Mix one part Paramount to one part Star Trek.  Add a generous spoonful of 
Star Traks a la Decker.  Sprinkle in a dash of Meneks' BorgSpace spice.  
Bake at 375 degrees for 45 minutes.  Enjoy.


-Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it do singe yourself
	("King Henry VIII" by William Shakespeare)

	 		*	*	*	*	*


			A Dish Served Cold, Part III

	"So," began the alternate universe Second, "I bet you are wondering why 
we brought you here today."
	4 of 8 narrowed his eyes slightly, then glanced sideways at the drone 
standing next to what was recognized as a transceiver repressor, a jammer 
of fractual subspace.  The drone, 89 of 212, abruptly broke from his 
stationary pose, stooped to pick up the knee high cube, and disappeared 
via transporter beam.
	"At least something works around here," muttered Second.
	4 of 8 knew this cube and its occupants came from an alternate universe, 
one shifted 3.4 taus from his own.  The time line was obviously different 
in some respects, yet at the same time similar; the fact he was looking 
into a mirror image of the 3 of 8 who functioned as secondary facilitator 
on the proper Cube #347 was proof.  Of course, 3.4 taus distant did not 
include what appeared to be a minor war.
	"I am sure you will tell me," responded 4 of 8 to Second's stated 
question, "and then you will return me to my sub-collective."
	Second stared at 4 of 8, then grunted in annoyance, "Forgot you couldn't 
hear me.  Suffice to say that if you were linked to us, you would have 
heard me give you a firm no to your request.  Doctor will be here 
shortly, but I can begin verbally."
	4 of 8 wasn't quite as isolated as might be supposed.  True, with the 
fractual nature of the subspace frequencies employed by the Borg, and 
with subspace slightly different in each continuum, the Collective of 
this 3.4 tau shift did not utilize the same channels as did 4 of 8.  On 
the other hand, the frequency was close, affording a mild leak, such as 
one might experience tuning an analogue radio when classical elevator 
music is intruding in the final seconds of a hotly contested basketball 
game.  4 of 8 could hear the sub-collective of Cube #347, but it was as 
if one was attempting to pick out a quiet conversation in a party which 
was occurring on the other side of a very thick wall.  The subtle nuances 
of digital "mind reading" and the flow and ebb of information in the 
dataspaces was lacking.
	Taking 4 of 8's stubborn silence for assent (or simply not caring, if 
this drone was anything alike to the one 4 of 8 knew), Second asked, 
"Provide us with data:  did you ever encounter the animal known as a 
vyst?  More specifically, an assimilated version accidentally created by 
12 of 19, subdesignated Doctor."
	4 of 8 took a moment to riffle through his stored memories.  He did not 
have access to stored files, naturally, but he kept an extensive set of 
his own experiences within the confines of his own brain.  Keyword "vyst" 
brought up a short entry.  "Affirmative.  Three weeks after leaving 
post-assimilation planetary inventory of species #7190, engineering 
hierarchy responded to an incident of extreme odor near Maintenance Bay 
#5.  A decomposing corpse was found, identified as a post-metamorphosis 
stage of a species #7190 pet known as a yoole-vyst.  The vyst had died 
due to an incompatibility of nanoprobes with the changing host."  4 of 8 
paused.  "12 of 19 was deemed responsible and subsequently punished.  
Additional information concerning the minor incident is not available 
from this drone."
	Second sighed, "I wish we could have had your luck in that manner.  But 
we didn't.  Our vyst, Luplup is her designation, did not die.  She 
survived and thrived as a moderately intelligent animal.  An assimilated 
animal.  The details will have to wait until you are plugged into this 
sub-collective, but they are unimportant to the immediate discussion.  
Luplup has secured a fleet of species #56 ships, folded-space drive 
capable although the weapon systems seem to be less than the hellish 
possibilities the more paranoid of the sub-collective have simulated.  
She has also secured our primary facilitator and consensus monitor, our 
Captain."
	At that moment a bipedal rodent materialized in the nodal intersection.  
In one hand it carried a device designed to perform subtle adjustments to 
various cranial and body implants without resorting to cracking the skull 
and prodding neural matter.  4 of 8 immediately recognized it as 12 of 
19, his current drone maintenance hierarchy head.  The hairless rat 
momentarily turned its gaze upon Second, then fixated upon 4 of 8.  4 of 
8 hoped this 12 of 19 analogue would be as competent as the drone he 
knew, as well spoken and efficient, ignoring the small quirk of obsessive 
pet collection.  The second of the three traits was disproved as Doctor 
spoke.
	"Be a nice wittle boy, a nice pup.  There may be a tiny bitty bit of 
tingling, but it will be aaaaalllllll better soon.  Hold head straight.  
No wiggling, else I'll have to take you to the office and immobilize you.  
Slap you on the nose with a rolled up newspaper.  This will be a very, 
very, very simple task."  Doctor stepped to the side of 4 of 8, just out 
of peripheral vision.  A subliminal humming began just above his left ear 
as the device was pressed against cranium.  He sincerely hoped Doctor was 
at least competent and efficient.
	Meanwhile, Second continued to speak, "Our use of the anomaly was 
originally to escape an ambush set by Luplup, evidently after Captain was 
absorbed into her mind.  After emergence as we began initial consensus 
proceedings to determine what action to take next, we noted the presence 
of your Cube #347.  Our plans altered."
	The noise next to 4 of 8's ear rose slightly; the distant party was now 
on the opposite side of an ever thinner wall.
	"A shift of 3.4 taus is very slight, enough such that there should be 
very few differences between our Captain and you.  Captain can anticipate 
our reactions, as he has intimate knowledge of us; however, Luplup now 
shares this information, but her alien mind set provides her with the 
advantage.  We can not adequately simulate all the nuances of Captain's 
mind to the degree to predict what Luplup's own actions will be.  
Therefore, we require that you outthink yourself."
	With those words, 4 of 8 entered the party of Cube #347.  Head bangers 
in one corner of the multidimensional room shared space with a string 
quartet.  A trumpet duet blared Caribbean soul music.  Through it all 
blended the harmonizing back beat of the dataspaces and command and 
control hierarchy (led by two subdesignations of Second and Third).  The 
eternal Collective created a distant framework for the sub-collective to 
build upon.
	The chaos 4 of 8 found was staggering.
	"Wha?" gasped 4 of 8.  "What is wrong with your sub-collective?  
Answer."
	Second mentally frowned even as his face remained passive.  "What do you 
mean?  You are imperfectly assimilated, we know this."
	"Yes...but not to this extreme.  My sub-collective is a little out of 
synch with the Greater Consciousness.  Occasionally one of us is 
pronounced cured and reassigned to standard duties in a normal 
sub-collective, one which can steady the personality.  This...this mess 
is impossible!"  4 of 8's voice uncharacteristically rose he absorbed the 
internalized scene.
	"Irrelevant," uttered Second.  "We know have what we need in the form of 
a mental template to base our simulations.  You will survive."
	4 of 8 blinked.  He wasn't so sure of Second's statement.

