"Beware of Paramount, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
They own the universe of Star Trek
And defend it with viciousness unmatched!"
Decker took his vorpal pen in hand:
Star Traks on the computer he keyed --
Meneks hit her head against the Tumtum tree,
And BorgSpace tumbled out: freed.
*"Jabberwocky" from "Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There" (1872) by Lewis Carroll. For all his imagination, I don't think even Lewis Carroll foresaw a time when his poetry would be featured in a Star Traks: BorgSpace story.
Of Jabberwock, Jubjub Birds, and Bandersnatch
Subunit #522 was on the outside looking in, literally. A long series of events had cumulated with the entirety of the subunit, previously of Cargo-class Cube #522 and now of Exploratory-class Cube #347, standing on the hull near one of the giant doors accessing Bulk Cargo Hold #3. After the forced evacuation, transporters had ceased to function, and primary power to the subsection lost. A group of the so-designated engineering hierarchy had been dispatched with the task to open the cargo doors from the inside when it became evident exterior controls were vacuum wielded.
It was not a good way to start the day.
The cargo doors began to slowly inch apart, centimeter by slow centimeter, revealing the slight sheen of the containment field to those members employing the correct visual frequencies; at least some things were still functional. Eventually the doors slid out of view, fully opened. Now the inside of Bulk Cargo Hold #3 could be seen, complete with the mess which had occurred when a regenerative system artery had burst, releasing a thick organic slurry into the bay.
The slurry floated in irregular globules - artificial gravity was obviously compromised. At the corner of the large aperture, in the location of the normal down, three drones could be seen peering out towards the subunit. Lengths of multicolored wire billowed chaotically, testament to the effort needed to hot-wire the cargo doors. The trio stood in apparent defiance of no gravity, locked to the deck via magnetized soles. A bubble of slurry impacted against one of the drones, covering her in goop; she began to shake her head back and forth rapidly, attempting to shed the fluid. Bulk Cargo Hold #3, alcove area of subunit #522, was an absolute mess.
The subunit took a few seconds to turn inward, to contemplate odds and probabilities. Two hundred fifty-four minds swiftly crunched numbers, much more efficiently than Cube #347 sub-collective could, despite the fact the latter was four thousand in number and thus theoretically more powerful. The calculations indicated long-term safety of the subunit would be greater in the cargo hold than on the hull during a close approach to a star's corona...but just barely. Subunit #522 began to file through the force field and into the bay.
Subunit #522 was in many places, participating in many tasks: de-engineering an unusual ceramic-metal-plastic material obtained in the assimilation of a species #8693 scout ship; calculating most efficient manner to exploit deep geothermal resources of planet #167; executing capture and assimilation of a colony by the multi-special empire known as the Trollic Regime; processing sensor data into a 4-dimensional matrix, raw information obtained from eight long-range Exploratory-class cubes lurking at the edges of the Federation; and, onboard Exploratory-class Cube #347, in Bulk Cargo Hold #3, installing a localized transporter system with independent power source and pattern buffer.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
"Bandersnatch...bandersnatch...bandersnatch...snatch...atch......" The last word of the nonsensical poem echoed into inaudibility, musical whisper swallowed by the distant corners of the hold. All drones of subunit #522 shuffled to a halt.
{4 of 8, we demand your attention,} stated 143 of 1810, current consensus monitor and facilitator of the subunit.
{What now, subunit #522? Is the temperature off by 0.1 degree again? Perhaps humidity is too high?} returned Captain's peeved voice. {We've entered a region of spatial anomalies, and I'm a bit busy at the moment.}
{The environmental complaints were perfectly relevant at the time, considering the fact it was raining in the hold. Past problems are not the issue. One of the imperfectly assimilated on this cube is reciting irrelevant, untranslatable poetry over the local speakers.}
A brief moment of silence followed as 4 of 8 sent queries throughout his system, questioning drones and inspecting recent internal data. {Negative. The loudspeakers in and around Bulk Cargo Hold #3 have not been activated recently. I suggest you perform a self-diagnostic of your aural implants and get back to me when I have free time. You wouldn't want us to be driven into a pothole, now would you?} Captain terminated the connection with 143 of 1810.
