As usual, the Big Ref is Paramount, with Star Trek and spin-offs as their game. A. Decker presides over the tennis court of Star Traks. In my world, I write BorgSpace; at least that way I can rig the game to always win, without receiving complaints.
In the Glow of Glory, Only One Shall Remain
"Hey rabid fan! Have you had your triggle shot yet? No? Good! If you are foaming at the mouth and your dermis has turned yellow, then you are ready to party!
"For two long Ijexian years, teams from twenty-two races - planets, colonies, corporations, and religious faiths - have been battling for the right to call themselves champions. Jhad-ball champions. In fifteen short days, we of the Interstellar News Network will be proud to present Super Jhad-Ball LXII, the top two teams remaining in the playoffs. In three days we will begin twenty-seven hour continuous coverage on four simultaneous subspace channels of final single elimination playoffs. Stay glued to your chair as you watch as one hundred twenty-eight teams become sixty-four, then thirty-two...and finally, at the end of the traditional marathon playoff, only two.
"And which team will gain boasting rights for the next two Ijexian years, as well as the coveted Jhad-ball trophy? As the ancient saying goes, 'In the glow of glory, only one shall remain.' Stay tuned as we begin the first in a series of mini-documentaries highlighting each contender; and hear analysis and speculation from the top gambling houses on Ijexian Prime.
"Remember, the Interstellar News Network is your place for Jhad-ball...all feeds, all the time."
The now familiar Jhad-ball theme song drowned the commentator's voice. On the screen, a trophy was centered, its gold and silver brilliance highlighted by artfully placed spotlights. Engraved on a bronze plaque affixed to the base of the large bowl, the names of sixty-one prior Jhad-ball champions could be seen.
There was an oddity, a familiarity, to the trophy which had been noted the first time it had been displayed. Remove the base, dissolve the paint and scrape off the glitter, and a piece of Borg hardware could be imaged. It was a component of a cube viniculum, the unifier of a sub-collective; and specifically a portion of the primary booster which linked the minds upon the vessel with the Greater Consciousness. How it became part of a coveted trophy was unknown, but there it was.
A predictable question suddenly came to Captain's attention, one which was voiced every single time the commercial aired; and the commercial aired often. Half the sub-collective was avidly watching the Interstellar News Network subspace feed which had been detected a week ago. Captain did not dare attempt to order avid Jhad-ball fans to ignore the event; at least not if he desired to continue to function in one piece.
{Can we go to Ijexian Prime? Can we go to Ijexian Prime?}
{No.}
{Can we go to Ijexian Prime? Can we go to Ijexian Prime?}
{No. The answer before was no. The answer will always be no.}
*****
There are odd incidents of continuality in the multiverses, as if some greater entity were guiding formation and fate. Countless races, from those stepping out of the cradle to others on the brink of transcendence, declare the phenomenon proof of the Directors. Jhad-ball is one of those unusual quirks of consistency.
Jhad-ball, or whatever the local name is, comes as infinite variations upon a singular theme. The object of the game is for a team to take a ball from one end of a playing field to the other, placing it in the opposing side's goal. Beyond that simple premise, anything goes. For instance, the ball may be a head, an inflated pig's bladder, a roll of twine, a globe of water held together only by surface tension. While playing fields overwhelmingly are level areas of dirt, other races have employed vertical cliffs, water, tropical jungle canopy, or the three-dimensionality provided by microgravity. Opposing teams may be two in number, or three, although the Klifnogs of the Ujillin Cluster play megagames with up to fifty separate teams on the field at any given time.
Even on a single planet, Jhad-ball can mutate into a variety of forms. Take Terra, for instance. Rugby, football, soccer, water polo...all are recognizably similar, and quite different from other ball-centric sports such as golf or cricket. Invented over and over again, acceptable rules and level of viciousness dependent on species, the phenomenon of Jhad-ball is astounding.
If the Directors are in fact the entities to blame, it is obvious they are extreme sport nuts.
*****
{The warranty has expired! The /moment/ the bloody warranty expires, everything goes straight down the nearest black hole! If I /ever/ determine what species the Collective assimilated this design from, I will personally hunt down and exterminate every member! This was on our service log to have replaced, but that was before we were diverted...and NOW the part just ups and DIES!}
Delta A was deep in the center of Cube #347, in the bowels and among vital machinery. Such was the importance of the components that they would survive the violent death of a cube torn apart by battle or the gravity stress of a singularity. Hidden behind layers of physical shielding with no convenient service entry, access to the part required extreme effort with plasma cutters. There was a problem with the vinculum, a problem with the connection to the Greater Consciousness.
The fluidity which was the hallmark of the Borg Collective could be broken into three fundamental levels. The first, the most basic awareness of others, came when initially injected nanoprobes constructed an "organic" neural transceiver, connecting a new drone with others in the immediate surroundings. The organic transceiver had a range of a few kilometers. The second level of the Collective was attained with permanent hardware-based transceivers, linked deep into the brain and powered with a biometric source. Effective range was approximately half a light year, and served to connect sub-collectives within solar systems, be it a single cube or the tens of billions of a major industrial center. While the viniculum had other important tasks, it was also the foundation of the third level of the Collective, collecting local sub-collecive transceiver signals and boosting them into specific fractual subspace bands, connecting drones over thousands of light years into a workable whole.
The subspace bands in question were unique, operating on a similar principle employed by the large oceanic mammals of Terra known as whales. The ocean thermocline has the ability to carry low frequency sound waves thousands of miles, much farther than normally possible, allowing communication with distant conspecifics; the whales know this, and thus employ it as a natural telephone system, as do submersible vehicles of the wet navy. Similar properties are found among the fractual bands of subspace, and the Borg rely on them to keep sub-collectives connected.
