The Choice That Shouldn’t Exist – What Happens Next Is On Me – Star Trek Fanfiction (Red Directive #37)

The breath lingered just long enough to feel intentional.
Not imagined.

I didn’t turn right away.

“Funny,” I said quietly. “Last time you were here, you claimed you were not interfering… and I was going to evolve into something far beyond all of this.”

A soft chuckle, low and amused, echoed behind me, and I turned to look him straight in the eyes. He was as close to me as his breath had felt.

“And I actually believed you! Yet here you are, clearly meddling in things!”

He just stood there, arms crossed with a smirk on his face, watching me—decisive, unmoved—as I spoke.

“This isn’t a joke, Q! None of the colonists are going to make it—but you knew that already, didn’t you?! You said I was being prepared, but the station had its own ambitions. You knew!”

Out of reflex, I started to raise my hand to slap him, but he grabbed it the instant I moved.

What was I thinking? This was Q. What could I possibly do to him?

My mind was preparing for the worst, but my body started to fill with that strange sense of calm I’d felt while engaged with the anomaly.

It didn’t make sense.

When I looked at his face, his smirk hadn’t changed, and he still hadn’t taken his eyes off me. His posture relaxed—like he had been there the entire time and I was the one out of place.

I was. Who in their right mind would try to slap a Q?

“You’ve been busy,” he said softly as his other hand clasped mine in both of his. “Running out of time. Running out of options.”

I looked at my hand in his and then back at his face. His expression—exactly the same. I must have looked incredibly confused, because he let out another soft chuckle.

“I haven’t evolved into anything! There’s nothing I can do to save them. If this is a game, Q…”

I sharply pulled my hand from his.

“Then you need to stop it.”

He dusted off his hands and stood a little taller, almost starting to look annoyed.

“I told you, I didn’t build this place. There’s nothing I can do.”

He sighed and looked deep into my eyes.

“You can’t save them… or have you simply narrowed your list of acceptable failures?”

I frowned. My mind was telling me he was lying, but my body was still saying something different. It was incredibly confusing.

“If you’re here to be cryptic, you’re wasting both our time.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Q stepped even closer, eyes flicking briefly to the station outside the viewport. “Time, after all, seems to be the one thing you’re… struggling to keep hold of.”

I didn’t take the bait.

“We’re leaving.”

“Yes. I gathered as much.” He gave a small, approving nod. “A wise decision, really. Self-preservation. Very… human of you.”

Something in his tone sharpened the air.

“We’re ensuring the crew survives,” I corrected.

“Of course you are.” Q’s expression softened into something almost sympathetic. “You’ve done everything you can.”

I said nothing.

Because we both knew that wasn’t true.

His gaze shifted back to the station.

“Fascinating construct,” he mused. “Adaptive. Persistent. Hungry.”

“It’s alive,” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes as if he didn’t already know.

Q smiled faintly.

“Yes,” he said. “That much is no longer in question.”

I felt my jaw tighten.

“It knows what it’s doing.”

“Does it?” Q tilted his head slightly. “It learns. It adapts. It defends itself.” A pause. “It ensures its own survival.”

“It’s fully aware of the harm it’s causing.”

“Is it aware?” Q asked softly. “Or simply… effective?”

I didn’t respond. Everything just seemed like a mind game with him.

He took another step, circling slightly—not threatening, just… positioning.

“A predator doesn’t question the cost of its survival,” he continued. “It doesn’t weigh morality. It doesn’t hesitate.” His eyes met mine. “It simply does what it was built—or evolved—to do.”

“It’s more than that.”

“Perhaps.” A small nod. “But not enough to stop.”

That landed.

Hard.

“If a thing understands what it’s doing,” Q continued, quieter now, “and continues anyway… is that choice?”

I held his gaze.

“Or inevitability?”

I crossed my arms as I waited to see where he was going with this.

“You leave,” he said simply.

“That’s the plan,” I said matter-of-factly.

“And the next crew?” His eyes flicked to me. “The next species that wanders just a little too close?”

I turned my head slightly in frustration.

“We don’t have time to solve everything.”

“Mm.” Q considered that. “A practical limitation.”

He reached out and took my chin, turning me to face him again.

“You were going to warn them,” Q said finally.

“I called it off.”

I started to lift my hand to grab his, and he immediately caught it again with his free hand as he still held my chin.

“Yes.” A small smile. “I know.”

“It wouldn’t have been enough.”

“No,” he agreed. “It wouldn’t.”

That landed harder than it should have.

I didn’t lift my other hand to fight him, and he finally let go of my chin and my hand. I gave him a questioning look.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then Q exhaled softly, almost disappointed.

“Such a dilemma,” he said. “Stay, and risk losing everything.” His eyes met mine. “Leave, and ensure it happens again.”