		*	*	*	*	*

	*Let mySelf start again,* said Captain-unit patiently.  He created two 
detailed pictures, one of a box and the other one of Luplup's fleet; 
Captain-unit was much better at mental drawing than most of Luplup.  *I 
have two ships, one is Bad-Mans Cube #347 and the other is my scout ship 
Runner.  Runner is attacking Cube #347.  What will Cube #347 do?*
	Luplup watched as the hypothetical scout lashed the cube with a 
disrupter.  While Captain-unit was definitely a part of the larger Me, he 
had still brought in a...distance...with internal conversations which was 
different than that experienced before.  It felt akin to the sensation 
when parts of Luplup disagreed with other parts, only more so.  The new 
mode of conversation required a new mode of talking to oneSelf.  *Fight.  
That is what I would do.*
	Captain-unit gave one of his unfamiliar gestures, one which Luplup knew 
to interpret as a sigh.  *What have I told mySelf over and over?  I 
cannot only think of I.  I must also think of they.  What would they do?  
How would they react if I performed such an action?  This is called 
simulation, imagination, abstraction.  Observe as I demonstrate to mySelf 
once more.*
	The cube and scout split into three similar scenes.  In the first, Cube 
#347 responded to the provocation with its own counterattack; second view 
showed the Bad-Mans running away; third cube simply ignored Runner as the 
scout's disrupter impacted on intact shields.  Underneath each depiction 
were numbers.
	*The percentages are not truly reflective of reality, but included to 
emphasize my point to mySelf.  Cube #347 has three options:  fight, flee, 
or ignoring.  At its most basic, if the Bad-Mans ship were not damaged 
and not expecting (I put mySelf into their place!) enemy reinforcements, 
the best option would be to respond with weapons.  If heavily damaged 
and/or suspecting an ambush, the sub-collective might decide to escape.  
If Cube #347 was busy performing other tasks and knew Runner to be of no 
immediate threat, the scout would be ignored.*  Captain-unit superimposed 
a complex weave of lines "beneath" each looping scene, the strings of 
which converged at the numbers.  *Simulation of the "what-if's" leading 
to each outcome provides the probability of occurrence, which in turn,* 
Captain-unit added more webbing diverging "above", *allows various 
reactions to be prepared to counteract Bad-Mans response.  Additionally, 
the degree of response can also be simulated and odds calculated.*  The 
countering cube was highlighted and replicated several times; the 
subsequent frames spanned from a casual phaser burst to an explosive 
flurry of full munitions striking Runner.
	The great majority of Luplup grumbled.  She knew how to count, could say 
with certainty that six units of herSelf was in the small room with 
Captain-unit, that the most recent first-brooder clutch contained four 
eggs, or that her fleet had seventeen ships.  Multiplication, division, 
algebra, trigonometry, matrices, and the many other forms of mathematics 
were known, were a method to keep track of numbers.  But those numbers 
Luplup used also related to real world things.  Some of the things were 
concrete, like population of worker units; others were more nebulous, 
like radiation levels, photons hitting the sensor grid, subspace 
frequencies, and other items unable to be grasped by claw, but measurable 
nonetheless.  Probabilities dealt with "could-be's," denoting that 70 
times out of 100 Cube #347 would respond to an attack by fighting Runner; 
however, the real universe was one of yes-no, black-white...either the 
Bad-Mans tried to swat Runner or they would not.  They did not have the 
ability to 70% try hurt Runner no more than Luplup could have a unit 70% 
clutch-heavy.
	Captain-unit accessed those files which Luplup had found to be 
unimportant.  Titles such as "Wave Theory" and "Quantum Mechanics" were 
boggling; after initial absorbing of Not Born Of Self data, she had 
removed from Self those bits not immediately relevant concerning fleet 
maintenance, genetic manipulation, or other applications.  Having 
knowledge is not the same as understanding; a child may be told fire is 
hot, but until he or she sticks a hand in the flame, the learning is 
abstract.  And Luplup had already demonstrated a less than firm grasp of 
the abstract.
	*The multiverses are not binary, at least not at the level of the 
sentient participant.  A sentient sees gray, and that gradient is best 
described in percentages.*  Equations from the "Quantum Probability 
Theory" file flashed by at high speed.  *One can imagine different 
outcomes, then apply known data to gauge how likely it will be to happen.  
The Bad-Mans do this through a process called simulation, linking 
what-if's together into a whole.  MySelf here can do it as well, have 
demonstrated the ability in the initial attack on Cube #347 after 
stealing Captain-unit.  It only requires that I split mySelf into 
partitions, each of which has the task of examining a limited set of 
what-if situations.  The final analysis is a product of consensus by the 
controlling partition or unit(s).* 
	*But I captured Captain-unit without this complication,* wailed Luplup 
to herSelf.  Her units near Captain whined unhappily.
	Said Captain-unit, *But I also had no contingency plans.  I simply 
decided to capture Captain-unit, then went from there.  Any problems, any 
divergence from the expected would have required on-the-fly response.  If 
I had simulated possibilities, I would have given the budded unit an 
appropriate range of predetermined responses, protocols, to initiate in 
each what-if.  Only in the case of very low probability would I have had 
to resort to pure reaction.*
	Luplup gave up to herSelf.  Captain-unit did add to herSelf, but 
sometimes what Captain-unit contributed was at odds to what she wanted to 
do.  However, Captain-unit had also been a Bad-Man with nesting territory 
spread through a quarter of the galaxy.  Nesting territory was power, and 
Luplup required power to grow into a giant Luplup.  As the Bad-Mans were 
obviously successful, it was logical for Luplup to use proven methods in 
her endeavor, which in turn was only accomplishable through adopting 
Bad-Mans techniques.
	If only those techniques weren't so hard to grasp!
	Luplup examined tracking data from Cube #347.  Captain-unit had insisted 
the placement of cloaked mines along the sole trajectory possible when 
the prey emerged from the anomaly.  The mines had acted as a diversion, 
one to hide the small devices now embedded on the prey's hull.  The cube 
was traveling rapidly in transwarp; Luplup occasionally folded space to a 
location near the target, figuratively speaking.  The game of cosmic 
leap-frog was necessary to keep Cube #347 within the sensor envelope of 
Luplup's fleet, watching for the Borg ship to emerge from transwarp into 
normal space and the waiting grasp of tritanium claw.
	By nature, the vyst was a cunning hunter, able to kill by deception as 
easily as forthright attack; the Borg, on the other hand, lacked 
subtlety, but were renown for brutal, amoral efficiency.  On her own, 
Luplup would have battered at Cube #347 in a toe-to-talon contest of 
might, deciding sixteen ships to one represented sure victory.  The 
influence of Captain-unit brought forth the sly side of her, one now 
endowed to a limited degree with the ability to plan engagements and 
create contingency plans, one with an insider's knowledge of enemy 
tactics.
	One which was now insisting Luplup once more split herSelf into 
subSelves in order to simulate, imagine, conjecture the prey's next move, 
countermove, and so on through the dizzying levels of circular what-if 
thinking.
	*Fine,* sulked Luplup, *I will do this to mySelf again, but I must 
remind mySelf that such activity is detrimental to my thinking.  However, 
I have swayed mySelf via Captain-unit and my new knowledge of Bad-Mans 
thought patterns that I must learn mySelf the proper way to plan, to be 
civilized.  Eventually I will be a giant Luplup.*
	Captain-unit began to detail the number of required partitions, optimum 
size/clade composition of each, and build the seed scenarios for each 
group to simulate.
	The ends of Captain's mouth turned ever so slightly upwards in a stiff 
smile.  

