The vast collective of Viacom has assimilated and now controls the subcollective of Paramount and its subcollective, Star Trek. Star Traks freed itself from the brain of Alan Decker and is currently doing quite well forming a collective of its own. Maija Meneks developed the subcollective known as BorgSpace and has generously chosen join her subcollective with the larger Star Traks collective in our eternal quest for the perfect joke.
Basic Training
by
Alan Decker
As was appropriate in such situations, Sensors was the first to detect the disturbance approaching Exploratory Cube #347. The sensation was somewhere in the fuchsia root beer range with just a hint of a high pitch squeal aftertaste. Unsure quite what to make of it herself, she patched the data feed directly into the intranet, sending it out to each of the other drones on the cube.
{AUUUUGHH!}
{My eye!}
{My optic implant!}
{My nose is melting!}
{Make it stop!}
{Sensors!} 4 of 8's voice cried above the panicked din. {Shut it down!}
Obeying her captain promptly, Sensors discontinued the feed. Unfortunately, the other drones had not been able to provide any real insights, only a lot of screaming and two suicide attempts Doctor would have to repair.
A moment later, 4 of 8 swirled into existence in front of Sensors' regeneration chamber, the displeased look on his face visible through the cascading green energies of the cube's transporter. Usually, the ship's intranet would be sufficient for communicating his unhappiness to Sensors, but there was still enough chaos in there from the raw sensor data to warrant a more personal touch.
"I assume there was a reason for that disturbance," 4 of 8 said. He shook his head briefly, trying to will away the headache that was starting around his aural implant. Slowly, the many voices calmed down and melded back into one...or as close of an approximation to one as Cube #347 ever achieved. "Preferably one that can be communicated without sending the other drones completely over the brink."
"Root beer is too loud. And the squeal tastes sharp," Sensors replied helpfully.
"I'm glad we cleared that up. Now what does any of it mean to this cube?"
"Sensors not sure yet, but Sensors does not like..."
Captain and Sensors...along with everyone else on Cube #347...were suddenly jolted violently, knocking Borg around like so many dominos.
"That would explain the root beer," Sensors said.
"I'll take your word for it," 4 of 8 replied, awkwardly picking himself up off of the deck. The Borg may have been the most feared life form in the quadrant, but, with all of those stiff cybernetic implants, knocking one over was a bit like flipping a turtle.
{Captain,} Second's mental signature interrupted. {Report to your viewscreen.} Normally, 4 of 8 would have balked at such an abrupt summons, but something in the modulation of Second's frequencies changed his mind.
{Find out what just happened,} Captain said to Sensors, then vanished again in another cascade of green.
Reappearing in front of his viewscreen just centimeters to the left of Second (Captain really needed to have a word with transporter control. The number of near miss transports had grown alarmingly high of late. And there had been a least one rematerialization halfway into a bulkhead. Captain suspected, although the members of the transporter hierarchy had not revealed anything on the intranet, that the boredom of their task had led several of the transporter control drone to see how close they could cut it), Captain immediately noticed two things. One, there was a ship out there. A Borg ship to be precise...well, sort of precise because this was unlike any Borg cube he had ever seen. The vessel was only about a tenth of the size of Exploratory Class Cube #347 and had the traditional cube shape. However, long metallic...wings, for lack of a better term, jutted out of the top, bottom, and sides of the cube, sweeping back towards the rear of the ship. If the body of the cube itself had been streamlined, the look would have been quite sleek. In any case, wings on a Borg cube were anomalous to say the least. The jagged red streaks running along each side of the cube also posed a bit of a puzzle.
Normally, Captain's attention would have been riveted by this newcomer. However, the second thing Captain noticed took him a bit more by surprise. There weren't any stars. Not a one. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Yirlick.
{Sensors, were are we?} Captain asked.
{Nowhere,} she replied.
{We can't be nowhere,} Second snapped.
{Sensors are empty. No purple. No vinegar. And definitely no root beer.}
{I see,} Captain said, not really seeing at all. Captain reached out for the Greater Consciousness of the Borg to inquire about their situation and the mysterious cube in front of them. He received the Borg equivalent of static. The equivalent of a gasp rocketed through the intranet.
{Are they gone?} Second asked.
{I don't know,} Captain replied. {There may be something out there beyond this nothing, but I don't think my signal got through to find out.}
{It's a trap!} Weapons screamed. {Destroy the other cube!!!} Captain felt Weapons powering up the forward array and quickly wrested control from him.
{No! We do not have enough information. Besides, I do not wish to remain in...nowhere. This cube may know the way out.}
{If the did, why would they be here now?} Second asked.
