Disclaimer: The character of Darth Maul and the setting of most of this story was created by
G. Lucas belongs to Lucasfilm Ltd. Captain Jean-Luc Picard, his crew, and the Enterprise were
created by Gene Roddenberry and belong to Paramount. No money is being made from this
fanfic. No copyright infringement is intended.
This fanfic is not to be copied or distributed without the written consent of the author.
Summary: Star Wars/Star Trek crossover fanfic. Captain Jean-Luc Picard faces a formidable
foe. A little knowledge of Star Trek: The Next Generation would
be helpful, but is not essential.
Comments can be sent to McLaren_Moschino@excite.com
Duel
Picard is fencing with a Lieutenant in the recreation room aboard the USS
Enterprise. The tip of his foil makes contact with a sensor device mounted on
her chest. She raises her hands, conceding defeat. “That’s three games straight.
I’m afraid I do not make a very skilled opponent, Captain.” she apologizes,
removing a protective mask from her face.
“Patience, Lieutenant Jenson,” his voice soothing and authoritative “In
time, after more practice, you will be a very worthy opponent. I will look
forward to it.” Captain Picard nods appreciatively to the Lieutenant and turns
and places his foil carefully back within its container.
“As do I, Ca-pe-tan.” The soft feminine voice has been replaced by a cocky,
masculine tone.
Picard turns abruptly. The voice he has heard invokes surprise, annoyance
and concern. There stands Q, the arrogant, self-superior entity which
antagonizes Picard and the Enterprise crew periodically, decked out in a red and
black Starfleet uniform identical to that of Captain Picard’s. Picard looks him
up and down disdainfully, “As I’ve said before, Q, you have down nothing to
warrant wearing that uniform.”
Q ignores his remark. “En Garde, Ca-pe-tan,” he drops into a fighting
stance, a foil extended high in the air from his outstretched arm.
“I will not fight you Q.” A sour expression crosses Picard’s face, “I’ve
grown bored with your games over the years. Go elsewhere and find someone
else to amuse yourself with. Or has the Continuum seen fit the throw you out
once more?”
Q shrugs off the comments. “Of course not. Come now, Picard, let’s duel.
Let’s have some fun.” He remains in his fighting stance, he slashes the foil
wildly through the air before him. “En Garde.”
“Go away Q.” Picard turns away from him, bemused, dismissing him with a
way of his hand. “ I want you to leave me and my crew alone.”
Q is taken aback, and insulted the Captain’s distinct lack of interest, his
stern voice carries a threatening edge, “Do you not think me a worthy opponent?
I assure you, Picard, I’m much more formidable than your luckless lieutenant,”
he warns.
“I doubt that,” Picard mutters, almost to himself.” He turns back to face Q,
his voice full of conviction and a tone louder, “Just leave. I want no part of your
silliness.”
The familiar surroundings of the recreation room are suddenly transformed
into a vast room bathing in a yellow ambient light.
“What is this place, Q?” Picard notices his foil and its container he had
been holding has disappeared.
Q spreads his arms wide, “The Palace of Naboo. Or more precisely, its
starship hangar.”
“Naboo?” Picard looks quizzically about him. “ I know of no such place.”
“It’s not real of course.” Q looks about him, admiring his handiwork. “ It’s
just a setting I borrowed from a Star Wars book for the sake of my little
demonstration.”
“Star Wars? I wouldn’t know. I read archeology and Dixon Hill detective
fiction. I’ve never read any Star Wars books.”
“Well,” Q shrugs his shoulders, spreading his hands in front of him, “there’s
no accounting for taste.”
Picard looks down and regards the outfit that has replaced his Starfleet
uniform. “What is this?” He gestures disdainfully to the black, body-clinging
outfit. “ Is this all part of your ‘little demonstration,’” his voice thick with
sarcasm.
“That is the uniform of a Jedi Knight,” Q enthuses, ”which is what you now
are. I prefer the outfit of the Jedi Knight, Luke Skywalker. The Jedi outfits of
this time period is so drab and ill-fitting,” he whines, “and black is so becoming
of you, Picard.”
