Author's Note: Thank you for your infinite patience. I intended to have this posted in time for Halloween. Then life got in the way.

I've worked and reworked these last five chapters to death.

I still have a bit of polish to finish up with the epilogue. But I didn't want to keep you all waiting any longer than necessary. 3/5 will drop tonight. The final chapter & a short epilogue will follow later today (or tomorrow).

At long last, I am pleased to present the conclusion to this story!

However – this will not be the only Q-based theme adventure. Creature Feature, Baby's Day Out (a Shinebug adventure), The Corsair, The Cards Are Wild, and more are all slated to follow – including a TNG/DS9 crossover Q event called The Latinum Radish.

So, we'll see Q & Lore team up again and join our characters in scenarios ranging from the high seas and the wild west to the pages of classic horror and grand fantasy.

It's 100% silliness – but I cannot resist!

Thank you for indulging my desire to play around with Q, Lore, and their relationship to the team. I've always wanted to give them a bigger role and this story has been such a fun way to explore that.

Fun fact (completely unrelated): Richard Haydn was both the voice of the Caterpillar in Disney's Alice in Wonderland AND played Thomas Rogers in And Then There Were None.

*Please note 'Rosa Alchymist' is not a spelling error. That is the name of the flower.

As a reminder – this is set during the first series. Data has not yet met Noonian Soong. Brothers won't happen for another two years.


Data and Guinan rounded a corner and stopped.

"Who are you?" a familiar voice asked.

It was Data's own voice.

Data cocked his head to the side as he studied the person in front of him. From the man's physicality, tousled brown hair, and impish grin Data immediately recognised him from his picture in Federation records.

But Data knew such a conclusion was impossible. This had to be some machination of Q.

Q. Data realised.

He was suddenly struck by the notion that the Q had immense powers and were capable of feats that defied the rules of physics, temporal mechanics, and logic.

Could it be? Data considered.

"Who are you?" the man repeated.

Guinan gripped Data's arm.

"Data, I don't think that's-" Guinan began to say.

"Father?" Data asked.

The man was a dead ringer for Noonian Soong. Data wasn't precisely sure how that was possible given that Soong perished during the Crystalline Entity attack on Omicron Theta.

Nevertheless, he was standing before Data.

He surmised it had to merely be another trick from Q – though Q had the power to transcend time and space.

And raise the dead.

Data knew he needed to focus on the mission at hand. Geordi and Tasha were missing and very likely in mortal peril.

Yet his mind was flooded with questions. Data couldn't slow his processing as his neural net surged.

He reached up and held Data's face, turning it side to side as if to survey his work.

This furthered his suspicion that this Noonian Soong was in fact an imposter conjured by Q. Surely the real Soong would want to converse.

Noonian stepped back, puffing away at a pipe as he paced in front of his workbench. The steam they had seen high in the sky was coming from a steam-powered device next to the workbench and Soong's pipe.

"You smoke a pipe?" Data asked.

He couldn't help it – he had to know if there was some connection there between them.

Soong chuckled.

"Who are you?" Noonian repeated, approaching them.

"I am Data," Data answered.

"But who are you?" Noonian pressed, blowing smoke circles high into the sky.

Data frowned.

Data glanced down and studied his own hands.

"I am Data. It is my name," Data said.

Soong reached into Data's top breast pocket and removed his badge.

"Detective Inspector Fury," Soong read aloud.

He looked to Data for an explanation.

"Well, you see, I am portraying Inspector Fury as part of a charade," Data said.

It was a delicate situation. Q had warned them all that they needed to take his mystery seriously or risk his wrath.

That included staying in character.

"Explain yourself," Soong demanded.

"I am afraid I cannot, sir," Data began. "Because you see, I am not myself."

It was obvious Soong was unconvinced.

"I am afraid that I cannot offer additional information," Data apologised.

"Do you know who you are?" Soong inquired.

He began to circle Data – something that had always put Data on edge.

"Y-yes," Data stammered in response. "Well, I am aware of my own identity. I am sentient."

He wanted to establish that.

"However, I often find myself contemplating the nature of my existence," Data confessed. "There are times I do not understand it myself. It is very confusing."

Data paused.

"Forgive me, I realise this is not the time nor place to explore the existential," Data said.

"Maybe it is?" Guinan said as she approached Soong's workbench.

She picked up a pair of callipers.

"Data, eh – Inspector, these aren't the tools of a cyberneticist," Guinan said.

There were plenty of tools spread about the scene. But it was an odd mix of antique human tools. Certainly nothing a cyberneticist would be working with in the twenty-fourth century.

"You have it in you to create worlds," Soong said as he continued to circle Data. "And yet, you want to be like them?"

He gestured to the hedge that lined the maze.

Soong sauntered over to the hedge and plucked one of the flowers.

"A rose is a rose is a rose," he remarked with a sigh.

Soong plucked one of the roses and handed it Data.

Data turned it over in his hand, studying the rich, berry-like colour of the velvety petals.

"What do you see?" Soong asked.

"This is rose. Munstead Wood variety. They are often noted for their colour and fragrant smell," Data said.

He had grown them – along with dozens of other varieties – as part of a project with Keiko in the Arboretum.

Data spied many of the same lovely varieties climbing the hedge fence and planted in bushes that lined the gardens. There were lovely old rose varieties, stunning hybrids, and classic climbing roses.

"Ah! Rosa Alchymist," Data said with a fond gasp.

It was one of his favourite varieties. The high petal count, and soft hue made it a lovely flower. They only bloomed once per season – something Data found special and endearing.

A deep golden hue caught Data's eye.

Data knew from experience that this hybrid tea rose variety had such a stout colouration that the petals did not fade – even in the hottest climates.