On Cube #347, the viniculum itself continued to function, to perform many of its normal tasks, but a part of it had malfunctioned. The central booster was fried, and hardwired circuits designed to lock onto proper fractual frequencies melted. The circuits were fixable, but....
{The booster is toast. I mean, look at this thing!} Delta had body A carefully scan the booster, relaying the view to the rest of Cube #347. No outward damage was evident, but examination on the molecular level showed glaring instances of carefully designed alloy bonds broken or degraded, the consequence of which sabotaged any attempt to use the booster. When booster and associated circuits had failed, both the sub-collective of Cube #347 and the hitchhiking subunit #522 had forcefully been isolated from the Greater Consciousness.
Captain was exasperated, {We carry a spare. Use it.}
{Can't. A certain /subunit/ used our spare during its little experiment in turbocharging our engines. When the slip-stream gave out, the spare booster looked like a lump of melted lead.} Delta located and loaded memory file of the component.
The subunit in question did not respond to the barbed comment. It was still in shock at the reduction from trillions of thoughts to a little under two hundred fifty; and it did not wish to expose itself to corruption by fully linking with the local sub-collective.
{Then use nanites to rebuild it! You are engineering; do your tasks!} The strain of separation from the Collective, the loss of the whispers and comforting presence of the Greater Consciousness, even if it was distant, was beginning to show. Even though the nearly catatonic state of subunit #522 could be ignored, the jittery nervousness and emerging neurosis throughout the rest of the sub-collective added to a huge weight on the shoulders of Captain and Second.
Frustration: {It is delicate, precise equipment, and such a task will require months. Assuming we meet with no further difficulties, we may even encounter a Borg shipyard before the nanites finish their work.}
{Can we go to Ijexian Prime? Can we go to Ijexian Prime?}
The vinculum may be broken, but the general subspace reception sensors continued to function fine. The Jhad-ball commercial was playing once more on the main Interstellar News Network frequency.
{No, no, no, no, no! How many times do I need to say no!}
Silence, then Delta said, {Can we go to Ijexian Prime?}
{NO...} began Captain before he caught himself, {Delta? Don't tell me the Jhad-ball craze just infected you too? The booster is quite a bit higher on the priority list than the tournament.}
{The trophy, Captain. The trophy is a booster, just the component we need. If we go to Ijexian Prime and take it, it might save us a lot of problems.}
{Unknown how old it is...and if the alloys are degraded?} There was no question of adaptability issues. Borg components were very much plug-and-play and backwards compatible; designs, once proven efficient, were rarely modified.
{That is a chance we will have to accept. If the booster is unacceptable, then we will have only wasted a week or so; I'll begin nanite reconstruction of our original booster just in case. And if the trophy booster is workable, then months of time will have been saved.}
Captain was undecided. The potential gain was great, but the risks were high too. Ijexian Prime was sure to be heavily guarded; and the races represented thus far in the Interstellar News Network were largely unfamiliar, and thus technological and biological resistance quotients unknown. Therefore, a consensus cascade was initiated, pros and cons carefully laid out for evaluation and calculation.
The consensus was overwhelming in the decision to alter course and get the trophy; and maybe, if time allowed, take advantage of the "remarkable and unusual" coincidence of the Super Jhad-ball LXII playoffs. Of course, the latter factor had absolutely no influence on the consensus.
*****
Cube #347 dropped out of transwarp in the heart of the Ijexian system, joining a stream of ships converging on the capital planet. There was no challenge to the cube's presence, but it was unknown if the reason was due to a lack of knowledge of what the Borg represented, or if the game had suppressed sanity and sentience of participants. Considering the state drone Jhad-ball fans had devolved to, the latter possibility was very high.
A problem had emerged during the transit to Ijexian Prime. The tertiary feed of the Interstellar News Network had presented a special on the precautions taken to ready the trophy for the tournament. After it had been reclaimed by Ijexian authorities (often by use of large warships), the trophy was cleaned and prepared for the final ceremony. To prevent theft between cleaning and presentation, the object was secured in a special vault located three hundred meters under Ijexian Prime's largest city, warded by a complex series of physical armor and force fields, and surrounded by a maze of deadly automatic traps. Only a single person knew all the codes to enter the vault; and during thirteen decades of tournament, the incorrigible official, conditioned to suicide before giving into demands, had never been compromised. One year saw the official dead...and the subsequent endevour to unearth the vault had required six months and fifty-three deaths.
It was not logistically possible to steal the trophy without assimilating half of the billions currently in the Ijexian system, both residents and tourists. And even if theft was possible, it was extremely likely Cube #347 would be terminated by a "death of a thousand papercuts" as every ship with fans in it turned upon the cube, unconcerned with personal death in the attempt to enact vengeance.
An automatic hail was received by Cube #347, computer directing the large vessel to an orbit distant from Ijexian Prime. Captain complied, inserting the cube among several large vessels, each almost matching in length a cube edge. A second plan had been constructed once it became evident theft of the trophy was out of the question. First, however, it was necessary to wait.
After two days, and with less than a day remaining until the start of the playoffs, an opportunity presented itself. The Deuterium Company, a munitions corporation, was the owner of two of the giant ships sharing nearby orbit with Cube #347. The company was a sponsor of a low-ranked Jhad-ball team, one not expected by the gambling houses to survive past the second round of playoffs.
A series of three shuttles left the docking bay of the Deuterium Company ship "Fire and Ice". Within seconds, expanding spheres of debris was what remained of the corporate team; it seemed the gambling houses had been wrong: Team Deuterium had not survived to enter the first round of playoffs. The expected hail, audio only, was received minutes later.
"By what the holy hells? We demand to know how much the Blovok Company paid you! Too chicken to meet our team on the field...just as they are too [hyute] to directly face our company in the corporate arena!" Translator algorithms and programs, combined with knowledge of thousands of races, had allowed deciphering of all languages utilized by the dozens of species represented on and above Ijexian Prime. However, gaps did occur, especially concerning swear words.
