Day 0-
Sighted today was the enormous Paramountus Rex, tyrant of the Star Trek world. Frisking at the giant's feet was the tiny Alaneka Deckera. The A. Deckera, a burrowing mammal native to the island Star Traks, has been imported around the world. I, researcher M. Meneks, hail from BorgSpace University, also of the isle Star Traks.
Borg In The Mist - Notes From A Field Study
Day 1-
Insertion successful. Prior anthropological studies and experimentation by Dr. Klem Yennick and associates were correct in the ease of piloting a supply shuttle in close; my oh-so-worried master engineer brother's tweaking of the cloaking device probably helped. There you go bro, and you think you big sister is ungrateful for your existence. There may be hope for you yet, but don't let my praise go to your swollen head: I will always be able to beat you silly in one-on-one Jhad-ball. Anyway, these notes will be second of two diaries I plan to keep - the primary one will detail scientific endeavors, and this one my rambling day-to-day impressions.
The Borg Catalogue, compiled and updated by Droomi Timor of the Drin Borg Institute, lists my new home for the next several months as Exploratory-class Cube #347. This very special cube contains a sub-collective unlike others, and I intend to use it to validate my theory individual drones are not true automatons, but can be reasoned with; and if they can be reasoned with on the individual level, there is hope for a peaceful solution to the crisis staring us in the face come a decade or so from now. Back to the insertion.
I ended up having to beam myself and gear inside, against my better judgment. Unfortunately, Borg do not believe in airlocks. Once inside an outer corridor and relatively certain I was undetected, I sent my ship away to shadow the cube from nullspace. My first thought was to land it on the hull of this monster, but after observing several work parties toiling bare to the vacuum, decided I did not want one of them to trip over a cloaked strut or slam into invisible duralloy. By my map - sketchy, to be sure, but I didn't want to use deep scanning techniques - there is a small storage space ahead a few hundred paces. If it should be disused, I plan to bivouac there at least one night. The breather will give me a chance to send out mapping bees so I won't be lost in this sucker, as well as make final adjustments to the personal cloak I will be depending on to augment my natural abilities.
Day 2-
I don't know why mapping bees are named thus, for they look nothing like bees. If anything, the fingerlong devices appear to be bland colored jewelbugs - big head with bulging eyes, long abdomen, three pairs of unfoldable wings, three pairs of grasping legs. Perhaps it is because they buzz like bees. At any rate, my portable computer has a virtual swarm of the little robots out and about, constantly coming and going, continually updating my master database with maps, conjectures about use of any rooms, and providing initial identifiers for the drone subjects I will later be encountering. As to Borg reaction to my insect machines, there is none, not even when I deliberately directed several to land on the head and shoulders of working drones. This is a good omen, as it means neither I nor my ship have been detected, or at least are not considered threats warranting immediate assimilation.
One of the items my mapping bees are attuned to is a specific Borg transponder signature, one which overlays the basic interplexing beacon identifier which is unique for every drone. The signature distinguishes what can loosely be translated to "consensus monitor and facilitator," or the central organic switching board for the body sub-collective. The bees, in addition to mapping duties, are searching for the head honcho of this cube. Studies of traditional cubes have indicated the position is a fluid one, passed from drone to drone as the situation warrants. However, on this cube I expect to find at least one Borg firmly in charge; there is a possibility of several lesser facilitators, but I'm not sure if such positions actually exist. As of yet, the bees have had no luck.
On the bright side, this part of the cube appears to be deserted except for an occasional drone on maintenance patrol. At least I assume that is its duty, although I will not know for sure until I sample its processors. If I am careful I should be able to camp here, although I must be ready to move at any time if the Borg return to the area en masse. The storage room I am in is bare except for several dusty barrels of a blue muck my diagnostic tools are calling senile nuerogenic gel. A data pillar, also in need of a good cleaning, is in one corner. I hope the techniques pioneered by Dr. Yennick for stealth insertion of data probes is viable, or else my field stint will be very brief.
Day 3-
My bees have smelled not one or two command signatures, but /eight/. I'm not quite sure what this finding means in regard to the cube command structure, but I'm going to do my utmost to find out. One is much stronger than the others, although two are fairly close rivals, so I set the bees to sniff down my primary facilitator, concentrating mapping efforts in its vicinity.
The drone in question was finally found, in close proximity with one of the secondary facilitator signatures. While my official notes properly label this Borg as Drone 1, I have decided to call the fellow Yono, after the same named colonial burrowing animal of Drin. Like the yono, this drone is the alpha of its myriad of underlings; also like the yono, my Yono has a striking blue eye one does not expect. Yono's base species appears to be a male Moytite, although it is difficult to tell as primary identifiers such as bicolored scalp fringe and tonsure is missing, and other characteristics obscured under armor. Tales of the Moytite assimilation are several decades old, so unless Yono was taken from one of the few Moytite tramp freighter clans which are slowly dying out, he has been Borg for a long time. He is definitely a specimen I must tag with a tracer, but as the equipment is too bulky for a bee, it will have to wait until I feel confident I can get close to his alcove during his rest period.
The secondary facilitator signature belongs to Drone 2, whom I will privately be calling Four Eyes after his four eyes. Unimaginative, I know, but it will suffice. He is rather stout and of a base species I do not recognize, although considering the size of the Borg Collective, my ignorance is not surprising. While I lack concrete knowledge, I will identify Four Eyes as male in this journal; gender in my scientific notes is neuter, which is probably more accurate considering sex is nonexistent in the Collective. However, I am only Drinan, and it is mentally easier for me to identify a specimen by gender.
I have set up a bee monitoring station in the nodal intersection Yono and Four Eyes frequent. A bee will hang on the ceiling for several hours, then return to base to disgorge its gathered data after it is relieved by another bee. I dare not allow continuous contact for worry anomalous carrier frequencies will be detected. My second stage robots, weavers - based on a homeworld parasite which bores into an endothermic host, then proceeds to weave a series of egg cocoons within living flesh - are digging their way into the innards, the interstitial spaces, of this cube. Once there, they will proceed to target destinations, laying behind a hair-thin communication wire. Within days I expect to have this cube securely wired and be able to set permanent monitoring stations.