And though beautiful, this cultivator sported more thorns than most.

Data was fond of the variety because everything about that little flower reminded him Tasha.

He felt a pang of guilt as he had momentarily allowed his thoughts to slip away from the mystery.

"That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," Soong said, admiring the flower.

"No. She's different," Data replied without tearing his eyes away.

Soong smirked as if the comment was amusing.

"A rose is a rose is a rose," Soong repeated as he tapped his prominent nose.

Data took a step back.

"I have become distracted," he said, eyeing Soong with suspicion. "I cannot-"

Data paused and closed his eyes as if to shake away a painful thought.

"I cannot allow myself to deviate from the mission at hand," Data said.

"You're running around like a rat in a maze," Soong said.

Data flinched as Guinan put a hand on his shoulder.

"Data?" she prompted.

"Data, Data, Data," Soong went on.

He had turned back to the flowers. Soong used a pair of garden shears to snip away one of the dark yellow roses.

"Who are you?" Soong asked again while plucking away the petals one by one. "When you strip it all away, are you really all that different?"

Data stood motionless as he watched them fall to the ground.

"I suppose you're a little like a rose – in a way," Soong said. "I take a little pollen from one and a stigma from another and before long-"

Soong waved his left hand above the flower. It seemed to transform before their eyes.

"Hybridisation. A brand-new rose," Soong said.

Soong snapped his fingers and two nearly identical roses appeared in either hand. To the untrained eye, one would think they were the same flower.

But Data could tell the difference.

"They are not the same," Data insisted.

Soong quirked an eyebrow at him.

"How can you be sure?" Soong pressed.

He smiled and he inhaled the fragrant aroma.

"By any other name," he said slowly, teasing Data.

Data gripped Guinan's arm.

"We are leaving," Data ordered as he escorted Guinan toward the exit.

Only, they had only gone a few steps when the hedge grew shut – preventing them from going any further.

Data didn't care about the game or the rules or the thorns anymore. His friends were in danger. Geordi was missing.

Tasha was gone.

He had to find them.

Data gripped the hedge and began to tear away the roses and the thick brush.

He paused just long enough to glare at the stone wall that had previously not existed.

"Mind your temper!" Soong warned.

"I am not like him! I am nothing like him!" Data growled as he beat his fist against the wall.

Guinan stood in silence as the wall began to crack under the pressure of each subsequent blow.

"I. Am not. Like. Him!" Data huffed.

He enunciated each word and Guinan wasn't sure if Data was trying to assure this vision of Doctor Soong or himself.

The wall broke and crumbled. Data collapsed to his knees. He paused to pick up one of the single yellow roses that had been ripped away.

"I am nothing like him," Data repeated softly as he pulled the flower close.

As soon as they stepped back into the maze, the hedge closed behind them. Data could still hear Soong laughing.

It was the same haunting, scheming laugh as his brother.

Data tucked the flower into the breast pocket of his suit coat and then rested his hand there. He could not permit himself any further distractions.

"I believe Q is trying to prevent us from reaching our path," Data said.

"What's special about it?" Guinan asked, eyeing the rose.

"A King's Ransom," Data answered.

Guinan didn't follow.

"This rose. It is known as a King's Ransom," Data explained.

Data feared he would need to pay a king's ransom to get back those that were most dear to him.


Will Riker paused and sniffed at the air.

"Will, there's nothing out here," Deanna said.

Her feet were sore. They'd been running around on rough terrain for the better part of the last hour.

"I'm telling you – I smell soup," Riker said.

Deanna stopped to lean against the trunk of a nearby tree.

The woods were dark and suffocating. She could sense Riker's excitement. There was no denying the thrill of the chase.

But it seemed they were getting themselves horribly lost.

"See? There's smoke. That's coming from somewhere up ahead," Riker said, pointing at the sky.

There was a trail of smoke high above the treeline.

"Come on," Will said, pulling Deanna along.


"There! Up ahead," Picard said, pointing at the sky.

Captain Picard's team had managed to stick together. Jean-Luc, Beverly, young Mr Crusher, Sonya Gomez, Reg Barclay, and Lwaxana Troi were all traipsing about the maze in one giant, slow-moving conglomerate.

Things weren't going fast enough for Jean-Luc.

Everyone could sense the Captain was growing frustrated.

Q had mentioned the missing crew were safe – for now.

Q had failed to provide any sort of timeline for how long they would remain safe. Jean-Luc felt the clock was ticking.

The original mystery had a seventy-two-hour cap.

They were fast approaching that deadline.

Everyone seemed so frightened to put a toe out of line that they were being extra cautious as they followed the path through the garden maze.

The one person that wasn't frightened by Q was Lwaxana Troi.

Though Jean-Luc had never known Lwaxana Troi to have a sense of urgency.

The team rounded a corner and Jean-Luc spied an exit ahead. It looked to lead into the vast woods that surrounded the estate.

"Hurry!" Picard barked.

Reg Barclay froze. Ensign Gomez stumbled into him.

"I don't know. Maybe I should stay at the house in case… in case they come back?" Reg suggested.

He didn't like the look of the woods ahead – not one bit.

"Oh, come on! It's an adventure," Lwaxana said as she pulled him along.

Sonya offered Reg a reassuring smile.

"It will be just like one of your holodeck adventures," she said.

Barclay grimaced. A long, slow whine escaped from his throat.

"This was supposed to be a holodeck adventure."


Jean-Luc was the first to reach the woods.

"Come on," he urged the rest of them on.

It was both cooler and darker under the shade of the thick, overgrown trees.

