Dylan’s jealous musings of Rhade were halted as Q continued his tirade of ranting and screaming.

“ME ME ME ME ME!! I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO ME!!”

The lady in red reluctantly stopped declaring her undying love to her Nietzschean man, turned, and moved toward Q’s cage slowly and purposely. As she approached, Q calculated her movements carefully. ‘If I can get her close enough, I can use the opportunity to strangle the life out of that annoying temptress,’ he schemed.

‘He wants to strangle me,’ thought the lady, once again using her telepathic powers to read Q’s mind. ‘Hmpf…like I’d ever let him touch me.’ As she approached, the lady noticed that Q’s hands were close – incredibly close – temptingly close, even – to the bars of his prison. A sinister sparkle shone in her eyes as she flicked her whip in Q’s direction, just catching the tip of his index finger. Q, not being privy to experiencing pain in this manner, had a low threshold for it. He doubled over, writhing in agony.

“Ouch! That hurt! You just wait till I get out of here, you miserable little tart!” sniveled Q, by this time whimpering like a baby and coddling his injured finger.

“Aww, what’s the matter Q…is this game getting too rough for you?” answered the lady in mock baby talk.

Q glared back at her as tears began to well up in his eyes…but he was unable to reply. His bottom lip and chin quivered slightly.

‘She’s a woman…I’ll play on her emotions,’ thought Q. ‘Then when I have her where I want her, I will play out my revenge. She will be sorry she ever messed with me!’

Q immediately fell to his knees and groveled. “Please, please, please…I have learned my lesson. I was a bad Q. Please set me free, please! I promise I will never trifle with anyone’s lives ever again in this manner. From now on, it’s a new Q. I’ve turned over a new leaf. I will do only nice things. I will give to the poor. I will kiss babies. I will pet puppies and kittens. Just please don’t leave me here! Why are you doing this to me?”

The lady, however, was no more moved by his feeble attempts for compassion as Q was when he left her on that field – alone – at the mercy of those smelly, randy, toothless men. Had it not been for Rhade, they would have certainly had their way with her. The lady continued to address Q.

“Don’t you remember when you told me I was the queen of this game? What was it you compared it to…chess, was it? Okay Q, here’s my game…you are the pawn, and I am the manipulator of pawns. The chessboard…well, I prefer the circus setting to a boring game board. And the rules…well, they are whatever I say they are.”

Q’s mood quickly changed to his old arrogant self, once he realized his attempts at subduing the lady in red were fruitless. He snarled back at her in anger.

“That’s crazy! How do you expect me to play this game?”

“You know, it’s funny you should ask that, considering you were so eager to have me molested by those ugly smelly snaggle-toothed men not too long ago.” The image was still ripe in her mind – and the more she thought about it, the madder she became. The odor of that three-toothed man still lingered in her mind, and it would take months of bathing in scented oils and perfumes erase the stench of that memory. The only good thing to come out of that incident was that she got to see three men in tight leather trousers defending her honor – and got her first liplock from Telemachus Rhade. ‘What a kisser,’ she mused as she remembered how it felt to be grabbed like that, in that open field, those big strong arms holding her and making her feel safe and secure. Then she remembered how Q had originally tried to kiss him herself by taking on her visage and persona. It was then that the lady began to anger once more.

‘I’m in trouble. The sympathy act didn’t work,’ thought Q quickly as he saw the woman’s nostrils begin to flare in that old familiar fashion he knew so well. She was losing her temper, and while Q had aforetime found that facial expression particularly adorable, now that the lady had regained not only her memory but also her powers, it was a bit less cute – and more dangerous –especially for him. Q had to think, and think quickly.

‘It’s time to turn on the old Q charm,’ Q thought as he regained his composure for yet another attempt to free himself from his prison.

“Um, honey, you know I would never have let those men harm you.”

Q, expecting for the old charm act to work the same as it had countless times with a countless number of women (and men), was befuddled to discover that everyone just stared blankly back at him. All were unmoved by Q’s attempt; everyone, that is, except Telemachus Rhade. The Nietzschean, remembering how uncomfortable he felt when those smelly men kept staring at his trousers, glared, growled, and snarled back at his caged nemesis. Thinking back even further, Rhade remembered their first private encounter, when the Q had had the audacity to show up in his bedroom pretending to be a woman – his woman. Well, she wasn’t his woman at the time, but that particular detail didn’t matter at this point. The experience was absolutely horrid to the masculine Nietzschean. He could still remember that scent – the scent of Q. The idea of that man so close to Rhade still made the manly Nietzschean shudder in horror.

