A Room With a Q

by Mo Boldock

The following story is just a bit of fun. It is an UNCLE/Star Trek crossover, inspired by the Voyager episode ‘The Q and the Grey’, in which Q decides he wants Janeway to be the mother of his child. (Originally appeared in Remote Control #9)

“Chort!”

Illya Kuryakin swore under his breath as the small, temperamental incendiary device he was pushing into the lock ignited prematurely. Most of the small charge detonated inside the lock’s mechanism, but he patted furiously at his forehead, smelling the singing of hair and feeling the roughness of scorching at the corner of one eyebrow. He blinked his eye, trying to clear the after image left by the bright flash, before taking a step back and charging at the recalcitrant door with his shoulder.

“Ow!” He rubbed at his bruised shoulder as the door refused to give under his assault, then slammed angrily into the wood with his foot. With a crack, the lock finally gave way and the door swung inwards. The Russian smiled sheepishly to himself, giving a cautious peek over his shoulder before entering the dark stairwell beyond the door.

He hoped he was right. He hoped Napoleon Solo was being held here, otherwise it meant he had just knocked out two guards, blown up four surveillance cameras, singed an eyebrow and almost dislocated a shoulder, all for nothing.

He crept stealthily down the stairs and froze on the bottom step as a muffled whine came from a dark recess of the room. He automatically reached towards his empty holster, chastising himself as he belatedly remembered he had lost his special in a fight with the second guard. He crouched low, trying to make himself a smaller target as the sound came again, this time with a sense of urgency about it.

He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark, edging nearer the source of the muffled cry, and could just make out a shape in the corner.

“Napoleon?” he whispered cautiously.

“Mmnngh.”

Nearer, now, he could make out the shape of his partner, seated--well, actually, tied--to a wooden chair. The chair bounced around the floor as the senior agent tried to attract his partner’s attention around the restraint in his mouth.

“Are you okay?” Kuryakin asked as he quickly covered the last few yards and knelt on the floor by his partner’s feet. His cold fingers fumbled to get a grip on the tight knots around Solo’s ankles.

“Mmm-mn!”

“I would have gotten here sooner, only there have been a few complications.” One knot finally came loose and the agent tugged the rope free and threw it aside. He made a start on the other ankle.

“Ng-mumnh!” Solo jiggled about, almost knocking his partner in the face.

“Patience, Napoleon. Almost there.” He pulled the second rope free and stood to untie the ropes fastening the senior agents wrists to the chair arm. “Have you seen Parry anywhere? I managed to get a shot at him but he got away.”

“Hh-nd-uh!” Napoleon’s head bobbed about.

Illya tried to hide his embarrassment as he realized that his friend still had the gag in his mouth. He pulled the cloth down, saying, “Sorry. What did you say?”

Napoleon gave a monumental sigh of frustration, saying between gritted teeth, “He’s behind you.”

Kuryakin spun, leaving the knot untied and Napoleon still bound to the chair. Parry walked from the darkness underneath the stairs, a Thrush rifle aimed at the pair. He chuckled as he crossed the floor towards them. “Well, well. What more could a dedicated Thrush man like myself, ask for? Two of UNCLE’s best, Solo and Kuryakin. Unarmed and defenseless. I’d say that turns you two pigeons into two sitting ducks.” He laughed again.

“Why don’t you give it up, Parry. This place will be swarming with UNCLE agents in a minute. The place is surrounded.” It was a bluff, of course, but the Russian had nothing to bargain with, and therefore nothing to lose.

Parry shook his head. “Let’s not stall for time, Mr. Kuryakin. You’ve been a thorn in my side long enough. No long good-byes, eh? Say do svedanya to your buddy, there.”

Painfully aware of his own impending death, Illya watched, unable to move out of the way in time. He saw the knuckles whiten as the finger squeezed at the trigger, and heard the hammer click home, the sound of the unsilenced shot deafening in the confined space. Too fast to be visible, the lethal projectile shot out, on a direct course for the Russian’s heart--

--And exploded, before contact, into a shower of pink and white rose petals, fluttering down around the agent’s boots.

