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Although I spend most of my free time tending to my section of the garden as I'd planned, my thoughts invariably drift to the information contained in the Q data padd. I pull weeds so my flowers can grow and I imagine each weed as a faction inside the Continuum. The buds, the flowers represent individual Q. They can exist in perfect harmony in a single garden, if shown the proper care. That is the ultimate goal of Faction 1687. They believe the Continuum can unite under a hierarchal government, that there are some Q more powerful than others and that these few should lead the Continuum in a society carefully crafted into one harmonious unit.
As I nurture my flowers, I cannot refrain from seeing myself as their god.
Do I believe 1687 will ever accomplish perfection inside the Continuum? More importantly, do I believe in Faction 1687's cause? While I am convinced that a multilateral structure would only strengthen the Continuum, I'm unnerved by the possible parallels such a construct would hold with the Borg Collective. Maybe a race of superior beings aren't meant to ever unite under a single cause.
Grandma and I discuss this many a night over dinner. After long heated conversations, sometimes debating and other times agreeing with Grandma, I'm still uncertain where my loyalties lie. Each time I question this, she promptly asks, "Are you ready to contact your parents yet?"
"Not today," I respond time and again with a shake of my head. "I wouldn't know what to say to them."
I could never return to the simple life I lived aboard the Enterprise. With Data no longer there, it presents no intellectual challenge for me. Still, I'm unsure whether to choose life as a Q or live it out as a mortal. The Continuum is far more complex than I'd ever imagined.
After I finish each meal, I always excuse myself to my room where I read more from the padd. Before long, I'm carrying the data padd outside every day to the garden. The flowers become neglected as I spend more and more time sitting underneath the tree where Q had appeared and study the opposition of 1687. I savor the irony of it.
Probably their most virulent enemy is Faction 17, which has already caused the extinction of several other factions. I spend an entire day alone studying this strong opposition. While I have inconclusive evidence, I believe the Q who issued a death threat against me belongs to this faction. They believe that there should be far more restrictions on beings applying for membership into the Continuum. They contest that the admittance tests are a joke and the probationary period far too short for anyone entering into immortality. Therefore, they perceive all new Q as inferior, even going so far as to sanction the execution of any Q admitted into the Continuum within the last million years. Faction 17 sees a hierarchal government as a degeneracy of the Continuum. No Q can rule another Q. Outsmart, outweigh, or outlive. None of that is possible among omnipotent beings. This is why the Continuum has been at a stalemate for millennia and will continue to remain in such a state. Faction 17 sees their only possible means of winning through beguiling new members, wooing old, and maintaining their status quo through trickery. These are the beliefs and the tactics of Faction 17. I can only conclude that they are amoral and unjust. Should I join Faction 1687 solely for the chance to challenge Faction 17? It may be my only hope of preventing my own demise.
I discuss this option over dinner with Grandma. "If they are the ones threatening your life," Grandma begins, "then will joining Faction 1687 strengthen your ability to ward them off?"
"Probably," I respond. I don't tell her that I've been contemplating that very possibility, but I sense she knows this. "I must also consider that by joining any faction, I will greatly strengthen that faction's power over their oppositions. I am unique and they may attempt to exploit my telepathic ability."
Perhaps, you should get in touch with your parents. Share some of this with them," Grandma suggests. "Maybe they would begin to accept some of what has come between you if they knew what you were up against."
"Father would never understand what being a Q means to me. And Mother I couldn't bare to put her through any of this." I excuse myself and return to my room.
***
Although I continue to heed the warning of Q's messenger and read the contents of the data padd thoroughly, the days flow into weeks without any Q popping in to interfere with my life. I sense Grandma's growing doubt that we have anything to fear from Faction 17 or any other Q affiliation, despite what she's read and everything we've discussed. I, too, have my doubts, but not about Faction 17. I doubt Q's sincerity toward me. I doubt he has the courage to carry out his plan or that he really wants me to play a role in his political agenda. I doubt he cares about me.
Tossing the Q padd aside three weeks after it was given to me, I try not to think about it at least for a while. I lie down on my bed and close my eyes, not to sleep, but rather to imagine myself somewhere fanciful and free. If I can clear my mind of all the political agendas running rampant in the Continuum, I'll probably be able to focus better on the issues later.