Subunit #522 performed the diagnostic as suggested, unsurprised as readouts from all drones returned as nominal. The problem was not with the subunit. The group was the butt of some incomprehensible Cube #347 joke again, that was the simplest explanation.
The cube twisted, thumped and bumped, as it had for the last several hours. Subunit #522 monitored Cube #347's progress vicariously, reading incoming raw sensory data while simultaneously observing outgoing propulsion commands. The ship had slowed to a crawl, threading its way on low impulse through a swarm of small spatial anomalies, occasionally catching an edge or corner in one of the phenomena. The anomalies were not dangerous, merely annoying concentrations of rare quantum particles leaking through pinholes in space-time, subtly causing the spatial equivalent of atmospheric turbulence. Subunit #522 eavesdropped on various admissions of balance disorder from all cube quadrants.
{Doctor, I don't feel so good.}
{My nonfunctional stomach feels like it is going to spew in a very relevant manner.}
{I'm dizzy.}
{Captain, are we there yet? I'm cubesick.}
{Can't you make the ride smoother, Delta?}
{Doctor....}
{Captain....}
Exasperated, subunit #522 pulled its attention away from the complaints. The two subunit members who were experiencing the pseudo-nausea were sent into stasis; there were more efficient and stoic ways to deal with problems than to go running to drone maintenance. Besides, there was image to maintain, an example to put forth.
196 of 230, engineering hierarchy member, was busy with ongoing repairs to the door motors of Bulk Cargo Hold #3. Subunit #522 was occupied itself, three drones observing 196 of 230 while others, those not in regeneration, performed routine maintenance to the alcove area. Cube #347 engineering teams were no longer permitted to work on those systems now self-contained in the bay which directly affected the subunit's health. The door, however, was of the cube's bailiwick.
"Go away, subunit #522, you're bugging me," complained 196 of 230 as she used her prosthetic hand to test resistance within circuits. A dirty look was flashed to one of the watching trio. "I can't do my task with you breathing down my neck."
"We are not 'breathing down' your neck," returned the subunit through drone 143 of 1880. "Your criticism is irrelevant."
"I didn't mean it literally, you idiot! I meant it is difficult to concentrate with you scrutinizing my every move. Ugh! You made me lose track of where I was in the series, and now I have to start all over again."
The subunit ignored insults, both implied and obvious. "We could do that task more efficiently than you."
"'You', meaning this drone, or 'you', meaning this sub-collective?"
"Both."
"You are a piece of work, subunit #522, you really are. Now be quiet, back off, and let me finish this task in peace. I'm already behind schedule as it is. And Delta would have your collective hides if you touched cube systems." 196 of 230 returned to her job.
The subunit was not currently linked intimately with the Greater Consciousness, there being no pressing need to do so. Most of subunit #522's attention was focused on 196 of 230, making sure another disaster wasn't in the making. Thus far she had shown adequate competency to finish the task without suddenly triggering the cargo doors to open. The disappearance of the drone with job half completed was not expected.
196 of 230 did not vanish via transporter beam, but by unknown means. One moment she was working industriously, the next engulfed by a shimmer she did not seem to notice. Just as subunit #522 began to access local internal sensors to examine the phenomena, 196 of 230 jerked her head up in alert, first syllable of a phrase extrapolated to end with four-letter oath forming. A quiet pop of inrushing air, and the drone was gone without a trace.
{Engineering hierarchy, where did 196 of 230 go?} queried the subunit towards the appropriate department. Not even the Collective could keep track of all the half-functional contraptions this particular sub-collective stumbled over. High on a list of ranked probabilities included the likelihood a contingent of drones was tinkering with an esoteric transportation device.
Returned 12 of 19, nee Delta, current head of engineering: {Who?}
{196 of 230.}
{There is no 196 of 230 in the drone manifest. That designation is open for assignment.}
{A drone designated 196 of 230 was just testing a motor to the bay doors in Bulk Cargo Hold #3. She vanished.} Subunit #522 sent the words slowly, as if to a brain-damaged tactical drone on the edge of forced termination.
