You find yourself drifting in a void. Somehow, and you don’t know why, the colors your senses pick up constantly shift from across the spectrum featured in the classic ROY G. BIV acronym as well as black and white. You’re unsure as to why, but, somehow, you’re mind can just tell how timeless this place is. You tell yourself it’s the amount of tachyons bombarding your immense cognitive abilities.
“You’d be correct…” In front of you, from dust you didn’t even know was floating in this otherwise perfect void before, something forms. A being. One that looks very much like a human, but experience with or reading about gods and shape shifters has taught you otherwise. Plus, you can just FEEL the immense power radiating off of him. “Greetings and welcome foolish mortals and/or timeless type immortals. I am an entity of vast power. Enough to tear asunder the very Universe you all call home if I so choose. Q. The Q entity. Aren’t I so clever?”
He puts a hand on his hairless chin and tilts his head, leaning it somewhat to the right, and smiles widely. You can tell he’s trying to looks distinguished, like those old black and white photos of writers sitting on a chair and smoking a pipe. To you though, it just comes off as pretentious and, to be frank, kinda unintentionally creepy. But, hey. If you had the kind of power this joker had, chances are, if you didn’t turn evil, you’d be a clown too.
“Ignoring those mental jabs of yours, despite all that I can do, greater forces than even I have…dictated that, if I am to enjoy myself within your realms, that the most fun I can have is organizing you lot of little godlings into a fighting force able and ready to defend it, the galaxies, and all the little nebulae therein.”
He looks at you for a moment. You can feel him probing deep into your soul despite all of the defenses you have put around it naturally or through other methods.
“Don’t look so surprised little godlings. I mean, make no mistake: your cognitive abilities are as far below mind as mere mortals are below yours, but surely you not so stupid, naïve, or BOTH that you thought a being such as yourself could retain the power you do, the power of a demi-god, and not be sufficiently challenged? Don’t get me wrong, I love beating up on costumed whackos mere mortals couldn’t hope to defeat on their own or existential brooding as much as the next reality warper, but I’m here to tell you that you’re ready to step up in the balance of conflicts, kiddos. Those gimmicky men you’re used to fighting will now replaced by things that can actually hurt you, more often than not, and I have given you one of the greatest reasons to exist ever in your cosmos. That’s right.”
He places his arms over his chest. Despite the jovial attitude he had before, something about him seems more serious, more solemn, when next he speaks.
“Worlds will live. Worlds will die. The same can and likely will be said for entire sectors or quadrants. All of that effort, all of that weight, will be carried upon your shoulders until either the day when time has used you up or you are slain in battle. Perhaps even more literally than you’d expect.”
With that bit of grim reality told to you, a smile creeps up Q’s face. Well…not so much creeps up as it is just there faster than the speed of light without explanation. “But now is not the time for such thought. That will come much later after experience has set in and taken its toll. Now is a time of new acquaintances and friends…possibly…”
With a snap of his finger, an image appears in-between him and yourself. It is of some sort of construct floating somewhere within the depths of space. Its shape is somewhat reminiscent of a chest of gold or toys only with rounded edges. Emblazoned boldly in dark yellow at the top and all other sides of the construct is an old letter from the Greek alphabet that looks like, λ within and equally yellow circle. The rest of the hull is painted in a dark and rusty looking gunmetal orange and black.
“This, is Lambda station.”
Lamba! So that’s what that letter is called! You have to admit that, while it’s not as catchy as Alpha, Beta, Delta, Sigma, or Omega, is still has a nice ring to it.
“It will serve as a mobile base and home for you lot, probably for the rest of your lives. It is capable of traversing galaxies within seconds, the space between galaxies and dimensions within this universe in minutes, and, on the odd occasion, the space in-between Universes in hours. It is equipped with all the amenities, gizmos and doo-dads, and magic I decided to put in to make your lives as comfortable as I desire before your timely or untimely demises.”
With another snap of his fingers, Q’s outfit, a futuristic military jumpsuit, changes into something your stereotypical tourist would wear at the stereotypical luau mainlanders think Hawaiians have instead of a barbeque (thank you pop cultural misconceptions). Complete with sunburnt face, tanning lotion on his nose, and a wide brimmed sombrero.
“Now, eat, drink, be merry and mingle damn you!” he says, holding a pair of maracas in both hands. “Believe me: you’ll wish you had if you hadn’t…”
Everything flashes white for a few brief seconds. You now find yourself presumably on Lambda station, staring out into space via a large porthole a hundred meters tall and dozens of meters wide. In the air, there’s a funky and fun jazz beat from way back when. To your left and to your right are several other people. Like you, you assume they must be some form of demi-god or another or, at the very least, possess demi-god level power comparable to your own. Finding Q chatting it up with a man with glowing green eyes, a grey business suit, and a brief case in the center of this ballroom, for lack of a better term, you decide to follow the entity’s example and strike up a conversation with the nearest being.