Someone laughs in my face and I open my eyes to see the blurry image of a man. I had not intended to flash out of my room and question whether I am here under my own power. Backing up several steps, I bring his chubby cheeks and broad smile into focus. He comes fully erect, mouthing a fake creak in the back as though trying to elicit a laugh from me. This place is dark and bleak, mirroring his disposition. "Who are you?" I ask, maintaining an annoyed look.
"I don't know," he responds, shrugging. "You created me!"
For a millisecond, I entertain this possibility. "No, I didn't. You brought me here."
With a goofy grin, he shrugs. "Can't fool you. All right, then. I'm nobody, because nobody has to worry." He lets out another voluminous laugh.
"What faction are you from?"
He dances around in a little jig as he answers. "888. Isn't it great?" Four figures suddenly appear behind him, dancing and waving their arms around. As though they are holding invincible paint brushes, brilliant splashes of colors magically appear everywhere.
"That's certainly more appealing," I say in a mocking tone. I want to let him know he can't win me over with any ridiculous games. Unfortunately, he seems as oblivious to my emotions as I am sensitive to his.
"You think so? Well, then. Perhaps, you'll like this as well." He snaps his fingers and a carousel appears with three horses, white, black, and brown, playing festive music. "Go ahead. Get on and enjoy the ride!"
I sense sincerity from him. He really wants to show me a good time. What harm could accepting his little joy ride do? At least I wouldn't have to listen to his irritating banter. I approach the merry-go-round and nearly climb onto the brown horse when someone yells for me to stop. I turn around to see the red-headed Q, who had presented me with the goals of Faction 1687 a few weeks ago, standing next to this clown leader of Faction 888. Has she come to rescue me from this phantasmic creation? If so, why has she taken Q's place as my guardian angel?
"Ah, come on! I was only trying to let her have a little fun," the clown says. "She's been far too serious for such a young Q."
"And she needs the rhyming squad to show her direction in life? I don't think so." Red approaches me, and with a snap of her fingers, the carousel and all the bright colors disappear. "Come with me, Shannara. This is not the place for you." She grabs me by the arm and with a Q flash, we pop into my room. In the instant required to make the trip, I wonder why she has addressed me by my given name.
"Haven't you been reading the data padd I gave you?" she asks, concerned. She wanders the length of my room, searching for the discarded instrument. Finding it on the floor near my dresser, she bends down to retrieve the data padd and hands it to me. "Read it. If you come to the end, reread it again. These factions will try to lure you in by any means possible."
"Just as you have," I accuse her. "What reason do I have for trusting you and selecting your faction over all the others? If there's at least 1687 factions to choose from, I'm sure there are at least a few other suitable candidates for me."
"Even considering membership in a faction like 888 would be absurd. They are a group of losers, who show pride in accomplishing nothing. They are not even worthy of the time it takes for us to discuss them."
"You're probably right, but what of other factions? Let's consider 1688, for example. Maybe they have direction to offer me."
"There are no factions beyond 1687. The formation of new factions ceased when Q allied myself and a distinct group of reliable Q. We are the last."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at such an absurd belief. However, I cannot refrain from a wise Q crack. "Oh, which quack wrote that rule?"
"Make fun if you will. You obviously haven't read much of the material I've given you . Otherwise, you'd know the answer and understand the rightness of it."
"Give me a chance! I've been reading it every day, but there are gigabytes of information on that padd. I'll continue reading it, more out of curiosity than to appease your wishes. You owe me a few answers, as well. Why hasn't Q visited me in months? And why are you playing his messenger?"
"He's a very busy Q. It is my function in 1687 to recruit and train new members. For now, you will have to accept that answer as sufficient. I can share no more with a tentative member. Keep reading and I will return." She flashes out of my room.
Noooo!" I scream. I almost chase after her before realizing how futile that would be. I have no idea where she has gone. Instead, I calm myself and begin reading about another strong opposition of 1687. Sleep has only become a pastime anyway.
As I absorb page after page of information, I gain new insights into how the factions interact. Faction 17 has many enemies, but their enemies are not necessarily the allies of 1687. Faction 1010 is a prime example. I recall the altercation inside the Enterprise arboretum and ruminate over how I can further use this knowledge to my advantage.
I do not realize the lateness of the hour until Grandma presses my annunciator, asking to be invited into my room. Before responding, I hide the data padd in my desk drawer. Grandma doesn't need to be bothered by my new findings.