{I repeat, subunit #522, there is no drone by that designation currently on board. Have you been screwing around with the door motors? Is that it? If you have and something is broken you don't want to fess up to, I'll....} The connection was hastily closed in mid-tirade. A new link was opened, this time to the consensus monitor and facilitator of the sub-collective. Purhaps he would be more reasonable...or at least in a better mood.
{4 of 8.}
{That's my designation, don't wear it out. Captain will do as well. I'm still quite busy and due for regeneration shortly, so make it quick.} The cube rumbled on cue as a pothole was hit.
{The engineering hierarchy drone 196 of 230 is missing. We observed her to vanish at the following time index. Check internal logs to confirm her disappearance; an appropriate visual sensor was functional in Bulk Cargo Hold #3 at the time.} The time index was sent, along with exact path information leading to the correct file. {12 of 19 refuses to acknowledge the existence of this drone.}
{Well, for one thing, she's right: 196 of 230 doesn't currently exist in the manifest. Also, I see nothing unusual in the log...just three of your subunit staring at a motor.}
{What?} Subunit #522 was startled. It swiftly reviewed what should have been the appropriate internal sensor data, only to see Captain was telling the truth. The data must have been altered!
{What what?} broke in the signature of 3 of 8, the sub-collective's facilitator backup. {I told you before, Delta is correct and that drone is a non-entity. Now go back to contemplating each other's navels, nostrils, whatever...I've got a cube to drive.}
The subunit was now extremely confused. {Where is 4 of 8? We were speaking to 4 of 8, not you.}
{4 of 8? There is no 4 of 8. I'm busy, so stop pestering me.} The link rudely closed.
Something nasty was happening in the cube. That something was stealing drones and altering files such that those of the sub-collective who remained did not realize the discrepancies. Subunit #522 appeared to be immune, and it would thus be up to the subunit to discover the perpetrator, stop it, and convince what remained of Cube #347 sub-collective that the subunit was in the right. And all had to occur while drones remained on the cube. A tiny bit of assimilation imperfection must have infected the subunit, because although it couldn't quite admit it to itself, gloating about efficiency is no fun when there is none to listen.
Subunit #522 began a heavy session of research and cross-indexing with the objective to determine the degree of danger towards Cube #347, and ultimately the subunit itself. The first order of business was to direct the computer to update the drone manifest every minute, reporting the total number of Borg on the cube. Initial results indicated sub-collective members disappeared at a rate of forty drones per fifteen minutes, often in the breadth of three minutes with no discernible preference as to location or hierarchy designation. At the current pace of disappearance, the sub-collective of Cube #347 would be completely gone in less than 24 hours.
3 of 8, who was apparently the new facilitator although he insisted he had held the position for a long time, continued to refuse the subunit's warnings even as crew compliment steadily shrunk.
1 of 3, Sensors, had been among the first drones to be stolen, rendering it much easier to decode both internal and external data from the grid. Subunit #522 did not understand how Cube #347 could function with an insectoid of species #6766 controlling the grids: the majority of incoming data was sheer gibberish requiring excessive amounts of time and mental resources to realign into a readable format. Data from the few sensor clusters which happened to be focused on drones as they vanished was copied into local memory files of subunit members. The original information had a disturbing tendency to fade within a few seconds of being recorded. Intense scrutiny of observations from various sensory frequencies revealed the nature of the kidnappers.
Each drone, before he/she/it vanished, became surrounded by a bubble of...something. That something had a minute phase shift variance in regards to standard expected values, the most obvious telltale being a sudden rise in ambient quantum particle levels just prior to the appearance of the anomaly itself. Although neither shift nor quantum "flavor" were exact matches to the general anomalies populating the region exterior of the hull, it was very close. The anomalies always opened in the presence of drones, near a target if not exactly on. Subunit #522 assigned a high probability of intelligence in its decision tree matrix.
