Q had come to call it ‘the zap’ – it was the preferred mode of transportation among the Q Continuum, and he often wondered how these puny mortals survived without it. He marveled at the inferiority of these beings – at best, they lived most infinitesimal lifetimes, all the while squandering their meager years concocting spaceships to carry them across the galaxies. Even with slipstream technology (a feat he thought humans would never learn and a snail’s walk compared to ‘the zap’), at best they had only scratched the surface of what the universe had to offer. Poor things – being mortal, their lives just weren’t long enough to be able to traverse the vast expanse of space in this fashion. That was why Q often helped them by ‘zapping’ them to different locations of his choice – often to places they would never be able to travel in their puny lifetimes. One would think these humanoids would be thankful to the Continuum for such a gift – yet, to Q’s surprise, one of his zaps was often met with hostility, annoyance, and even downright indignation.

Nevertheless, Q loved to zap himself around the galaxy, visiting different species and amusing himself with their petty antics. Yet, for all the myriads of times he had traveled in this fashion, this was the first time someone had used it on him without his permission. ‘Maybe Jean-Luc has a point…this is rather intruding’, thought Q with annoyance as he felt his essence being dismembered, molecule by precious molecule…or whatever it is a “Q” is made of.

“Just who does she think she is, zapping ME? Just wait ‘till I get my hands on her!” Q said indignantly as he found himself temporarily disoriented and momentarily stunned by the woman’s sudden control over him. Maybe it was his imagination, but it almost seemed as if the lady in red was toying with him, leaving Q in this bewildered and dismembered state slightly longer than was necessary. Before he could ponder this thought any longer, however, the scene around him cleared as his molecular being reverted back to its original coherent form. From Q’s first look of things, it appeared that the situation had gotten worse, as he had gone from the proverbial frying pan and into the fire.

The first thing Q saw were bars – solid white bars – yet they were not made of metal, but rather a form of energy similar to the white light the Continuum used to transport themselves. ‘Am I in some sort of cosmic jail?’ thought Q, as he pondered what kind of being would have the power to confine him in such a fashion. As Q took a look around him, however, he discovered (much to his humiliation and chagrin) that this confinement was much worse than he had originally imagined. He was not in a jail cell, as he had first believed – but a cage! On every side were those white bars, and every attempt to get too close to them was welcomed by a sudden jolt of energy that made Q’s insides tingle in a most uncomfortable way. What’s worse, Q suddenly became suddenly aware of a musty odor beneath his feet. As he looked down to see what the source of the smell was, he was repulsed to discover that something akin to damp straw had been scattered on the floor of the cage.

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” stated Q with disbelief and disgust.

No sooner had Q said those words than the darkness beyond the cage bars dissolved, as several bright white flashes of light erupted around him, immediately followed by the artificial light of what seemed to be spotlights – one of which was trained directly on his face, blinding him and making him sweat from the heat.

“I demand to know what is going on here!” screamed Q, incensed at being treated in such a humiliating fashion.

“Demand? YOU demand?!” the voice boomed over a loudspeaker, followed by hysterical laughter. The voice was female – it was she – the lady in red. But she didn’t sound so sweet and innocent as before. Q’s inner workings turned knots as he began to realize the full implications of what had happened. Not only had the woman’s memory of her past returned, but she had also had an epiphany – a realization – of her true identity, a feat even Q had not been successful in originally erasing from her memory.

Q cringed in horror as a dreaded sound he had not heard in years – and never wanted to hear again – began to pound in his superior ears. It was something he had heard once during a visit to earth – and had vowed at the time would never subject himself to again. That macabre experience had haunted his dreams – nightmares, even – since that one fateful day he had stepped into that awful place. Indeed, such images were the thing of legends – stories of terror told by earth beings over the ages of time, some most likely meant to scare little children into such obedient acts as eating their broccoli or going to bed on time. So revolting was its influence over mortals that it had even served to inspire such earth customs as songs, shirts, movies, and websites devoted to their disturbing and torturous images.