Day 4-
With base camp secure, I decided to test my new map and my camouflage by sneaking to the nearest alcove tier. I brought ten subdermal tags to begin preliminary radio collar operations, as well as a neural scanner to gain basic information such as designation, task, and so on.
All went superbly! I now have a list of ten drones, and have already determined there are at least three primary functional divisions (hierarchies) in the sub-collective - tactical, command and control, and engineering. I suspect I will be finding more in the next several days. The implanted tags will record drone movements, basic biological and neural processes, as well as a host of other variables; I like to think of the tags as my own implants. Best of all, to gather saved information, a mapping bee simply has to lightly scan the tag, much in the matter of a barcode-gene chip. Very low risk.
In my absence, the mapping bees found three more of the lesser facilitators.
Drone 3, to my vast surprise, is insectoid, not humanoid. Dr. Sweeni of the Borg Institute has postulated the Borg are specialists in assimilation of humanoids: obviously the good doctor is wrong. It would be interesting to know if insectoids have not been seen among documented Borg assault forces due to rarity, tactical unfitness, or other reasons. I will leave such questions to other aspiring scientists at such time the Collective isn't breathing down my race's neck. Quiescent in its modified alcove, Drone 3 resembles a snarebug, should one substitute pinchers for arms. Therefore, Snarebug will be Drone 3's moniker. Snarebug will be genderless in my diary.
Drone 4 is of the tactical persuasion, modifications to armor obvious, as is the permanent weapons which are part of its (his) prosthetic limb. Boom - an appropriate name, I believe, after watching him stomp around via bee cameras - is another unknown species. I have matched him head of the tactical hierarchy.
Drone 5 I immediately identified as Seffite, an annoying rodentish bipedal species neighbor of my own civilization. Or, rather, was a neighbor. When the Seffites fell, the final buffer to Drinan space evaporated; since then, the Borg have not advanced on that front. Feeling whimsical, I named Drone 5 (a male) Ratsy. While I can not place Ratsy's place in the greater sub-collective as of yet, the mapping bees found him (and others) operating on fellow drones. Looked more like my brother's workshop than a doctor's office.
In other news, my data probe insertion has been successful. Top layers of data are now being skimmed and sampled, worms carefully probing into data trees and archives, looking for interesting information without alerting the resident minds.
Tomorrow I plan to be ambitious and strike out for Yono's stomping grounds. I should be able to complete the round trip in a day if no problems occur. The weavers will have a wire ready for a permanent monitor by then, and I will try to time my excursion to arrive during Yono's downtime so I can tag him.
Day 6-
I have returned from my excursion, with one very close call. The hike to Yono's area was easy. Maps viewed from the wearable portion of my computer (and a small honor guard of mapping bees) eased my decent through otherwise confusing corridors. When I arrived at my first target, Yono's intersection, I found it empty, which was just fine by me. Dodging drones is an interesting pastime, but I didn't need to do so while I was on tip-toes trying to cement a monitor to the ceiling. The intersection was somewhat surprising in that it had a large viewscreen of unknown, unBorg origin. Nice one too. My close call came after I trundled down the appropriate walkway to Yono's alcove. Just as I finished inserting the tag, Yono reactivated. For several fearful seconds I could only stare at that blue eye as it appeared to be looking back at me; however, Yono must not have "seen" me, for when I scuttled sideways as I heard clamps disengaging, he simply stepped out, turned towards his intersection, and clomped off. Boy was I shaking after that episode; I required several minutes of meditation before I felt able to tag Four Eyes, who has the alcove next to Yono.
A review of bee efforts over my absence has revealed the final three facilitator signatures-
Drone 6, or rather Drone 6a and 6b, is a single signature embodied in /two/ drones. The mapping bees and the base computer were very confused as to how a signal could be in two places at the same time. While I have named the pair Twin 1 and Twin 2, they are as physically alike as they are mentally, so recognition will be difficult until they are tagged. Species is unknown.
Drone 7 has no special characteristics, nothing to make it stand out. Species and gender is recognized to be a male Qua'tohf. Qua'tohf must be a rarity in the Collective because, as far as I know, they were (officially) unaware of the Borg until a few years ago; ignoring a threat as "someone else's problem" rarely makes it disappear, however. They are an unremarkable rim species, claim to galactic fame solely due to artistic exports. The Drin Institute of Art on the homeworld counts a seascape reproduction by Seltat as one of its treasures; the artist supposedly suicided decades ago after a horrible accident left him unable to paint. However, the tale may be pure fabrication by Qua'tohf authorities to drive up the price of Seltat exports. I decided to rename Drone 7 as Seltat.
Drone 8 was found in a cargo hold, and is in fact not a member of the Cube #347 sub-collective. It belongs to a traditional drone grouping, one which appears to be isolated from the general cube. How this miniature sub-collective - approximately 250 drones - found itself on this cube is unknown, but I do not believe they will pose a problem. As facilitator status is fluid among the subgroup, I am not going to name the current holder. In fact, I will exclude these drones from consideration in my larger project.
In general, all is going well. I have a multi-day excursion planned, one which will take me on a vast circuit of tagging and setting monitoring stations. The weavers are reaching final positions now. The data probe is also finding fruitful bounty; I have been able to identify three hierarchies in addition to those already mentioned - sensory, drone maintenance, and assimilation. It should prove easy to match my facilitators with their respective hierarchies. I expect increasingly worthwhile data as the worm learns the idiosyncrasies of the local network and is able to sink to deeper layers.
Despite the inconvenience of this cube's location (half my budget was spent in round-trip charter fees for a GPS mech to haul my shuttle to Cube #347), I feel happy I am here. At first I viewed the seeming disappearance of my proposed study site as the termination of a year of careful planning, but I have subsequently revised that opinion. Out here, far from BorgSpace borders, the influence of the Collective must surely be lessened. My theories will be viable!