		*	*	*	*	*

	The boxes were confining.  4 of 8's dataspace visualization of the 
constructs was of eight black boxes joined by narrow covered walkways.  
Within the purposefully isolated segment of the sub-collective, half of 
command and control hierarchy - 350 members - were arranged in subgroups 
of 50 drones each.  Copies of all data associated with Luplup or species 
#56 hardware was also resident in the boxes.  Six subunits played the 
part of Luplup in a particular situation (the seventh always had the role 
Cube #347) deemed likely to occur.  4 of 8's role was to be a kidnapped 
and integrated Captain, knowledge modifying Luplup's action.  Once the 
scenario was played to conclusion, he was sent to another box, subunit 
left to examine the what-if and pass on a skeleton sub-collective 
response to 100 weapon drones in the eighth box for fleshing.  The final 
outcome was a series of ploys Luplup might attempt, with tactics which 
had a reasonable chance of countering.
	{Break time,} declared Second's mental voice with false brightness.  
{Calibration is complete.  Simulated vyst mind reactions match tactics 
observed thus far.  A little reshuffling is required in the command and 
control boxes, 39 of 79 is complaining 201 of 480 is poking him again, 
and so forth down the standard accusation.  Once all is rearranged, I 
will get back to you.}
	4 of 8 opened his eye as he stepped from the alcove he was forced to 
call home.   The alcove 4 of 8 was assigned belonged to the kidnapped 4 
of 8, resident sub-collective seeing no reason to assign alternate 
timeline drone to a different alcove as long as its normal, same 
designation occupant was not available.
	"My neural excellence and obvious qualifications should place me as a 
member of the Hierarchy of Eight," muttered 4 of 8, "and not used as a 
mind slave.  It is my right as Borg to at least participate in 
consensus,"  4 of 8 had been denied even the basic allowance to assist in 
the decision making process, which all in the sub-collective, even 120 of 
300 of dull-witted species #4102, partook.
	{I heard that.  My body is not /that/ oblivious,} responded Second.  
{You are fundamentally alien to our tau.  If one of this sub-collective 
had landed on your cube, would your sub-collective allow full 
integration?  The answer is no.  We operate no differently.}
	4 of 8 continued to verbally address a motionless Second, "The Hierarchy 
of Eight is currently operating at less than full efficiency.  You 
troubles are great and you require complete effectiveness, which I can 
adequately provide.  More than adequately, for my sub-collective has 
obviously not slipped as far from Borg unity and perfection as this one."
	Second said, {You will serve us best as a "mind slave."  Reorganization 
of simulation block drone components will be completed in ten minutes.  
Be back in the alcove by that time.}
	4 of 8 glared at Second's body as the latter took his mind elsewhere to 
attend other concerns.  The temporary primary consensus monitor and 
facilitator was correct in his assessment of what would occur if 
positions were reversed.  The disagreement was an abbreviated one held 
many times since 4 of 8 learned of his role in this universe's version of 
Cube #347.  Setting an internal chronometer, he went for a walk.
	The very short stroll terminated in the nearest nodal intersection, the 
one with a large viewscreen hung in it.  4 of 8's footfalls vibrated the 
deck sufficiently for darkened monitor to lighten into a screen-saver 
featuring a three dimensional graph charting minute fractions of the 
radio spectrum.  A logo in the corner read "SETI"; along the bottom of 
the display Borg alphanumerics listed "Origin:  Terra -*- Temporal feed:  
2000 AD (local calendar)" then went on to thank user "Borg347" for 
donating idle computer time towards the search for extraterrestrial 
intelligence.
	{4 of 8...are you listening?} shouted Second.
	4 of 8 tore his gaze away from the mesmerizing march of multicolored 
charting surfaces.  {What?  Er, um...state your purpose.}  Wandering mind 
was brought under firm control.  
	Second did not respond for several milliseconds.  {I said we are ready 
to begin simulations.  Return to the alcove.  With your call for 
efficiency, I am amazed you did not bug me when the time I stated 
passed.}
	In alarm 4 of 8 checked his internal chronometer.  Sure enough, Second 
was tardy by five minutes, forty-three seconds.  4 of 8 replied grandly 
as optics drifted towards screen-saver, {Your established inefficiency 
demonstrates to this drone not to expect punctuality.  Therefore, I 
deemed it inappropriate to interrupt your tasks, less you fall further 
behind.}
	Second's tone was very dry.  {Riiiiight.  Now return to Captain's 
alcove.}
	{I comply,} said 4 of 8.  He reluctantly turned his back on the 
viewscreen and moved himself towards the ordered location.