Sensors tracked the hail to its origin, deftly slipping through the top layer of computer system security to activate the main viewscreen of "Fire and Ice." Captain triggered a random walkway camera in subsection 19, submatrix 24 for the video feed, then began the process of negotiations.
"We are the Borg. The Jhad-ball trophy will be ours. We require a sponsor. Resistance is futile."
*****
"We interrupt our coverage of Jhad-ball preparations on subspace feeds two and three to bring you this special report.
"With less than ten hours to the first round of playoffs, the Deuterium Company suffered a major loss when an unknown ship in the shape of a giant cube destroyed Team Deuterium shuttles...and the team. While such incidents have occurred in the past, and are even expected as bitter rivals square off, the event which transpired next was new.
"An hour ago Deuterium Company announced it would sponsor a group by the name Team Borg, from the very vessel which destroyed Team Deuterium! The officials have pronounced the unorthodox move as legal, despite the fact Team Borg is unknown and unranked. Seems the Deuterium Company's paralegals went into overtime, combing the current Jhad-ball tournament rules. Through a devious combination of "unusual conditions warranting substitution of team members" and "right of a team to change names" the Deuterium Company appears to have avoided a default this year.
"The next questions revolve around the identity of Team Borg, and if they can offer a decent game. Needless to say, the gambling houses are in an uproar. Let us now go to the Golden Triplets Casino and see what the professionals have to say...."
*****
Frantic to stay in the tournament, the Deuterium Company had agreed to sponsor Cube #347. A minor demand by the corporation was for design schematics of the cutting beams used to carve apart the shuttles. Cube #347 complied; the technology behind the cutting beam was a small price to pay for sponsorship. When the Borg eventually assimilated this area of the Beta quadrant, the presence or absence of such a weapon would make no difference. The Borg knew the secret to counter it; after all, the cutting beam was the primary reason an otherwise undistinguished and extremely resistant species #391 had been assimilated at great cost less than a century after the birth of the Collective.
The choice of members for the ten person Jhad-ball team had been difficult. After dismissing those who were not physically adequate for the task, hundreds of drones remained. Finally all was decided.
{Second, you will be the captain of the team.}
"What? I will not!" The cry came from outside Captain's nodal intersection. Second had been on his way to the intersection from his alcove. He stepped into the area; Captain turned away from his viewscreen. "I do not want to be captain of the team...it is too much like being Captain; being Second is bad enough."
"We need a member of command and control on the surface directly monitoring the team's actions. I can not do so: I have too many responsibilities on the cube as is. Therefore, the next logical choice is you."
"I still do not want to go."
"Too bad. You will go. You will comply."
Second frowned, "Stop messing in my head. Fine, I will comply. And I'll complain the entire time."
"Just do your assigned task." Captain turned inward. { Listen up! The following drones are members of the primary team; a secondary team of allowable substitutions is also compiled.}
*****
The Borg Jhad-ball team materialized at one end of the field; simultaneously their opponents did likewise at the opposite goal. A pair of robotic referees beamed in as well, seconds before a buzzer sounded, announcing the establishment of the force field security dome. The playing field was sealed.
"Attention!" called one of the twin robots. "This game is now officially begun, and automatic cameras broadcasting the bout. Will a representative from Team Borg and Team Black Hole please meet in the center of the field for the initial coin flip?" The tall, cylindrical machine floated on its compact anti-gravity field to the sixty meter line. One of the three multijointed arms extracted a metal hexagon from its chassis. Multifaceted camera eyes gleamed as it held the coin expectantly. Second glanced back at his nine teammates, then strolled to the center of the field.
Team Black Hole consisted of one species. Consultation with the sub-collective indicated the race's name was Cadarite; no official numerical designation had been assigned, and would not be assigned until a link with the Collective was re-established. Each Cadarite resembled a bipedal rabbit, provided one's mental image of the rabbit included jet black fur, five centimeter canines, muscles a steroid-popping weight-lifter would envy, and scanty leather harness. Ears and cottontail were in evidence, although the former had tattoos, most likely obscene, decorating the inner lining. The hulking monster who met the referee in the center of the field was a full head taller than Second. It sneered at the Borg.
"Puny being. You may be impressive in space, but on the Jhad-ball field, we are superior." Second did not respond; and hushed the drones left at the goal before they could shout irrelevant insults. The Cadarite captain snorted disdainfully at Second's unwillingness to refute the boast.
The floating robot beeped, then began speaking in a pleasant tenor. "Team Borg, you are unknown and thus ranked lower in the standings. You will call the coin. Foot or nova?"
"Nova."
The coin flipped in the air, coming to rest on the turf. A large hoof was depicted. "Foot. Team Black Hole, it is your call. Will you attack or defend?"
Canines were shown to good effect with a bone-chilling grin. "Attack."
"As you will. All standard rules apply. Play Jhad-ball, and may the best team win."
Over five hundred million beings consisting of dozens of species watched the game feeds, and that was on and above Ijexian Prime; within the Interstellar News Network broadcasting area, ratings were at an all-time high, with an audience of an estimated fifty billion. A substantial percentage of the viewers were tuned into the Borg vs. Black Hole match.
In sport bars all over Ijexian Prime, an unseen announcer offered the following running commentary to the broadcast images:
"Black Hole is bringing the ball forward in its initial attack, four forward blockers set in a classic flying wedge pattern protecting the carrier; two additional members are running flank, open for passing.
"All of Team Borg is coming forward to meet the attack, including the goalie! An unconventual, even naive, defense! Black Hole is built like a brick wall, and should Borg skirmishers attempt hand-to-hand to break the wedge and gain access to the ball, not much will be left expect for a few blood stains. We can see the captain of Team Black Hole at his goalie position yelling a few commands...excuse me, insults.
