessed the requisite knowledge and ability. Members of the Continuum, by virtue of their identity, gained access at any time, yet their own inherent suspicion of lesser beings caused them to impose restrictions previously unknown to the chamber that slumbered until its task was fulfilled. Those Q not initiated formally into the Continuum's deep lore of secrets and purpose remained unable to enter, and others who sought power or control could seek it for eons and discover naught.
The path to total independence for a Q concluded when, after a series of less serious tests, the youth's tutor guided him to the Hall and left him or her there. If the young Q could leave under their own cognition, all was well and the Continuum gained an active member. Should failure be the result of the final test, however, the youth vanished, never to be found. The Hall had become inexplicably and meticulously bound to the Q Continuum, reflecting them as it tested them.
The Continuum was infinite, as was the chamber they had claimed, and therefore could only meet in its entirety in the confines of the Hall. They could never recall a time when the room had not existed, a matter of some consternation for the beings of self-purported omniscience. They presumed to claim knowledge unavailable to other sentient beings: that the universe itself defined infinity, and, by defining it, limited it. The most potent paradox in reality, this closely guarded mystery provided a source of certain aspects of the Continuum's power.
The Hall defined existence. And now the Continuum gathered to enforce that definition.
The Assembly called a convocation of its members to perform its primary role: the settling of formal feuds. Though the civil war yet caused much friction and mistrust within the Continuum, still they answered the formal summons that had been sent out by Adara's enemy. With the civil war only recently over, the Continuum was doubly sensitive to friction within their ranks, and thus gathered almost eagerly to arbitrate rather than fight. The assemblage of omnipotent beings, thus gathered, turned their collective penetrating attention to the Q before them.
Adara's rival, who had proclaimed his identity as Cetus, readied himself. In his natural form, he projected immense majesty: galaxies swirled lazily within his body, constellations glittered from his gaze. He presented his case not with words, but with the absolute veracity of core truths with which the Q had learned to lie when necessary. "I summon the Assembly to judge the rightness of my feud," he declaimed, following the required ceremony. "My rights of justice have been stayed, and I demand the removal of barriers. I call upon the Assembly to lift the strictures of sabvasa and allow me freedom of action."
The Assembly regarded him impassively. Then they turned their collective mind to the other supplicant before them.
Q stepped forward. Neither the greatest nor the least in the Continuum, he nevertheless mystified many of the members with his strangely intense interest in mortals and frequent trips to locales outside the Continuum's normal purview. His continual arrogance, which stretched the boundaries of even the Continuum, only served to further isolate him from his fellows. He was different than they, somehow, though they knew not how or why. Often his erratic behavior was attributed to his previous association with Viridian, also considered outside the norm of the Continuum.
He had been reprimanded by the Assembly twice, his powers stripped from him (later to be restored), and frequently ignored events the Continuum considered vital even while scrutinizing those deemed insignificant by his peers. The fact that he had played a major role in the recent civil war did nothing to ingratiate himself to the rest of the Continuum, and his role in the deaths of other Q failed to erase that reputation. Even those who had fought on his side for change within the Continuum during the war didn't fully condone his actions concerning Quinn and Trelane. And his recent experimentation with procreation also left many wondering at his motivations, abilities and ambitions.
Well, he mused inwardly, at least Picard gave me plenty of practice in not being understood. Retaining his human form to reinforce his peculiar affectation of independence, he waited with exquisite confidence, features painted with slightly condescending arrogance.
Although there were no leaders within the Continuum, there were those who were considered First Among Equals, as it were. Viridian had once held such a place of respect within the Continuum, but had lost the eminence due to an event with which Q only peripherally was familiar with, something involving a tragedy within the Continuum. Another of the Q that held similar pride of place was one who was simply known as the Arbiter, who sat as the spokeperson for the Assembly when it gathered together.
Now the Arbiter quelled all activity in the Hall with a single flared star. Glimmering with amusement, the Arbiter inquired dryly, "How fares your son?"
Q gestured expansively. "Absolutely brilliantly, of course. His mother assures me that Junior's development is beyond promising."
"And when did you last see him?" the Arbiter asked pointedly.
"Ah, well," he said smoothly. "I've been quite busy, flitting about the universe, making sure it all works properly and whatnot. Someone has to fill in until Junior grows up."
This statement failed to elicit anything but resigned silence from the Assembly.