‘I still can’t believe I fell for that. Of all the sick, obscene, inhumane things to do, to actually make me almost kiss him. If word of this ever got out to my family, I’d be disowned, dishonored, and disgraced,’ thought Telemachus as he continued to sneer at the groveling man in the cage. To compensate for his embarrassment and the flush he was feeling coming to his face, Rhade adjusted his leather trousers in such a way to compensate, thereby making him even more appealing to the other females present. In addition, he stuck his Gauss gun into the front of his pants and stood there with his hands on his hips, chest thrust out, assuming his most manly position.

In the meantime, Q continued in his feeble attempt to appease the others. “Really! You know I would never let any harm come to you, my love…my pet…don’t you?” Q winked at the lady in red in the most flirtatious manner he could muster. After all, desperate times called for desperate measures, and Q was pulling out all the stops. He had forgotten, however, that on the other side of the object of his flirtation was a snarling, growling, sneering, and very jealous Telemachus Rhade – and his genetically superior eyes caught every bit of Q’s advances.

Rhade screamed and lunged past the lady and at the cage, his boneblades extended and ready to slice into Q’s throat in an instant. At the last second, however, Rhade pulled back when he remembered the unpleasant effect those bars had given Q the first time the lady’s prisoner had gotten too close to them. It was then that his Nietzschean survival instinct kicked in and Telemachus stopped, a mere inch short of becoming the recipient of his own shock and pain. Rhade, not being a man that could quell his temper very quickly, nevertheless did not want to take his frustrations out on his new sweetheart, so he turned around – slowly, purposely, and forcefully.

“Honey,” he began slowly, trying his ever-loving best not to raise his voice at his beloved. “Will you please let down those bars…so I can kill him?” Rhade’s jaws hurt from the amount of force he was using to grit his teeth.

“But dear, you can’t kill him. He’s a Q.”

Rhade breathed a few times to calm himself down. ‘Truly, this woman needs to know what kind of a temper I have,’ he thought to himself. Still, he did love her, and despite the fact that he was very jealous and annoyed at the moment, Rhade could not help but notice just how simply adorable she looked, her bottom lip pouted out like that.

“Can…I…at least…maim him?” asked Rhade through his still gritted teeth.

“Well…” the lady thought for a moment. “I dunno. It goes against my grain to kill any living being. Let me think about this for a minute.”

Meanwhile, Dylan and Beka had stopped yet another round of kissing and were watching the scene with interest. Dylan spoke.

“You allowed me to kill those spectators.”

“But they were infested by Magog eggs,” answered the lady as she continued to ponder whether or not to let Rhade do bodily harm to Q.

“And I used my forcelance to do it…see? See my forcelance? Have you seen it?” Dylan raised his forcelance at Beka and the lady in red, displaying it proudly. Rhade put his right hand on his Gauss gun that was still sticking out of the front of his pants. Beka was impressed with the forcelance display. The lady in red, however, was not…being otherwise preoccupied in her own thoughts.

“Don’t interrupt me while I’m thinking, Dylan,” she answered.

Rhade was finding it harder and harder to maintain his cool, and his neck muscles twitched in expectation while his fingers began tapping on his gun. He had been asked to be patient for far too long by far too many people, and his patience was wearing thin. Sure, he loved the red clad lady (though he still did not know her name) – even respected her. But honest to Vedran, she was beginning to drive him crazy – not only in her delay of a decision, but hormonally speaking as well. As he continued to gaze upon her, Rhade notice that she looked even more scrumptious in that cat suit than she had in the muslin dress. The anxious Nietzschean didn’t know how long he could hold out when he thought about what might be in store for him that evening, and his fingers began to tap on his gun even faster as the seconds ticked. It was then that the lady, being telepathic, picked up on her man’s urgency.

‘My goodness, he is a feisty puppy, isn’t he?’ the lady thought with a mixture of both excitement and a little bit of anxiousness herself. ‘What have I gotten myself into, getting involved with such a hot-blooded genetically advanced yet overly hormonal man?’ It was then that the lady decided within herself that the worst thing she could do at this time was make Rhade wait any longer than he had to. While it was often cute to watch guys shuffle their feet in nervousness over her intentional stalling (and it was for this reason she often did it), to tease an urgent male Nietzschean like Telemachus Rhade in this manner could prove to be dangerous. Yes, a decision had to be made…and now. And, fortunately for the both of them, the lady in red had the perfect solution.