Day 11-
Moving from point A to point B in a Borg cube requires endurance and dexterity...and mountain climbing equipment; at least this time my excursion was less hearts-stopping. The resident drones use transporters to cross distances, which is technology off-limits to me. Just moving between levels is difficult, much less transverse the entire cube, as the few lifts are too crowded to chance riding. Instead I have to strap on a backpack and climb auxiliary ladders...or dare the wide space of axis shafts with rope and clamp. I installed a total of 15 monitors and 420 tags, including all those with facilitator signatures. Most of the dangerous grunt work is done; my observational sample size is now sufficient I can stay at base camp and allow bees to collect stored information from the tags.
In my absence, the worm has made significant strides in analyzing the sub-collective's databases and information streams. While none of the systems are vital, of most interest to me is access to exterior cameras. I do miss the starfields visible from my shuttle. Admittedly transwarp tunnels are not exciting scenes, but it is better than corridors. The probe has also found an automated log of cube and sub-collective activities, from which the computer is able to condense a readable summary. Examination of the past eleven days confirms neither the shuttle nor I have been "detected."
Initial drone observations in conjunction with the log have allowed me to assign the following facilitators to their respective hierarchies:
Drone 1 (Yono) - Command and control (Overall primary facilitator)
Drone 2 (Four Eyes) - C & C (Overall secondary facilitator)
Drone 3 (Snarebug) - Sensory
Drone 4 (Boom) - Tactical
Drone 5 (Ratsy) - Drone maintenance
Drone 6 (Twin 1 & 2) - Engineering
Drone 7 (Seltat) - Assimilation
Drone 8 (nameless) - Subgroup, not sub-collective of Cube #347
Day 12-
The computer awoke me this morning with very disturbing news: the seeming discovery of my tags. I could only watch, hearts a'pounding, while the drama unfolded. Luckily I was able to watch real-time from a monitoring station instead by installments via bees.
*****
"A buzzing sensation in your thorax, you whine?" asks Ratsy to the drone (Drone 23 - Scar) on the table. I heard no reply, but the words were probably internalized; the worm could not infiltrate individual "conversations" without revealing itself. Ratsy pokes Scar's chest once more, then turns to find a tool on his workbench.
I become increasingly worried as Ratsy begins to root around under Scar's armor at the place the tag had been inserted. Finally, after much prodding and (mostly) bloodless cutting, interspersed with Ratsy's mutterings, a tag is withdrawn. The medical drone holds the fingerlong tag close to its artificial eye before grabbing yet another tool from the crowded bench. The tag is waved back and forth while the tool beeps.
"Nothing, nothing, nothing to worry about, me boy," chatters Ratsy as he begins to wave the handheld contraption over Scar's torso. "Poor puppy's been spending too much time among dirty radiation sources at the behest of momma dog Delta. Your nanites are not happy. Some of them must have made this odd cross between a transponder and memory crystal in a fit of indigestion. Don't worry, your doctor knows how to fix you up."
I breathed a most profound sigh of relief when the tag is tossed in a box of like-sized miscellaneous parts, reminding myself to donate a larger than normal sum of money to temple when I return home. Obviously at least one god was looking out for me.
*****
I'd like to dictate a bit more about the final outcome of the malfunctioning tag, but bees are reporting a sudden increase of Borg movement in the area. Most drones are sporting dust mops and vacuums (several individuals are wearing frilly white aprons for unknown reasons), and the worm is logging summary reports of scheduled cleaning. However, I must make hasty preparations to stash my gear (and my body!) behind the wall for a few hours. Perhaps I'll take the time to explore the interstitial spaces adjacent to my base camp.
It is now the end of the day, and I have spent several cramped hours contemplating how I might contact Yono, or any drone for that matter, without ending up assimilated. The cleaners have moved on, allowing me to emerge. I study Borg, but have no wish to end up as one. While the worm can not intercept drone-to-drone conversation, it may be possible to set up an anonymous "address" from which to contact my subject without leaving a trail back to my computer or self. Sending and receiving direct messages at this address is a task I'll propose to the computer to mull over tonight as I sleep.
Day 14-
The cleaning has brought changes to my storage area. Not only is the dust and grime gone, but the gel barrels have been removed. They have been replaced by several cardboard boxes containing multitudes of an odd object: flat doughnuts of plastic with symbols similar in shape to the Drinan letters of "A", "O", and "L" printed upon them. I do not understand their significance, and while I would like to take several as samples, they may be missed.
And speaking of samples, I plan to recall the shuttle in a week or so to move what data and observations I have collected into permanent storage. I will also be able to resupply my base camp and perhaps eat something more palatable than concentrates. I knew I should have begged the grant committee for more money to spend on provisions.
I have begun cataloguing my drone observations, not only by traditional behavioral study methods (i.e "asleep", "awake and idle," etc.), but also by aberrant neuroses. My previous background research of fractured reports concerning this sub-collective have hinted at unBorg behavior, however, reality does not do justice to second-hand (or more) accounts. Identified thus far are "collectors" (those which collect objects...and possibly data if the worm can sniff out such traces), "neurotic" (mental problems such as phobias or manias), and "builders" (those whom make changes to cube interior or exterior which obviously serves no functional purpose). There are also numerous drones which demonstrate no outward unBorg character, but which nonetheless either suffer some form of dementia not visible outside the local data web, or have simply not manifested their neurosis in the short time since tagging. General categories may never fit these subjects.
As an example of a collector, I have under observation a drone which has amassed a collection of rocks, which he (Drone 59 - male Tecturun) spends time polishing every spare moment. Over the course of two hours, Drone 59 was logged via tag and bees to completely unbox his vast collection, organize it on the floor of a storage area, then hold up a sun-amethyst to his eyes and simply stare at the rock. Most recently, the drone has reorganized his rocks into geologic nomenclature and was proceeding to shine the basalts.