Finally, the Arbiter broke the silence and said formally, "What is your purpose here, Q?"
Ignoring the exasperation and annoyance around him, he replied, for once equally formal. "I represent the other party in this matter, as well as his child through association."
For the first time, a Q other than the Arbiter spoke. "The half-mortal?" Q nodded, slightly discomfited at their foreknowledge of the situation. A sense of distaste swept through the Hall.
Resuming control of the situation, the Arbiter declared, "We shall discuss Viridian's lack of judgment in his decision to produce and then conceal his child later." Turning to Q, she demanded, "Is this the individual that you represent before us?"
Q nodded, well aware of the Continuum's prevailing disdain for mortals in general, and the shorter-lived mortals in particular. Thank heaven no one but my wife knew of my plans concerning Janeway. The concept of procreation between these limited beings and any member of the Continuum was moderately taboo, for it implied the existence of beings inferior to both parents, yet more dangerous than either. "The girl was instructed to seek the protection of the sabvas. She was doing so when the son of Cetus assaulted her with no explanation. She fled and claimed the status of sabvasan. I protest the unwarranted emotionality and violence of Cetus and his child, as well as his base cowardice in claiming to be the wronged party." Unable to resist tweaking their collective Continuum noses, he added in a sanctimonious tone, "Justice is my only quest in this matter. May the Assembly judge well and restrain Cetus from further rash behavior."
As he settled into quiescence, he could fell the rippling thoughts of the growing number of spectators. His lack of tact obviously surprised many, but he surmised the Assembly already predisposed to side against the girl, and so decided he had little to gain from unnecessary obsequiousness. The reputation of Viridian and the sudden revelation that he had spawned offspring on a mortal inspired great curiosity in the idle, and the 'audience' of this unusual case therefore loomed large and curiously avid. As well, in truth, relations within the Continuum continued to remain shaky between those who had fought on different sides in the war, and an event like this served to bring them together to focus their attention without division upon a single incident that ideally would prove to be nothing more than a passing amusement.
The Assembly paused in consideration. Then the Arbiter turned to Cetus. "What is the basis of your feud with Viridian?"
Cetus drew his dignity about him like a shroud of creation. "Early in the days of our existence, Viridian was widely held to be an influential member of the Continuum: wise, alert, and concerned with our future. In this time, a betrothal between my elder sister and Viridian came about through mutual agreement, and their union was joyous and lasted several eons." Q regarded Cetus with mild surprise. He hadn't known his teacher to have been involved with any female of the Continuum – indeed, any female at all, until certain recent events proved otherwise. "Yet despite their apparent happiness, Viridian neglected my sister, rarely spending sufficient time with her and often showing indifference to her needs." Cetus paused - a trifle melodramatically, Q thought - then continued, "She tried to hide her discontent from us, but it grew so great that it could not be ignored.
"Then Viridian disappeared without explanation. And my sister... my sister ceased to be." Now the rumble of displeasure grew louder, though the Assembly remained impassive. Q winced. No greater crime in the Continuum than to willingly relinquish your own life, he thought sadly. Quinn reminded us all of that. Voice dark with venom, Cetus concluded, "After that, I claimed feud upon Viridian and declared him anathema."
The Arbiter failed to react with any emotional response, instead asking coldly, "What is the relevance of your tale to your son's death?"
Cetus paused, obviously expecting more favorable feedback, then answered, "Viridian deprived me of one of my kin. A certain amount of enmity exists between our families. My son felt just in his—"
A quick flash of light cut him off. "As you wish." The Arbiter re-focused her attention on Q. "Why are you here?"
Q assumed a confident posture to belie racing mind. "In the past, Viridian was my tutor. I deemed it necessary to protect—"
The Arbiter chuckled. "Don't lie, nameless one. You wanted to annoy Cetus."
Only slightly chastened, Q replied with aplomb, "Such action is not forbidden. Once I ascertained the identity of his son's prey, I of course felt an obligation to—"
Again the light flashed, his signal to stop speaking. The Arbiter summoned a field of silence around the Assembly. Before it took affect, she said, "The Assembly shall deliberate. Remain here; we may require further answers from you."
Q felt relief wash through him as he realized that they had not summarily dismissed him or endorsed the feud. Grinning, he decided that he had a chance after all.
Beside him, the stars within the celestial form of Cetus flared in barely subdued anger.