A search subroutine beeped for attention, drawing the subunit to examine the program's find. The phase shift had been recorded by sensors before the first known incident of drone disappearance, the communication array to be exact. Amazingly the file was intact, an unusual data prefixed to the recorded message path, just prior to the main body, directed it to bypass normal channels and only sound over Bulk Cargo Hold #3 loudspeakers. As it was triggered to replay, familiar words whispered:
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
Did an unknown non-corporeal sentient control this region of space? And while it threatened the integrity of Cube #347 sub-collective, why did the apparent warning only sound for Subunit #522? Would the subunit continue to be immune?
Many relevant questions came tumbling forth, data crunching giving way to directed brainstorming. A designation was required for the danger, one which would prompt those remaining drones of Cube #347 to acknowledge the threat and add their mental abilities - not spectacular, but they were still functional Borg - to combat the menace. The frivolous poem itself suggested a relevant name, one which adequately described the snatching of unwitting victims: Bandersnatch.
Twelve hours had passed since the subunit had begun its self-imposed task. It was time to recontact 3 of 8 and logically lay out collected facts; subunit #522 could not fail.
The unwillingness of Cube #347 sub-collective to acknowledge the disappearance of its drones prompted subunit #522 to craft a report for submission. One final warning to 3 of 8 garnered a sneer and {Tattletale, as always, but it is your communal self you are opening to questions from the Greater Consciousness about sanity and paranoia. For once, this sub-collective is in the right.} Less than a minute later three more drones had vanished, the computer dutifully recited the most current census. Average disappearance rate was increasing. The subunit issued commands to the vinculum booster array to fully link its members to the streaming consciousness of the Collective. Nothing happened; background murmurs of trillions of minds remained unchanged.
{Engineering hierarchy! Respond! How is the fractual booster nonfunctional, and when did it happen?} sent subunit #522 towards the engineering head, a most scathing mental tone used. The reply was not from 12 of 19. She had apparently been among recent casualties.
{This is the engineering hierarchy, how may we assist?} nasally returned 122 of 310 in a bored manner.
{We cannot open a full link to the Collective. Fix the problem.}
{There is no problem.}
{Yes there is!}
{All diagnostics check out okay. I can hear the Collective humming away just fine and dandy, so therefore a link exists and all is functional.}
{It is not. We cannot open a full data link. We demand to talk to one higher in your hierarchy.}
{A snort. I don't think so. I'm not going to bring this to the attention of Engineer. He doesn't like it when you try to tell him something is broken when it is not. "Waste of time," he says. Engineer doesn't like to waste time. And besides, /I'd/ be the one punished for bringing this irrelevant problem up, not you. You wouldn't be the one recalibrating the replicator system, now would you? No, I don't think so.} The connection was severed.
Subunit #522 fumed. {Engineering hierarchy! Respond! There is a problem with the fractual booster and we want it fixed!}
{Hello. This is the engineering hierarchy, how may we...oh, never mind,} said 122 of 310. {I have the help and complaint line this duty cycle, so don't bother calling back until there is a real dilemma. Now, go away and let me work in peace.} Again the link between drone and subunit was terminated.
Subunit #522 metaphorically closed its eyes so as to better concentrate on the blurred metaconversations and data swapping it could sense occurring just beyond reach. Everything seemed normal, yet at the same time, something was wrong. A rapid scan of recent logs automatically stored by the computer confirmed a repetition of the general data streams, cycle of five hours. When the situation was brought to 3 of 8's attention, the exchange did not go as desired:
{Examine the logs. You will see we are correct.}
A short pause while the relevant files were accessed. {I see no discrepancy.}
{What?!?} The subunit hurriedly reread the logs, noting in alarm how clues of repetition had vanished.
{I worry about you, subunit #522. First you ramble how drones are disappearing, then you contact engineering about a phony hardware problem, and now this. Perhaps it would be best if you sent yourself into long-term stasis. We'll wake you when we reenter BorgSpace.}
Subunit #522 responded by slamming the link closed, retreating back to the known safety of itself. It had to hold onto the knowledge that it was correct, it was not drifting into insanity: Cube #347 sub-collective was wrong.
