Hawaii Five-O, Star Trek, and Star Trek TNG belong to CBS. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is a follow-up to my earlier tale, "Encounter at the Palace."

This story was inspired by the original series episodes "The Squire of Gothos," and "I, Mudd," and the many TNG, DS9, and Voyager episodes featuring the delightfully infamous Q. The character of Trelane is identified as a member of the Q continuum in Q Squared by Peter David. Again, no copyright infringement is intended.

Thanks are also due to the late Gene Roddenberry, whose imagination created an on-going future history and to all who gave life to its iconic characters. Beam us up, Scotty!

THE Q CONUNDRUM

CHAPTER 1: The SET-UP

The Q Continuum . . .

It was supposed to be a simple experiment: exchange two men from two different time periods to see how they'd react. How could it go wrong? Q, the almost omnipotent being who'd devised the project, pondered the question. It would—should—could easily work. But he'd have to deal with the presence of the insufferable Mr. Spock and that meddling young detective. Q knew he had created the problem; now he had to solve it. Or perhaps . . . he could let the humans arrive at the solution. No, that would be too simple. He needed to stir the pot, add a little excitement. Perhaps the Borg? Too early in human history. The Xindi? Too late. Ah, he had it. Another exchange. Harry Mudd and the criminal known as Big Chicken. Interesting. Interesting enough? Maybe. Or maybe he should have stayed with harassing Picard and Riker. Later . . .

He waved his hand . . . and the universe blinked.

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Honolulu, Spring 1970

Captain James T. Kirk pinched the bridge of his nose for the third time. The headache hadn't gone away. Instead, it had gotten worse. He looked around the unfamiliar office: a beautiful wooden desk, probably an antique; white leather furniture; French doors opening to a small patio (somehow he knew it was called a lanai); archaic communications equipment. Was that really an old telephone? He definitely wasn't in his quarters, preparing to go on duty. And why was he dressed like this? The aloha shirt and khaki slacks—not Starfleet regulation. Was that a weapon, a holstered pistol, lying on the desk? It reminded him of something . . . no, someone. McGarrett! Steve McGarrett! But what was he doing in McGarrett's time? In McGarrett's office? And if he was here, where was McGarrett? On the Enterprise?

q-q-q-q-q

USS Enterprise, Stardate 5297.2

Steve McGarrett shook his head in an attempt to relieve a severe feeling of disorientation. He studied the unfamiliar quarters . . . nothing he recognized except for a few leather-bound books, old books. That thing on the desk, was it a small TV? No dials, just a screen. And the uniform! Black pants, gold shirt, four stripes on the sleeve. Captain's stripes. Something tickled his memory, something he was supposed to have forgotten. A name. Kirk, James T. Kirk. Captain James T. Kirk, USS Enterprise. A starship from another time, an impossible encounter, Danno in danger. What was he doing here? How did he get here? And if he was here, where was Kirk? A thought surfaced. Five-O!

q-q-q-q-q

Honolulu

Harry Mudd, con-man and petty thief extraordinaire, looked around the comfortable apartment. No, more than comfortable, luxurious. Definitely not the old bucket of bolts he called a ship or the cheap spacers' hotel he currently inhabited... He checked the galley—correction, kitchen. No replicators, but a cold storage cabinet, something his memory told him was called a refrigerator, was well-stocked with food and appropriate beverages. No Romulan ale, but at least a plentiful supply of beer. Opening a bottle, he took a satisfying swig and continued his exploration. A bedroom closet full of clothes, just about his size. Not as flamboyant as he liked, but serviceable. And those shirts! He'd never seen anything like those colors and patterns. He tried one on—a perfect fit! He was going to like it here, wherever here was. He just had to find the right con.

A ringing sound interrupted his thoughts. He followed it to an odd instrument, something he assumed was a piece of communications equipment. He lifted the handset to hear a voice saying, "Hey, Chick! Got word of a big shipment coming in tonight. What you wanna do 'bout it? Gotta keep under Five-O's radar. You know McGarrett."

"How about you come to my place in 30 minutes," Mudd replied, imitating the caller's vocal mannerisms. So, his name was "Chick?" He hoped it wasn't short for "Chicken." And who in space was McGarrett?

q-q-q-q-q

Sherman's Planet, Station K-7

Big Chicken, Hawaii's top drug supplier, looked around the bar. Where was he? He'd been waiting for a phone call from one of his underlings and now? Obviously a bar, but who—or what—were the patrons? Blue-skinned, antennaed aliens (How did he know that?), tall, dark-skinned men who radiated violence, women in deliciously short skirts, and hundreds of small fuzzy, chirping things. One of the fuzzy things reared up in anger as a dark-skinned warrior approached. The man spit out "P'tahQ" as he kicked it away. Chicken felt like he'd stepped on the set of a bad science fiction movie, only something told him this was neither science fiction nor a movie. This was reality. His reality. Maybe his for the taking? He'd just have to find out where—and when—he was. Maybe he could get some answers from the scruffily-dressed human attempting to collect the fuzz balls.