"Good morning, dear," she says. I sense she is feeling overly buoyant. Although this is not unusual for her, it has been a while since her worry for me has allowed her to feel this way. I'm glad I chose not to share information about faction 1010 with her.
"What has you in such high spirits this morning, Grandma?" I ask. I half-expect her to tell me that Mother is coming for a visit and am ashamed at the dread such a thought escalates in me.
"We're going to a wedding this weekend. Two long-time friends of mine have finally realized how right they are for one another. Being cooped up on the Enterprise, you've never experienced the pleasure of attending a full Betaziod wedding. You're in for a treat." She taps my nose with her finger. "And your mother was invited, but she declined the offer. She claims she can't request leave-time on such a short notice, but I sensed she's as anxious about seeing you again as you are about seeing her."
"I don't want to discuss either of my parents right now," I tell her. "Why don't you tell me about your friend instead?"
As she explains how she met and became friends with both the bride and the groom, I try not to appear too bored with the details. While I'll admit my knowledge of Betaziod customs is somewhat lacking, Mother has shared some information with me about her upbringing from time to time. Not only are the bride and groom and all their attendants expected to undress for a wedding ceremony, so are all viewing the ceremony. How could I ever feel comfortable naked among a group of strangers?
*I know you're frightened, little one,* Grandma sends telepathically. She holds out her hand for mine and as I accept her grasp, she smiles reassuringly at me. *There's really nothing to worry about. It's a perfectly natural part of being a Betaziod.*
"I haven't lived on Betazed all my life, Grandma. I can't simply jump from one way of life into another without a few obstacles. You can't expect me to simply embrace an ideal because you believe in it. You have to give me time to adjust."
"It's only a wedding. You needn't change your lifestyle for it, unlike your precious Q. My hopes were that you'd see this as an opportunity to enjoy yourself. You're far too serious for someone so young."
Although I dismissed the statement when spoken by the clown Q, Grandma's reiteration now brings me shame. Why have I always been so different from other children? Sometimes, I forget how to have fun. "I'm sorry. You were trying to make me feel better and I'm only managing alienate you as I have everyone else in my life. I'll go to your friends' wedding and I will enjoy myself."
Grandma wraps her arms around my shoulders and kisses me against the ridges. "I'm delighted to hear you say that, dear." She lowers her arms. "I have a meeting with the ambassador from Ktrill, but I'll be home in time for lunch." As I nod, she leaves my room to prepare for the meeting. She has kept her appointments to a minimum since I came to live with her and I know she has made sacrifices to manage this.
Despite my conviction, I'm unable to quench my fears. I remove my clothing and stand before my mirror. I examine every centimeter of my body and fixate on any imperfections no matter how miniscule. They are obvious to me and I convince myself that others will notice my imperfections. Why should a roomful of naked mortals scare me, when I'm able to face omnipotent beings without qualms? So intent on trying to prepare myself for the atmosphere of this wedding ceremony, I do not dress and remain inside my room, lying on my bed to read from the Q padd. I cross my legs and fold my arms, unable to stop the shame from exposing those areas. Exposing them to what, or whom? I ask myself. I am alone in my bedroom. If I can't manage some level of comfort like this alone, I will never survive an entire Betaziod wedding ceremony.
When Grandma returns and calls me down for lunch, I open my closet to hunt for something to slip on. A bold idea suddenly strikes me and I close my closet without grabbing an outfit. Grandma accepts me for what I am. As I race down the stairs, my heart pumping with euphoria, I don't consider that I may have an audience of more than one. I nearly topple down the last few steps when I see Mr. Homn waiting for me at the bottom. To his dignity, he doesn't flinch at the sight of me.
"Mr. Homn," I say, nodding. I attempt to appear calm and rational as I pass him.
The tall man servant fixes me quizzically and although he is usually quite taciturn, he speaks to me now. "Perhaps, you wish for me to fetch you a robe."
"That won't be necessary."
Grandma appears in the doorway to the dining room. Her eyes grow wide and I sense that she is confounded by my appearance. "Shannara Rozhenko, what has gotten into you?" she demands. Her expression immediately softens as she comes to me and places an arm around my shoulder. Glancing back at her man servant, she says, "Mr. Homn, please get her a robe." Instead of escorting me to the dining room where our food is waiting, Grandma leads me across the foyer to sit with me on the bench next to the guest closet. "I believe I was a little insensitive to your needs earlier. You're experiencing a lot of changes, probably more than most teenagers. Your father undoubtedly thrust Klingon rituals upon you and now I'm doing the same with my culture. I'm sorry, little one. I'm trying to understand your needs and to help you sort through your confusion."