Losing the bond between drone (or group of drones) was not as disastrous as it sounded. Sub-collectives, down to individual units, could function on their own without input from the Collective, although actions became increasingly one of instinctual programming unless specially trained otherwise. It would be silly if shattering connections could impede the forward momentum of the Collective; an enterprising species might defeat the Borg simply by carving up the Greater Consciousness piece by piece. It was suddenness, combined with number of members in a group, which determined shock strength and duration from becoming much less than One.
Of the times on Cube #347 subunit #522 had lost its connectivity with the Greater Consciousness - an elevated number of incidents which was statistically unbelievable - the severance had been abrupt, resulting in deep shock. This particular occurrence had been so gradual as to be unnoticed until now. Subunit #522 was quite functional, if very disconcerted as the implications of isolation were tallied.
{Does it not seem odd,} said 143 of 1810 to Second, {that there are so few drones on this Exploratory-class vessel? You, with no redundant backup, and twenty-six others...it is a skeleton sub-collective! And why are you designated Second? Where is the First? Where is the Captain?} Very few of Cube #347 sub-collective remained, and the subunit was trying yet again to convince 3 of 8; as all other times, he remained adamantly oblivious to the impending danger.
Second bahed, {Give me a break, subunit #522, this cube has always had this many drones. Cargo-class would be too important, especially if it was carrying significant material; and we surely wouldn't be assigned to Assimilation- or Battle-class, now would we? Expendable is what we are, and as far as ships go, Exploratory-class is about as expendable as they come. The computer does most of the work, anyway.
{As far as the other questions, I don't know. It's always been this way, according to cube files that stretch beyond my assimilated lifetime.} Subunit #522 received the equivalent of an indifferent shrug.
{But it is not logical! The Borg are always logical!}
Second snickered. {Logical? The Greater Consciousness? Outright laughter. You have got to be kidding! Shall I begin listing all the ways the Borg are less than logical? First of all....}
Interrupted subunit #522, {We do not have time for this, 3 of 8.} No answer, not even the expected snide comment. {3 of 8? 3 of 8, you will respond. You will comply!} Nothing. In fact, complete silence was the rejoinder, a thick, viscous stillness; the background, unreachable hum of the artificial Greater Consciousness continued, but no voices populated the immediate intranet.
Subunit #522 accessed internal sensors. The engine cores hummed efficiently, automatic pilot picking its way with computer exactitude through the continuing subspace pothole minefield. No drones could be seen anywhere, no matter what pickup was used. A query to the busy computer returned the entire compliment to be two hundred fifty-four drones...subunit #522 to be exact. No other drones had ever been aboard this particular cube before the subunit, logs recording an experiment in autonomous navigation until it had been diverted to rescue Cargo-class Cube #522 many months prior.
At the time period subunit #522 had been talking with Second, minute concentrations of quantum particle emissions had been picked up throughout the cube. A camera in one of the areas, subsection 14, submatrix 7, registered a thick shadow momentarily obscuring the air; a drone the computer refused to acknowledge was caught up in the disturbance, disappearing as the emission dispersed.
The Bandersnatch had struck again. A final census count reaffirmed the subunit was now on its own.
Unable to do much else - contacting the Greater Consciousness was out of the question - Subunit #522 returned to pursuing both recorded and real-time sensor data, running multitude filters and unusual cross-referencing protocols in the attempt to uncover every last shred of relevance. Minute examination of detailed sensor information, both outward- and inward-looking for the last several hours to the present, revealed unusual, and rather disturbing, conclusions. Cube #347 was surrounded by an anomaly, was quite stuck to be precise, and had been for some time. The barrier of the anomaly could be seen, the universe beyond sensed as if through a heat mirage, enough to determine the space inside the phenomenon was slightly out of phase with expected values. So was Cube #347.
Cube #347, down to individual bolts, was a copy, a fake, resonating at the same frequencies as the phasic bubble; the drones of subunit #522 continued to be of the normal universe. Disturbingly, the anomaly showed signs it was alive, aware, and actively manipulating its copy Cube #347. Computer-mediated input, ranging from routine communications to general software functions, fluctuated as the subunit watched, internal sensor logs edited and artificial Collective voice relooped. Any systems not accessed directly by the subunit was suspect, and with slightly over two hundred fifty bodies/minds, it was impossible to keep tabs on everything.