{You aren't helping.} Captain reached out over the network, activating the comm array and sending a message to the other vessel. {We are Borg Exploratory Class Cube #347. State your designation.}
{We are Borg,} came the reply; although, Captain noticed that the voices seemed slightly out of synch.
{We gathered that,} Captain said. {State your designation and tell this cube its current location.}
{You are here with us. We will beam over drones now. You will comply.}
{But...} Before Captain could finish his protest, a small group of five drones materialized on the catwalk a few feet away. At least Captain assumed they were drones. They had implants; however, their skin seemed less Borgish. Gone were the pale complexions of earlier models or the slightly slimy brown of the Collective's new and improved models. Their exoskeletons, while still black, seemed more ornate, which intricate designs carved into the body molding.
"We are Borg," the lead drone said.
"So you mentioned," Second said. Captain and Second noticed that the other drones in the newcomer's group were furtively looking around the cube with something resembling awe in their eyes.
"Why are we here?" Captain demanded. "This cube has other missions for the Collective."
"We know your mission," the lead Borg replied. "You are returning to BorgSpace. Beyond that, your objectives are flexible."
"That is not the term I...er, this drone, would use," Captain replied, cursing himself for allowing his growing anger to screw up his speech. This situation was quickly becoming intolerable. Impatiently, Captain attempted to access the intranet of the other Borg. He never even breached the first datawall.
"You will not enter until you comply, 4 of 8," the lead Borg stated coldly.
"Comply with what?" Captain asked.
"We require your assistance."
"In?"
"Return with us to our vessel, and you will be informed."
Captain glanced at Second. This would be the time when most good first officers would leap in and demand to either know what was going on or insist on being taken in the captain's place. This being a Borg ship, however, such loyalty was majorly lacking. Second had no desire for command, but he had even less desire to risk termination in unknown circumstances.
"I will monitor the situation from here," Second said.
"I deduced as much," Captain said. In a flash, he and the five newcomers were gone.
Captain rematerialized in a dark hallway lit only by flashing strobe lights slicing through the thick white clouds of fog which seemed to envelop everything. Down a nearby corridor, Captain could just make out two Borg-shaped figures strolling away from his position. They appeared to be chatting...and holding hands.
"I am 1 of 253," the lead Borg of the newcomer ship said. "It is a great honor to meet you 4 of 8." Suddenly, 1 of 253 grabbed 4 of 8's one organic hand and shook it vigorously. "I can't believe this."
Sounds of shouting burst into 4 of 8's growing confusion. He looked down off of the catwalk he had materialized on towards the source of the noise. Several Borg were running on an open deck that had been coated in a soft, green substance. Attention seemed to be locked on one drone carrying an oblong orb. In many ways, the activity resembled Jhad-ball.
Another drone approached Captain's position, drawing closer than Captain would like. He straightened up suddenly, bumping into the approaching drone. A globular brownish substance fell from a thin, white bread-like cylindrical object held in the drone's hand and splattered on Captain's chest.
"Sorry," the drone mumbled, his mouth full of the same substance. He quickly retreated
off down the catwalk.
Captain contacted Cube #374 and had great difficulty catching anyone's attention. Rather than being concerned about his absence, the cube's drones seemed to be betting on the game Captain had just been observing.
{Quiet!} Captain shouted. {I need answers.}
{Destroy them!} Weapons shouted.
{I need sensible answers.}
{We could assimilate them,} Assimilation suggested tentatively. It was the only think he could think to offer.
{Unwarranted. We can not assimilate other Borg, unless...} Captain trailed off and returned his concentration to 1 of 253, who was watching him in wide-eyed wonder.
"You are not Borg," Captain said simply.
"Are we that obvious?" 1 of 253 asked.
"Yes. What is the purpose of this deception?"
"We wanted to be like you," the fake-drone replied. Up until that point, Captain had not paid much attention to the ages of the newcomer drones. As a rule, aging became irrelevant once assimilation occurred. However, with new knowledge at his disposal, Captain realized that these false drones were all rather young. Adolescents, if he had to guess.
"That can be arranged," Captain said, his assimilation tubules beginning to extend from his hand.
{I would not recommend that course of action,} Assimilation said over the intranet.
{Explain,} Captain replied, stopping his approach to the remarkably unafraid 1 of 253. "Cool!" he heard 1 of 253 exclaim in the background as he focused on Assimilation.
{We do not have the facilities to handle such a great number of new drones. As it is, housing subunit #522 has put a strain on resources.}
{I still say we destroy them,} Weapons added.
The interruption having allowed his nerves to cool down somewhat, Captain decided on a different course of action. There were records, of course, of species who pursued assimilation willingly. Sensors was from one such species. However, these life-forms generally did not dress up as Borg, go cavorting around the universe as Borg, or, more extremely, kidnap Borg.