"I want you to be proud of me," I say, wishing I knew how to behave as the granddaughter of an ambassador should. "I want to be a Betazoid."
"You don't have to be a Betazoid for me to be proud of you. Just be true to yourself"
"Then why insist that I attend All Souls? Why force me to interact with other children I have nothing in common with?"
I sense a deep sadness within Grandma. "I had hoped that you would discover some common ground with them. I know your Betaziod part is lesser than your Klingon, but you're telepathic and I thought you could take advantage of that within this culture."
"I don't know where I fit in."
Before Grandma can respond, Mr. Homn returns with the requested robe. As I slip it on, I think about my place in the Continuum and wonder whether I will even fit in somewhere among the Q.
We walk into the dining room and sit down opposite from one another. *You will fit in with me. We will fit in together, I promise,* Grandma sends to me telepathically.
I smile, trying to shield my fears without Grandma realizing I'm doing so. If she knew about the threat that Faction 1010 posed, she wouldn't be so confident now.
******
"So we arrive in clothes and then we remove them before entering the chapel room?" I say quizzically. "Why bother with clothes at all?"
"Shannara, my dear," Grandma responds, "this is part of an ancient tradition. Betazed did not always have climate control technology and no matter how advanced we become, there are some traditions that must endure the test of time." She reaches into my closet and pulls out two dresses. "Now which one do you want to wear, the red or the blue?"
"The red one." I take the dress from her and hold it up to my chest. "Are we allowed to wear jewelry or things in our hair?"
"Yes. Jewelry is not considered taboo, because it doesn't cover up the intent. Entering into a marriage naked is seen as a symbol of opening oneself up completely to another."
"And the viewers nakedness is seen as an extension of that," I conclude. "I will offer them my support to the best of my ability."
Pleased with my commitment, Grandma leaves me to get ready herself. After changing into the dress, I sit at my vanity and select matching earrings and a necklace. I find a set of matching silver hair combs and pull my hair back with them.
Although I don't hear or see anyone in the room, I'm suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that someone is watching me primp for the wedding. Jerking sideways in my chair, I quickly scan the room. No one is here. I get up from my chair and walk over to the bed. Lying on its edge, is a thin notebook. I know who has sent it before I open its cover. Somehow, I knew she would make the next move.
*****
The undressing room is crowded and stifling. I watch as other guests remove their clothing while I cling to a few more moments of closure. Nudging me gently, Grandma says, "Please hurry, dear, or we won't find close seating." She places her own dress on a hanger and then hands a hanger to me.
Once I finally strip off my clothes and hang them up, I follow Grandma closely into the chapel room. She pauses to say "hello" to a few friends along the way, while I find comfort in studying the pattern in the tile floor. Her confidence is almost overwhelming to me. She has embraced the traditions and beliefs of the Betaziod culture all her life. Although Mother grew up on Betazed, she has spent most of her adult life away from its environment and has developed diverse habits from the many cultures she's come in contact with. I wish I could adapt so easily.
We find decent seats, but quickly the pews fill up with guests crowding us on either side. I fight the urge to cross myself and slip my hand inside Grandma's. Probing the minds around me, I realize that no one is as uncomfortable as I am. Most of them have probably attended several Betaziod weddings and many even as the bride or groom. This is their culture, not mine.
The priest and the groom step up to the podium and everyone anxiously waits for the bride to walk down the aisle. Unlike traditional weddings on Earth where the bride is walked down the aisle by her father or a significant man in her life, a bride in a Betaziod ceremony walks down the aisle alone, completely opening herself up to her groom. No matter how powerful or how intelligent I become, I doubt I will ever freely open myself to another.
Picking up my thoughts, Grandma sends to me, *Shannara, you're only thirteen. You have many years left to search for your perfect mate.* I sense her own sadness in that statement. She has longed for a companion for many years, but since my grandfather's death, she has been unable to find a perfect mate.