"I don't know about you, folks, but I have a feeling Team Borg is about to be knocked out of the standings. Even now, odds from the gambling houses are growing; I hope no one dropped a bundle on the darkhorse! I know I didn't!
"Finally, some sane action. Two from Team Borg have gone out to cover the flankers, protecting against a pass, although with their higher reach, Black Hole could simply pluck a ball out of the air. The other eight are continuing towards the wedge...and attacking into it! A bloody, good ol' rough-up today, folks! Just the way we like to start out a series! Too bad the Deuterium Company won't have a team in a couple of minutes."
The Cadarite team captain watched from his position at the goal, sneering as his forwards met with the Team Borg idiots. Expression changed quickly, however, as in less than a minute the five attackers were motionless on the field. A glance at the flankers caught the sight of one of them falling to the ground, puny Borg creature standing unharmed, yanking its arm away from the other's neck. Suddenly the Cadarite captain did not feel so jaunty.
Second slowly dribbled the ball up the field, picking it up and passing it to 177 of 510 when he asked for the object. Of the three remaining members of Team Black Hole, the hulking captain stayed at the goal. Three minutes later he was the sole member of Team Black Hole, two back field defenders removed from relevancy. 177 of 510 returned the ball to Second as the latter stopped just beyond the goalie box.
"You will move," said Second.
The Cadarite stood indecisive. His ears twitched erratically as thoughts warred within his brain. "And if I don't? My honor rides upon winning this game."
"Then you will be assimilated and the game will be over anyway."
The captain's ears twitched again as he stood out of the way. Second accurately kicked the ball through the goal, scoring the first point of the game.
It was half-time, and the Cadarite stood in his dugout, yelling at the referee robot. One finger stabbed accusingly at the opposite bench, upon which his nine former teammates could be seen. Even though the distance between the sides was great, the captain could see where clumps of his 'mates formerly luxurious fur was falling out; the skin underneath was not a healthy ebony, but a dusky gray rapidly lightening to approach the sickly visage of Team Borg. The nine appeared to stare at nothing, ignoring their former captain's calls. The ten Borg creatures stood silent just within the dugout, seemingly asleep on their feet, oblivious to the world.
"There's got to be some rule against it! Possession is blatantly illegal, and has been for centuries of interspecial play, as proved during the Team Scorpion versus Team Sunspot game. Scorpion used their telepathy to take over half of Team Sunspot, winning the match. If I can only have five minutes to contact my bosses, maybe get some replacements...."
The robot responded passionlessly, "No communications may be made with coaches or sponsors once the field has been sealed; no substitutions of players may be made during an active match. The history behind these rules also are steeped in wisdom to keep cheaters out of the game. If a member during a match is lost due to injury or death, then the team must play short until such time the game is concluded."
"If not Scorpion versus Sunspot, then how about Team Jillig versus Team Gamma? Gamma smuggled two adult parasite-symbiots into the match, claiming the captain was pregnant; when Gamma's mounts closed with Team Jillig, the parasite-symbiots were attached onto two of the opposing forwards. Help me here...there has to be a precedent! The actions of Team Borg have gotta be illegal!" The captain's voice scaled into the ultrasonic as he pleaded.
"There is no precedent. Your sponsors have lodged a protest, but no action can be taken until the end of the match. If Team Black Hole wins, then there will be no problems...."
"Yah, right...come back from forty-seven to zero? By myself?"
"....and if Team Borg wins, while there will be an emergency ruling more than likely prohibiting such future actions, although there can be no rescinding their victory. The win will stand."
A buzzer sounded. Half-time was over.
In ten thousand sports bars across dozens of systems, an announcer from Interstellar News Network spoke:
"In a stunning upset, fourteenth ranked Team Black Hole fell to the darkhorse Team Borg by a record-setting score of zero to ninety-six. Neither the Deuterium Company nor the Cadarite government would offer comment. However, following on the heels of the very unorthodox method of victory, an emergency ruling by the Jhad-ball commission has pronounced 'assimilation' shall not be used as an allowable attack or defense, placing it under the category of 'undue mental influence'. By tradition, Team Borg will advance to the next round of play despite their illegal actions.
"And who is Team Borg? Where do they come from? Follow our Interstellar News Network team as we attempt to gain answers to the questions billions of fans are asking."
*****
A small shuttle, a gnat sized shadow compared to the bulk of Cube #347, was flung away via tractor beam, new vector eventually to intersect with the Ijexian system's fifth planet in five years. It was only one of countless ships sent by Interstellar News Network; dozens more battered with futile fervor against the cube's shields, each with a news team demanding to assert their rights to an interview. Another tractor beam lanced out, tossing yet one more small vessel towards the general cosmos.
{I am bored! I want to kill all of them. Tractors are no fun after a while,} complained Weapons. An extremely persistent shuttle suddenly lost power as an arc of shielding reversed polarity, negatively interacting with the gnat's electrical grid. It floated sedately, then was pushed into a decaying orbit which would see the news team burned up during reentry if they were not rescued within the next fifty-two hours.
Captain examined the status of the various weapons, but found none were primed for full activation. Weapons would moan and try to push the envelope of what he could get away with, but after the "incident" yesterday, would not be attempting to gain control again for some time. The two Deuterium Company ships had similar swarms of shuttles in attendance, but after the munitions corporation had fired on the news teams, the latter had kept their distance.
Shortly the next bout would commence, between Team Borg and Team Shadow. Team Shadow, as documented by an Interstellar News Network background, consisted of one species, Gyrinus, representing a major colony of the same race. Although assimilation was now not an option, certain exploitable biological peculiarities had been gleaned from the broadcast.
Another shuttle tumbled nose over stern on a new heading towards oblivion, open-ended hail insisting "freedom of press" disintegrating to the sounds of motion sickness induced nausea.