“This is as ridiculous as that Robin Hood stunt you pulled on me and my
crew,” Picard snorts. “Tell me Q, who am I to rescue from your evil clutches
this time?” A cold realization washes over him. “Vosh? What have you done to
Vosh?”
“Really Picard, what kind of person do you think I am? I wouldn’t dream
of hurting her. You have only to ‘rescue’ yourself. I have given this illusion a
life of it’s own as I did back then.” A hint of malevolence coats his voice; his
face turns serious. “In order for it to cease, there must be a victor, and there
must be a loser.”
Resigned, Picard asks, “And who am I to fight this time?”
“He will soon present himself soon enough. In the meantime, this is your
weapon, Jedi Picard,” Q half-heartedly suppresses a laugh. He unclips a
cylindrical object from the narrow black belt around Picard’s waist. Q holds the
object out in front of him, admiring it, and flipping a switch, the cylinder hums
to life as a purple laser springs forth. Q regards the shimmering laser sword.
“Exquisite isn’t it? This is a lightsabre, the weapon of a Jedi Knight. Your
weapon. Your only hope of escaping this place with your life. Since he have
deemed me unworthy to be your opponent, I will present you with an opponent
worthy of a Jedi Knight. But beware Picard,” Q says with mock concern, he
leans forward, his face so close to Picard’s that his can feel his breath upon his
face, “this individual took on two Jedi at once.” Q leans back, nodding to
himself, as he takes in Picard’s form, “ I think he will be more than a match for
you.“
Annoyed, Picard is starting to lose his patience. “I have never deemed you
unworthy Q. I merely wish for you to stop interfering in my life and that of my
crew and the operation of my ship. I want you to go away.”
Q shrugs innocently, “Okay, if that is what you want, Picard.” As quickly
as he appeared, he disappears, leaving Picard looking at a bare wall.
“Q, come back here. Q!” Picard turns and looks about the chamber. “I
demand you stop this immediately and return me to my ship at once.” Picard
reflexively raises his hand to tap the communicator on his tunic, only to find
that, it too, has disappeared. He has no way of communicating with the
Enterprise.
Standing tall, Picard tugs down on his Jedi tunic, and cautiously begins
walking around the flight hangar, his boots thudding loudly on the floor; the
sound reverberating off the walls and announcing his presence to anyone who
would be listening. The large room is littered with a few strange sleek
spacecraft unlike anything in the Federation fleet he is familiar with. A small
door on the opposite wall appears to be the only exit.
A low growl emanates from the shadows a ship behind him. He turns to see
a dark figure step out of the shadows from behind one of the fighters. The
figures pauses, only metres away, and removes an all-consuming, black, pleated
cloak, allowing it to fall silently to the cold stone floor.
Picard warily regards the red-tattooed face of his opponent, and feels his
grip tighten unconsciously on his weapon. In one smooth, flowing motion, the
Dark Warrior removes his weapon from his belt and, igniting it, brings it to bare
before him. Picard is momentarily dazzled by the crimson blades of the duel
laser sword; its elegance and sheer size. The Dark Warrior stands before him,
legs spread, and casually begins spinning the weapon like a propeller loosely in
his hands, inviting Picard to dare to strike him down.
When the Jedi makes no move to attack, Darth Maul strides silently,
menacingly, over to the Captain. He swings his sabre, aiming for the Captain’s
legs, but Picard to quick to jump back, preventing his legs from being severed at
the knees. The Captain quickly retreats, still resisting putting up an offensive.
In a series of small leaps, Maul closes in on the Captain, he spins and unleashes
a round-house kick to his opponent’s stomach. Picard doubles over and drops to
his knees. His lightsabre drops with a loud clank to the floor. “This is fair too
easy,” Darth Maul spits. He circles slowly around Picard, studying him, like a
hungry shark regarding a plump swimmer. The Jedi is old, yet quite
inexperienced. He seems not a worthy adversary, but he is a Jedi nonetheless.