"Do you wish to be assimilated?" Captain asked.
"Well...not really. We're sort of our own collective here. Let me show you." 1 of 253 then jacked Captain into the intranet of the false Borg vessel. Captain was rather surprised by the abruptness of this action...and by the fact that he could not stop it.
Once into the network, Captain became aware of numerous voices. It sounded a bit like Cube #347 when the ship was in imminent danger of destruction. These voices were not panicked, however. Instead, they engaged in various conversation among pairs and larger groupings. The minds were linked, and Captain could sense the surroundings of the individual drones connected to the network, but there was nothing in the way of Oneness, not even in the limited sense in which Cube #347 experienced it.
Captain also became aware of a constant, repetitive background noise in the intranet. After a few moments, he identified it: music!
{It helps us think,} 1 of 253 explained. {And it rocks!}
1 of 253 downloaded a brief history of the cube to Captain. Indeed, they were all adolescents, who, in the words of the first entry, thought the Borg rocked. Using their combined resources, talents, and a few items stolen from their parents, the 253 adolescent Borg fans, or Borgers, as they called themselves, constructed a ship and headed off into space. A side note 1 of 253 failed to mention but one that disturbed Captain greatly was the time index indicated in the Borgers' files. It was close to 600 years in the future.
{How did you come to grab our ship?} Captain asked.
{Oh, we just created a little pocket of null space and pulled your cube in from its timeframe. Nothing fancy.}
{Of course,} Captain said, quickly asking his own crew if they had any idea how such a feat might be accomplished. They did not. In fact, he was fairly sure Delta had blown a neural transducer or two in just listening to the offhand way in which 1 of 253 described the action.
Deciding not to pursue that line of inquiry, Captain moved on to the next confusing issue that had occurred to him. {Where are the rest of the 253? I am detecting several absences in your intranet.}
{Oh, they're just in privacy mode.}
{Privacy mode?} Captain asked, quickly quelling the demands of {Hey, why don't we have a privacy mode?} rising from Cube #347.
{Yeah. You can't very well talk about who wants who and who hates who and who wants to have sex with who when we're all able to hear each other's thoughts.}
{SEX?!?!?!?} several of Cube #347's drones screamed.
{This is all fascinating, but I must return to my original question,} Captain said, trying to remain professional. {Why have you brought us here?}
{We want you to teach us to be better Borg.}
{Teach you? I do not understand.}
{Look, 4 of 8. Mind if I call you 4 of 8?}
{That is my designation,} Captain replied wearily.
{Right. Look, we've got the ship, the network, and the clothes, but we just don't have the attitude. We want to walk like you, talk like you. You get it?}
{I believe so,} Captain said. He didn't really wish to discuss the matter he would next broach, but the circumstances seemed to warrant it. {But you have made a serious error. We are not the Borg you think we are.}
{We know all about Cube #347. Your unique situation is why we selected you. You're the only ones who might understand what we're going through here.}
He consulted with his ship briefly. Second was first to comment. {I don't see any possible gain for us from this.} Once Captain made it incredibly plain that no one on Cube #347 would be regaining the ability to have sex, the rest of the drones concurred with Second.
{We will not comply,} Captain told 1 of 253. {Send us back to where you found us...or back to BorgSpace, if you can.}
{We will not comply,} 1 of 253 echoed. {You will obey us.}
{And if we do not?} Captain suddenly could see his cube from the perspective of the Borger vessel. Four beams rapid-fired from the Borger ship, slicing off the corners of Cube #347's front face. Delta frantically dispatched repair crews as she attempted to analyze and find a way for the cube to adapt to the Borger weapon. She informed Captain, much to his dismay, that she had even less of a clue about what hit them than how to create a pocket of null space.
{We will comply,} Captain said. He really didn't see much other choice.
"All right," Weapons said, stiffly marching up and down the line of Borgers in front of him. "The key to a proper Borg assault is to show no emotion whatsoever. Now, let's see those blank faces!"
Weapons looked up and down the line at his gathered pupils. They were trying, but...
"Look blank, not bored!" Weapons snapped. The Borgers tried to obey their instructor, altering their expressions.
"Better," Weapons said. "Now, march!"
The Borgers lumbered forward, trying to keep their blank expressions intact as they did so.
"I see that swagger, 97 of 253!" Weapons snapped. "Come on, 167 of 253, this is an assault, not a stroll through the elderberries!"
Hopeless, Weapons thought. These kids were hopeless.
Delta A and B stood on opposite sides of the Borger vessel supervising the removal of the unnecessary wings.