After much contemplation, the computer has announced to me that it understands the local datanet well enough to create an anonymous digital "drop box." I am pleased. Although it is very near to nest and sleep, I have devised a simple message of greeting and desire for a "pen pal" without revealing who I am, species, or that I am even on the cube. The recipient will be Yono.
Day 15-
Yono's reaction, when I read it upon the morn, was...interesting. He seemed to think I was another drone, one playing a prank; dire threats of punishment, most repetitive maintenance chores, were appended to the end following a request to halt the "frivolous and inefficient waste of time." The response confirmed my theory of independent - NON- COLLECTIVE APPROVED - mode of thought. The computer also reported several "traps" now set up around the address, but I told it to create a new drop box from which to send a second letter, this one similar to the first, emphasizing I was not of the crew compliment.
While there is no need for me to leave the base camp, I am incapable of lazing around analyzing reports as worm and bee bring enticing information. I would like to personally check monitoring station 5, which has been acting up since it was installed; also, bees have been unable to enter a large section of the cube - subsection 8 by updated maps compiled from Borg database schematics and my own files. Perhaps I can see why forcefields have been erected in this region. Computer and robots are all well and good, but true research and exploration still requires an organic touch. The universe would be a dull place if civilizations only sent probes into the vast unexplored, never experiencing wonder first-hand.
Day 20-
I recalled the shuttle and am spending the day in relative luxury as I catch up on paperwork. Before the drudgery of paperwork, however, I happily embarked in a good roll in the heated sand pit. On the cube I have to be satisfied with sandpaper to clean my scales. In addition to the comfort of a bath, I woke one of the farm-raised opick I brought on-board under hibernation in a chilled transport. One bite of decent live food isn't much, but it was a perfect celebration of 20 days of concentrates and simple survival.
The research computer, electronically tied to its shuttle counterpart, has given me an alert. Once more the potentially fatal problem stems from monitoring station 12 over a drone maintenance workshop; another reaction to an early planted tag. Twice in so short a span cannot be consequence. As before, the subdermal tag is not recognized for what it truly is, the patient let go with "Happy nanites and purposeful static charge buildup to shock others do not mix." I am beginning to believe a wider pattern of rejection may be commencing, of which I will need to repair...or dangerously attempt to remove every tag before the sub-collective adds two plus two and attains intruder.
To determine the cause of rejection will require a very risky operation: I must locate a drone in down-time rest and beam it aboard the shuttle. The ship has facilities to diagnose the problem, although I would have been perfectly satisfied to never have had to use them. The dangerous portion will be to complete analysis and repairs before the subject awakes. Even if I did kill an active drone via weapon, I would still effectively be toast, no place to flee. Despite the jeopardy, the task must be done.
On a lighter note, what did I find in subsection 8? A giant plant of unknown species. While I did not try to breech the force field containing it to the subsection, I did notice it was very active for a vegetable, energetically seeking my flashlight beam. I have a quantity of still shots and movies stored with my scientific files, but I need to note informally of pigmentation display characteristic of Borg. If true (examination would necessitate sampling fluids to check for presence of nanoprobes), it would be the first case of /non-animal/ assimilation. Unfortunately, I do not feel I could safely perform such a test, due both to the security field and the liveliness of what must be a enormous vegetative mass.
Finally, before I leave to find myself a torpid Borg, I must report of my latest series of messages to Yono. Yono now appears convinced I am an omnipotent being or a member of a technologically advanced race using the messages as the linchpin to an elaborate prank of which he is the butt. Replies are short, as if he were humoring me while waiting for me to become bored and focus elsewhere. As far as the worm can tell, Yono has not "made public" his communications. I must now strive to convince him I am quite mortal...maybe if I feed him an edited version of the truth?
Day 21-
*Stellar map - yellow dwarfs - grid 83472 complete. Beginning survey - red dwarfs - grid 83472*
*Routine maintenance, tractor emitter #3; time to completion: 24 minutes.*
*Gum? Gum!? Gum is the reason this access panel has not been opened in five months?*
These audio files are examples of the worm's growing expertise at extracting chatter from the Borg datanet; the computer has assigned a "voice" to each one to vocalize what in many cases is digital impulse patterns, not true words. Primary "public" traffic is engineering and command and control hierarchies, with a sprinkling of sensory. The other hierarchies are not as vocal. The third example, accurately depicted as a double tone, is from Twin 1 and Twin 2, whom contribute often to the flow.
Irrelevant background white noise such as these three files were what kept me amused through the tedious hours of physically and digitally dissecting the errant tag. I had one eye nervously plastered on monitors tuned to signs of my subject regaining consciousness the entire time. The drone which I chose (Drone 13 - Sparky) I have noted in bee-brought activity logs to shut off nearly all higher mental functions during downtime - the Borg equivalent of a deep sleeper.
*4 of 19, disclose your location. This hunk of junk you installed at juncture 26.3a is malfunctioning all over the place. I am knee deep in regeneration sludge.*
"Malfunctioning all over the place" is the correct definition for this tag. Cheap electronic piece of crud built in the manufactories on Far Moon. If I ever find the dealer who sold me these tags, I will rend him limb from lib, then make him eat his appendages before I slit his throat and use his malformed, amoral body as a dancing rug. Luckily, the problem is easily mended, merely a software patch uploadable via a massive flight of bees. At least I do not have to go out and fix each one by hand.
*Fruity rooty strawberry chocolate fizz.*
I've fixed Sparky and sent him back to his alcove, none the wiser. With the bees programmed for their mission, my attention has returned to drone chattering. I'll be heading back to base camp in a few minutes, resupplied and ready for the next 20 day stint of behavioral observations. The computer's latest digestion of drone communications isn't perfect yet, especially when it comes to Snarebug, but the translations are coherent. The effort, time, and money I put into tracking down a decently flexible non-sentient AI system to interact with Dr. Yennick's worm is paying off...unlike the tag near-disaster.