Leaning my head on her shoulder, I think to her, *you still have years left too, Grandma.*
The bride, a tall, thin woman about Grandma's age, steps through the door and the organist begins playing the Betaziod version of "Here comes the bride." The bride practically waltzes down the aisle with such confidence I have never known. Her love for the groom radiates in her smile, in her eyes. Betazoids are so open with each other. Why can't I acclimate to their way of life? Mother, probably even Father, would be pleased if I chose to live life out as a Betaziod rather than a Q. These thoughts continue to bounce around inside my head as the bride and groom exchange vows. *****
However, that night when I return to my bedroom and retrieve the notebook I found earlier, I know my destiny is not to live my life out on Betazed. I cannot leave the Continuum, because the Continuum will not leave me.
Faction 1010, I know their leader. For all her professed hatred of me, she is making an intense effort to win me over to her faction. In her handwritten notes, she presents arguments for why the Continuum needs to remain divided by factions. She believes that if the Q are left without any opposition, they would all grow bored and the Continuum would collapse into ruins. Every Q needs to engage in combat periodically to continue to thrive. She cites factions such as 888 and 529 as prime examples of what becomes of Q who choose inaction over battle. Why is she so desperate for my loyalty? Obviously, she sees capitalizing on my telepathy as a more efficient way to learn the weaknesses of her opponents.
As I question her motives, I also consider her methods. Why did she choose a primitive form of communication? A data padd would have yielded more proficient results, allowing her to fine- tune her arguments as Q did his. I can only conclude that her handwriting itself is meant to convey her desire to see the Continuum move backwards rather than forward; remain in chaos and abandon any foolish notions of living in peace.
"But what makes her believe I will agree with her?" I wonder aloud.
She pops in on top of my desk, startling me. "Do you accept my proposition?" she asks. "I'm offering you a fairly prestigious position among my Q."
"You haven't given me much time to think about it," I respond. "I'm sure you're aware that I have another offer. Q gave me my powers. He brought me into the Continuum and because of him, I've witnessed the chaos and resentment that runs amuck throughout the Continuum. He believes that unity will solve many of the Q's problems."
"A foolish belief! Chaos is what holds the Continuum together. If you were not clouded by the ethics of mortals, you'd see why Q's proposal is so laughable. Has he told you about the time he was banished from the Continuum?"
My surprise betrays my ignorance as I flounder for rebuke. "You think you're so much better than everyone else," I manage weakly.
"I thought he hadn't told you." She smiles slyly. "One must wonder what other secrets he's keeping from you. How can he envision a Continuum in perfect alliance if he can't even be completely honest with his prodigy child?"
"I'm sure he has his reasons for not telling me his side of the story. Regardless of what you believe, I don't feel he's betrayed me just because he hasn't told me about one small portion of his history."
"A very significant portion."
Glaring at her my nostrils flaring, I feel the Klingon in my rising to the surface. "I don't know if Q's ideals are possible, but I think I'll pass on becoming your lackey."
She scoffs at this as though I am refusing a favor. She needs me. For some reason, she is afraid that her faction will collapse without my assistance. She will have to do better than bullying me to win my support.
"You're afraid Faction 17 will destroy you. They want to kill me as well."
"Of course, they do," she replies. "17 opposes any new admissions into the Continuum. Join my faction and I will offer you protection against them."
"Don't even listen to her," another says from across the room. I turn to see Red. "She can offer you nothing. She merely wants to exploit you for her own selfish gains."
The Q on my desk nearly falls off as she bursts into laughter once again. "Like you're a good authority. Maybe I'd find you had more credibility if you didn't bow to Q's every wish. He has you wrapped around his little finger."
"Enough!" I scream. "Right now, none of you can have me." I look Red squarely in the eyes. "You tell Q: if he wants me to join him in his cause, he better show up to discuss it with me in person. I don't enjoy relaying messages to a go-between. Both of you be gone. I will listen to neither of you any further." I lie on my bed and pick up my data padd from my nightstand and begin reading a novel. It is a Betazoid romance, nothing to do with any Q, nor any political agendas.
For a brief moment, I sense such hostility between the two Q that I expect a blood bath to ensue. My bedroom cannot become a Q battleground! I consider placing them both inside a penalty box, but then they both flash out on their own.
I set the data padd aside. Reading the novel was only feigned as an attempt to convince them of my disinterest. I cannot lie to myself as easily as I do them. For each day as I uncover another layer of the complex nature of the Continuum, I become more and more intrigued by it. I expect I will hear from more Q representing other factions in the near future. They will use whatever means possible to win me over, trickery, collusion, bribery. I must be prepared for their onslaught.
They will be coming.