‘It couldn’t be…who could be so devious as to think up such a thing?’ thought Q, shuddering in horror as he realized his worst fears and most disturbing nightmares were all coming to fruition, as he stood there, helpless in his caged prison. Yes - it was the sound of one of the most hideous pastimes of all time, surpassing almost all atrocities of all galaxies – with the exception of maybe the Magog, or the Borg.

“No, it can’t be…not a CIRCUS!” screamed Q in terror. ‘What sort of masochistic perverted being would choose such a method of torture?’ Surely, this lady in red was not playing games. “No clowns…please, don’t let there be clowns!” prayed Q to whoever or whatever benevolent mind he was hoping might be listening to his plea.

“Oh, the horror!” bellowed Q as he shut his eyes tightly and covered his ears in pain at the sights and sounds around him. He didn’t want to watch…didn’t want to hear…yet, Q was horrified to discover that he was opening his eyes and unclamping his ears, despite his repulsion at the events around him. As if compelled by some unseen and mysterious force even he could not comprehend, Q found himself under some sort of hypnotic gaze, powerless to fight the urge to watch and listen. There he was, in a cage, under the circus big top. Gathered around him were hundreds of jeering spectators – it was the bar patrons of Seefra-1 he had transported earlier! ‘I had planned on using those smelly humanoids to torment Rhade and Dylan!’ thought Q in despair. All around him was music, jeering, and leering.

Then suddenly she appeared – the lady in red - but this time she was different. Instead of the feminine yet provocative muslin dress, instead she wore the garb of a circus ringmaster – of sorts. The woman was still the familiar lady – er, woman – in red, but now she wore a bright red coat with tails and a bright red top hat, underneath which flowed her long beautiful brown hair, cascading over her shoulders. Underneath it all, the black bodice was now gone – and in it’s place was a skin tight cat suit and tall black boots. In her right hand she held a whip, and in the other hand she held a microphone. If Q were not so incensed and horrified by what was happening, no doubt he would have found the new garb of this former plaything of his particularly pleasing to the eyes. She still had a faint hint of sweetness about her, but now it was lurking underneath a layer of mysterious and dangerous power. She was beautiful – intensely beautiful. Q didn’t know which look he preferred, but he knew one thing - there was no time for ogling…she meant business.

Once again, the woman’s voice bellowed over the loudspeaker.

“Let the circus begin!”

Q knew, for the first time in his existence, he was in for a heap of trouble.

The Magog were the first to arrive – dressed in clown garb. In they came - running in every direction, around Q’s cage and up and down the aisles. Every now and then there were horrified screams, as one of them would grab a Seefran spectator and use his or her body for a place to spawn more Magog. All around were squeals, screams, and venom flying as more and more victims met their fate at the hands of the murderous Magog clowns. Q cringed in fright as one of the Magog lunged at him, trying to grab him through the cage, his grotesque paw coming only centimeters from Q’s neck before running out of room. Immediately, there was a snap of the whip as the lady in red screamed a command through the microphone.

“STOP!!”

As quickly as they had begun their tirade, the Magog fell silent as they meekly awaited further orders.

“Here…NOW!”

Quickly, the Magog stepped in line and surrounded the woman. Q wondered for a moment if they were going to spring into action and attack her, but he found himself dumbstruck as they simply sat down in a circle around her, heads bowed in submission.

‘What kind of being subdues the Magog?’ wondered Q. ‘Certainly she must be even more powerful than I am!’

In the distance, Q heard the moans of those that had been impregnated by Magog eggs. Then another figure entered the arena. The silhouette was unrecognizable at first, but the moment Q saw them – the leather trousers – he knew it could only mean one thing. Either Telemachus Rhade had arrived, or Dylan-Herc (somewhat difficult to tell, since both of them were clad in tight leather trousers now). It was Dylan.

“Good to see you, buddy!” shouted Q through his barred cage. “Will you do something about this insane woman and get me out of here? You are a Paradine, after all!”

Dylan-Herc only ignored Q as he walked up into the stands, pulled out his forcelance, and proceeded to do mercy killings on all those that had been infested with Magog eggs.

“You…KILLED THEM??” screamed Q incredulously as Dylan-Herc returned to the arena floor. “Is that what you call helping?”