The big bubble which had captured Cube #347 was not the only anomaly present: two additional phasic signatures could be observed. The Bandersnatch frequencies, the phenomena which had stole all of Cube #347 sub-collective drones, appeared to temporarily cancel the phasic properties of the encompassing anomaly; high-probability calculations suggested the drone caught by the Bandersnatch was returned to normal space. Hopefully the original Cube #347 remained functional, or else the Collective just lost its entire population of imperfectly assimilated. The loss was not an event to mourn, but if they were not alive, the implications were that Cube #347 and prototype quantum slip-stream drive were destroyed. Reviewing earlier reception of the nonsense poetry, it could be seen the communication systems had been tripped by a Bandersnatch frequency, at a time when an unknowing Cube #347 was already ensnared.
Requiring a designation for the malevolent anomaly, subunit #522 chose Jabberwock. It seemed appropriate.
The second, and hopefully last, phasic signature was dubbed Jubjub birds. The general class of anomalies which populated the region, the ones 4 of 8 had been dodging, were not precisely natural, but created by the third species of phasic "animal." Jubjub birds, and there were many, appeared to be grubbing in space-time, liberating concentrations of exotic particles, then "feeding" on them.
Subunit #522 wasn't quite sure how everything fit together, but it seemed Cube #347 had stumbled over an alien spatial ecology comprised of coherent phasic anomalies. The Jubjub birds obviously served the role of herbivore. Bandersnatch and Jabberwock could be extrapolated to serve as predators...predators sampling a new prey which had stumbled into their killing fields.
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
The Bandersnatch was back, its quantum signature impinging upon the communications array and charging with disturbing familiarity through internal relay systems. The stanza made no sense. One might come to the conclusion the Bandersnatch was trying to help the subunit...assuming it (they) wasn't in cohorts with the ensnaring Jabberwock to "eat" all remaining drones on Cube #347.
It was times like these subunit #522 slightly envied the sub-collective of Cube #347's tendency to go charging ahead without firm instructions from the Greater Consciousness. Only slightly. More trouble than good came from the action, but at least action was taken. Figuratively gritting its collective teeth, subunit #522 carefully began to analyze the poem, drawing on the meager resources represented in the files of the fake cube and stored within the subunit itself. With dawning amazement, the subunit found that the words /did/ make sense, in a backwards manner.
Tumtum. Tumtum was the designation of species #5483, a rather obnoxious race of natural engineers, given to escaping assimilation (multiple times) at the last moment. Although the majority of the species was now a part of the Collective, roving family bands occasionally made strafing attacks on singleton cubes or sensor clusters in grids 13451 through 13597 of unimatrix 004. During the final phase of absorbing the species #5483 homeworld into the Collective, the Tumtum had devised a new protocol for their deflector dishes. A "sword" of rapidly oscillating, quickly decaying anti-particles was brandished before their small fighters; capital ships often jury-rigged their hulls such that each vessel was plastered with dishes, turning them into virtual hedgehogs of destruction. Eighteen cubes, assimilation- and battle-class, were lost to the insane defenders before the homeworld fell to ground forces, shields riddled with holes of which orbital platforms took good advantage.
The Tumtum called the procedure vorpaling.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
In concert to the transmission, one obviously chiding the subunit to make haste, the copy Cube #347...rippled. The effect was momentary, yet quite noticeable. One drone, 78321 of 99301, standing near a bulkhead at the time, was caught in the phenomena, wall engulfing the subunit member. When the phasic pocket universe stabilized, 78321 of 99301's signature was no more. As the Bandersnatch anomaly was not to blame, only one conclusion could be drawn: the Jabberwock was beginning to digest its meal.
Subunit #522 swiftly fanned out from Bulk Cargo Hold #3, beginning modifications to the faux cube for acceptance of the vorpal protocol.