Day 24-
What a day! The worm reported maintenance three decks below base camp, so I decided to climb down and observe. In a way it was fun, an adrenaline rush, standing among a dozen busy drones, occasionally side-stepping or ducking as conditions warranted. Between their nonawareness of aliens, my natural camouflage abilities, and the personal cloak (actually a device called a "biological signal disrupter" as a true cloak would require a warp core for power), I and my several recorders were nigh near as invisible as one can be.
The work I observed was a rebuilding of a corridor section approximately ten stadan long. Why, I have no clue, as "before" and "after" appeared indistinguishable. I've made a note to myself to have the computer search internal log summaries: I suspect a preventative maintenance schedule, but confirmation is nice. Anyway, it was immensely interesting to watch hallway plating of floor, ceiling, and wall peeled away as if was a quanta rind. Struts, pipes, and other structures underneath were exchanged for similar counterparts. I also was privileged to see another insectoid at work, one very different from Snarebug. I think nearly half of my film was directed at the overlarge, overbristled caterpillar.
My next several excursions will be to follow and film tagged drones through a typical work period. Before embarking on such an ambitious task, as opposed to reading downloaded tag logs, I must carefully review my specimens. Many of the drones which play important roles to sub-collective health also rarely leave their alcoves; I want active subjects, like engineering or drone maintenance.
With the third carefully composed letter today, I report I have established regular, secure correspondence with Yono. Although the computer reports increasingly complex traps set for the worm, it seems Yono has foregone reporting our correspondence. Perhaps he wants to catch the probe without assistance, a very unBorg activity. Other than that, he has swallowed the story of myself being a remote researcher, exploring the cube via worm, my physical body safely elsewhere.
On a whim, I directed the computer to extrapolate a "voice" for Yono using clips from the monitoring station above the drone's nodal intersection. The messages I receive are now read in Yono's assigned voice. Interestingly, despite Borg hardware and translation algorithms, one can still hear the cadence and pronunciation of the original Moytite language underneath. A paleolinguistic researcher I know would be ecstatic, his self-imposed task of uncovering extinct languages made easier by the treasure trove of the vast Borg Collective.
Day 25-
I awoke to alarms, not just from my computer, but an endless siren which was a Borg klaxon. A series of faint booms rattled the cube, massive explosions somewhere shaking the cube's immense bulk. I was quite stunned, and it took me several seconds to compose myself before I could snap an order to the computer to display exterior scenes in conjunction with interior chatter.
*Damage shield battery node #152, maintenance required.*
*There's a screwdriver embedded in my head! Someone remove it.*
*Disrupters discharging along edge #5; quantum torpedo spread primed, 250 isoton yield.*
*Sensor grid section #18 and associated antennae clusters off-line. Compensating.*
*Purple juice incoming face #4 and #6.*
I had no clue what "purple juice" was, but when the relevant exterior displays came up, I was able to recognize the assailants: P'ka.
When one is an aspiring Borg research specialist, one picks up unusual pieces of trivia. The Drinan Borg Institute is perhaps one of the most comprehensive and exhaustive efforts to rigorously study the Collective. It was founded 200 years ago, well before the hive threat was on homespace's border. One of the thousands of assimilated races, my acquatance with the P'ka was accidental, a footnote leading to a citation leading to a list. It is only in the last decade or so the Borg Institute has felt technologically confident to acquire direct information, without sending people to their doom, as opposed to compiling vast databases from second-hand accounts, such as the list I found.
The P'ka are an ugly people, greasy of skin, lank of hair, squinty of eye, and sport a pushed up snout of a nose. They were also very warlike, expanding their borders in search of slaves before their assimilation three centuries previous. They are memorable for capturing the initial Exploratory-class cube sent into their territory, then attempting to subjugate the drone crew as slaves. Note my use of P'ka activities in the past tense. The effort failed, cube crew (and new P'ka drones) slaughtered in a bid to intimidate the Borg. Not dissuaded in the slightest, the Collective swiftly decimated the P'ka, although rumors have persisted that a portion of the race survived, bent of eventual revenge.
The rumors must have been correct, for P'ka vessels were swarming the cube. I recognized hundreds of robotic fliers nothing more than warheads with reactor mass, as well as many manned ships. One view showed a pair of capital ships swiftly closing from behind a living screen of two-man fighters. The odds were not /too/ overwhelming for an Exploratory-class cube, one which surely had details of P'ka weaknesses and tactics, and so I waited for my ride to mincemeat the attackers; my expectation, unfortunately, did not bear fruit.
At that point I told the worm to try to snatch anything the sub-collective may have known about the P'ka. It swiftly returned, reporting a designation entry, and nothing else: the cube, and by extension the Collective, had at some point lost vital information pertaining to the P'ka, rendering Cube #347 fairly helpless before the onslaught. My next action, a swiftly composed message to Yono, I did not decide upon lightly.
My first letter - a copy of which, as with all my previous dispatches, can be found in a file appended to this diary - described the P'ka, who they were and where the came from, and how I knew several weaknesses the sub-collective could exploit to survive. I also outlined several conditions to Yono: (1) the origination of the information must not be revealed to other drones or the Collective, and (2) I wished a face-to-face meeting, alone, from which I would emerge unassimilated. Otherwise, I noted, I would prefer to go down with the cube. The reply was swift, harried, agreeing to my two stipulations. In response, I sent my data.
The battle swiftly turned to the side of Cube #347, swarms of robot bombs the weak point to the P'ka deployment. Remote controlled from the capital ships, the sub-collective merely had to determine which of several key frequency combinations the P'ka were employing. Once command was usurped, the P'ka scattered, chased into warp with semi-intelligent high explosives on their atrophied tails.
The cube intact and unexpected personal concessions gained, I must now turn to the tricky problem of recommending a neutral location to meet, as well as determine what precautions I should take such that I will emerge from the meeting as myself. Bargains are kept by the Borg so long as the advantage is to the Collective. However, a face-to-face conversation may also give me a chance to begin initial probing into the likelihood of future negotiations to exempt my race from assimilation.