Reg desperately wanted to turn back. He didn't like the maze and the house itself was scary. But he would take both of those terrifying experiences alone rather than a walk through the spooky, suffocating woods.

"Just ahead! I can hear voices," Picard shouted back to the rest of the team.

Guided by Lwaxana on one side and Sonya supporting his weight on the other, Reg Barclay forged on ahead.

"Sounds like a party," Lwaxana observed.

Fantastic. Barclay thought.

It was like a greatest hits of his worst nightmares.

Wesley and Beverly brought up the rear. Beverly was all for historical costuming. She enjoyed it as part of her natural inclination to theatre.

But tramping around a maze and uneven terrain in heels was hardly her idea of fun. Beverly did her best to keep pace – and that wasn't easy when Jean-Luc was in one of his moods.

Beverly hissed as she hit a rock.

She stopped and reached for a nearby tree for support. Her heels were just about shot.

"Wes?" Beverly asked.

There was no answer.

"Wes?" Beverly asked louder as she glanced around.

She couldn't see him. And for a fleeting moment, Beverly experienced the same level of panic she had when wee three-year-old Wesley Crusher had wandered around a corner at Starbase 48.

He'd only disappeared for a few seconds – but it had left Beverly reeling.

"WESLEY?!" Beverly shouted as she stumbled away from the tree.

"Here!" he called back, poking his head out from behind some brush.

Beverly clutched her chest as relief washed over her.

"Don't wander off," she said.

Wesley ignored her warning. His face broke out into a broad grin as he pointed toward the brush.

"Here," he said, offering his mother a hand to help her limp closer.

Beverly gasped as she caught sight of a bushy tail retreating into the foliage.

"A white rabbit," she whispered.

Beverly glanced back over her shoulder at the path. Jean-Luc, Ensign Gomez, Mrs Troi, and Lieutenant Barclay were nowhere to be seen.

"Captain?" Beverly called out.

Beverly shook her head in frustration.

"He's running off in the wrong direction," she remarked.

The rabbit was obviously a clue – and one they couldn't ignore.

"Captain?" Beverly tried again.

They were already long gone.

"Come on," Beverly said.

Clutching Wesley's hand, they set off into the brush to follow the white rabbit.


Worf's face scrunched up as if he were in excruciating pain. He took a series of small, short breaths before letting loose a great roar of a Klingon sneeze.

"Jaysus!" Miles remarked.

Keiko handed Worf a handkerchief as she shot Miles a warning glare.

"What? I felt that in my bones," Miles said.

"It's all the flowers," Worf said with a sniffle.

His voice was thick. His eyes watered.

"It is a lovely garden," Keiko remarked.

They had wandered into a central portion of the maze. There were beautiful beds of flowers and trimmed shrubs in whimsical designs.

A stunning tile mosaic created a beautiful path along the Tudor-style pond garden. The water was choked with lily pads.

Keiko knelt down next to a lilac to admire it.

Suddenly, she hissed and retracted her hand.

"Honey?" Miles prompted.

"It slapped me!" Keiko exclaimed in astonishment.

Miles knelt down near the flower so he could study it better.

"Oi!" he called out when it smacked him squarely on the nose.

"A warrior's flower," Worf said.

"About to be a dead flower," Miles grumbled.

He reached for the plant to extract it from the flower bed. Keiko protested. But before she could stop him – they were all snagged by a creeping vine.

Miles, Keiko, and Worf found themselves dangling upside down above the garden path.

"What the hell?" Miles demanded.

He yelped as he felt a thick vine smack his abdomen.

"See how you like it!"

Miles shook his head. He had to be dreaming. Flowers couldn't talk and they certainly couldn't attack people.

Worf was struggling against the vine that held him by the ankle. He wrestled and rolled, twisting his body as he tried to gain the upper hand.

"Get off!" Miles insisted.

He was no match for the vine. As soon as he managed to rip one aside, there was a fresh one to take its place. He could hardly keep pace. It wasn't long before Miles felt the vines around his wrists and neck.

They were closing in to strangle him.

Keiko was the only one not resisting.

Her lungs were on fire from lack of oxygen as the plant crushed against her windpipe. It was her worst nightmare – plants that had come alive to exact their revenge.

"Soh-sorry," Keiko managed to choke out.

She was overcome with relief as oxygen flooded back into her lungs.

Keiko still wasn't free – but she could breathe once again.

"How do you like being poked and prodded?" a lilac asked.

"Maybe we should pluck their heads off?" suggested an iris.

The other flowers all chimed in with their own suggestions. They were tired of being trampled on, ignored, over-watered, and plucked from their homes.

"Rip their arms off!" another cried.

"No! Wait!" Keiko pleaded.

Keiko was trying to reason with them. But Miles and Worf were still putting up a fight.

The flowers were out for blood and unafraid to use anything in their arsenal. Thorns dug into the flesh of their arms and legs. The vines constricted their movement.

It seemed even the hedge itself had grown larger and more ominous overhead.

"When I get out of here," Miles warned.

Worf used everything in his arsenal to try and free himself. It was worse that wrestling with snake-like monsters on the holodeck.

Even his teeth had no impact.

The vines gave them all a good shake.

"Please! We're sorry!" Keiko said.

"I'm not!" Worf roared.

He grunted as the vine tossed him into the wall.

"Please! We didn't mean to hurt you. We're awfully sorry," Keiko went on.

She wasn't about to give up.

"We just want the same thing as you do – to live," Keiko said. "We… we only admire you because we think you're beautiful."

The vine stopped beating Worf against the wall like he was rug. Miles felt the grip around his neck loosen.

"How can we make this right?" Keiko asked.


Miles cried out as he hit the dirt.