Converting deflectors of Cube #347 to accept vorpaling was difficult. The challenge of rerouting power systems with limited drone numbers was the easiest of the hurdles to be accomplished, copy cube behaving physically as the original. Within the computer and command intranets, the story was completely different. The subunit had to watch patches to software code at all times, otherwise actions might be undone. The Jabberwock did not actively resist tinkering, may not have even realized it was in danger, but it was very swift to warp nonphysical modifications back to their original "lie" at a moment's lapse in attention.
Vorpaling, despite it's attraction as an offensive weapon, was not commonly used by the Borg. When one is big, mean, and can use overwhelming force, subtle is not in everyday vocabulary. Besides, the system was inherently dangerous - one good concussion in the vicinity of an anti-particle cage, itself needing to be near a deflector due to the highly unstable nature of the atomic fragments, was a recipe to lose an entire cube submatrix, if not a subsection. Several species #5483 ships had been destroyed thus due to otherwise minor hits.
Another ripple shivered the bulkheads as the final wires were soldered and software code repatched. This time no drones were eaten, although during an earlier event 43115 of 44331 had been terminated; the mysterious sound which followed that drone's demise was eerily reminiscent of a belch. 143 of 1810 agreed with the rest of the subunit: it was time to test a vorpal blade. A command to one of the fifty modified deflectors was initiated.
On the surface of Cube #347, several centimeters above a deflector, a deep purple glow condensed from vacuum. Unstable anti-particles caught in a woven bubble of electromagnetism gathered, looking for escape. A path was provided, invisible hole opening outward, away from the hull. The carefully directed anti-particles streamed away, evaporating one kilometer from their origin, dark violet fading through lavender to a soft rose.
The vorpal effect, one which could easily cut through unmodified Borg shields, punched a hole in the phasic barrier of the Jabberwock. It was not pleased. The bulkheads rippled alarmingly as the successful vorpal test ceased.
{Subunit #522, I hope you can hear me. I can't hear you, so don't bother to respond.} Captain's voice suddenly echoed in the empty dataspaces of the fake Cube #347, transmission worming its way through the vorpaled hole. {I don't have much time, so listen carefully.
{There are three players in this game: Bandersnatch, Jubjub birds, and Jabberwock. As you have modified at least one deflector to produce a vorpal blade, I'll assume you have determined the anomalies are not passive phenomena.} A short synopsis of sensor data followed, confirming subunit #522's observations of the three anomaly types.
{Jubjub birds are livestock, for lack of a better word, shepherded by the Bandersnatch. The latter are not precisely nomads, nor herders. but suffice to say, they do guard and watch over their herds of Jubjub birds, that being their primary source of nutrition. On the outskirts of the herds lurk the Jabberwock, predators which also depend on the Jubjub birds for food. The Bandersnatch tend to keep the Jabberwock away, which leaves the predators rather hungry.
{Jabberwock are not totally dependent on the Jubjub birds for food, but can subsist off the neural/biological energy produced by corporeal creatures. Usually this food type comes in the form of space-adapted nonsentients, but intelligent beings are more highly preferred when available. When a ship is captured by a Jabberwock, its form is copied within the inside of the anomaly, crew not knowing anything odd has occurred. One by one the unknowing crew is absorbed by the Jabberwock, feeding it. Large crews can last months in a believable limbo created by the Jabberwock.
{The Bandersnatch do not begrudge the Jabberwock the right to live: the occasional Jubjub bird is expect to stray and be lost, a corporeal biological digested. However, the eating of intelligent races is frowned upon. For the Bandersnatch, rescuing sentients is like replacing a baby bird in its nest before the cat can pounce; it is an act of irrelevant compassion which, quite frankly, saved this sub-collective's butts. Subunit #522, unfortunately, is a bit different.
{Rescue by the Bandersnatch requires an individual drone be targeted for removal. The process is highly unpleasant, to say the least, and requires sensory deprivation as well a total severance from one's Collective link for several minutes. It feels like endless hours. We convinced the Bandersnatch that to remove members of subunit #522 would only lead to insanity of a majority of the drones. Therefore, something else needed to be done.