"Excuse me?" one of the Borgers, dressed in an environmental suit, asked Delta B.
"What is it?"
"Why a cube?"
"Eh?"
"Why are Borg ships shaped like cubes? I never understood that"
"Um...well. It is part of our pursuit of perfection," Delta B replied. That answer sounded plausible she supposed.
"But wouldn't a sphere be closer."
"Yeah...well, we've got those too."
"So how can both be perfect?" the Borger asked.
"We'll make sure to ask the Greater Consciousness that as soon as we get back to BorgSpace. I promise."
"Thanks. You're really nice. Bye bye now!" The Borger skipped away happily whistling some annoyingly perky tune. Delta A and B sighed in unison and wished for the three thousandth time that hour that this entire mess was over.
"No! You're being too melodramatic," Second snapped. "Try it again."
"Resistance is futile," the group of gathered Borgers monotoned.
"Now you sound depressed. Listen. Resistence is futile. It's very matter of fact. That's just the way it is. Think of it as saying your name. My name is Second. Resistance is futile. See. No drama at all."
46 of 253 raised her hand.
"Yes," Second said.
"Then how do we strike fear into our enemies?"
"By being Borg," Second said in exasperation. "The reason others fear us is because we are so matter of fact about things. Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated. There's nothing to be done about it. No emotion. Just be Borg. Now try it again."
"Resistance is futile."
"All right! Who laughed?"
"Unlike some of the cold, stiff aspects of our work, assimilation is all about attitude," Assimilation said, as he paced in front of his Borger pupils. He walked over to 23 of 510, the Cube #347 drone he was using as a visual aid for his lesson. "Step up behind your victim, grab their head, and pull it back like so." He grabbed 23 of 510's head and yanked it back. "Now place you arm under their exposed next, extend your assimilation tubules, and insert. That's the easy part. The head grab is really the key. Remember, attitude. And then pull back...and to the left. Back...and to the left. Back...and to the left. Got it?"
"Back and to the left," the Borger's repeated.
"Let me try!" 11 of 243 exclaimed, leaping at Assimilation. Before Assimilation could react, 11 of 253 yanked his head back and jammed tubules into Assimilation's neck. The resulting flow of...something into Assimilation sent a wild rush through him and Cube #347's entire intranet. In the resulting shockwave, several implants blasted out of their host drones and one entire hierarchy spontaneously erupted into a rousing chorus of "Louie, Louie."
"Woah!" Assimilation gasped, trying to maintain his balance. "What was that?"
"Trade secret," 11 of 253 replied smiling.
Doctor looked around the empty room in puzzlement. The Borgers must just have misunderstood the time he decided. Why else would his seminar on Assimilation of Non- Sentients be completely empty?
At the end of a long day of training the Borgers in proper star system entry and exit protocols, Captain collapsed into his regeneration alcove, literally leaning against the back wall.
{They suck,} Second said, stating the thoughts of the entire cube.
{They just need our patience,} Doctor replied. {Even though the little bastards skipped my seminar.}
{We should terminate ourselves,} Weapons said. {It's the only way to escape.}
{I second and third that,} Delta said.
{No,} Captain said, forcing his mind to work. {Doctor is right. We are going to make these beings into proper Borg. Second, I want a new training regime drawn up. We all will most likely lose a few regeneration cycles on this one.}
The response from the rest of Cube #347 was less than enthusiastic.
But the next morning, they were ready. Lessons had been developed. Visual aids had been prepared. And the Borgers WOULD be taught proper Borg behavior.
"Morning!" 1 of 253 said cheerfully after materializing in front of Captain. Captain had gathered his hierarchy heads to meet with the Borgers right away. Efficiency would be increased that way. The fact that 1 of 253 had shown up by himself was a bit confusing to the collected group of Borg "officers."
"We are ready to recommence your training," Captain said.
"Don't worry about it," 1 of 253 said. "You guys were great. We learned SO much from you."
"But you are not proper Borg," Second insisted.
"We're close enough now. We can't thank you enough. Bye!" With a quick wave, 1 of 253 vanished.
"Bbbbut, I made graphs," Delta A stammered.
"And pie charts," Delta B said.
"This whole experience has been...unpleasant," Captain said thoughtfully.
As if to spite him, the situation got decidedly more unpleasant as Cube #347 was suddenly jerked back and to the left, knocking drones about like so many wooden soldiers.
"Root beer!" Sensors screamed. "We're back where we were!"
"I gathered that," Captain replied, picking himself up awkwardly.
"Could someone flip me over?" Second asked. With a rather un-Borg-like sigh, Captain reached down to help his fallen first officer as he dipped into the intranet and set the cube on a course back for BorgSpace.
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