Worf rolled onto his back and groaned.

Keiko hissed as she rubbed her elbow – it had taken the brunt of the fall when the vines had flung them over the garden wall.

It wasn't their preferred method of travel.

Now they found themselves standing at the edge of the woods.

"Don't get me wrong – I'm grateful you talked them down. But how in the hell did you think to do it?" Miles asked.

Worf offered Keiko and Miles a hand up.

"I talk to my plants," Keiko replied with a shrug.

She knew from experience they responded well to it.

"Just do me one thing, honey?" Keiko asked.

"Anything," Miles replied as he gave her a peck on the lips.

"Don't ever buy me flowers again," Keiko said.


Will and Deanna were making their way through the woods following Will's super sniffer.

Deanna swore he was half predator. He could smell food decks away from his own quarters anytime Lieutenant Choi made samgyeopsal or whenever the Cartwright's on deck 11 made a fresh batch of cinnamon buns.

All of a sudden, Will dove behind a tree – taking Deanna with him.

She made of noise of protest at being tackled into the brush. Will covered her mouth.

"Shhh," he warned, putting a finger to his lips.

Deanna fell silent.

There was no telling what awaited them down the forest path or what malicious creature Riker was trying to avoid. With Q, it could be anything.

Deanna wouldn't put it past him to plant something devious like an angry tiger or fire breathing dragon.

She shook away those thoughts as quickly as they came.

Deanna didn't want to give Q any new ideas.

They had fallen behind an old tree. Riker carefully leaned back to peek around the trunk. Then he grinned.

"I told you I smelled soup," he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Deanna's face soured.

"I thought there was something dangerous," she said.

"Maybe it's a five-alarm chili?" Will teased.

Deanna rolled her eyes. Riker offered her a hand up and they crept back around the tree.

"It could be. I thought I saw someone move inside," Riker whispered.

There was a tiny cottage ahead. For a moment, Deanna was reminded of candy houses and the witches that waited inside.

"Maybe it's a trap?" Deanna warned.

She couldn't sense anything save for their own trepidation. But nerves were running high.

"Or it could be a clue?" Riker suggested.

Either way, they were stuck in Q's latest machination until they solved the mystery.

"I say we risk it," Riker said.

Deanna nodded in agreement.

"Right."

"After you," Will said, gesturing for her to go first.

Deanna crossed her arms and scoffed before setting off toward the cottage.


They approached low and slow near an open window.

The closer they drew, the more they picked up on a strong odour. Something was cooking in a great pot near the fire.

And there was a shrill voice singing.

"Speak roughly to your little boy and beat him when he sneezes!" the voice sang.

It looked to be an older woman. She flitted about the tiny cottage as she added more and more ingredients to the pot.

"Ignore him when he cries and tell him to man up when he freezes."

Deanna scrunched up her face in disapproval.

"What a horrid song," she whispered.

"That's the way to make him strong to take on anything he pleases!" the woman sang.

Her voice shrieked on a high note and Riker grimaced.

Deanna squeezed her eyes shut. She pressed against her septum. Riker's eyes went wide. He knew what followed.

"ACHOO!"

If the woman in the cottage was a witch or trap of some sort, their cover was now completely blown.

"Pepper," Deanna said apologetically.

The woman inside had doused the pot with the pepper shaker.

"Don't dawdle outside. Come on in – unless you're afraid!"

A knowing look passed between Will and Deanna.

"Enough of this," Riker said as he got to his feet. "Let's get this over with."

He squared his shoulders and marched into the cottage.

Will had expected something to happen.

Instead, the woman went about cooking and singing her wretched tune. Her back was turned. She seemed completely unperturbed by their arrival.

Almost as if she had expected them.

Deanna could sense nothing from the woman.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the cottage itself. A small three-legged stool sat near the fire. Shelves lined the walls with various herbs, spices, and copper pots.

There was a leg of something hanging near the fire and awaiting preparation. Dried rosemary and thyme were strung up.

On the table sat a thick wedge of hard cheese. Flour dusted the surface. A ball of bread dough was rising under a damp cheesecloth.

Deanna glanced over at Riker. He shrugged and shook his head.

"If there's a lesson here – I don't get it," Will confessed.

"Everything is a lesson," the mysterious woman said without turning around.


Jean-Luc Picard was exactly one more scoop of sugar away from blowing his lid.

The steam they had followed had led the team to an unusual tea party.

Jean-Luc recognised the elements from the old children's story. But he never could have envisioned how frustrating it was to experience firsthand.

The Hatter was indeed mad.

And demanding.

The March Hare was no better and the dormouse was utterly useless for information.

Between the two of them (the Hatter and the March Hare), there were more rules and regulations to this tea than Jean-Luc had ever experienced.

Each time he attempted to take a drink of his tea, the March Hare swiped his cup away insisting Jean-Luc needed a clean cup.

In spite of the fact the table was set for more than two dozen places, the Hatter had insisted they all crowd around a tiny corner.

They had become separated from Beverly and Wesley. The clock was ticking.

No one had the time.

The only timepiece in the vicinity was in pieces scattered about the table.

Picard was trapped.

He didn't dare put a toe out of line or lose his temper for fear of Q's wrath.

Worst of all, he was trapped with the very last three people he would ever want to be stuck with at a tea party.

Reg Barclay had barely said a word. He was so concerned about saying or doing the wrong thing that his hands were too unsteady to even try for the teacup.

Sonya Gomez had done alright until the March Hare had startled her. He'd practically shouted in her ear.

Sonya's teacup had gone flying, and the contents had landed in the lap of one Jean-Luc Picard.

Lwaxana Troi was having exactly none of the antics from their eccentric hosts.