Day 26-
"This drone's designation is 4 of 8, or Captain if you insist on irrelevant names. State your purpose."
Yono's personal introduction was less than enthusiastic, as could be expected by anyone finding a hitchhiker on their ship. The meeting took place in a currently disused storage area, large cylinders - each was three times my height and nearly three stadan in diameter - empty of gasses or liquids. While I wielded a weapon and carefully kept my distance, I was quite aware of my vulnerability should a force field be erected or a squad of drones transported in to surround me. The best I could hope was to activate my cloak and fade into the background. My chances were slim if Yono had decided to capture me. Fortunately, he did not. The fact I am able to incorporate a series of audio clips into my diary is proof.
"You are species #7924, Drinan. State your purpose."
What could I do but answer? I truthfully told him I was studying Borg behavior so as to better understand the Collective...from the outside. I glossed over details and outright omitted bits of my background such as my method of arrival, time aboard, and the location of my base camp. I wasn't stupid.
"I can observe behavior and many data communiques. I am also aware of the uniqueness of this sub-collective, barring the subunit in one of this cube's cargo holds, and that reason is why I am specifically here and not on another ship. You have a different perspective of the Collective, and that viewpoint is what I would like to discuss."
"It would be easier to 'discuss' if you were assimilated."
"True, but I told you, I seek to understand the Collective from an individual's point of view."
Yono continued in this vein for a time (yes, that /is/ me talking in the previous clip!), but finally agreed to a second meeting, before which I would transmit him a list of topics I wished to cover. Later, when I examined worm summaries, it seemed my Yono continues to keep our contact secret; yet at the same time, even more elaborate traps abound to trip the worm. However, the program slithers through the datanets, evading pitfalls. The bees also note no changes in drone activity, other than a general upswing in maintenance to repair damage taken yesterday. I am still cautious, however, and plan to repack my base camp mess in case I am wrong regarding the state of unawareness and am forced to move elsewhere.
Day 27-
Awful news today. No, nothing to do with Cube #347, which is functioning smoothly, but news revolving around the Borg, nonetheless. When I read highlights of data gathered over my sleeptime, I found reference to initial Borg forays into Drinan homespace. The worm is trying to break into secured areas containing cube movements in Drin spatial grid to confirm what now is only conjecture, but I worry. Hostile advance into Drinan space would be a decade ahead of the hypothesized schedule.
I need access to the Borg Institute, which maintains gross Borg movement patterns linked to probable impetus. Sudden collapse of resistance, an overly stubborn species, or stellar phenomenon have all been shown to alter Borg conquest timetables. For instance, tales of immense battles with an unassimilateable race known as species #8472 arrived shortly before waves of refugees began to flee areas under unexpected Borg attack. In order to fuel its war, the Collective needed new technologies, and above all, more bodies. Until I receive confirmation, however, I can only chew on a tail tip and wait.
To somewhat decrease my stress levels, I have begun crafting a list of those drones whom would make good subjects for a "day in the life of" recording. At the top of my list is Ratsy, followed by either Twin 1 or Twin 2. Several other of the engineering hierarchy (Drone 15 - Hex; Drone 116 - Big Ears; Drone 329 - Spots) have local alcoves and are currently assigned to duties within adjacent subsections, and each is representative of a different dementia.
I just can't concentrate, can't keep my mind off of potential troubles at home. Hopefully by my next direct meeting with Yono in three days, I will know if I have reason to worry or not.
Day 30-
I have spent the last two days with my mind focused on something other than the imminent Borg invasion of Drinan homespace - following Ratsy. I now have several recording crystals of typical Borg medical activities, which is interesting in itself; however, I can also place Ratsy firmly into the collector niche of my psychosis chart. My doctor Borg is a collector of pets. I have suspected an unusual obsession for sometime, especially as his tag captures logs of movements to cube locations where no medical emergency exists (subsection 8, for example). The scientific log contains a more detailed account of my excursion.
While Ratsy was a fascinating diversion, my purpose of the diary today is to relate the outcome of my second interview with Yono. In a way, it was disappointing. Many of the answers revolved around typical Borg propaganda and cliche response. However, I was able to gain several insights into the psychology of my Yono, and the unique Borg on this cube in general. Here is a short snippet:
"Can we please dispense with the 'we' business? I have plenty of instances recorded with drones referring to themselves in the first person, yourself included. You won't be damning yourself further by keeping your pluralities straight."
Silence. "Fine."
"Good. What is your personal opinion on assimilation?"
"I am Borg."
"What is your opinion on Borg-caused racial extinction due to assimilation?"
"No species assimilated by the Borg is extinct, except in a few cases. If a species was allowed to become extinct, the purpose of its addition of biological distinctiveness would be negated."
"No, I want /your/ opinion, not the PR."
"I am Borg."
A whistling sigh as exhaled breath passes through clenched teeth. "Continuing on, what is your opinion on your own assimilation?"
"It was a relief." Pause. "I mean, I am Borg."
"And your opinion on the practical extinction of your race beyond the confines of the Collective?"
"Those few who are left should not be assimilated as they will detract from perfection. I anticipate your next question, but sentimentality is irrelevant. The simple fact is they are mentally unbalanced, and would not add to the Collective. They might" long pause "be candidates for assimilation imperfection. They might" longer pause "be assigned to this cube. Such an activity must not come to pass. Unassimilated Moytites are to be exterminated."
The admittedly loaded questions were designed to strike sparks and elicit response, although I did not always succeed. As for the unassimilated Moytites, all I can infer is that Yono has "issues." Maybe I could pry his autobiography out of him on another day.
The worm has extracted concrete information concerning Borg cube movements in the spatial grid coordinates containing Drinan-claimed space. The situation does not appear good, but it isn't hopeless either. The Borg Institute has figures extrapolating the time required for a Borg invasion should it proceed at a normal pace towards Drin, allotting typical resources considering our resistance quotient and civilization size. If I remember correctly, the Drin home system should have anywhere from six months to a year to evacuate the populace. I hope our soldiers will be able to give home system that year, if not longer.