	{What was that?} asked 4 of 8.  Second automatically noted the location 
of the alternate tau drone to be near subsection 8.  A two hour cessation 
of simulations had been decreed to allow the weapon black box to catch up 
on their tasks; the drones had fallen behind due to an illicit game of 4D 
Tetris.  Temporarily released from his labors, 4 of 8 was on a 
self-guided tour to catalogue the differences between Cube #347s...and 
note inefficiencies in a haughty, depreciative manner.  The most recent 
quest was to view Thorny, which was confined to a pot in the 3.4 tau 
distance, not overgrown an entire subsection.
	{What was what?} returned Second.  He was distracted by the rolling 
consensus concerning remaining in transwarp versus return to normal 
space.  The cube was several days and 150 light years from the ambush 
site, and the increasing need to perform exterior repairs highly 
detrimental to drone functionality while in a conduit.  Ship regeneration 
had been initiated, but the engineering hierarchy could provide 
assistance to speed the process.  An unpleasant thought of uncertain 
origin impinged upon Second.  He voiced it, {Has the plant adapted to the 
forcefields?  Is it now beyond the borders of subsection 8?}
	{I have yet to see the plant with my own visual systems.  No, I just saw 
you in subsection 5, submatrix 16, corridor 47.  Then you walked through 
a wall.  You were carrying an unknown object.}  4 of 8 provided Second 
with a copy of the incident.  It was followed by the drone querying the 
computer for Second's current location and a log of movement over the 
past five minutes.  Confusion:  {But...but it cannot be you.}
	Second sighed, routinely checked the status of the local holoprojectors 
(off) and tallied another mark on a particular virtual bulletin board.  
{We have Ghosts,} explained Second, quietly reveling in the cruelty of 
the ambiguous answer.  4 of 8 impinged upon the realm of Type A 
personality to Captain's more relaxed, and just as efficient, air.  {We 
are haunted.}
	{That is not logical!} said 4 of 8.
	{Who ever said Cube #347 and its sub-collective was logical?  I didn't,} 
was Second's sarcastic rejoinder.  He returned his attention to the 
consensus process.

		*	*	*	*	*

	*The sensation is normal,* soothed Captain-unit.  *The alternate points 
of view are necessary to finish the task I set for mySelf.  I can not do 
anything except follow until the Bad-Mans exit transwarp, therefore I 
must use time efficiently by completing as many simulations as possible, 
build as many responses as possible.*
	Luplup reflexively dug into Captain-unit's mind, extracting those parts 
of the unit which agreed with what he was saying.  Captain-unit could not 
lie to Luplup, could not lie to his own Self, but the pure vyst part of 
Self could not help but to wince at the ugly feeling of purposeful 
splitting.
	*What does this part of mySelf...* began Luplup.
	Interjected Captain-unit in reminder of how the Bad-Mans ordered self, 
*Partition 18c.*
	Luplup continued, *What does partition 18c of Self conclude?*
	Partition 18c of Self, as with several other divisions of Self, was 
heavy in soldier units, including eight soldier-brooders.  Soldier units 
were required for expertise in tactical analysis; and brooders in general 
acted as coordination nexus.  And as with several other parts of Self, 
partition 18c was hesitant about rejoining the larger Self.
	*What does partition 18c of Self conclude?* pressed Luplup.  She 
resorted to her larger collection of first-brooders and integrated 
soldier-brooders to force herSelf into compliance.  Reluctantly, 
partition 18c once more became a full part of Self.
	Not a good scenario, said that which used to be partition 18c and was 
now only Luplup.  She resorted to the mental shorthand she had utilized 
before the introduction of Captain-unit.  1.03% chance of success should 
the opportunity arise.  86.5% chance for loss of entire fleet.  Other 
degrees of probability are...
	Luplup absorbed the numbers unto herSelf, ordering them.  The plan 
partition 18c examined from seed was not feasible, at least not to the 
level required by Luplup.  It would be shelved with other similar 
outcomes.
	Luplup mentally glanced towards the calm Captain-unit, who was 
assembling more seed simulations for partitions.  *The sensations are 
normal.  We will become used to them.  We must, for this is how Bad-Mans 
operate, and look at how much power they have!  How much nesting 
territory!*
	With a grumble of suppressed annoyance, of suppressed confusion, of 
suppressed something which was and was not exasperation, Luplup continued 
her queries.  *What does partition 19a of Self conclude?*