A distant panorama of Cube #347 and the two Deuterium Company heavy battleships graced hundreds of thousands of screens. The announcer's voice began to comment:
"As of yet, none of Interstellar News Network have been able to elicit proper responses from either the Team Borg ship, nor the Deuterium Company. We continue to try; and in the end, we will prevail and gain you, the viewer, the information you crave.
"Team Borg has continued to ignore all hails, but the corporate representative on 'Fire and Ice' did send a recording to our studios earlier. We will play the entire statement later, but to paraphrase, Deuterium Company reasserts the legality of sponsorship, and claims the trophy will be won by Team Borg. As everyone knows, the coup of victory will set the corporation in the commercial spotlight for the next two Ijexian years, guaranteeing record munitions sales.
"We smell another deal in the background, and will bring all the gritty, greedy, shady details as soon as we can dig it up.
"Until then, we have many games yet to broadcast in this next round of playoffs. On feed one...."
Six legged frogs, or perhaps the successful mating between a grasshopper and an amphibian, best described the Gyrinus species. Sitting squat on the side of the Jhad-ball field, massive rear legs splayed to the sides and middle balancing legs supporting the upper body, front manipulatory limbs wriggling thin fingers, the sight was almost comical. Almost. However, these bulging eyed, wide mouthed, slick skinned beings were ranked among the top twenty teams in the Jhad-ball circuit.
The strength of Team Shadow was not in brawn, but in speed...and a leaping ability which literally took a game over the heads of lesser players. Whipcord muscles moved smoothly under sparkling body paint, fanciful drawings of dark phantom forms, the symbol of Team Shadow. Interstellar News Network backgrounds, however, had alluded to an Achilles Heel, a flaw of which the Borg were going to take advantage.
Part of the athletic ability of the Gyrinus species was rooted in a superb sense of balance, the organs of which were intimately associated with the hearing. The ears, again similar to frogs, were a series of large tympanum located on chest, under arms, on the back, as well as at the side of the head. Research, and an illicit break into the computer of Team Shadow's ship, had revealed extremely high pitched noises disrupted balance. It was unknown exactly which frequency had the most effect, but Team Borg would soon find out.
"Nova," said Second as the coin flipped. It landing on the field, starburst pattern upright.
Announced the robot, one similar in all respects to the referee from the previous game, "Nova is the coin. Team Borg, will you defend or attack?"
Second carefully examined the Team Shadow captain, but unlike the boasting Cadarite, this one had nothing to say. It gave a complicated shrug which involved the entire shoulder girdle. "We will attack."
"As you will. All standard rules apply. Play Jhad-ball, and may the best team win."
It seems that announcer voices are standardized, all sounding alike, all giving similar commentary to plays. The Interstellar News Network reporter smoothly spoke its words:
"Team Borg is bringing the ball up from the back field. Unlike the last game, it appears a more standard approach is being followed, with a pair of dribblers passing the ball between them while five blockers run interference. One of the back field is also moving forward in a flank movement. If anything can be said about Team Borg, it is that the coordination is astounding! No commands or hand signs are in evidence, yet the team is working as if of one mind.
"Team Shadow is hanging back for the most part, waiting for Team Borg to bring the fight to their side of the field. This announcer can see at least two thieves are readying themselves, waiting for the opportune moment to steal the ball and leap to the enemy's goal in their trademarked maneuver. With few defenders in the back field, Team Borg is wide open.
"And there they go! One of the thieves is rushing forward, snatching the ball out of the air! And it looks like the field will belong to Team Shadow...oh...wait a minute folks...something is wrong. The Team Shadow member is down, and no one has touched him. He is writhing on the field as if he were in some sort of epileptic fit. And another member is down! And a third!
"Amazing folks! All Team Shadow has been stricken, all are out of action! Team Borg now has repossessed the ball and is taking it to the goal. The goalie is in no position to argue.
"Team Borg has just drawn first blood with a score of one to zero."
It was half-time, and a robotic referee was grilling Second on the nature of the extreme ultrasonic frequencies which had been detected as the cause of Team Shadow's problems. The Gyrinus' had managed to make one goal, but that was the extent of their attack; the score currently sat at forty-seven to one.
"You claim the ultrasonic broadcaster is an integral part of yourselves, one which can not be removed? Weapons are not allowed, you understand."
Second replied stiffly, "'Weapons which are not a body part normally associated with the species in question, including but not limited to talons, fangs, and nematocysts, shall be banned from the Jhad-ball arena.' Yes, Team Borg does understand the rules. Our ultrasonic implants are a normal body component." Second did not relate that 137 of 300 had just had his implant installed that morning.
"But it is mechanical," pointed out the referee. "Generally mechanical or electronic items are not necessary parts of a creature."
{Come here 286 of 300,} ordered Second. The named drone came, curiosity in her mental signature. Hold still a moment. At the same time, Second continued his conversation with the robot, "One could say the same about an arm or a leg. For instance...the species which comprises Team Shadow have four forward limbs, breakage or removal of one which may hamper Jhad-ball play, but would not cause inability to the Gyrinus in question. Similar might be said about our implants and assemblies. Observe." Second suddenly seized 286 of 300's left arm, twisting it sideways until it popped off. 286 of 300 immediately began to complain, waving her stump with indignity.
"As you can see, 286 of 300 can still play Jhad-ball, but she would not be at the peak physical ability a team is expected to be in." 286 of 300 angrily snatched her arm back, snapping it back into place while uttering nasty side comments. Second ignored her. "Similarly, while our ultrasonic implants may be removed, our ability to play Jhad-ball would be decreased; implants may serve two or more apparently unrelated functions. In this case, our ultrasonic implants just happened to be useful in negatively affecting the Gyrinus species." The lie was transparent...if one knew anything about Borg physiology. The Jhad-ball commission did not.
"Acceptable. You may continue to play intact."
"In a stunning admission of defeat, Team Shadow defaulted during the half-time of its match, throwing the towel to Team Borg. An Interstellar News Network crew interviewed the Team Shadow captain after security shields over the playing field were lifted. This is what the captain had to say...."