She had called their policy of clean cups a ridiculous waste of time – going so far as to smack away the March Hare when he tried to take her saucer.

Then Mrs Troi had loudly declared that she would not move from her seat, nor did she find riddles amusing.

"What is old but never slows down and never tires?" the Hatter asked.

"Oh, we don't have time for this nonsense!" Lwaxana huffed.

The March Hare pouted.

"That's not the answer, silly!"

"An hourglass!" the Hatter said as he produced a massive hourglass seemingly from nowhere.

"Or… or time," Reg said.

The Hatter stopped.

An incredulous look passed between the Hare and the Hatter.

"Time? Time?" the March Hare fumed.

He got up from his chair and stood atop it, planting one foot on the table. His hands were on his hips. His ears stuck up in indignation – all of which may have been frightening were it not that his waistcoat was buttoned in a haphazard manner.

The Hare picked up the hourglass and slammed it on the table.

"Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!" he chanted.

Lwaxana Troi simply brushed the glass aside.

"I thought it was very clever," she said, hoping to boost Reg's confidence.

"Time means nothing here," the Hatter declared.

He laughed and wiggled in his seat like a child.

Captain Picard fought the urge to grumble.

"I don't care," Lwaxana said, tossing aside her napkin.

She rose from her own seat and threw her fur stole over her shoulder with impeccable flair.

"I'm leaving," Lwaxana declared.

The Hatter gasped.

"But your friends have not finished their tea," he protested with feigned outrage.

"You can't leave!" the March Hare shrieked.

"Watch me," Lwaxana said with a defiant gleam in her eyes.

She turned on her heel and headed back for the gate that led to the path in the forest. She snapped her fingers and barked for the rest of the team to follow.

"But… but you can't leave!" the Hare insisted.

Lwaxana stopped. She whipped around and glared at the Hare.

"If you try to stop us, I'll have you lined with satin and added to my wardrobe," Lwaxana retorted.

The Hatter stood and tapped his spoon against his teacup to command everyone's attention.

Lwaxana stopped arguing with the Hare and even the dormouse poked his head out of the teapot.

"No one is going anywhere. It's against the rules," the Hatter said.

He jumped onto the table and began dancing – kicking aside the sugar pot and a tiered tray of sandwiches.

Sonya ducked just in time to avoid a flying teacup. It shot straight out and hit a nearby tree before shattering into pieces.

Reg dove under the table to avoid the mayhem.

The March Hare and Mrs Troi were now shouting at one another.

"Rules! Regulations!" the Hatter said as he smashed the China beneath his feet.

He was singing the same annoying line over and over about following the rules, propriety, and good manners.

"ENOUGH!" Picard snapped.

Everything came to a halt.

Panic gripped Jean-Luc.

"I-I-I didn't mean that," Picard said quickly.

He sounded more like Reg Barclay than the ever-composed Picard.

The Hatter snapped his fingers. In an instant, everyone was back in their chairs – including a frustrated Lwaxana Troi.

"Oh, really!" she huffed before crossing her arms and flopping back against her chair.

She opened her mouth to lay into a verbal lashing. Jean-Luc's hand shot out to urge caution.

"Mrs Troi, please," he implored.

That Hatter began to clap slowly.

"Always following the rules. Such a good boy," the Hatter teased.

But when he smiled, his grin was more like that of Q than the character they had first encountered.

"Rules and regulations and Prime Directives," the Hatter went on.

As he spoke, he shifted. His ruddy hair was replaced by Q's signature dark curl. His limbs grew long until he reached the same lanky frame as Jean-Luc's tormentor.

"Tell me, mon Capitaine," Q began, folding his hands on the table. "Would you let your people anguish in mortal peril because of rules?"

Picard's mouth thinned.

Q abruptly sat up and cupped his ear.

"Ah! And what is that?" Q asked.

The tell-tale ticking of a clock could be heard. Then the shattered timepiece on the table began to tick as well. The echo of another clock overshadowed both.

Q reached into the pocket on his waistcoat and pulled out an antique pocket watch. He flipped it open and chuckled.

"Tick tock. Tick tock," he repeated slowly.

Out of nowhere, a grandfather clock tolled loudly to indicate the hour.

It startled all of them. The clock had not been there at the start of the tea party.

Reg jumped in his seat, clutching his chest.

Q snapped his fingers once again. This time the hourglass that had previously been smashed collected itself. Each grain of sand lifted off the table as the shards of glass were reassembled.

"It never stops. It never slows," Q said as he admired the glass. "It is, perhaps, the most unusual rule you lesser beings force yourselves to live by."

Q flicked the glass with his fingers and an eerie ringing erupted.

"But then again, you aren't enlightened enough to understand – let alone imagine – a world without time," Q said.

That's it.

"I thought you said time was irrelevant here?" Picard asked.

Q's grin faltered.

"In fact, I believe you said it meant nothing," Picard went on.

He got up from the table and helped himself to cup of tea. Picard took his time as he poured it and tossed in two cubes of sugar. He stirred in a little milk and then reached for a jammy dodger.

"And you have stressed the importance of following the rules on all of us," Picard said as he took his seat.

He dipped his biscuit into his teacup and let it soak up just the right amount before popping it into his mouth. Jean-Luc relaxed back against his seat and savoured the afternoon forest air.

"I would hate to make another mistake by breaking your rules," Picard continued.

Picard set his cup down.

"Forgive my lapse in manners," he said, reaching for the teapot.

Jean-Luc poured everyone a fresh cup – including Q.

"There you are, Mrs Troi," he said, nodding to her.

"Thank you, Jean-Luc," she replied over the rim of her cup.