“I have something better than maiming him, Rhade,” she answered, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

It was then that Beka chimed in.

“What could be better than a dead or disfigured Q?” she asked, shrugging her shoulders. Dylan nodded in agreement. Rhade was still a bit wild eyed; nevertheless, he appeared slightly calmer than before as he awaited his lady’s answer.

A sinister grin spread across the lady’s face.

“A traveling freakshow Q,” she answered.

The three of them looked at one another in a slightly confused fashion. Then the three of them looked at Q, who looked back in an even more slightly confused fashion. Then the four of them looked at the lady, who looked back at them, still with the sinister grin on her face. It was then that the three – Rhade, Beka, and Dylan – began to look at each other, then at Q, then back at the lady with understanding. A smile crept across their faces as they realized what her words implied. Yes, Q the Freak. That was definitely better than Q the Maimed, or Q the Dead.

Q still looked confused.

The lady cleared her throat and spoke in an authoritative tone. “Q, you are hereby found guilty and sentenced to travel as a freak in this circus for the remainder of your natural life.”

It was then that Q finally understood.
 

Q was mortified. The horror…the humiliation…the thought of having to travel with Magog in clown outfits…the old horrendous memories and visages of that first circus visit haunted Q’s mind, and the lady’s verdict was almost more than he could bear. 
 

“A freak?? You want me to stay in this stinky filthy cage and travel as a sideshow attraction for a bunch of dirty, smelly, superstitious, and stupid Seefran spectators?”  
 

“For the rest of your natural life,” repeated Ms. Red, never batting an eye. 
 

“But I’m immortal!” Q protested, raising both hands in the air in frustration and panic. 
 

The lady thought for a second. “Hmmm…oh yes, that’s right, I had forgotten about that.” Q’s visage brightened for one split second, but that hope was dashed when the lady in red continued. “Well, you should have many stories to tell. I’ll be sure to check in on you from time to time to hear them.” 
 

“Wait a minute!” screamed Q incredulously. “I’ve had no statements read, no witnesses, no lawyer. This isn’t fair! And what happened to my performing jury?? I demand a jury!!” Q stamped his feet and stirred up yet another cloud of dust. This time, it was Q that sneezed. 
 

“Bless you,” replied Dylan.  
 

“Oh shut up, you idealistic, hairy-chested, leather-clad, long-haired half-god-immortal!” screamed Q at Dylan, who had until now forgotten that he was still wearing his attire from the time he had encountered his old friend Iolaus. 
 

‘I wonder what happened to Iolaus?’ Dylan-Herc thought. 
 

“That wasn’t very nice, Q,” scolded Beka. 
 

“And you.” Q then pointed his finger at Beka, still clad in her leotards. “You pesky, self-centered, Little Miss Arrogant…” 
 

“Hey, that’s the Nietzschean Matriarch you’re addressing. Show some respect!” warned Rhade. While he couldn’t say as he disagreed with Q’s choice of words, nevertheless it was his duty to protect her…even if that meant doing it reluctantly. Rhade almost wished he had kept quiet, however, when the lady in red shot him a jealous look the likes of which he had aforetime never seen from any female he had ever encountered. 
 

‘What a feisty jealous wench,’ Telemachus Rhade thought within himself with a slight bit of dread, mixed with extreme excitement. ‘What exactly have I gotten myself into?’ The lady continued to stare at him, boring holes into Rhade, with her left eyebrow raised and her right eye squinted. ‘Ah, the evil eye,’ thought Rhade. It was then that Telemachus decided he needed to appease her – after all, if he made her mad at this point, there was no way he was going to taste any of her sweet scrumptious goodness later. He gently, slowly, and cautiously chose his words. 
 

“I have to protect her…even if I don’t like her,” he said with a shrug. Her response was not exactly the appeasement Rhade had been hoping for, but the fact that Q had not stopped his continuous ranting about seeing a performing jury seemed to take her attention off of him somewhat, which made Rhade breathe a sigh of relief. 
 

“Where’s the performing jury???” demanded Q once more. 
 