I felt that cold chill creep back in.

“We don’t have proof it will—”

“Don’t insult yourself,” Q interrupted gently.

The room went still.

“You’ve already seen what it’s capable of,” he continued. “Adaptation. Concealment. Persistence across time.” A slight tilt of his head. “Tell me, Captain… how many opportunities do you think it will need before it perfects the process?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I already knew.

Q studied me for a long moment.

Then, quieter—

“Starfleet does love its impossible choices.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“No?” A faint smile. “It looks very familiar from where I’m standing.”

This time, I stepped closer.

“You came here for a reason. So stop circling it.”

Q’s expression shifted—subtle, but real.

Approval.

“Very well.”

He turned slightly, gesturing toward the station.

“Let’s say you’re right,” he began. “You can’t save the colonists. You can’t warn the galaxy in any meaningful way.” A pause. “You can only choose what happens next.”

I followed his gaze.

The station loomed in the distance.

Unchanged.

Untouched.

“Some captains,” Q continued, almost idly, “would call that an unsolvable problem.”

“And you?” I asked.

Q looked back at me.

“I find those tend to be the most… revealing.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was heavy.

Deliberate.

“You’re not here to help,” I said, glaring at him.

Q smiled.

“I’m here to see what you’ll do.”

My reflection flickered faintly in the viewport out of the corner of my eye—but not quite right.

Not quite me.

I ignored it and looked back at him, only to find the same sarcastic expression.

“And if I make the wrong choice?”

Q’s expression softened now—just enough to feel dangerous.

“Oh, my dear Cap-i-tan…” he said quietly as he grabbed both of my shoulders and squeezed.

“That depends entirely on what you think the right one is.”

He let go and stepped back slightly.

Enough to leave just a tiny amount of space open between us.

Unanswered.

Waiting.

For what?

I started to speak, but before I knew it, he snapped his fingers and vanished in an instant.

For some strange reason, I looked around—expecting to see him.

Then I heard him, as if he was still standing right next to me.

“Such a difficult equation…”

I knew he wasn’t there.

One last thing he could slip in to keep me off balance. I wasn’t going to let that happen.

If Q wasn’t going to interfere in a good way, I had to do something more. If he wasn’t going to reveal his mind games, then I had to accept the possibility he really wasn’t involved.

Although I found that very hard to believe.

I walked over to the viewport and stared out it as I thought about the current dilemma.

“Computer, time.”

“It is approximately twenty-four hundred hours.”

I only had six hours before I was meeting the crew in front of Commander Pelia’s quarters to discuss our departure.

Whatever that fully consisted of yet.

I still wasn’t sure.

All I was sure of was I needed to get my crew the hell out of here as soon as possible.

But all of my Starfleet training wouldn’t let me stop thinking about what I could do to warn future species about EOS Prospera.

I smacked my forehead on the glass viewport in frustration and thought.

I closed my eyes from the sting and wondered why humans did that in times of extreme distress.

Why?

I gasped and raised my head.

Humans do not have stable patterns.

The station couldn’t complete me.

Before I thought too much more about my realization in unprotected quarters, I tapped my comm badge.

“Captain to Kurn.”

It took a second, but I finally heard Kurn cough and answer, “Yes, Captain?”

“Apologies for the late hour. I’m assuming you’re aware we’ve moved our meeting up to oh six hundred hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I need you there at oh four hundred hours.”

He coughed again, almost like he choked at the request. “Um…”

I didn’t want him to say too much, in fear of another temporal disturbance as we were cutting time for departure so close.

“No questions. Apologies again for the lateness, but everything must wait until then. Captain out.”

I tapped my comm badge again before he could say anything else. Then I sighed and tapped it again.

Bothering either of them was the last thing I wanted to do.

“Captain to Commander Pelia.”

There was no delay in her response.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Burning the midnight oil, I see?”

“You didn’t give us too much of a choice, Captain. I’m in Engineering aboard the Cairo with Lieutenant Darak making some final adjustments for tomorrow.”

I squished my face in anguish at the fact I had to exhaust her even more.

“Apologies, Commander, but I’m going to need access to your quarters at oh four hundred tomorrow.”

“Oh-four hundred??”

It almost sounded like she dropped something, and there was a little static.

“No questions. You can be there or not be there—I just need them.”

“Oh, Captain, I’ll be there, all right. Sleeping, if I’m lucky.”

“You have my thanks. Captain out.”

I tapped my comm badge again and stared back out the viewport.

“Computer,” I said quietly.

“Stand by to initiate departure sequence at oh seven hundred hours.”

“Acknowledged.”

Two hours for my plan… and one hour to ensure safe extraction of the crew before departure.

Was it enough?