She didn't know what the Captain's plan was. Nevertheless, Lwaxana could sense he was on to something.

"Mr Barclay, would you please pass that tray of sandwiches? Ms Gomez, could you see to the milk?" Picard asked.

They both set to work.

"So, we will sit and enjoy our tea," Picard replied.

He took up his seat again and shook out his napkin before spreading it across his lap.

"Let's tuck in," Picard suggested.

Q looked furious.

"Tick tock, Jean-Luc!"

Picard feigned innocence.

"I thought you wanted us to follow the rules? Were those not your explicit instructions?" Jean-Luc pressed.

Picard dropped his gaze to his teacup.

"But you've grown bored," Picard said, swirling the brown liquid.

Q did not respond.

"You like when we break the rules. When we do the unexpected," Jean-Luc said.

He reached for the timepiece on the table and threw it aside.

"That's why us lower lifeforms fascinate you, isn't it?" Picard asked.

"It's my game, Jean-Luc. I make the rules," Q replied.

Captain Picard nodded furiously.

"Indeed, you do," he agreed. "Then tell me, game master. One minute we are to follow your rules or risk the consequences. And the next, you seem almost infuriated that I will not break them. Which is to be, Q?"

Picard was on a roll now doing what he did best.

"Only this time the game is different, isn't it?" Picard continued. "You aren't the only man behind the curtain. And Mr Lore, well-"

Jean-Luc shrugged.

"He's so very human. He was made in our image with all the same emotions and desires. The flaws."

Q's mouth curved every so slightly into a frown.

"So, you distract us with tea parties and make us run about like rats in a maze. Is it because something has gone wrong? Has your accomplice strayed from the plan?" Picard pressed.

Jean-Luc sat down on the edge of the table and leaned in close so that his comment was heard only by Q.

"I have no doubt of your powers. You could blink me and everyone I've ever known out of existence," Picard said.

He knew it was important to preface that. He couldn't risk bruising Q's ego too badly.

"But just between us, I don't believe you really intend to hurt my crew," Picard said. "You couldn't bear to part with us."

Q looked the Captain up and down.

"And if you snap your fingers and send me or one of my crew to another penalty box, I'll know I'm right. You'll only confirm that you're just as influenced by emotion, just as driven by need as the rest of us," Picard said in a low, dangerous voice.

Q snapped his fingers.

The table, the chairs, and all the accoutrements disappeared in a flash of light.

Captain Picard and the rest of the team hit the dirt hard.

"Tea is over!" Q snapped.

He vanished – fading away until there was nothing more than his eerie smile and a maniacal, disembodied laugh that haunted the trees.

Captain Picard pulled himself up to his feet and tugged on his waistcoat to straighten it.

"Come on. Let's keep moving," Picard said.

He was resolved they would stop for no further distractions.

"And you think my life is drama. Ha!" Lwaxana snorted.


Will Riker slammed the lid down on a clay jar of marjoram harder than intended.

Deanna had long since given up on trying to find some meaning in the cottage. She was sitting at the table, sipping on a cup of cocoa.

Will stopped. He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room again.

"There has to be something here," Riker insisted.

"No. There doesn't," Deanna threw back.

Riker shot her a look.

"For all we know this could simply be a distraction," Deanna said. "There is nothing here to indicate it has any association with the mystery."

Will Riker refused to believe that.

He didn't want to even think about the possibility that he had wasted the last few hours of time.

"From what I remember, the original Alice's Adventures in Wonderland was farce. Nonsense," Deanna said.

She leaned forward and raised her eyebrows.

"We must run as fast as we can just stay in place," Deanna quoted.

Riker shook his head.

"There has to be something here. The story – it's not just nonsense," Riker insisted.

It had been many, many years since Will Riker had last thought about the children's literary classic. But from what he could recall, the story was rich in symbolism and theme.

"There were… lessons," Riker finished with a shrug.

He was having a hard time expressing himself.

The woman was still cooking. She stopped her awful song long enough to chime in.

"Everything is a lesson."

Riker gestured as if he were vindicated. Deanna could only roll her eyes.

"Have you ever considered that maybe the lesson is that this is all for naught?" she asked.

"You never could see what was right in front of you," the woman cooking said.

She turned and Riker stumbled back, tripping over a chair.

"You always failed to grasp the big picture."

It wasn't a woman cooking. Even her voice changed.

"You're supposed to be out there, leading a team, saving your friends. Instead, you're hiding in here," the cook said.

Now it was a man with a hardened face that showed the hint of a once-chiselled jaw. His eyes narrowed on Will Riker.

Deanna couldn't be certain, but the cook looked familiar. She couldn't place where she knew him from

"Still afraid of the woods?" he asked.

Riker scrambled for the door.

"We're leaving," he said quickly.


As soon as they were free of the cottage, Will took a series of slow breaths to steady his breathing.

He flinched when Deanna put her hand on his arm.

"That was your father, wasn't it?" she asked.

"This is all one of Q's distractions. A way to keep us on edge, to stop us from solving the mystery," Riker said, avoiding the question.

He ran a shaking hand back through his hair and adjusted his collar before marching off back to the path.

"We need to keep moving. There must be something out here he doesn't want us to find," Riker said.

Deanna could already feel Will was putting up his walls.

"Don't do this," she warned.

Riker started to storm off.

Then he stopped.

Riker had shared very little about his relationship with his father. Deanna knew enough to understand they had not spoken to one another in many years. In fact, Will hadn't spoken to his father since he was fifteen years old.

One of the few things Riker had opened up about was the fact Kyle Riker was infamous for his 'lessons.' Many of those lessons involved leaving young Will with responsibilities far beyond those of a child.