“You saw them,” the lady answered through gritted teeth, still glaring at Rhade. As she continued to scowl at him, however, the lady couldn’t help but admit to herself that it was no use. Any attempt to remain angry with someone so delightfully sexy was futile. The sight of Telemachus standing there, looking so scrumptious in those tight leather trousers, was enough to melt even the coldest of hearts. And, fortunately for Telemachus Rhade, the lady’s heart was not cold at all. It burned with desire for the things she loved and wanted, and the object standing in front of her was no exception. As she stood there gazing at him, her _expression gradually softening into one of slight annoyance, it was then that she noticed, for the first time, Rhade’s Gauss gun sticking out the front of his pants. It was no use – the very sight of him made her melt, and resistance was futile. The lady’s passionate thoughts were once again interrupted, however, when Q once again continued in his inquisition. 
 

“When? When did I see a performing jury, as you say?” Q was thoroughly confused, and he demanded an explanation. This time, the lady complied, though still preoccupied by the sight of Rhade and his gun. 
 

“Beka and Riker, Dylan, Rhade…they performed,” she answered absent-mindedly as she continued to stare. 
 

‘She thinks my gauss gun is sexy,’ thought Rhade. ‘I think I can use this to my advantage.’ 
 

“When did I perform?” asked the Nietzschean, tapping his Gauss gun lightly and giving her a sly smile. The lady, realizing he had caught on to her object of admiration, blushed slightly. 
 

“Well, you haven’t yet. You’re much too good to perform for this cretin. I’ve reserved your performance for myself…later…when we are alone,” she answered, a sly smile coming across her lips. 
 

This time it was Rhade’s turn to be embarrassed. The Nietzschean’s eyes widened and his face flushed as he pondered her words. While it was true she was often obscure in her meanings, nevertheless Rhade came to the conclusion he had figured it out correctly – at least he hoped he had. Either way, it was sure to be an interesting evening.  
 

Meanwhile, Beka looked as confused as ever.  
 

“I thought a jury was supposed to decide,” she reminded the lady. “We only performed.” 
 

“Well, okay Beka Valentine. What is your verdict?”  
 

It only took a split second for Beka to reply. “Guilty.” 

The lady then turned her attention to Captain Hunt. “Dylan?” 

“Yes?” asked Dylan, who had since become preoccupied with Beka in her leotards.  
 

“Verdict?” 
 

“Oh…sorry. Guilty.” 
 

“Rhade?” 
 

The Nietzschean sneered at Q in his cage, then grinned menacingly. “Guilty.” 
 

“Well, there you go, Q…it’s unanimous,” concluded lady red. “Take him away.” 
 

It was then that Ms. Red motioned to someone standing in the darkness off to her right. Slowly, a darkened silhouetted figure began moving into the light. As he came forth, casting a very large shadow across the dirt floor of the tent, Rhade recognized something familiar in the blackened form cast across the ground – forehead ridges. It was the Klingon. 
 

“Worf! Where have you been, buddy?” Rhade ran to meet him eagerly. As he approached Worf, he slapped him on the back and then did something that shocked everyone, including the rugged Nietzschean himself. Spreading out his bonebladed arms, Rhade threw his arms around Worf, giving his Klingon pal a bear hug. Worf, not being accustomed to being greeted in such a fashion (especially considering who the hug was coming from), stiffened up and didn’t return the favor. Rhade, immediately sensing the awkwardness of the situation, quickly let go, and both of them stood back and cleared their throats while thrusting their chests out in the most appropriate manly fashion they could muster on such short notice. Worf, at first befuddled and irritated at the Nietzschean’s actions, spotted the lady in red standing scrumptiously behind Rhade. It was then that the perceptive Klingon put two and two together, and forgave Telemachus for his inappropriate attack on his masculinity. Besides, Worf had some news of his own to tell, and he was itching to tell it. 
 

“The lady zapped me back to my Klingon Homeworld. There I met a woman…a Klingon woman. It was love at first sight, Rhade! She became my mate a few hours ago, and now we are on our way to Risa to spend quality time together in a ritual humans would call a ‘honeymoon’. But before we begin, I promised the lady in red that I would take care of Q for her…sort of a favor, in exchange for her setting me up with my Klingon bride.” 
 

“That’s great!” beamed Rhade with a grin. “I’m happy for you.” 
 

“I see you’ve been busy yourself,” answered Worf, giving Rhade a toothy grin of his own, his large yellow Klingon teeth exposed in the most joyous of smiles. 