Maul will allow him time to recover, as he is not finished with him yet.
The Jedi remains slumped, his hand still griping his stomach, and Maul,
waiting for the Jedi to rise, loses his patience and his temper. The tip of his boot
viciously strikes Picard in the face. Picard is flipped backwards from his knees
onto his back, his head hitting hard against the stone floor. As he recovers and
pushes himself up into a sitting position, he feels an unusual sensation akin to
blood boiling within his veins; he feels anger rise within him, invigorating him.
He lunges forward, tackling Maul, his shoulder striking Maul in the chest. The
two opponents fall to the floor a short distance apart, Picard is quick to recover,
and brings his sabre down on the fallen Warrior, who is equally quick to block
the fatal blow.
Maul flashes a satisfied grin, as the Jedi now appears he will put up a good
fight, and dives toward the Captain. In a continual vicious onslaught, he drives
Picard back, herding him toward the small door at the back of the hangar and
the narrow corridor behind it. They enter the corridor, and fight their way down
its narrow confines. Maul brings his sabre down, but before Picard can move to
block, a thin red screen is suddenly activated between them, stopping the Sith’s
blow. Picard steps back warily and examines the shield door. He turns and
notices another to his back. He is trapped, as is his opponent.
Q appears. Standing directly behind Picard he whispers in his ear, but
keeps his gaze fixed on the Sith, “He’s quite an animal isn’t he? All that raw
power, as raw as a fresh wound, waiting to be unleashed. No wonder women
were drawn to him.” Q glances at the Captain. “Perhaps you should take note
Picard. Maybe you’d see a little more action yourself,” he taunts.
Picard turns give Q a look of distaste, “I think I’ve held up quite good so
far.”
“Oh, come now Picard.” Q says with disbelief. ”He’s only toying with you.
Much the same as a cat plays with a mouse before killing it.”
“This is your doing?” Picard gestures to the shield door separating himself
from his opponent.
“ No, it’s straight out of the book. It has been presented merely for the
convenience of getting to know your enemy, though I doubt he wants to know
you, Picard. He’s merely a killing machine. Names means nothing to him.” Q
regards the perspiration beading on Picard’s forehead. “And you look like you
need a rest, though it won’t be a very long one.”
Picard deactivates his lightsabre and wipes the sweat from his brow.
“You’ve made you point, Q. This warrior is a much better swordsman than I.
Stop this charade and return me to my ship.”
“But the rules state there must be a victor,” Q says as a matter-of-factly,
“and so far there has been none.”
“Fine...fine,” Picard moves closer to the shield door, “Carry on with you
petty games.” He takes a closer look at his opponent. The Sith is pacing, he has
barely broken a sweat, his eyes dance like a thousand hell’s fire’s. His demeanor
and sly smirk reeks of self-confidence; he has no doubt whatsoever that he will
be victorious.
“I am sure you can be a reasonable man,” Picard says hopefully towards
the pacing figure. Darth Maul pauses momentarily in mid-step, glaring
incredulously in turn at the Captain and Q. “I think it would be beneficial for us
both to call a truce and end this conflict. There is no reason we can not settle
our differences diplomatically,” he soothes, as if trying to calm a rabid, seething
beast. Maul scowls and lashes one end of his lightsabre into the shield door in a
futile attempt to cut down the Captain. Picard ignores the outburst and
continues, “You must realize that you are being used and manipulated by this
individual,” he gestures back to Q. “We both are. *He* is the real enemy
here.” He gestures widely with outspread arms, “none of this is real. This is all
from a novel, a book. A work of fiction from the mind of a man. Your hatred
for me and the Jedi is of no consequence because none of this exists.”
Maul looks at the Captain with disbelief. He hisses at the black clad man,
baring his yellow and black stained, rotted teeth. “Seems real enough to me,
Jedi. Perhaps you are just a coward, as all Jedi are, and you lack the courage to
fight me,” he seethes hatefully through tightly clenched teeth.