The Borg Institute was designing a master plan for evacuation, but last I knew, it was not complete. The relocation of a species is logistically complex and economically expensive. It is also necessary. Any tactic which can be used to stall the Borg will probably be employed. Unfortunately, my work here on Borg psychology and behavior will not be advanced enough to use in any hypothetical negotiations, especially as I had eventually planned to take the lessons learned here and apply them to more typical sub-collectives. It seems there is never enough time.
Day 31-
More bad news concerning homespace.
Model Borg assimilation invasions cover four primary phases, although some argue five is more appropriate. Phase I is initial reconnaissance, often with Exploratory-class cubes taking biological and technological samples, probing for tactical weaknesses, and producing maps. This phase is variable in length, lasting anywhere from weeks to centuries. Drinan homespace systems have been in Phase I assimilation since the downfall of the Seffites, if not longer. Phase II is invasion of remote colonial and scientific outposts and stations, those institutions unlikely to support military resistance. Phase III is assault upon major colonies. Phase IV, the final academically recognized phase, is subjection and assimilation of the homeworld(s). Some scholars tack on a Phase V as hunting for escapees, but not all agree to the addition of a fifth phase. The time between initiation of Phase II to end of Phase IV could last days, weeks, months, years, or longer, depending upon variables such as resistance quotient, spatial size of target civilization, and amount of resources dedicated to the task.
Examination of the latest cube movements place Assimilation- and Battle-class cubes in the vicinity of far Drinan outposts. Phase II has begun...with a vengeance considering the amount of hardware directed at the weak targets. Overkill.
I hope my race fights the good fight. I must begin to make plans for my escape back to the Borg Institute, at which time I will request a leave of absence to go to my family. Every hand will be needed. First, however, I must finish a few tasks. A week one way or another will not make a difference, not at the speed my GPS charter travels.
Day 33-
By the three burning and two frozen hells: my computer has been severely compromised! Luckily I keep backups of all vital research-related information. However, this isn't the first invasion, now that I closely examine its programs, just the most blatant and thorough. The traces are Borg, a Borg which/whom knew what it was looking for and did not care what files were corrupted in the process. As far as I know, only one drone on Cube #347 knows of my existence; and only one drone has been attempting to track a certain worm to its home.
Yono.
The worm has never been able to pierce FTL communication security systems, at least not without setting off every automatic tracker watching for anomalous software activity. It has no access to the greater Borg Collective. The best it can do is to track vinculum activity level. Shortly after the ransacking of my files, there was an extended ten minute, in-depth exchange of data via vinculum from parts unknown, most likely the body Collective. By piecing together a timeline using tactical movements also filched by the worm, approximately an hour after the dialogue, cubes began encroaching en masse into core Drinan homespace, entering into Phase III assimilation.
Yono.
At this point I can only be fatalistic, pondering as to why I have not been assimilated yet. I also wonder why Yono exposed me now, or at least charged into my system the way he did, instead of earlier as I expected when I first made contact. I thought I was making progress. While I certainly did not consider Yono a friend, and was well aware of the Borg propensity to keep bargains as long as the payoff was advantageous, the timing puzzles me.
I have dispatched a message to Yono using my usual safeguards, although I am sure I could have easily tapped a random drone's shoulder and demanded an audience. In the letter I requested a meeting to clarify why things were happening as they were. Surprisingly, I received a positive reply, hour to be tomorrow, politely (and probably not coincidentally) a short time after I usually awoke in my subjective morning.
I fully expect not to survive the meeting.
Day 34-
I have included the following conversation in its audio-visual entirety. It reveals much more than could I about the present situation swiftly tumbling into ruin.
*****
Scene is as viewed through the camera lens of a mapping bee, a literal fly on the wall adjusted for its horizontal vantage. Large drums reach towards an unseen ceiling, a roof not overly high or lost in darkness, just out of sight for a robotic insect a finger in length. A person steps into view.
The tall figure is obviously Borg. That skin which is not covered by black armor is mottled gray in color. While the hand nearest the camera is whole, the opposite limb is artificial, although attachments are less extravagant than some drone specimens. As the Borg stops, head sweeps sideways, targeting laser momentarily pausing as it passes over the bee, dazzling the display with red. Initial inspection complete, gaze once more halts on the metal insect, minus laser. Blue eye narrows as the drone turns away.
Synthetic voice says, "I am arrived."
"I have been waiting," returns bodiless words, owner shimmering into view.
The revealed body is saurian, a large-cranial version of a long extinct Terran animal called an ovaraptor. The low body crest of the head barely tops the drone's shoulders, although carriage is held as erect as possible. The tilted posture is due to an evolutionary hold-over associated with the fifty centimeter tail held stiffly at ankle level, a tail which millions of years prior was much longer, forcing the body into a horizontal position. An odd pair of shorts wraps around the saurian's nether regions, while a vest with numerous bulging pockets adorns the torso; no shoes or sandals cover feet which sport neatly trimmed talons. A thick bandoleer, several knobs at the front, crosses from shoulder to waist. As the camera watches, scales of skin begin to take on a gunmetal hue similar to the surrounding background; clothing follows suit, albeit at a slower pace. As the effort was not nearly as spectacular as the arrival, the obvious conclusion to be inferred was of technology assisting natural camouflage.
The far hand raises, pointing an object - a weapon? - at the drone.
"You lied," hisses the saurian, female for an observer knowledgeable in the Drinan race. "It is no coincidence Drinan homespace is being attacked. You assured me you had not told anyone of our meetings. You assured me none knew of the letters or my research." The bipedal lizard quivers in rage, camouflage of scales dissolving to agitated orange streaks even as clothing remains a sedate gray.
The drone's mostly whole arm chops down in a negative. "I did nothing of the sort. It is your own worm which gave you away. It is a clever program, very adaptable and cunning in the matter of a virus, but it made a mistake, or rather you did. You decided subunit #522 was irrelevant when it is anything but.