		*	*	*	*	*

	184 light years from Luplup's ambush at the anomaly, Cube #347 shifted 
gears from improbable to merely insane to bat out of hell and finally to 
high impulse.  Several large holes drilled through armor over the great 
expanses of cargo holds, terminating twenty meters into duralloy and 
ablative layers at the ruins of plasma conduits.  Over four days of 
regeneration, systems had scavenged globules of now cooled metal and 
reached into stores of back-up material, rebuilding integrity atom by 
rapid atom.  The task, however, was momentous.
	Over a thousand drones labored on and inside the hull, mostly 
engineering with a generous proportion of drone maintenance, 
assimilation, and command and control represented as well.  The conduit 
was fixed, restoring nominal power flow in the affected subsections.  New 
plates covered surface damage; however, the protection was as of yet only 
meters deep, a thin rind protecting easily bruised flesh beneath.
	Weapon and sensor hierarchies remained at alert, the latter peering into 
the depths of interstellar space for traces of forthcoming attack.  On 
the one hand, hiding in plain sight was a common tactic, empty expanse 
affable to the sensor grid; and the sheer volume of searchable area 
regulating the cube to the status of microscopic needle in a solar system 
sized haystack.  On the other hand, lack of debris meant no convenient 
object to hide behind.
	Melding 4 of 8's mind into extrapolations of Luplup's thinking patterns 
returned a high probability the Borgified vyst knew exactly where the 
cube was located.
	The thought was not comforting.
	Second disengaged from the most recent simulation output, whirlpool of 
possibilities requiring integration into the overall structure of 
response-counterresponse pathways.  The simulations were unavoidably 
flawed, both by the use of a Captain which was not a perfect mirror of 
this universe original and by the incomplete nature of knowing how Luplup 
thought.  Some records of Luplup did exist from her two excursions into 
Cube #347 dataspaces, as well as rough psychological extrapolations 
possible from the Collective strike force sent to exterminate the vyst.  
Still, despite careful calibration, the margin of error was an enormous 
plus or minus ten percent.
	And why wasn't the Greater Consciousness actively assisting their 
wayward sub-collective?
	An insight into the nature of the coveted omega particle had been 
gleaned by the assimilation of a species #7777 outpost.  The Collective 
was now preparing for an assault to completely absorb the species, 
mulling over the new information, and developing plans for scientific 
inquiry which would eventually lead to the loss of a million drones.  And 
of course there was a new line of perfume, Assimilate Me, which required 
the intense concentration of the Borg PR and marketing departments, a 
collection of species gathered for their cerebral excellence and total 
amorality in an entity with very little ethics (at least from the 
outsider point of view) in the first place.
	There was a party going on, and Cube #347 was not invited.
	Second compartmentalized his mind, splitting his consciousness into a 
configuration appropriate for multitasking.  One part of himself oversaw 
the end product of simulation; a second section was involved in 
linguistic research to accurately illustrate 4 of 8's uptight, 
perfectionist attitude; a third slice, similarly engaged, targeted 
adjectives to describe the task of captaincy; the forth sliver gained 
Third's attention.
	{Third:  data dump of repair efforts.}  Pause.  {You are painting your 
finger nails.}
	{Only a little bit,} defended Third.  The lime green motif nicely 
highlighted her pale complexion and black armor.  {Link to summary is at 
address 567.3b}
	In a state of heightened anxiety and bustle, Cube #347 continued its 
normal activities.