“Huh??” Parry stared at his weapon, shocked into immobility. Illya was too, for the seconds it took to recover from the shock of still being alive. He patted at his chest, confirming that there was no blood or gaping hole, then quickly jumped forward, knocking the dazed man to the ground, and rapidly rendering him senseless with a blow to the side of the head.

He rose, walking back to Napoleon, slowing as he reached the petals, studying the strange anomaly with a puzzled frown.

Napoleon coughed, wiggling his captured hands pointedly in his friend’s direction. “Excuse me, could you, please....”

Napoleon’s plea for attention finally dragged his gaze away from the blossoms and he moved back to the imprisoned agent. After he finished releasing his partner from the remaining bonds, he knelt down, gathering a handful of petals. Solo scuffed at the inoffensive blooms with the toe of his boot.

“I don’t understand. What happened here?”

“I have no idea,” the Russian muttered. “Perhaps Thrush have invented a new, humane weapon, capable of stunning their victims into silence.”

“No need to thank me,” came a pleasant voice from behind. They both turned instantly towards the silent intruder. The man was a stranger, with emphasis on the strange; tall and erect, smooth, clean features and wearing a strange, form fitting outfit. He folded his arms, bestowing a condescending smile upon the beings before him.

“Where did you come from?” the Russian asked, eyeing the stranger suspiciously.

The intruder waved a hand about, foppishly. “Oh, here, there, everywhere. No place in particular.”

The two friends exchanged a puzzled frown.

“What, exactly, should we be thanking you for?” Solo inquired.

The man looked surprised at Solo’s lack of understanding. “Why, for saving your lives, of course. I was sure you wouldn’t object to my interfering. You looked like you could both use a little help. Anything I can do to help humanity out, a little.” That condescending smile again.

“You did this?” Kuryakin asked, letting the petals in his hand drop to the floor. “How? What sort of trick is this?”

“Trick? There was no trick. I have the power to do much, much greater things. Power such that your immature human minds could not begin to comprehend.”

“Well, regardless of how you did it, why did you do it?” Napoleon asked, after he’d finished trussing up Parry with the discarded ropes.

The man paced around the small room, looking pensive. “I believe you humans have a saying. ‘There’s no such thing as a free lunch.’” He spun to face them, waiting for a response.

“You mean, you want something in return?” Napoleon enquired.

“A favor for a favor.” Illya clarified.

“Exactly. Just a teeny favor,” he said, emphasizing the point with the aid of his finger and thumb.

“Who are you?” asked Illya.

“You can call me Q”

“Q?” both agents chorused.

“Q,” Q repeated with uncharacteristic patience.

“What does Q stand for?” he blond agent asked.

“It doesn’t stand for anything. It’s what we are called.”

“We?”

“Yes. The Continuum.”

“Continuum?”

“Yes....”

“Excuse me,” Napoleon interrupted loudly. He glared at his partner. “Could we play twenty questions later.” He turned back to the stranger. “Exactly what is it you want? Why did you help us?”

Q ignored the question for a moment, his face sneering with disgust as he looked about their filthy, dank surroundings. “First, let’s go somewhere a little more comfortable, shall we?” He snapped his fingers.

In an instant, they were in a sumptuously decorated room. A penthouse suite, to be exact, looking suspiciously like Aunt Amy’s. They were seated around a large, oval walnut table, dressed in clean suits and smelling like they’d just stepped out of the shower. Solo’s facial bruising had disappeared and Kuryakin’s singed eyebrow was back in one piece.

“Why are we here? What is it you want?” Solo demanded.

“Well,” Q paused a second, choosing his words as he paced the floor, “much as it goes against my nature to appear in any way weak or lacking and, taking into consideration the fact that I did save your lives, am omnipotent and have the power, if I so desired, to move whole solar systems around the galaxy at my whim....”

“Whole solar systems?” Kuryakin queried with a slight smile.

“Yes,” Q insisted. “Do you doubt me?”

“It would be difficult to prove,” the agent replied.

“Well, how about a less showy demonstration?” Q offered. A flash of light and a curvaceous blond appeared in Solo’s lap, while a dusky skinned beauty materialized at his feet, looking adoring up at the smiling, dark haired agent. “And for you,” Q said, turning to Kuryakin. Another blaze of light, and four sheep were suddenly crowding around the Russian’s legs.