"The subunit has lately been in watchdog mode, making observations of local dataspace inefficiencies and offering unsolicited advice, demands, on how to reduce electronic clutter from its current state of near entropy. It came upon traces of your worm and was able to track it back to its base more adroitly than I, given my limited resources of one. A single drone is not meant to work alone. The subunit is the entity which reported your presence to the Greater Consciousness, along with the contents of your database. You are now an open secret."
"Why have I not been assimilated?" interrupts the Drinan.
"I am primary consensus monitor and facilitator. I do have some input in decisions which affect this cube...but your continued existence hangs by the slimmest of threads. I must comply when circumstances dictate, but the Greater Consciousness has not explicitly ordered your assimilation. Yet." The explanation hinted at creative tinkering somewhere to have been necessary to dance around the edict which must have been dispatched. "I must continue with my clarification while I have time. Within your extensive database are records for the Borg Institute. Until now, we have known of the Drin Borg Institute to be inconsequential collectors of information - no threat. Now, however, they are taking a more active approach in their research..."
Wails the lizard, "But it is only research!" as the drone continues without interruption.
"...with tools, if adapted to military use, could cause unusual resistance. Danger to the entire Collective has been hypothesized should maleficent versions of your worm enter central Borg archives. There is precedence, and so the Greater Consciousness moves in a preemptive strike. Priority is to assimilate Borg Institute researchers such that their knowledge will expand our own and protect against future incursions."
The Drinan's weapon droops, aimed more at the floor than target. Scales have faded to an unhealthy pallor of dead white tinged with blue-gray. Jaw opens once or twice before whispering voice is found, "Me? I am the reason for the attack against my people?"
"Yes, indirectly. Subunit #522 merely did what I alone could not do in tracking your worm. If I had managed to find your database, I would have performed the same actions."
"But why? You are as near an individual as I have ever heard of in the Collective. All" wide gesture of arms "of you here are, which is the reason I came! Can you not think for yourself, make up your own minds on what to do? Why be an automaton when there are so many other possibilities?"
"I am Borg. We are Borg. 'Other possibilities' are irrelevant. One alone can not be perfect - one alone can not even track a program in one's own dataspaces. Perfection requires many acting as a Whole, all talents and abilities cooperating to further the Whole. Do not fret: species #7924 will contribute to the Collective."
"I don't understand!" shouted the researcher, her whisper of moments ago forgotten. "And, again, why have /I/ not been assimilated?"
"Your ignorance is understandable, and not relevant as you are a small being. Your continuing existence as an individual provides tactical and psychological information useful to the Collective in your species' assimilation. This data may be lost if you are prematurely brought into the Whole, as has been the case for fourteen other Borg Institute scientists found on other vessels." The drone paused. "And, also, I do not often experience decent dialogue with someone outside my sub-collective. It is novel not to know how one's conversation partner is to answer."
The saurian gives a shriek of pent up rage, then slaps her free hand across the bandoleer's dials, disappearing from view. The drone turns slightly in the direction of the bee's camera and shrugs, vanishing himself in the clutches of a transporter beam.
*****
There are many implications in the conversation, many hints dropped. The worm continues to mine the datanet, but I know that ease of movement to be a farce; the information it brings is of normal drone activity, although the sub-collective surely knows of my base camp location, if not myself. I must take advantage of the apathetic attitude and think upon what action to take.
Day 35-
This entry may be the final one I make in this diary. It is hard to believe less than a month has transpired since I first stepped foot on Cube #347. If you, reader, find this log and are reading or listening to these words, then what I have feared has come to pass.
In preparation of what I must do, I have made copies of all diaries and logs, sending the data to my waiting shuttle. The shuttle, under automatic orders, is to leave the vicinity in two hours (if attacked, it will leave immediately), travel three days under high warp, then scream into the ether for the GPS mech to retrieve it. The mech left a device to use for such a purpose, so it would know when and where to come to return me to the Borg Institute, completing its charter obligations. The shuttle will perform these activities should I be on it...or not.
I am tired, subsisting on stimulants and adrenaline. In an uncharacteristic lessening of professional detachment I should take towards my research subjects, I do not feel I can take out my anger upon the Cube #347 sub-collective. I have learned too much about them, and despite Yono's assertion of his Borgness, the drones have emerged as individuals. I am not comfortable murdering individuals, which is exactly what would transpire - at least in my own mind - should I direct aggression against them. "Nonsense" I keep telling myself, for they are as much Borg as any drone, but still I waver. Against subunit #522, however, I have no such qualms.
I have made some minor modifications to my cloaking unit. Nothing grandiose, but enough such that I should be invisible to internal sensors once more. Brother, if you survive and if you ever read this, thank you for playing your apprentice engineer pranks on my stuff, for I probably informally learned as much as you in your studies when I fixed my car, my computer, my alarm clock, my pullka. Borg are vulnerable to slashing weapons, and in order to use my claws - suitably tipped with neutronium monofilament battle blades - I must be able to move as close as possible without alerting my target. I will kill as many of subunit #522 as possible before I myself succumb to death or assimilation. A pointless revenge against the Collective, but satisfying in a most /irrelevant/ way.
Of a more destructive thrust, I have modified my worm into the damaging virus Yono twice spoke of. Such slips of the tongue must have been intentional, although I do not know why he would be altruistic to an enemy who could unleash it upon the general sub-collective, perhaps the Collective itself. While the Collective will probably be safe from my poor hack job, I won't shed tears should the virus travel into the primary datanets. However, by local aim is subunit #522. They appear to have a "space" of their own, a gathering of their mental signatures held apart from the surrounding sub-collective. It is this aggregation which my virus will strike, will damage.
Well, all is prepared, the orders to the shuttle given. I do not expect to survive, at least not as myself. I may soon experience that which I have studied. I am foremost an aspiring scientist, but now...now I must be a soldier. May Drin never know of my guilt in the Borg invasion, and may they never weep at my attempt for reconciliation.
Forward, for today is a good day for enemies to die.
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