He had placed Will in many dangerous situations alone in the Alaskan wilderness to build up his courage and self-reliance.

Will Riker had learned to suppress his own fears and emotions. He wore a mask of leadership to cover his insecurities.

"Everyone is counting on us," Will said.

For all they knew, they were the last two that hadn't been captured or put into one of Q's penalty boxes.

"I'm afraid too," Deanna said. "I'm terrified. But I feel better knowing that we're doing this together."

"I'll do everything I can to get you out of here, Imzadi," Will promised.

Deanna frowned.

"That's not what I mean," she said.

Deanna took hold of Riker's hands and pulled them close.

"I don't want you to be the biggest, strongest hero in the room. You don't have to be that for me," she explained. "You've never had to be that when we're together."

Will relaxed. Deanna could feel his tension start to slip away.

It was replaced with raw emotion – fear, uncertainty, anger.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Deanna prompted.

Will glanced at the woods and then back at the cabin.

"I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be like him," Will shared.

Kyle Riker wasn't one to share his feelings. He boxed them away in a neat little compartment inside himself and buried them forever.

Will could count on one hand the number of times his father had ever said that he'd loved him. No, that wasn't Kyle Riker's way.

He was all gusto and stiff upper lip. And Will had been left to carve out a career in his father's shadow.

"I… I don't always like the woods," Will confessed.

He enjoyed being in nature. He lived for adventure.

But when it came to heavily wooded areas, Will was naturally cautious. He preferred to use camping or fishing programmes for trails he knew well.

It was all part of the trauma from his childhood growing up in a home in the remote inner region of Alaska.

"And right now, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of these woods. I'm afraid of letting down the team, of failing," Will said.

Deanna was struck by an idea.

"What if that's the point of this? What if Q tapped into your fears like he did before?" Deanna asked.

During one of their fateful encounters with Q, he had used their worst memories to try and convince the crew to accept his gift of the power of the Q Continuum.

It had all been a test.

And Riker had failed.

It was a bitter memory.

"Look, if that is what he's doing here then it's got to be for a reason," Deanna said.

Riker nodded slowly.

"But is he just toying with us or is he trying to prevent us from finding something out here?" Riker pondered aloud.

"There's only one way to find out," Deanna said.

She looped her arm through Riker's.

"I was afraid you might say that," Will grumbled.


Beverly and Wesley had done their best to keep pace with the rabbit.

Unfortunately, Beverly's heel gave out and she was forced to limp along on a tender foot with only one shoe.

The rabbit had rushed off – spooked by her outburst at the busted heel.

"Well, drat," she remarked.

"Mum, look," Wesley said.

They had wandered off the dirt trail that cut through the woods. The rabbit had led them to a flagstone path. It was obviously an old trail as they were overgrown.

"Up ahead," Wesley said, pointing.

The trees were older in this portion of the forest.

Tangled roots and thick branches made it appear darker. The deadfall was thick and covered much of the area, making it impassible.

Nestled in the thick of the trees was a small Tudor-style building.

"I think this is a hunting lodge," Beverly said.

She'd read enough to know they were common on large estates like the fictional manner. In spite of the lack of care around the lodge, the building itself looked well maintained.

"Someone has been keeping this place up," she observed.

"Should we check it out?" Wesley asked.

He had inherited his mother's inclination toward curiosity.

A look passed between mother and son. They shared a smile.

"Let's see what awaits," Beverly said.


The inside confirmed Beverly's theory. The place was, in fact, a hunting lodge and had clearly been kept up.

The place was clean.

Fruit and cheese adorned the table.

Firewood was stacked neatly in the corner.

Wine was at the ready.

It was a cosy place with plush furniture. The loft overhead featured an oversized bed with fine bedding and silk pillows.

Even the water closet had fresh linen.

"Someone is living here," Wesley said.

"Or using it," Beverly thought as she strolled by the fireplace.

It was cold and looked to have been some time since it had last been in use.

"What about that game keeper that was shot?" Wesley suggested.

Beverly stepped over to a vanity along the wall under the loft. It was an odd piece for a hunting lodge. She slid open the top drawer to find a compact mirror, hairbrushes, and old-fashioned eye cream.

A silk dressing gown hung near the wardrobe.

"Actually, I think a woman is living here," Beverly said.


Tasha Yar jolted awake.

She shuddered at the feel of fingers as they caressed the nape of her neck.

Lore chuckled.

"You dozed off," he said.

Tasha flinched and ducked as he reached for the back of her neck again.

"It is only me," Lore lied.

Tasha surveyed the room to try and get her bearings. She was in Lord Moran's office, seated behind the hand carved desk.

She could tell it was now the next day as daylight streamed in through the window.

"What are we doing in here?" Tasha asked.

She had no memory of the morning. Nor could she recall anything since the chess game the night before.

In fact, her last memory had been of hearing fireworks erupt outside – interrupting the chess game between Data and Lore.

Tasha looked down at herself and frowned.

She was still wearing her clothes from the night before. Even more disturbing, she couldn't hear anyone else.

"Where are the others?" she demanded.

"They are searching the house," Lore replied.

He was hovering near the desk just behind Tasha and it made her uncomfortable. Data never hovered.

"But why are we in here?" Tasha pressed.

Lore sat down on the edge of the desk and cupped her chin. He smiled.

"You are tired," he said. "Your body requires rest."

Indeed, Tasha was exhausted. She felt like she'd just woken up after a night of heavy drinking.

"And you will just as soon as we make contact with the Enterprise," Lore said.

Tasha didn't follow.

"I don't-"

Lore shushed Tasha, putting a finger to her lips.

She blinked in astonishment.