“Very funny,” Illya muttered, unamused. He looked at his partner, who seemed oblivious to them, engrossed in the attentions of the two females.

“Q!” Illya warned. Q simply smiled and all the creatures, lovely and ovine, disappeared. Napoleon seemed disappointed.

“Any further demonstrations? If you like, I could....”

“Q, what is it you want?” Solo interrupted, irritably, emphasizing each word.

Q took a deep breath. “Advice. Assistance. A favor, of sorts....”

“What sort of favor?” the senior agent asked tersely.

Q moved closer, resting a hand on either side of Solo’s chair as he leaned over him. “Women. You know a lot about them, don’t you?”

With a touch of facetiousness, Illya interjected to explain, “Napoleon has made it his life’s work to devote as much of his free time as possible to understanding the subject.”

“Exactly!” Q said excitedly, briefly turning towards Kuryakin with a grateful smile, as if the Russian had ratified a newly discovered theorem. His attention returned to the senior agent. “That’s why you’re here. I need to learn all you know about women.”

“How much time do you have,” Illya muttered.

“Oh, all the time in the known Universe,” Q replied seriously.

“Well, that explains why Napoleon is here,” Illya said with a touch of ire as he stood and moved to stand in front of Q, “but, why am I here?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Q replied, sounding not the least bit apologetic, “I thought you two came as a pair.”

Napoleon pushed at Q’s shoulder to move him aside, then rose from the chair to gaze out of the window. The view outside was exactly the same as the view from Aunt Amy’s penthouse; the buildings creating a broken erratic skyline, the hazy gray layer of smog, the almost constant sound of car horns and police sirens. It was so real, this bizarre dream, he simply had to play along and let it run its course. “Let me get this straight. You brought us here--wherever here is--just for a few tips on how to pick up women?”

“That’s right. Or, rather, a particular woman. She’s the captain of a starship.” He ignored the agents looks of confusion, his eyes taking on a glazed expression. “By human standards, quite an extraordinary woman.”

Kuryakin walked across the room, drawn by the smell of fresh coffee, and checked out the percolator and plate of cookies on the table. Happily, the coffee was hot. He poured himself a cup and dropped a couple of the biscuits onto the saucer next to it. He popped one of the cookies in his mouth and, as he chewed, asked, “If you are as powerful as you say, then why do you need to woo this woman. Why not just...” he fumbled for a suitable word, scattering crumbs around as he waved the remains of a cookie about in the air, “..make her desire you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Q managed to look insulted. “Besides, I want to experience it the way you humans do.” He hitched himself up to sit on the table. “You see, a while ago, I had the...opportunity, first hand, to experience what it was like to be human. You really are remarkable creatures, you know. You have all these rampant emotions that you have no control over. And your bodies are so fragile. If you get a hole in them, you leak. All over the place. Yet, you still manage to survive against astounding odds. Truly fascinating.” Whilst he looked wistful, Solo and Kuryakin exchanged glances, raising their eyes to the heavens.

Napoleon turned from his study of the outside world. “Q, it’s hard to give you advice without actually knowing this woman. People are individuals, they have different tastes. Some women enjoy an evening of dancing, some a stroll in the park. Some women just like to sit and talk.”

“Talk?”

“Yes, that’s were two or more people get together and exchange words. It’s how we mere mortals communicate,” Illya unnecessarily explained.

“I know all too well how much you humans like to talk.” Q turned back to Solo. “What else?”

“I like to send a woman flowers, it lets her know you’re thinking about her.”

“Flowers,” Q repeated, thoughtfully.

“Yes. Or candy. Just a small token, nothing too showy. Treat her to a meal, take her to the movies, but always, always, listen to her. Talk to her, appreciate her.”

Q nodded. “Anything else?”

“Q, there is no foolproof recipe, no surefire way. Each person is different, they see different things in different people, they want different things from a relationship. There is no guarantee. Just...try being yourself, act natural.” That earned a derisive snort from the Russian.

He stood before Solo again, pleading, “There must be more to it than that. Are you keeping something back?” Q eyed him suspiciously. “If it’s a question of payment, I can give you anything you want; as many women as you can make love to in a day, unlimited wealth, your own empire to rule.” He turned to look the Russian in the face and added, “A sense of humor.”