		*	*	*	*	*

	The prey has left transwarp, whispered Luplup to herSelf.  Captain-unit 
had encouraged a closer bonding with the computer, a closer melding with 
fleet sensors.  The Bad-Mans were intimately entwined with their machines 
to the point of supplanting basic organic instincts with hardwired 
responses.  Luplup herSelf knew the advantages of using the computer to 
sift for information from Not Born Of Self databases, of enhancing units 
with surgical implants.  However, until now she had not felt the need to 
foster extreme familiarity with her plundered devices.
	Luplup's cloaked fleet rested fifteen light years from Cube #347, an 
insignificant distance to be covered by folded space drive.  Despite the 
closeness, despite the calling by parts of Self to immediately dive upon 
the weakened target, Luplup restrained herSelf.  Without mines or other 
assisting weapons, partitions of Luplup had estimated a 96% chance the 
sub-collective would simply disengage and flee, with a 54% likelihood at 
least one of the sixteen strong fleet would be destroyed; and with each 
loss, odds increasingly favored Cube #347.
	Therefore, the logical response was to immobilize the prey, to halt its 
ability to run such that Luplup could rend it at leisure and relative 
safety.  How then to proceed?  Over the course of the four day stalking 
stern chase, Luplup had conceived her plan.  Where the Borg, even Cube 
#347, would have required less than ten minutes contemplation, Luplup 
struggled through each simulation and consensus cycle.  Always 
encouraging herSelf was Captain-unit.
	Luplup carefully built her scheme, detailing increasingly complex 
contingencies until a sketched representation resembled a genealogical 
tree with a lone child to the top (i.e. the original plan) underlain by 
an elaborate snarl of relatives giving an impression the forebears were 
of a species with many more than two genders.  Assuming all went 
perfectly, and there was no reason to think Luplup was anything but 
perfect with Captain-unit's assistance, the fleet would fold in to attack 
Cube #347 once the prey exited transwarp, first allowing time for quarry 
to relax in the belief of successful escape.  Next Luplup would disable 
transwarp and restrict warp before permitting prey to bolt.  Captain-unit 
assured Luplup she would not be able to destroy Cube #347, nor completely 
disable all propulsion, from the outside due to the relative weakness of 
Not Born Of Self weaponry and Borg propensity towards noncentralized, 
heavily redundant subsystems.  The former was remedied given time and 
dry-dock support; the latter able to be overcome if Cube #347 could be 
persuaded to hold still while Luplup's fleet carved it up.  Neither 
prospect was likely to occur in the immediate future, which was where 
personal phase-cloak technology came in.
	Captain-unit, with his greater understanding of the abstract, had been 
given the task to examine Not Born Of Self files discarded by Luplup as 
irrelevant to her immediate concerns.  The information tagged interesting 
by Captain-unit detailed experiments by the late Not Born Of Self into 
phase technology as a method to supplement ship cloaks.  While the 
Bumixian had never actually attempted the complicated chore of 
retrofitting their multi-clan fleet with the devices, they had managed to 
create prototype personal phase-cloaks.  Luplup's low interest in 
physical sciences had contributed to her initial rejection of the 
technology as militaristically relevant.
	Phase-cloaks are somewhat different from standard cloaking devices, 
shifting the bearer slightly out of synch with the surrounding universe.  
Depending on the degree, direction, and magnitude of the shift, the 
object under protection essentially becomes invisible to those scanning 
at standard frequencies; tune carefully, and atoms have the ability to 
"slide" through each other, allowing two objects to paradoxically occupy 
the same space - which is not as much as a paradox as one might assume, 
as a great deal of "air" exists between all but the densest 
neutron-packed matter.
	A phase-cloak analogy can be demonstrated by contemplating a creature 
which can only see red shades.  As the being regards a holographic work 
of art, a co-sentient manipulates the spectrum such that colors begin to 
drift towards the blue.  At first the patron can view the artwork, a task 
which becomes increasingly difficult through the orange.  Finally the 
light has progressed beyond what the being can see, the hologram 
evaporating.  If the patron now donned special red-shifting glasses, the 
hologram would become visible again.  The trick, unfortunately, is 
knowing what particular degree of shifting is required for resolution.
	The analogy was exceedingly weak, for the purpose of the personal Not 
Born Of Self phase-cloak was not perform parlor tricks with light, but to 
phase-shift matter.  One of the most important data Luplup learned was if 
she utilized the device, selves would not be able to manipulate 
surrounding items unless they were similarly phase-shifted; on the 
positive side, units would be able to walk through walls and machinery, 
and an inherent interaction between personal cloak and gravity grid 
disallowed selves from sinking through the floor.  On the down side, the 
necessity of a link with Self through barkers prohibited tuning 
phase-cloaks to a variance where units vanished from standard drone 
optics; as it stood, fractual subspace communication frequencies would be 
difficult to resolve with the minimum phase-shifting required to pass 
through bulkheads.
	The master plan called for a boarding party outfitted with phase-cloaks 
to sneak aboard Cube #347.  Conventional cloaked vessels had already 
demonstrated to be undetectable even at close range to Borg sensor grid.  
Therefore Runner, the smallest of Luplup's fleet, would hitch a ride 
within the escaping prey's static warp shell, unseen.  After a suitable 
length of time, the assault group would beam aboard, travel to a 
tri-segmented warp nacelle joint, and to plant a phase-cloaked bomb.  The 
phase-cloak disguised the explosives from any internal sensor sweeps, 
forcing a suspicious sub-collective to physically inspect the myriad of 
potential targets personally.  Thence, at the correct moment, a subspace 
signal sent to detonator would cause phase-cloak to collapse and bomb to 
explode.  The subsequent large rent in the cube's side was predicted to 
not only render all FTL drive systems inoperational and deliver Cube #347 
Bad-Mans a devastating shock, but also allow an incontestable avenue of 
fire to the heart of the prey.
	Luplup graphically visualized the instant of destruction.  Primal 
emotions linked images not with the sterile reality of space battle, but 
instead provided unsubtle undertones of bloody hunts with hamstrung 
victim writhing beneath jungle canopy.  The pictures actually came from 
numerous Not Born Of Self child nature videos and were very divergent to 
vyst life (wild and domesticated) on the species #56 homeworld Luplup 
remembered only as fuzzy yoole memories of Owner and a favorite ball.
	Fifteen light years distant, Bad-Mans attempted to fix their ship-nest; 
Luplup passed an otherwise intolerable period of waiting in daydream.

