"How can you condemn us?" Q asks him, impassioned, demanding. "You've never even looked at her. You have no idea what she is, why she's worth this to us. None of you do."
He has to admit that the passion gets to him. He can't understand why Q and Q find these mortals so fascinating as to pretend to be of them, like a Douwd or something, nor why they've taken their obsession to such ridiculous lengths. But he can't deny that they feel, in a way that he himself hasn't felt in... centuries? Millennia? When was the last time he cared about anything the way Q and Q care about this project of theirs?
"All right," he says grudgingly. "I'll take a look. But honestly, you see one squalling infant, you've seen them all. It's just a mortal, isn't it?"
"See for yourself," the other Q says, as his companion-- and now, mate? What an absurd concept-- thrusts a bundle at him.
His first reaction-- human infant, sleeping. Oversize head, underdeveloped brain, helpless and pathetic. How any species manages to survive with such weak, dependent young, he can't imagine.
And then he sees what lies within the infant.
Shocked, he takes the infant from its mother, staring into its depths. That's not a human pattern lurking in the psychespace generated by this primitive brain. The pattern responds to his instinctive probe with an eager grasp, suicidally trying to merge with him. He pushes it away, keeping it from melding into and disappearing into his far more complex pattern.
"How...?"
"You do see," the female-shaped Q says, beaming at him. "You can tell what she really is."
Yes. He can see, enfolded in this tiny mortal shell, the kernel of a Q. It's something he's never seen before, never imagined seeing-- every time he's been present at the creation of one of their kind, they have come into existence almost fully formed, with nearly adult complexity. This is simple, stripped-down, primitive, and yet it's obvious what it is-- the fundamental essence of a Q, in the most basic form possible. He never even imagined something so simplistic could look like a Q... but he can't deny what this is.
Horror and revulsion-- a naked Q, a broken fragment of a Q, a thing that should not exist-- war with fascination and even protectiveness. It could grow. He has never seen a Q grow. This is a new thing in an existence he thought would never encounter a truly new thing again. He has to fight the instinct to devour it-- there's a reason, he suspects, why his kind don't reproduce in this lowly way, why the Q are generally created as adolescents rather than infants. It's obvious the creature couldn't survive the Continuum, not with its complete lack of defenses against being absorbed by its more powerful elders. It's also obvious that it needs to incubate within this mortal flesh; without a matter-based form anchoring it, it would probably dissipate on its own. But if it grows and develops as its mortal body does...
...In 18 years they might have a brand-new adolescent Q, not created full-blown by the Continuum but allowed to evolve and grow on its own, from the template designed by these two.
What is new is too precious to him. Fascination and protectiveness win out over the revulsion at looking at an unfinished Q. "This is amazing," he says softly. "How did you do it?"
"Well, we let random chance dictate the genome of the body, based on a standard human reproductive act," the male-shaped Q says. He grins. "Which, by the way, is surprisingly entertaining. You ought to try it."
Q makes a face. "Sounds grotesque, actually. I'm far more interested in how you accomplished the creation of an... infant Q." Even saying it sounds wrong. There has never been an infant Q.
"We'd be glad to show you," the female-shaped one says. "We're willing to show all of you. But we can't come to the Continuum until she can handle it."
"Leave her here. Surely you can get babysitting?"
"We can't. See how she's tied to us?"
And he does see. The child's creation is an ongoing collaborative effort. Her Q nature is still too simple to survive on its own; she needs a feed of processed energy, as Q in the Continuum do, but she can't take it in the form it comes from in the Continuum. If her parents were to enter the Continuum the child would be overloaded, and her Q-self would disintegrate under the strain. The mortal body might live, but what animates it and makes it more than human would be gone.
Q shakes his head. "If you don't go home and explain yourself, they're going to charge you with causing a discontinuity. They'll exile you or something. And they'll forbid you to draw on the Continuum at all."
He can sense the shock the other two feel even before he sees it reflected in their mortal forms. "We haven't caused a discontinuity! We're on the verge of the greatest discovery the Continuum has experienced in a few million years, and they can't wait a mere handful of years until our daughter is ready?" the female-shaped Q explodes.
He shrugs. "I didn't make the decision."
"But can't you tell them--"
"Tell them what? Have they ever listened to me? If I take up championing your cause I might well doom it."
"But there is something you can do," his friend in the male form says.
"What-- no. Oh, no. I'm not getting involved."
"It would be the perfect solution. We can go home and argue our case, and show them what we're trying to do here, and why she's so important. You can stay here--"
"And feed your kid? Do I look like a babysitter?"
"But you could do it. They aren't accusing you of anything. And if you would do it it helps to argue our case, that if a Q who previously thought we were being complete idiots has agreed to help us it must mean there's something worthwhile here."
"Please," his female-formed friend says. "We can't cut our connection to her unless she's got a link to another Q, and we can't go into the Continuum without cutting that connection first. It doesn't have to be very long; just long enough for us to argue our case and get them to give us more time."
"Oh, that could take centuries."
"No, it can't. Because she'll be ready in two decades or less, no matter what, so if it takes that long the point would be moot."
"I hope you don't expect me to raise her."
"No, of course not. That's our job."
The other one says, "All we're asking is for you to stay outside the Continuum while we're in it, and vice versa, until she's old enough that she either doesn't need the energy feed, or she can survive the Continuum."
He looks again at the child, at the nascent Q she is. Now that he's no longer seeing her as an unfinished project, he perceives her as having a weird beauty, a purity in her simplicity. It hits him then that his friends have found a way to create something truly worthy of a Q's creative talents, something that will last as long as they will... so long as the Continuum doesn't cut them off prematurely. He's been so frustrated by the fact that nothing he does seems to have any long-term impact, nothing he creates can last as long as he can, and he knows many Q feel the same way. In a way he actually envies them.
And as bizarre as the notion of him protecting and sheltering a child, of all things, is... he wants to be part of this creation. He wants to participate in what they're doing. The Continuum might be changed permanently by this project, and change is what he lives for.
"Oh, all right," he sighs with mock petulance. "Show me what to do."
In a moment, the two have shown him exactly how they created her, and how they are linked to her, and helped him form a link of his own. He can feel the child's mind, such as it is-- a primitive soup of emotion, no higher mentation at all, and yet there's something curiously satisfying about the way her raw emotions turn to embracing him as he forms the link. She trusts him. Mortals don't trust him, and certainly his fellow Q don't. She's too stupid to know any better, and yet, it feels pleasant nonetheless.
The Q in female form bends over and kisses the baby. "We'll be back soon, sweetheart. You be good for your Uncle Q, okay?"
"Uncle." Q shudders. "Please don't use that term in my hearing ever again."
The male-shaped Q smirks. "Would you rather be her godfather?"
There's something awfully silly about naming a god as a godfather to the child of two gods. "Just go," he says. "Leave me to my fate."
The other smiles. "She's really not that bad."
The two of them flash out, disappearing back to the Continuum. Q looks down at the baby, who has woken up and is attempting to grab his nose. "Well. I seem to be stuck with you for the moment."
He doesn't understand why he feels what he feels. He doesn't understand why he suddenly believes he would defy the entire Continuum to protect this helpless creature. He's a Q. They're not known for protecting the weak. And yet.
Q holds the first child of his species in his arms, bemusedly. Without quite noticing what he's doing, he begins to rock her back and forth.