“ I am no Jedi.” Picard responds calmly and evenly, still determined to
convince the angry warrior of this pointless duel. “ I am Captain Jean-Luc
Picard of the......”
Darth Maul wheels abruptly on the shield door, the flowing ends of his
black tunic whipping furiously about his waist. The swiftness and
unexpectedness of his move startles Picard and he retreats slightly. Maul’s
tattooed face leers dangerously close to that of Picard’s, only separated by the
millimeters of the containment shield door. “I don’t care who you are or where
you’re from,” he spits vehemently, raising his deactivated lightsabre and
gesturing with it toward Picard, accentuating his words. “I don’t care about your
hopes and aspirations. I will cut you down Jedi, as sure as I would cut down any
of your loved ones should they be standing here, be it your elderly grandmother
or a small defenseless child. I am here for one purpose only. Revenge.
Revenge for the annihilation of the Sith.” The Sith turns his back abruptly to
Picard, he has grown tired of this pointless discussion and desires only to fight.
His continues to pace, casually tossing his deactivated sabre from one hand to
the other, grinning, knowing from the look on the Jedi’s face the impact his
words have had on him. Picard, speechless, looks away from the Sith to Q.
“The Sith’s internal power struggle destroyed themselves,” Q offers. “But
it has always been the Jedi that were their sworn enemies. And as far as he’s
concerned, you’re a Jedi and you represent everything he hates: goodness,
justice, peace, equality. If the Sith are to prosper and rule the galaxy taking all
its wealth and power for themselves, the Jedi must be exterminated, as the Sith
were long ago. And you my dear Captain, in this world, are a Jedi.”
Picard throws his lightsabre angrily to the floor, “This is ridiculous! I have
had enough. I demand that you stop this nonsense at once.” Q disappears.
The shield comes down and Maul’s lightsabre instantly flashes to life as he
lunges at Picard. Caught off guard, Picard dives for the floor, grabs and
activates his discarded lightsabre. As Picard rises with his activated lightsabre,
Maul spins and plants a brutal back-kick squarely in Picard’s mouth. The force
of the blow sends Picard reeling through the air to the end of the corridor.
Taking the impact of the landing full on his back, he slides along the floor until
he has cleared the corridor and its containment shields. The force of the landing
causes his nose to bleed. The assault has split his lip. He wipes the blood
dribbling from his nose and lip from his face. He momentarily regards the
smeared blood on his hand.
Darth Maul is quick to follow Picard and swiftly leaps, exiting the corridor,
amid a torrent of dangling tunic ends whipping wildly about his loose trousers,
just as the last of the containment doors activates behind him. He hovers close
by, glaring at the stunned Captain. “Get up and fight you spineless Jedi. I’ve
had enough of your stalling and gutlessness.”
Captain Picard had encountered numerous species and different cultures
during his time in Starfleet, but never had he met such a creature as this which
appeared to harbor so much hatred toward him. He had known adversity in the
past, and he had always overcome it. He had brought about resolutions to
conflicts in the past, and he would do it again, even if this were only one of Q’s
games. “I have told you once before, I am not a Jedi.” Picard states evenly as he
picks himself up and slowly approaches the Sith, his lightsabre still activated by
lowered. “I am not your enemy,” he continues to soothe in a low but
authoritative voice. “I am not responsible for your people’s downfall. I am
Captain Jean-Luc .....” Darth Maul motions slightly with his gloved hand in
Picard’s direction and the Captain is thrown through the air by an unseen force,
striking a wall behind him. He slumps down against the wall, the wind
temporarily knocked from him.