	Luplup stooped to the attack, fourteen lithe falcons pricking at their 
lumbering prey with fiery talons, majestic matriarch aloof from the fray 
with eyes overseeing airless battlefield; a hidden singleton awaited 
off-stage for the cue.  Thousands of vyst bodies (and a few remaining Not 
Born Of Self long stripped of any notion of individuality) serviced 
mobile nests, duralloy bodies, the One mind coordinating tactics, repair, 
piloting, as well as continuation of mundane tasks of genetic research, 
implant installation into units, integrating the soon-born into the I.  A 
new mind, powerful yet subservient, now assisted Luplup, shared the 
throne of fluid consciousness:  a King for the Queen.
	The attack, despite its ultimate intent of diversion, was furious.  
Goals were required to be attained before the primary part of the trap 
could close, but if the battle led to victory without subterfuge, then 
that outcome was acceptable as well.  Within Luplup's mind and echoed on 
various displays throughout the fleet, a detailed wireframe schematic of 
Cube #347 rotated.  Deep damage dealt in the anomaly minefield pulsed 
bloody red; golden yellow outlined targets; sky blue splashes delineated 
the fall of each disrupter beam.  In one place red, yellow, and blue 
commingled, crayon scribbles mixing into brown blah.
	Recently repaired hull plating, covering deep punctures like a scab 
encrusting a wound, disintegrated when disrupters sliced through shields.  
Injury blossomed plasma as the severed energy artery bled cube lifeblood.  
The gush quickly arrested; the cube tried to rotate its hurt away from 
the brunt of attack.
	The actions were all so predictable!
	Stimulus and response.  Cause and effect.  Attack and counterattack.  
Luplup now understood the tactics of Bad-Mans was largely a product of 
assimilating enemies and adding their expertise to the whole.  The 
Bad-Mans were old:  they had a very large what-if library to draw upon, 
could quickly substitute or adapt a new module if the current one did not 
fit.  However, when confronted with an adversary which did not conform to 
the known, the Bad-Mans had difficulty finding appropriate responses 
until enemy individuals and computer files were assimilated.  Luplup had 
absorbed a Bad-Man first; and while the drone did not possess the direct 
tactical knowledge Luplup hungered for, he did know the artificial 
instincts driving the sub-collective, knew the method for Luplup to 
create her own what-if modules.  Luplup, with the assistance of her 
newest toy, functioned as enigmas in the eye of the prey.
	The shifting of Cube #347 to protect a perceived vulnerability brought a 
new face into prominence.  The cube wireframe glowed yellow, aura 
highlighting the entire face, and more specifically the many deflector 
dishes populating the hull.  Luplup's aim was to disable all transwarp 
coils, an impossible feat given her resources if she tried to bore 
directly to each one.  Captain-unit, and thus Luplup, knew another way 
did exist, a closely guarded flaw in Bad-Mans cube design.
	Brooder regally moved from her initial position one million kilometers 
from battle to a mere 20,000 kilometers.  The spot was uncomfortably 
close considering the ship's near lack of weaponry, but necessary 
nonetheless.  The flat bow of the two kilometer long vessel hid a large 
deflector dish behind thin sheets of metal.  The protection was invisible 
to the normal emanations of the dish, standard job to avert disaster in 
the form of dust particles, charged ions, and other erosive cosmic 
materials.  The covering was now gone, removed by vacuum adapted workers 
and soldiers.  A more offensive use was planned.
	Luplup felt/saw through her fleet's sensors the pulsating signature 
which was an idling transwarp drive.  The cube face turning flat to 
Brooder's exposed bow was the current "front," the face which would rip a 
conduit when full transwarp power activated.  Thus, the Bad-Mans 
deflectors on the face were primed to emit the particle sequences to 
initiate transwarp; they were also, by extension, open flumes leading 
back to drive coils.
	The ships between cube and Brooder adroitly scuttled away, opening a 
clear line of fire.  A diffuse beam shot from deflector, bathing the face 
in a nimbus of purple-tinged white energies.  Aboard Cube #347 electronic 
backwash spread, polarities momentarily reversing along the path between 
surface and idling transwarp coils.  Abruptly the cube's primary FTL 
system collapsed, incipient transwarp field dissipating amid the bellow 
of emergency alarms and sparks showering from overheated breakers.  While 
not catastrophic, equipment repair and transwarp field reinitialization 
would require between one and two hours, assuming the system accrued no 
further damage.
	Luplup units barked in triumph.  Vulnerable Brooder backed from the 
fray, seeking a safer locale.  At the same time, those vessels which had 
dodged to avoid Brooder's contribution retook their positions.  Crippled 
prey fought on, just as Luplup expected.  Captain-unit assured Luplup the 
Bad-Mans drone designated Weapons would continue to dominate cube actions 
until an avenue of escape presented itself.
	"Escape" would come shortly, but first Cube #347's conventional warp 
drive needed to be restricted.  Puncturing primary power conduits of all 
corner subsections was the simplest method, stressing energy distribution 
to subsurface nacelles.  In turn, the prey would have to limp along at 
less than warp 5.1, else face damaging consequences.
	Disrupters and ships unified under one mind worked in perfect synchrony, 
planned scenario unfolding perfectly.  Bang!  Bang!  Two more plasma 
flowers joined the faded blossom already liberated.  The three previously 
damaged targets were the easiest to rend.  Only five more subsections to 
rupture, to tear, to rip, to bite deeply with disrupter fangs.
	Vexingly, the prey suddenly refused to cooperate.
	As if in impossible anticipation, Cube #347 disallowed disrupters the 
chance to excavate armor to critical depth.  Movement was no longer a 
predictable defensive rotation or the static stance of a direwolf at bay.  
Instead, corners were rolled away along randomized vectors, a stressful 
act of desperation which stressed structural integrity to the maximum and 
beyond.  However, Luplup for all her scenarios had not foreseen this 
particular reality.
	How should I proceed?  asked Luplup of herSelf, fleet struggling to 
implement a now defunct plan in the face of adaptation.  Shall I 
disengage?  Shall I kill?  Shall I abort the overall scheme?
	Adapt, intoned Captain-unit.  I can salvage this if I adapt the plan.  
Perhaps if I...  Captain-unit swiftly chose those scenarios which were 
closest to reality, reinserting them into partitions of Self.  New 
parameters were programmed with the ultimate goal of sneaking cloaked 
scout into warp slipstream of escaping cube.
	Remember, said Captain-unit, when egress is permitted, Weapons-drone 
Bad-Man will be overridden by the sub-collective.  Survival is driving 
instinct; and survival at this moment dictates fighting until final unit 
is rendered nonfunctional.  Priority will change to flight if chance is 
seen.  However, suspicion of additional ambush will result if escape is 
too easy.
	Luplup, with assistance of Captain-unit, examined her modified options. 
1-1:  too likely to arouse skepticism.  1-2 through 1-5:  probability of 
success too low to be considered feasible.  1-6:  outcome distasteful, 
but parameters operationally met.  It would have to do.
	The englobing fleet quit trying to target corner primary power nodes, 
ships shifting formation as if preparing a new venue of attack.  Brooder 
began a conspicuous advance to close within one hundred thousand 
kilometers of battle, diverting power from massive cores to deflector 
dish.  The pose was bluff - Brooder could do nothing - but Cube #347 need 
not know Luplup held only high cards in her hand.
	I do not understand, said Luplup.
	Replied Captain-unit, Reference not relevant.
	Stimulus and response.  Cause and effect.  Cube #347 once more followed 
the script Luplup anticipated.  Faced with a known danger in the form of 
Brooder, one could almost see mental gears assessing risk, overriding 
weapon hierarchy desire to fight to the bitter end, deciding temporary 
transwarp loss was enough punishment at this time.  Cube #347 shifted 
stance towards escape.
	Luplup purposefully arrayed all active ships except one either in 
positions of mutual defense or aggressive screening for rapidly 
approaching Brooder.  The single deviation was one of her three cutters, 
this particular one named Stripe due to surprisingly tasteful black and 
white striations.  Stripe was a relatively isolated barrier between the 
cube and freedom.
	Cube #347 took the bait.
	Charging towards perceived liberty, the Bad-Mans vessel let loose with a 
full barrage of phasers and cutting beams.  Even a pair of quantum 
torpedoes joined the attack although the short distance was not 
appropriate for that class of long-range weapon.  Stripe returned fire 
with its own disrupters; Brooder slued to track the cube as Luplup's 
thirteen other ships attempted with splendidly planned futility to 
counter Cube #347's charge.
	Stripe exploded, concentrated weaponry easily overwhelming pitiful 
defense.  The larger remains were scattered as the cube leapt through the 
englobement rift.  Faced with no additional detriments to flight, the 
cube vanished at the highest sustainable warp factor given stresses to 
its power grid.
	Success! trumpeted Luplup even as she grieved the lessening of Self lost 
through Stripe's demise.
	The next series of events necessitated swiftness.  Within a space of 
seconds, Luplup shifted from a module of attack to mode of pursuit.  A 
cloaked Runner was already under the warp shadow of Cube #347, hovering 
less than three meters above hull armor.  Runner was also already out of 
12 AU barker distance; and while budded self was able to complete 
Luplup's ploy, she preferred to try to keep herSelf as whole as possible 
through the complicated actions to come.
	Luplup checked the tracking device still implanted on Cube #347's hull, 
noting direction and speed.  Several prepared beacons were beamed to 
space, their purpose to noisily simulate a confused fleet, one which was 
not pursuing, one which was dispirited by loss of Self.  If anything, 
Luplup was highly confident.  With cloaks raised on remaining ships, 
Luplup vaulted to warp.