The scene on the screen shifted to a dejected looking Gyrinus, his body slumped. "When we heard the refs were to allow that ultrasonic stuff, we knew we just couldn't go on. Now, don't get me wrong, we all expect a measure of pain on the Jhad-ball field, but the continuous agony of what they did was too much. Felt like a thousand needles were driving into my tympanum. Thank goodness no other team can do that, but I shudder to think what it may be like if Team Borg returns for the next tournament. At least no one else can be phased by that ultrasonic treatment; you ask me, I'll be rooting for whomever next crosses Team Borg, if only so those smug bastards get what's coming to them."
Cut back to the faceless announcer, "And there you have it, folks, dirty playing at its best! The gambling house odds are shifting even as we speak. We won't know until all the matches conclude who Team Borg faces next, but we will let you know as soon as possible.
"In other news, the bout of Team Make-A-Noise with Team Darkling was a...."
*****
Many of the team designations of those entered in the Jhad-ball championship were odd. A small minority proudly carried a corporate sponsor tag or colony name, but it must be remembered a word or phrase translated to be laughable in one language was inevitably fearsome in the native tongue. For instance, Team Fairy Blossom might have silly connotations to one race...until it is known a 'fairy blossom' is a highly lethal aquatic animal which lures prey to its death through cunning guile. It's all in the details; and Team Borg translated into apparent nonsense for all races who had never had contact with the Hive.
The third bout was defaulted to Team Borg even before it was begun. Team Thorn had fled shortly after winning their game, once it had been announced who they were to play. Team Thorn, also known as species #112 in the files of the Borg, was an old species, presumed extinct outside of the Collective. It was not so; and the remnants of the race present to see their team on the Jhad-ball field had an understandable paranoia of the Borg, preferring to make a strategic retreat.
Team Blovok, the archrival of the Deuterium Company, consisted of several races, all of which were similar in that they were built like organic tanks: thick skinned, tough, and determined. Shortly after half-time Team Blovok was disqualified due to the "illegal presence of weapons not an integral part of the biological body." During the resultant dispute between the Blovok captain and the referee, Second had clumsily reached around to his back to pull out the twenty centimeter plastisteel knife in order to display the weapon to the robot. While nothing biological had been permanently damaged (Doctor was readying the necessary replacement when the team returned to the cube), the edge had missed severing a vital internal power node by mere millimeters.
Eight teams remained in the playoffs.
The match with Team Decagon was difficult. Decagon Corporation employed many species, and had performed swift last minute substituting to make sure no player had any obvious weakness Team Borg might use. The ability to communicate between individual drones in an undetectable (and blatantly illegal should the Jhad-ball commission find out) manner allowed smooth coordination on the field. Team Decagon discovered that even without resorting to quasi-legal tricks, Team Borg did indeed know how to play Jhad-ball. Final score - eighteen to six.
The final four! Interstellar News Network was pulling hair, feathers, scales out of its metaphorical head in frustration as the Borg vessel continued to ignore the quest for viewer information. Shuttles were returned towards the large cube as quickly as they could be retrieved, although distance was carefully being kept. At one point very powerful phasers had lanced out to tag a trio of the small ships, vaporizing them (and the news teams) into elemental atoms. A protest had been lodged with Ijexian Prime; however, the government was unsympathetic, pointing out it was amazed the captain of the huge ship had kept his/her/its temper in check for so long.
Team Borg versus Team Kartash had a similar outcome as the previous game. While Team Kartash, third ranked in the Jhad-ball circuit and sponsered by the Holy Church of Kartash, did not show overt weaknesses, neither could it compete with beings which simply did not appear to feel fatigue or pain, and did not display body language of any known type. At the loss the team sponsor complained to the Jhad-ball authority, but the words were more for form than any expectation for action. Hollowed Kartash had obviously decided this was not to be the foretold year of miracles.
Two teams left...let Super Jhad-Ball LXII begin!
*****
Team Adamantine - top-ranked of all Jhad-ball teams, winner of six of the last ten tournaments, smug in their prowess on the field. The race of Team Adamantine, Dromela, were true amphibians, requiring constant access to water in order to stave off dehydration. A jelled coating of goo covered each dark brown Dromelan body, preventing water evaporation and loss of a team member due to the potential handicap; it had the side effect of making each player slicker than snot.
The Dromelans were octopods in appearance, a central body-head sac surrounded by eight dexterous tentacles. The eight limbs, outwardly similar, were evenly divided between legs and arms, distinguishable only by relative girth and development of manipulatory digits. A fragile seeming was not reality: tentacles were muscles sheathed around a core of bone, and ridged horn supported the body-head area. In fact, more opponents were hurt tackling or restraining a Dromelan than visa-versa.
The strength of Team Adamantine was not in muscle, not in speed, not in cunning, although each was present in large amounts. Dromelans were known to be moderately telekinetic, and suspected to have mild telepathic abilities as well. The former mental aptitude was allowed on the Jhad-ball field by the commission, as it was a natural "weapon" integral to the species...and Team Adamantine used telekinesis shamelessly to influence the ball. Telepathy was not allowed period, except between conspecifics as a means of team communication; the potential of abuse was great. It had never been proved the Dromelan race could project their thoughts, much less influence an opposing Jhad-ball team.
Still...the fact remained Team Adamantine /had/ won six of the last ten Super Jhad-ball tournaments, usually because of a series of seemingly innocent mistakes by opposing teams which added to disaster by game end.
More than fifty billion beings watched Super Jhad-ball LXII, as presented by the Interstellar News Network. It was the premier biannual sporting event, and in some cases entire populations were glued to their screens, absently stuffing the local equivalent of junk food and beer into intake orifices.