“My Master has trained me many years for this moment.” Darth Maul walks
slowly toward the Captain. “I relish this opportunity to meet a Jedi in combat,
though you’re skills are inferior. Did you fail your Jedi trials or did you
prematurely cut off you Padawan braid?” His maniacal, taunting laugh echoes
throughout the generator complex. Picard struggles to get to his feet, he leans
against the wall for support. “I won’t allow you a quick, easy death, Jedi,” Darth
Maul adds menacingly. “I intend to savor tormenting you.” He continues gliding
silently towards Picard, as though floating on air. He spins his sabre two-handed
above his head like a blazing baton. He brings the sabre to rest horizontally
before him. “Upon my return to Coruscant, I will present your mutilated, rotting
corpse to my Master.”
Darth Maul lunges at Picard, but feeling a resurgence of strength to his
body, the Captain is quick to his feet, and blocks Maul’s strike. They gaze at
each other through locked sabres. Picard summons all his strength to push the
Sith away. Noting a multitude of catwalks crisscrossing a seemingly bottom
shaft at various levels, Picard runs out onto one, hoping to find refuge of some
kind at the other end. However, Darth Maul does not persue him. Picard is
concerned, but thankful, for he feels his body growing weary. He is no match for
the young warrior in his prime.
The Captain hurriedly makes his way across the catwalk, frequently looking
behind him for the Sith, who remains standing at the end of the catwalk, looking
on. Q appears along side him. “Well, what do you think?” he asks. “Is he an
opponent worthy of the great Captain Jean-Luc Picard?”
Picard pauses on the catwalk; he ignores the sarcasm in Q’s question.
“Indeed, his Master has taught him well,” he confesses, catching his breathe.
“His skill and agility are impressive. Indeed he is an exceptional fighter. He
outclasses me by far.” Picard looks to Q hoping his words have had the
intended effect he wanted on Q’s oversized ego. He wipes the sweat and blood
from his face; he cleans it on his black pantleg. He turns defiantly to the other,
“Is this want you want Q? Me to die at the hands of this Sith Warrior?” Picard,
momentarily distracted by Q’s presence, gestures down the catwalk to the Sith,
who has vanished. Picard glances around the chamber.
Suddenly, Darth Maul drops from a catwalk above in between the pair. His
outstretched fingers grasp Q’s face and he throws him to the floor, he then
savagely back-slaps Picard across his face causing him to lose his balance and
fall from the catwalk. Picard’s sprawling form drops through the air and lands
heavily on his side close to the edge of another catwalk. The momentum of the
fall has caused him to continue rolling towards the catwalk’s edge and he is
unable to prevent himself from rolling off. At the last possible moment, his
hands catch the edging and he is left hanging, clinging desperately for life.
Darth Maul jumps down from the catwalk above and walks over to Picard; he
looks down at the pathetic Jedi desperately trying to pull himself up. He brings
a boot down lightly on the Jedi’s straining fingerhold. The Captain tries futilely
to reposition his fingers to escape the Sith’s boot. Darth Maul exerts more
pressure on the Captain’s straining clasp, and still more pressure; he exerts all of
his weight onto a single boot. Picard feels the bones in his fingers cracking
beneath the boot. Darth Maul pauses, looking the Captain straight in the eye, he
grins like a Cheshire cat as he raises his boot and then brutally slams it down
hard on Picard’s fingers, grinding them into the metal with the heal of his boot.
Picard looses his grip and falls once again. He lands upon the final level on
catwalks, crossing above the Palace’s power generator shafts.
Picard reflectively grasps his leg, a agonized cry escapes his lips. He knows
his leg is broken. Battered and bruised, Picard drags himself down the walkway.
In a blur of blackness, Maul leaps down to the catwalk, and stalks toward
Picard; his boots thudding loudly against the metal floor. Picard senses from the
Sith’s purposeful, deliberate stride and seriousness of his features that he has
had his fill of toying with him, as he continues to drag himself down the catwalk
away from the approaching Sith.
Darth Maul continues toward his fallen opponent. Though the Jedi has been
woefully inadequate in battle, he has provided him with a great deal of
amusement. His Master will be pleased. He swings his lightsabre wildly back
and forth against the floor, it’s tip slashing into its metal; hot sparks dance
wildly upward.