“Well, this tale is only beginning, but I’m sure I’ll have some interesting things to report really soon…if you know what I mean,” answered Rhade with a sly grin as he gently elbowed Worf. 
 

It was then that Worf stopped smiling and gave Rhade a concerned look. At first Telemachus thought he had instigated a competition with his elbow gesture, but upon further glance he found there was something else on the Klingon’s mind. Worf sidled close to his Nietzschean friend, so as not to be overheard. “Are you sure you want to tell everyone, Rhade? If there’s anything I know about women – and I learned this the hard way – it’s that they don’t like men telling all their friends what happens in their private time.” 
 

“What do you mean?” asked Rhade, now concerned. Worf bent down and whispered in his ear – in the most masculine way he could muster, that is. Rhade nodded his head, taking in everything that was said. 
 

“Ah, I see,” replied the Nietzschean. “Yes, you’re right. I’ll be careful. I don’t want to lose this one.” 

Worf straightened back up, looking to see if the lady was getting suspicious of their secret but manly conversation. It was then that the Klingon noticed, with amusement, that Rhade’s lady was eyeing the back of Rhade’s leather trousers with interest. Rhade, catching Worf’s expression and wondering what was transpiring behind him, quickly turned around – and caught her dead in the act. Her face flushed crimson red due to the fact that the vicinity of her gaze, while fastened on Rhade’s leather-clad bottom while he was turned, nevertheless led to a more embarrassing situation for her once he turned around to face her. She gave him an embarrassed smile as he slowly raised his eyebrow inquiringly at her. 
 

“Yes, I definitely want to keep this one,” repeated Rhade with a sly grin. Rhade wasn’t the only one intrigued by the lady and her embarrassed situation. 
 

“Indeed,” answered the Klingon. Worf found the sight of the woman incredibly pleasing himself. Had she been a Klingon, he might have forgotten his friendship with Rhade if it meant competing for her affections as a compatible mate. He continued to gaze at her over Rhade’s shoulder in such a manner that, had Rhade been turned the other way and facing Worf, might have been taken as an act of competition. Thankfully, however, the Nietzschean was not. 
 

Meanwhile, across the room Dylan and Beka had been having some serious discussions of their own about friendships, relationships, and possible futures. 
 

“You were right there in front of me all this time, and I can’t believe I didn’t see it before now,” stated Dylan as he looked longingly and lovingly into Beka’s eyes. 
 

“Me neither,” answered Beka as she took hold of Dylan’s hands in hers. “I was too busy messing with Nietzscheans. Honestly, a Paradine is much better.” 
 

While Beka’s statement was incredibly healthy for Dylan’s ego, nevertheless he wasn’t quite sure of its truth. “Well, I’m not sure if Rhade’s lady in red agrees with you,” he replied, still confused as to why she had chosen Lieutenant Commander Nietzschean Telemachus Rhade over Paradine-half-god-Captain-Dylan-Hercules Hunt. 
 

“I suppose it’s all a matter of opinion and preference,” replied Beka. “After all, Paradines have their admirers, and Nietzscheans have theirs. To each his or her own, as long as everybody is happy. Right, Dylan?” 
 

“And are you happy, Beka Valentine?” 
 

“I would be much happier if I were Beka Hunt.” 

The topic of marriage was something Dylan hadn’t had to deal with since he got sucked into that black hole 300+ years ago, and now Beka’s words caused Dylan’s hands to sweat profusely. This, coupled with the fact that Beka was still holding them, combined to make him even more nervous.  

“We can talk about that later,” Dylan replied rather falteringly. 

Beka gave him a suspicious look. 

“You back out of this now, and I’ll kill you myself,” she warned. 
 

“Back out of what?” Dylan replied with feigned innocence, and then decided it was time to change the subject. He removed his sweaty hands from Beka, wiping them on his leather trousers. He then quickly turned to face Ms. Red, Rhade, and Worf. 
 

“What about my ship, and my crew?” 
 

Beka, still stinging from Dylan’s avoidance of the subject, decided a little comeback was in order. “Oh, by the way, what happened to Riker?” The ploy worked. Dylan turned his head and shot a jealous glance at Beka, who looked back at him with the same feigned innocent look he had given her a moment ago. As Dylan turned back around to face the other three, Beka Valentine smiled sarcastically. 

“I zapped him back to the Enterprise,” answered the woman in red. “Picard needs his first officer…just as you need yours, Dylan. More than you know.”