"The teams have taken the field and the area has been sealed! The coin is in the air, with Team Borg captain calling it. Nova! The coin shows nova! It seems Team Adamantine has won the call and has decided to defend. Team Borg is retreating to their end of the field...the referee has tossed in the ball...and the game is begun! I repeat, Super Jhad-ball LXII has begun!"
The ball jigged right at an impossible angle, especially considering the fact the vector had been clearly left. The telekinetic abilities of Team Adamantine was most annoying. Tactics, already being updated on the fly by the portion of the sub-collective on the cube, were revised yet again, sending 15 of 83 and 429 of 510 to intercept the ball.
Weapons: {You must destroy them! Kill! Mangle!}
{Shut up and do your task, Weapons. You aren't of us who are down here in this game, being forced to play by the rules,} returned Second. In the forefield 15 of 83 had regained possession of the ball, but 429 of 510 was double-teamed, fighting off two of the octopods as they flailed madly with tentacles. The ball was picked up and thrown towards 210 of 212, who punched the nearest defender in the face; the ball flew unhindered.
At the start of the game, the Dromelans had attempted to influence actions through subversive telepathy. The mind control was obvious to the members of a society used to hearing other voices, especially when the suggestions were blatantly illogical considering the situation. The shock of evicting the mental probes from the minds of Team Borg, using the combined force produced by four thousand drones, had momentarily shocked Team Adamantine, allowing the scoring of the first goal. After that episode, Team Adamantine had swiftly recovered, attacking with a viciousness which was the hallmark of a good Jhad-ball game.
210 of 212 had lost the ball, tripping over a well-placed tentacle. Team Adamantine passed the ball backwards, jockeying for position on the field. Satisfied, they attacked, forcing Team Borg back. Second set himself, ready for the press to the goal.
"Team Adamantine has managed to make another goal, relying heavily on telekinesis! I don't know about you, but in all the years this reporter has spent covering Jhad-ball, and all the years as a spratling watching his heroes on the field, he has never seen such a game as this. Team Adamantine have their tentacles full; the odds in the gambling houses are fluctuating with every play.
"Both teams are playing short. As this splitview of the dugouts show, two are out on both sides. Team Adamantine reports severed tentacles for one player and blinding for the other. We are not quite sure what is wrong on the Team Borg bench, except at least one broken neck - possible death - is involved...at least that one seems to have been discarded on the ground and is not currently moving. The other player appears to be quite torn up around the face and has a shattered limb; it also appears he? she? is healing faster than any being I've ever seen. Now the player is tearing apart the bench to break off a piece of rebar! Insanity folks...more than one player has mentally lost it during the final game, and the phenomenon is replaying before our watching eyes.
"Wait a minute...the Team Borg captain is signaling to a referee to allow the injured player back on the field! Amazing, folks...amazing. I don't know if it will help, however, as Team Borg is still behind six to eight. Looking at the time, we have only three minutes to go in the game."
94 of 300 was terminated, but 45 of 46 was reported sufficient functionality to rejoin the game. Most of the damage had been cosmetic; rerouting optics compensated for blinding by utilizing various cranial implants. The length of metal from the bench, shoved under body armor and into flesh of the upper leg, adequately strengthened the limb to allow a return to the stresses of Jhad-ball. Doctor was complaining about the jury-rigged quick fix, but it was necessary. And it was for naught, despite the removal less than a minute later, due to death, of another Team Adamantine member.
The final score was seven to eight. Team Borg had lost.
*****
The award ceremony and buffet was boring. Very boring. First there was the little difficulty of the fact Borg didn't eat and didn't sit; after this odd reality was explained in a series of terse sentences to the beings hired by the government of Ijexian Prime to cater the party, the drone contingent was left alone. Long-winded team sponsors and officials spoke of courage, determination, the spirit of healthy competition, and other irrelevant ideologies. Team Adamantine proudly listened to the speeches, sitting at their long table and cheering at opportune moments, waving seemingly boneless limbs over their heads, and happily becoming drunk on a pale green liquid.
And why were the Borg on the planet at all, much less behaving themselves in the face of such torture? Captain asked himself that question over and over, echoing the thoughts of the others standing nearby. The answer had less to do with politeness - the Jhad-ball commission invited all eight final playoff teams and associates to the buffet - and everything to do with completing the mission. Soon the final speeches would be done, and the Jhad-ball trophy, the booster, would be brought out to be presented to Team Adamantine.
The moment finally, painfully, arrived. A large cart was brought into the massive room, held above the floor with the same compact anti-gravity method (of which the Borg would be very interested in acquiring) as the referee robots. On the flat cart, encased in what optic sensors determined to be a simple box of glass, the trophy reposed. The outline of the desired viniculum component was extremely evident under the outward glitter and glitz.
An official followed the cart from door to stage, taking position behind the podium. It was the very official whom was the caretaker of the trophy, baby-sitting it from vault to presentation ceremony. He began to speak, "Ladies, gentlemen, neuters, and Jhad-ball players, I welcome and congratulate you!" A laughing cheer greeted the statement, loudest from Team Adamantine. "I have performed my sacred duty of Keeper, and now pass on the trophy to the victors, to Team Adamantine. First, however, it is customary to invite the team who fell to the winners - never losers! never use such a term! - to add a few words for posterity. This Jhad-ball year, we welcome the previously unknown Team Borg to the podium."
An expectant silence followed the invitation as eyes turned towards ten silently standing figures sporting an assortment of mysterious hardware. Captain abruptly headed towards the stage and mounted the steps, followed by Second and the remainder of the Borg Jhad-ball team. Cameras of the media floating unobtrusively near the ceiling edged closer to the action: finally Interstellar News Network was going to get the statement they had been craving.
"Species of Ijexian Empire and neighboring territories," began Captain without preamble, fluently using the primary language, "we represent the Borg. This drone is designated 4 of 8, and is the current primary consensus monitor and facilitator of Exploratory-class Cube #347.