"Captain Picard has ordered us to try and establish contact with the ship," Lore lied.

He reached for a stack of paper and set a piece down in front of Tasha. Lore shoved a pen in her hand and then tapped the paper.

"Write down the shield frequency and I will try to use my internal communications system to generate a signal for the ship," Lore said.

"Oh! Of course," Tasha replied without missing a beat.

She feigned compliance in order to buy time. She suspected this was not Data. Tasha wasn't sure if it was Lore or simply a test by Q.

Either way, she knew she couldn't give away the frequency to the Enterprise shields.

Tasha quickly ran through a list of outdated codes from defunct ships as she tried to come up with the best possible way to keep the imposter occupied.

Lore noticed her hand hesitate above the paper.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

Tasha swallowed down her revulsion as his thumb stroked her cheek.

"I know you are tired," Lore said. "I promise you will be able to rest soon."

Tasha flashed him a brilliant smile.

Setting aside her disgust, Tasha fell back on her covert operations experience.

"I have a better idea," she said.

Lore tensed as she set her hand on his thigh.

"You are so clever," Tasha said. "Figuring out a way to contact the Enterprise and get us out of here."

She stood up and was surprised when Lore shrank back toward the desk as she closed in on him.

"I knew you would be the one to save us," Tasha went on, walking her fingers up his chest.

Lore was simultaneously frightened by this radical shift in her behaviour and simultaneously thrilled that someone – anyone – would offer such praise.

Suddenly, he felt a flash of anger and jealousy that his brother got all the attention.

Lore believed that Tasha thought she was speaking to Data.

The Golden Boy.

No one ever called Lore clever, even if he was the more cunning of the brothers.

And Lore had never been seen as an object of desire.

"W-we need the code," Lore said as he reached for the paper.

"Oh, it will only take you minutes to figure out a signal," Tasha said, batting away the paper.

She clutched the front of his waistcoat. A nervous chuckle escaped from Lore's throat.

"You can do that later," Tasha said.

Lore gulped.

A part of him found humans revolting. They were inferior beings. And yet, Lore yearned to belong.

More than anything, he wanted to one-up his brother.

During their short time together on Omicron Theta, Lore had always sought to assert his dominance as the superior android.

If Data got an upgrade, Lore demanded one too.

If Data found something new or exciting, Lore was quick to shoot it down.

And when Data got a toy like a violin or a new set of paintbrushes – Lore broke them.

Just because he could.

And Lore could think of no better way to get under his baby brother's skin than by taking that which was most dear to him.

Tasha was pawing at his shirt, trying to free it from his trousers.

"It's a little risqué, isn't it? In daddy's office," Tasha teased.

Lore's neural net surged.

Tasha dove.

To her great relief, Lore took the bait – she had been close to vomiting at her own ridiculous behaviour and was fast running out of both lines and patience.

No one had ever shown Lore affection.

He was surprised and confused.

But it felt good.

Never before had Lore experienced such an overwhelming flood of sensory input.

Somewhere between analysing the content of her saliva, increased body temperature, and scent of Tasha's body scrub, Lore's coolant system struggled to keep pace.

There was too much information to process.

And before Lore realised it, Tasha's hands found her target.

Lore slumped over on the desk.

Tasha leapt back and shuddered. It took a moment for her to compose herself as she stared at his lifeless body.

She poked it once to confirm he wasn't merely pretending.

Then she carefully felt along his spine to confirm that he was truly deactivated.

"I may not have your neural net, but I'm not stupid," Tasha hissed at his lifeless body.

She knew there was no way Data could use his audio system to generate a signal strong enough for the Enterprise to pick up.

Furthermore, Data knew the shield frequency. He would never have had to ask Tasha to provide that information.

Tasha wasn't sure if she was more infuriated that Lore had impersonated Data (again) or because he assumed she wouldn't pick up on the ruse.

Tasha adjusted her dress and rushed out into the rest of the manor house.


The drawing room and dining room were both abandoned.

She found no one in the library.

Tasha kicked off her heels and rushed through the corridors.

"Hello?" she shouted.

She was greeted only by silence.

Tasha stopped in front of an old statue of armour. She needed to ground herself.

There was no way of knowing if this was really even the same manor house. It was possible Q had stopped time or sent her to a penalty box.

Everything looked to be the same – but then so had the Bridge of the Enterprise during one of their previous encounters with Q.

Tasha decided to head for Data's quarters in the tower.

If this was the real house, then she would need to search for anyone, or any clues left behind.

For that, Tasha would need better shoes.

Her stomach rumbled.

"And snacks," Tasha thought aloud.

She was nearly to the staircase that led to the tower when Tasha spied the door to Geordi's room was open.

She rushed forward and found Geordi sprawled out on the bed. He too was wearing his suit from the night before.

Tasha also noticed he was wearing his VISOR.

Geordi never slept with his VISOR on. In fact, Geordi often didn't wear it when he was off duty.

"Geordi? Geordi, wake up," Tasha said as she shook him.

Geordi batted away her hand.

"Geordi," Tasha repeated.

She gently tapped his face.

"Come on, Geordi," Tasha urged.

Geordi groaned.

"Why am I hungover?" he asked with alarm.

He couldn't recall having anything more than wine at dinner.

"Please tell me I didn't drink so much I blacked out!" Geordi whined.

"No, no. Nothing like that," Tasha said.

"T?" Geordi asked.

He blinked and reached up to detach his VISOR. It only made the headache worse.

"I'm right here," Tasha said as she clutched his head.

"What happened?" Geordi asked.

Tasha hesitated.

"I don't know," Tasha confessed. "But everyone else is missing. And… and I think they're in trouble."