{The Jabberwock does have several weaknesses, the most obvious an innate ability employed by the Bandersnatch to rescue sentients caught inside. For the subunit to escape will require the Jabberwock to be killed...from the inside. If it is dispatched from the outside, either by us or the Bandersnatch...well, very bad things are predicted to happen, and you won't be around to experience them for very long. If you desire to nonterminate, I suggest you...........}
What remained of Captain's words degenerated into a fuzz of static. Sensors focused on the hole, examining the outcome of the vorpal blade, noted how the wound was healing, Jabberwock barrier becoming smooth once more. Subunit #522 was again on their own.
Time was required to model, albeit in a limited fashion, possible outcomes of vorpaling. Time was needed to modify more deflectors and test those already thus altered. Time was necessary to validate the authenticity of the message from Cube #347 sub-collective. Time was....
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
....was not available.
Taking the plunge, internally wincing at unknowns and loose ends demanding review by a minute fractional fraction of the Collective's computing power (two or three million drones assimilated for cerebral excellence), subunit #522 activated all fifty adjusted deflectors.
On face #1 and #2 of faux Cube #347, fifty deflector dishes hummed to life, aurora effect highlighting exposed conduits and hull armor with a violet rime. One containment field failed, spewing anti-particles outward in an uncontrolled belch; nothing was harmed by the accident. Forty-nine dishes primed, vorpal swords shot away from Cube #347, piercing the phasic barrier. For the Jabberwock, it was a case of terminal indigestion.
To the naked eye, nothing spectacular occurred; sensors recorded an entirely different picture, one of violence as the native universe reclaimed the space subtly altered by the quickly dying phasic entity. Inside the confines of the Cube #347 copy, chaos reigned, or a disco on LSD...the effect was about the same. Bulkheads, where they remained intact, were a technicolor Escher work, melting only to reform as mind-numbing impossibilities. While a mirrored ball did not hang from the ceiling of Bulk Cargo Hold #3, the rotating spots of light that chased each other like maddened fireflies might argue otherwise. Discordant screams, unheard by ear yet still present, sliced through the air.
The intranets had completely fallen apart, files mutating into nonsense. Incongruously, the artificial Greater Consciousness continued to operate, murmuring in the background, an eddy of supernatural calm within the storm. Subunit #522 avoided the placid area, preferring to withdraw into its members, closing eyes as the inevitable drew closer. They were to die, had to die; termination was not frightening, but there was the lingering regret the most recent memories and experiences of the drone contingent would not be uploaded to the Greater Consciousness, mentalities echoing forever along the web of the Collective.
The final moment of disintegration of fake Cube #347 came. It was perhaps as well Borg drones did not retain certain bodily functions, for two hundred fifty-two trousers would have required the attention of a forgiving laundromat.
"It's about time, subunit #522, that you figured it out. We and the Bandersnatch had about given up on you," stated the physical voice of 4 of 8. 143 of 1810 warily activated both organic and prosthetic optical systems to see the consensus monitor and facilitator of Cube #347 sub-collective shaking his head. Everything /seemed/ as it should; a quick foray by the cautious subunit into diagnostic data indicated the vessel was of correct phasic alignment. "The Collective has marked this area as off-limits, by the way. The Jubjub birds just make the grid too volatile for navigation."
As subunit #522 reintegrated itself into the true Greater Consciousness, it found 4 of 8's words to be correct. The coordinates were designated as dangerous, with a sub-label for future exploration and exploitation of the entities involved as technology became available. The Jubjub birds alone were potential sources of exotic energy, not to mention interest in the phasing manipulative abilities of the Bandersnatch and Jabberwock.
Satisfied subunit #522 was not damaged and had disgorged all recently gained information, the Collective focused the splinter of its attention away, leaving the subunit to its own devices. Captain had already transported elsewhere in the vessel. As Cube #347's massive engines revved to life in preparation to leave the Jubjub bird range, a parting transmission, identified to have originated from Bandersnatch communication frequencies, played on loudspeakers throughout the ship:
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
-The author has included the "Jabberwocky" poem so the interested reader can peruse it without scrolling over many pages of story text.
JABBERWOCKY
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
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