"The Borg Collective is tens of millions of cubic light years in volume, and is comprised of tens of trillions of drones from six thousand five hundred eighty-nine races. Our goal is to achieve perfection through the melding of technological, biological, and cultural distinctiveness into One. The races here will be added to the Collective."
Captain paused as mutters of confusion rose from the seated masses; this incomprehensible speech was not expected. Words of praise, words of bitterness, words of a sore loser...that was the usual content. One of the flying cameras hovered above and in front of the podium.
"The Jhad-ball tournament is irrelevant; circumstances beyond our control forced the entry of us via ten members of the Cube #347 sub-collective into the game. We desire the trophy. It is rightfully assimilated Borg technology which belongs to us. While we would have preferred to take the trophy through properly winning it, and then disappearing without the species in the local grids becoming aware of us, it was not to be so.
"Resistance is futile; we will take the trophy."
Captain mentally prodded the two drones nearest the floating cart. Both had been caught up in the task to look menacing, setting their bodies on autopilot while meshing with the rest of the sub-collective on the cube to observe the live broadcast of the award ceremony. 75 of 300 and 210 of 212 abruptly returned to their bodies, swiveling in unison to break the glass case surrounding the trophy. Cries of dismay and protest echoed from the audience, followed by the hiss of energy weapon discharge. Sparks danced off the podium.
It was too late for Jhad-ball admirers. Trophy liberated, Team Borg disappeared in the clutches of transporter beams. Captain remained for a few long seconds, dodging another weapon discharge (no shielding adaptation to the local phasers yet...and Captain did not wish to be the first "volunteer" sacrificed to begin the process) to grab at the nearest floating camera. He ducked back behind the enormous podium, hoisting the camera to glare directly into the lens.
"Listen up you annoying news service...if this drone is still functional when the local grid is assimilated, we are going to pull every single string we can to be here, even if it means vanguard on the initial assault force. You made my life hell for the last several weeks, and I'll repay every single moment of it. Now move your shuttles away from my cube or else I'll let Weapons, and perhaps Assimilation, have free reign. There are much nastier things in the multiverses than tractor beams." Captain did not notice he had slipped out of the plural and into singular. He smashed the camera against the now smoking podium, triggering the transporter before security could think to charge the stage.
*****
{Delta?} Captain voiced a question to the head of the engineering hierarchy, asking about the status of the booster. Both of Delta's bodies were in the viniculum core, along with a dozen other drones, installing and testing the component. It has required several days to remove the booster from its pedestal and dissolve two centuries of paint, glitter, and gold plating from the part. The bowl shaped, solid-state machinery which had emerged was pronounced structurally fit, amazingly free of fatal stress fractures and decomposed atomic bonds. Second had claimed the brass plaque, engraved the runes "Team Borg, Exploratory-class Cube #347" on the line denoting the winner of tournament LXII, and hung it next to his alcove.
{Stupid, need specialized machinery found in a shipyard, tight...ugh...I'm stuck again. Captain, I'll talk to you later as I'm busy at the moment.} The mental mutter was redirected to ordering another engineering drone to help Delta A dislodge Delta B from an overly tight fit.
Captain piggybacked his senses on the visual input of Delta A for a few seconds, then sent a wordless acknowledgment. It was accompanied by, {Warn us before you complete final power-up.} Status report complete, attention was turned to another matter.
Subunit #522 had stopped contemplating its collective navel some time before, back in the Ijexian system, but Captain had not the time to deal with the semi-neurotic drones. He had told Assimilation to plug the nine Cadarites of the now defunct Team Black Hole into empty alcoves in Cargo Hold #3, but had not done much else. The process of appropriately assimilating the Cadarites, keeping them from "infection" by assimilation imperfection, occupied the subunit for a couple of days. After that, it had experienced increasing swings of mood, slipping between extremes of demanding the booster be fixed, to isolationism, and thence to wanting Cube #347 sub-collective to absorb the subunit. Captain considered the whole episode one long distraction, and would be relieved when the engineering hierarchy was done.
"This is the Interstellar News Network, providing you with the most recent update about the Super Jhad-ball trophy theft. It was a great tragedy when the symbol of unity through friendly competition was stolen at the presentation tournament. Deuterium Company has led the outcry of horror, promising to provide any munitions necessary should it become evident where the Team Borg vessel cowardly fled.
"Response to the 'speech' the supposed captain of the Team Borg ship gave at the award ceremony have been mixed, most officials voicing disbelief at the alleged size of the 'Collective'. Sociological and economical experts state the impossibility of a multiracial civilization spanning ten thousand light years, with a cubic volume in the millions of light years. Quote Doctor Jebima of Ijexian Prime University, psychology department, 'Such a boast is not possible! Individual colonies splintering into new societies, racial tensions, just plain sentient nature...all would kill such a civilization in its infancy! Perhaps if one could live in harmony like a hive of ginga bugs, but the psychological reality of that happening among intelligent creatures has never been seen, much less documented between biologically and evolutionarily deviant genetic lines.'
"Meanwhile, the Sphinxians seem to have joined the Kloogy species, known by most as the feared sponsors of Team Thorn, in disappearing. It is unknown where these two races have gone, but both share a common past in that they claim their ancestors were refuges from an area of the galaxy rimward and antispin of Ijexian Prime. All colonies and centers of commerce appear to have been hurriedly evacuated. A final good-bye of 'Get out while you still can' was received by Interstellar News Network offices seven days ago.
"In other news, stocks of Deuterium Company rose yesterday in heavy trading at the announcement of the embarkation to create a new generation of ship-mounted energy weapons. The munitions corporation also predicts an offshoot of research will be applicable to asteroid and comet mining as well as general orbital construction. With us in the studio to analyze the apparent timing of the announcement so shortly after the Team Borg fiasco is acknowledged economics...."
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