“This woman must mean a lot to you?” Napoleon asked.

“Oh, she does,” Q replied, with as much sincerity as he could muster.

“Well, I’ve never met this woman but I suspect she may find you a little overpowering,” the blond agent murmured.

“How would you know? What you know about women could be etched on the back of a positron.”

“Q”, Illya said, thoughtfully, “you have this amazing power. If I had this power, I would want to visit other solar systems, study other planets, other cultures, see the many wondrous things the universe had to offer.” He shook his head. “And all you can think of is to use this power to pursue a woman?” Illya sighed in wonderment.

“Are you sure he’s from earth? He doesn’t have any points on his ears,” Q asked Solo out of the corner of his mouth.

Solo smiled. “Despite what most people think, he is human.” Napoleon moved to stand next to his friend. “I’m sorry, Q. I just don’t think I can help any more than that.”

Q managed to keep his composure, letting out a theatrical sigh of disappointment. “Oh, that’s okay. I understand.” He nodded. “It’s beyond your capabilities.”

“No offense, but I think it’s beyond yours.” Napoleon stood, tugging down the hem of his jacket. “Now, if it’s all the same to you and since there is obviously no way mere mortals like ourselves can help, perhaps you could send us home. We do have a world to save, you know, and we are not omnipotent.”

“Of course.” Q tried to smile graciously. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Oh, and you,” he added as an afterthought, looking at the Russian. “I’ll try to take into consideration all you have told me. Are you both ready to go?” The two agents nodded, relief evident on both their faces. “Have a nice trip, then. Good-bye.” Q snapped his fingers and the humans disappeared with a pop, as the air rushed in to fill the void left behind.

The pleasant smile disappeared from his face at the same time as the agents vanished. “Losers,” he muttered sourly.

With the simple action of thought, a piece of white parchment appeared in his hand, and Q studied the long list of names there, diminishing by the hour as infinity began to look a little short on time.

Giovana Giacomo Cassanova = Earth

B’b’trith = Valtari Sigma

Clanad Jai = Bajor

Xyxstnth = small, unnamed volcanic moon orbiting fifth planet from the sun in solar system on the other side of this galaxy.

Napoleon Solo = Earth

Species with no name but recognized by strong, personal scent = Gantistina

Zaphod Beeblebrox = Betelgeuse Five

The long list continued on and on and, with frustration, Q conjured up a pencil and crossed Solo’s name off the list. He looked at the next one down and crossed that one off, too. “What in the Universe can a small, blue, slimy, limbless creature with a large nose and no vocal chords advise me about women.” He sighed again, reminding himself to have words with the Q who had provided him with this list of the Universe’s ‘All time Greatest Lovers’. He sometimes wondered if certain members of the Continuum took him seriously.

“Oh, well, Q, plenty more possibilities still to explore. Don’t give up yet,” he told himself, with renewed confidence, “after all, you do have all the time in the universe.”

The parchment sparkled out of existence. Q clicked his fingers and headed for another time and place.

There one second; back here the next. Illya stood frozen for a moment, regaining his equilibrium. His hand reached up to rake nervously through his hair, pausing for breath before turning to look at Napoleon. Likewise, the senior agent stood bewildered. He stared at Illya’s puzzled features. “What just happened here?”

Illya’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You tell me.”

“I’m not sure. I just had the strangest day dream of my life. Thrush must be coming up with some pretty potent concoctions, lately.”

Kuryakin looked down at his feet. His shoes trampled the pink rose petals that still littered the floor around him. Looking back at his partner, he took a deep breath and suggested calmly, “Let’s just leave.”

Solo nodded eagerly in agreement and, as they hauled themselves laboriously up the steep staircase, he stopped suddenly, causing Illya to bump into the back of him. “I don’t think we should tell anybody about this, okay?”

“Agreed. Besides,” he went on, as Napoleon continued upwards, “who would believe that some God-like presence, capable of moving whole galaxies around, stopped by just to ask your advice about women.”

Napoleon sneered at him as he held the door open for his friend, then with a serious expression, replied, “Well, who else in all the Universe would he go to? Hmm? Tell me that, Alphonse.....”

Behind them, the petals disappeared in a shimmer of light.

The End