“Well, I am a Paradine, aren’t I?” stated Dylan-Herc matter-of-factly. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? Play with the lives of others?”

“Well….ah…” for once in his existence, Q had nothing to say.

From behind him Q heard the sound of scraping, which reminded him of fingernails scraping against an ancient chalkboard – except worse. This sounded more like bone on metal. ‘Must be another form of torture dreamed up for their amusement,’ thought Q. But who was making that completely horrific and awful noise?

Before Q could ponder it any further, however, the lady in red spoke again.

“Oh relax, Q! He only killed the ones that were infested. Besides, you have to admit these Seefrans, for the most part, are pretty annoying. I mean, first there’s Thomas with the large mouth and empty book he liked to preach out of, then there’s that old man that kept spreading rumors about the ghost of Rambamajam or something-or-other. But I have to say the worst by far had to be that crazy woman with the bird on her head!”

“That was not a bird. It was a hat.” From behind him, Q heard Rhade’s unmistakable voice as he stepped out of the darkness and into the light of the arena.

“Okay, so it was a bird feather hat. But she still could have removed it while you two were…” the lady’s voice dropped off.

“I was thinking the same thing as we were sealing our deal. I would have liked to ask her, but she’s gone now. Shot down by Dylan’s forcelance.”

“Goodbye, and good riddance!” replied the woman. Her clothing was not the only thing that was red at this point. Her face blushed crimson as well.

Rhade, sensing the rising conflict, tried to sooth her fears. “Yes indeed, good riddance. She meant nothing to me anyway. Like I said, we were just sealing a deal.”

“Do you always seal your deals that way?” The woman’s voice rose and became uneasy. Maybe it was Rhade’s imagination, but he could have sworn he saw her bottom lip quiver just a bit.

“Are you jealous?” Rhade’s eyes twinkled at the woman in mischievous amusement. She was so cute when she was snarky.

Seeing Rhade begin to get the upper hand on her, the woman steeled herself for her comeback. “No more than you when you think of me with Dylan-Herc.”

Rhade’s countenance immediately changed at the mention of his competitor, Dylan Hunt. A deep growl came forth from Rhade’s innermost being. Seeing that the point hit home with Rhade, the lady in red giggled.

“You’re so cute when you’re angry, sweetie! Come here and give me a kiss!”

Rhade, still being in a bit of a jealous rage, hesitated as a boyish pout spread across his face.

“I’ll let you slip me the Frenchie this time,” offered the woman mischievously as she twirled her whip flirtingly.

Although it sounded inviting, nevertheless her reference to “Frenchie” was something so vague and obscure that at first Rhade did not understand. Puzzled, he quickly pondered what the term could mean, and hoped he could figure it out before the lady withdrew her invitation. Frantically, Rhade scanned his memory for answers. Almost immediately his mind went back to a class he took at the academy on Terazed. It dealt with ancient Earth history and culture, and young Rhade had decided to do his particular report on France. He had gone into the library to do research, only to discover that he had come across much more information in the library’s database than he had originally bargained for or intended on succoring. So interesting was this information that he stayed up half the night reading about it. Rhade’s mind switched back to the present. Bewildered, he pondered in amazement how such a sexy Nietzschean of his age and proper breeding, even up until now, still had never been made privy to such an experience. It was unnatural. And it was Dylan’s fault. But that was about to change. The woman had said “Frenchie” in relation to kissing, and that could mean only one thing – it was his turn to experience this phenomenon.

After Rhade had spent a moment pondering, immediately he sprang into action and swaggered to where the lady was standing. Taking her a bit by surprise (it was his first time), he grabbed her quickly and forcefully, and in a fit of passion the two proceeded to enjoy the ancient experience together. Occasionally Rhade would let out a deep growl, while all the time the spectators and Magog sat there in stunned silence. The kiss seemed to Q to be one that would not stop any time soon. Q paced the floor of his cage, using this opportunity to try and figure out a way of escape from his prison. The only other movement came from Dylan as he shuffled his feet nervously, wondering if he should have used his forcelance instead on the conniving Nietzschean that had stolen his potential girlfriend, and not the Seefran spectators.

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