Picard continues backing away from the approaching Sith; his footsteps as
loud as the beating within the Captain’s chest. The pain caused by his broken
leg apparent on his contorted, sweat-soaked face. His strength drained from
him, he feebly continues to pull himself down the catwalk with his crushed,
almost useless hands, dragging his limp leg. The Sith summons the sabre from
Picard’s loose, broken grip to his gloved hand and tosses it behind him. It
clanks loudly on the catwalk and rolls to the edge and disappears into whatever
awaits it at the bottom. Picard looks about expectantly for Q, but he is nowhere
to be seen. “Don’t worry Jedi, I will take care of your friend soon enough,”
Darth Maul gloats. “He, like you, will be no match for me.” He leans over his
fallen opponent, leering triumphantly. His yellow eyes are bright with
anticipation, his yellow irises dancing like uncontrolled fires lapping up acres of
dry, virgin Naboo grassland.
Picard lifts his arm wearily to protect his face, knowing that it is an act of
futility, as the lightsabre will tear through his flesh as easily as a hot knife
through butter. In a final, defiant gesture, he looks the Sith straight in the eye,
who is still leering triumphantly at his broken form, his face only inches from
that of Picard’s. The Sith stands upright and calmly deactivates one end of his
sabre. He raises the single remaining blade of his weapon over his head and
brings it down over Picard’s crumpled form with all his strength and all his
hatred.
Picard feels his whole body tense. “Noooooooooooooo,” his voice echoes
throughout the chamber.
****
“Captain, are you all right?’
Picard wearily opened his tightly closed eyes, and drops his arm from his
face. He loosens his tightly clenched fists. All is peaceful.
Picard glances up, momentarily confused. His vision clears; he glances
about -- the Sith has vanished. He realizes that he has returned to the bridge of
the Enterprise. He rises unsteadily to his feet, and realizes his leg is no longer
broken and his hands are fully functional, but the discomfort of his other injuries
remain. Captain Picard tugs down on his tunic, trying to regain some
composure. “I am quite all right now, Number One,” his voice strong and
authoritative once more.
“The computer reported you missing quite some time ago, Captain. There
was no record of you transporting off the ship. We ran extensive sensor sweeps
of the area.” Riker gestures to his Captain’s battered form. “I assume this is Q’s
doing.”
“Indeed, Number One.”
“And what was the purpose of Q’s visit this time?”
“Has Q ever a purpose. He seeks only to amuse himself. He seems to get a
great deal of perverse pleasure out of tormenting, what he sees as, ‘lower
lifeforms.’”
“I’ll inform Dr. Crusher. I think you should report to sick bay
immediately.” His hand raises to tap his communicator.
“Oh, stop your fussing Riker,” Q has appeared in a brilliant flash of light
onto the bridge, ”your Captain is quite alright. It is *I* that has been injured.” Q
gestures sympathetically to himself. “Really, the gull, the arrogance of that
creature, implying that he could beat me. And the indignity I have suffered at
that vile creature manhandling me.” Q lightly brushes the creases for his
Starfleet uniform, “I am quite insulted. Never have a met such an arrogant
creature.”
“Is that the only reason you brought an end to the fight, Q? The fact that he
injured you pride? His arrogance reminds me very much of someone else.”
Picard gives Q an accusing look.
Q gestures innocently to himself, “Me? Really, Picard. He would have
killed you were it not for me, and I would not let my best friend be killed.” He
wraps his arm about Picard’s shoulders. “You and I are such good buddies,” he
bubbles and squeezes Picard tightly to his side.
Picard releases himself from Q’s embrace, his face full of disdain once
more, “I am no friend of yours Q. Now leave this ship.”
Commander Riker steps forward to his Captain’s side, he gives Q a stern
look. “Get off my ship!” Picard’s authoritative voice booms.
Q gives the pair an innocent but mischievous look. “It’s been fun, Picard.
Until next time....”
________
McLaren Moschino
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