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Q's smile was almost predatory. The players were ready. Let the game begin!

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Honolulu

"Morning, Steve," Danny Williams called out as he entered his boss's office, cup of coffee in hand. Seeing the open lanai door, he figured McGarrett was out there, enjoying the early morning peace before the usual round of cases, meetings, and unforeseen emergencies. The young detective stepped out on the lanai, then stopped short. The sandy-haired, compactly-built man staring at him through hazel eyes was only a few years older than himself, yet he radiated command. Williams felt a hazy, forgotten memory surface from somewhere: a ship; a sensation of drowning; Steve calling his name and pulling him out of a whirlpool of another's thoughts; an infinite star field. "Kirk," he remembered. "Captain Kirk?" The other man nodded as Dan continued, "Where's Steve? What happened? Why are you here? Where's Steve?" Dan's growing concern echoed in his voice.

"On the Enterprise, I think." Kirk responded. "And, no, I don't know how or why. But I intend to find out."

Danny was somewhat reassured by the other man's tone. He fell into detective mode as he asked, "What can you tell me, Captain?"

Kirk shook his head ruefully. "Not much, I'm afraid. I was preparing to go on duty when I found myself here. We were en route for Sherman's Planet—that's on the Klingon-Federation border some days' journey at Warp 8—and now I'm here."

"Here. In Steve's office," Danny continued. "We'll need to find a way to explain your presence. Chin and Kono, our other two team members, will be here in a few minutes for a morning briefing." The detective sorted through some papers on McGarrett's desk. "They'll need to know the whole story." He thought quickly. "If anyone else asks, Steve's been sent on an undercover assignment and you're a Navy Intelligence officer who'll be working on the case with Five-O. It's flimsy, but it will have to do. Our job will be to get Steve back here and return you to your ship." Danny sat down with a gulp as he realized the enormity and seeming impossibility of the task. Sherman's Planet? Klingons? Warp speed? What if Steve wasn't on the Enterprise? Where—and when—could they even begin to look?

"That may not be as difficult as you imagine," Kirk broke in. "Mr. Spock, my First Officer, knows McGarrett. He'll find a way to return him home." The Starfleet officer looked around the office, taking in the phone, tape recorder, and blackboard. Not even a computer. Too bad subspace radio won't be invented for another couple of hundred years. He placed a hand on Dan's shoulder in a gesture so reminiscent of Steve's. "We'll get him back. And me back to my ship." Kirk smiled at the worried young detective. "And please, call me Jim."

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USS Enterprise

McGarrett turned swiftly at the sound of a chime. The door swished open as a tall, somber Vulcan greeted him with a "Good morning, Captain." An appraising look and a raised eyebrow indicated surprise as a preternaturally solemn voice questioned "Mr. McGarrett? What are you doing here? Where is Captain Kirk?"

Again, a hazy memory surfaced from a forgotten vault. "Mr. . . . Spock?"

"Indeed, Mr. McGarrett. And if you are here, I must assume that the Captain has taken your place." Unspoken concern, well-hidden by Vulcan discipline, allowed the First Officer to continue calmly, "Can you describe anything about what brought you here? Any information you can give me will help me locate Captain Kirk."

Steve shrugged. "I was standing on my office lanai when everything suddenly seemed to blink. I found myself here, in your Captain's quarters, in this uniform. Beyond that, nothing. If I'm on the Enterprise, Kirk must be at Five-O."

"Everything suddenly seemed to blink," Spock repeated pensively. He retreated into memory for a moment, then spoke a single name. "Trelane."

"Trelane?"

"A seemingly omnipotent being, able to manipulate matter and energy," the Vulcan responded. Then, touching a communicator button on the Captain's desk, he continued. "Lt. Uhura, Spock here. Please call a meeting of all senior officers in the briefing room in 10 minutes. We have encountered a problem."

"More than just one problem, Mr. Spock," the Communications Officer's voice responded. Station Chief Lurry's assistant, Mr. Tellin, has issued a general alert. An individual calling himself Chick has taken the Station Chief hostage. Tellin managed to transmit a few images. I'm sending then now."

"Chick," McGarrett mused as he looked at the images. He found himself staring at a well-known face. "Big Chicken! How?" He caught his breath as he turned to the First Officer. "Mr. Spock, we do indeed have a problem. I know this man. His real name is Henry Bauer. He's a drug dealer and a wanted criminal. What is he doing here?"

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"Trelane!" Q snorted at the insult. "Trelane! A mere child among the inhabitants of the Continuum. Only a few millennia old. A child with all the powers of a Q, but none of the savoir faire. Just look at his experiments! He was only interested in replaying the wars of the early Nineteenth Century. Vive Napoléon, indeed!"

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Note: Henry Bauer (Big Chicken) and his associate Konrad Borland also appear in my stories "Mistaken Identity" and "Chicken Feed." They were identified as former guards at a Luftstalag during WWII. They were also involved in the Black Market.