		*	*	*	*	*

	{Transwarp disabled,} said the computer in dull digital language of 
zeros and ones.
	Rumbled Delta, {No kidding, you ignorant piece of sh**.  Now tell us 
something we don't know.}  The image of a wrench smashing a primitive 
computer case was an elegant, if irrelevant, picture of impotent wrath.  
The computer could no more recognize a threat to its "person" than a 
drone feel fear in termination for the good of the Collective.
	The sub-collective had been expecting the attack, every moment in normal 
space spent towards vital repairs which could not be performed adequately 
in transwarp.  Anticipating ambush and responding to it were not the 
same.  When Luplup finally did sweep in, her tactics remained unknowable; 
and unknowable for unimaginative Borg meant unadaptable.  Finally the 
whammy had come in the form of a deflector pulse rendering all transwarp 
coils temporarily nonfunctional.
	Fuming, affected by the alarming prospect of termination infecting one 
drone after another in standard domino fashion, Second turned towards the 
special isolated partitions cluster containing 4 of 8.  He mentally 
rattled the eight boxes, then winced as the recently fixed power node in 
subsection 1 was drilled.  {Hurry it up in there.  We need something, and 
we need something now.}

	Always something, thought 4 of 8 to himself.  Efficiency could not be 
pulled out of a hat on command, but rather nurtured to fruition.  As it 
was, the moronic battle simulations Second insisted upon were little more 
than an exercise in futility, a preparation which would eventually either 
be deemed irrelevant and purged, or buried in archives to never be used.  
And now, given a copy of reality, he was expected to dash from beginning 
to probable ends AND provide a recommendation for consensus cascade on 
the best tactic to pursue.
	4 of 8 allowed an illicit thought to leak from the part of his 
consciousness not fully submerged in the roll of vyst thrall, {Perfection 
is a process of slow amalgamation, of assimilation and pruning.  The 
quest to perfection is the only relevant art form, for it transcends art 
as small beings think.}
	{Very poetic nonsense. Collective brainwashing propaganda at its finest 
is the same no matter what the tau shift, obviously.  Produce.  Now,} 
cajoled Second.  Another explosions shook the superstructure as primary 
power conduit in subsection 25 was compromised.  The tactic of Luplup's 
attack was clear:  she was systematically reducing cube mobility.  With 
transwarp disabled, warp remained as basic faster-than-light propulsion.  
However, each pinprick to the power grid affected overall supply to 
nacelles; warp remained available even if Luplup drilled all the corner 
subsections, but top speed would not be very high.
	A virtual chime rung, indicating the most recent simulation had drawn to 
a conclusion.  The very small part of awareness which had been split from 
the whole was akin to a subprogram running as part of a larger algorithm.  
In this case it monitored real-time changes outside of the simulation 
boxes and had the limited ability to draw upon mental resources in order 
to remind the host sub-collective of the Borgness they so obviously 
lacked, especially in comparison to his native tau line.  Unfortunately, 
his captors did not listen to his words.
	4 of 8 aligned disparate parts, integrating watcher program into his 
entire psyche.  A possible solution was now in hasty post-processing; the 
most promising counter to Luplup's attempt to damage near-surface power 
conduits was not /too/ risky, and had an impressive 57.82% chance for 
survival.  In fact, success rate to foil coordinated disrupters, assuming 
Luplup did not immediately adapt her tactics, was 88.9%; however, the 
discrepancy between success and survival was associated to structural 
stresses and if Cube #347 could withstand major abuses to inertial 
dampers without said equipment melting, exploding, vanishing into an 
alternate dimension, or otherwise rendered nonfunctional.  Without 
dampers, Cube #347 would swiftly tear itself apart.
	The final proposal for action was spat out of the tactical drone 
partition - all POed they were not manning weapons of mass destruction, 
as well as denied access to 4D Tetris - and swiftly snatched by Second.  
Consensus was short; leaping at the pace of computerized thought had the 
side-effect of subjectively slowing the sidereal universe to glacial 
velocity.  Still, apparent speed aside, enemy disrupters were excavating 
a deep hole in subsection 7 after having finished lancing subsection 3, 
the third of the initially compromised corners.  Approval to implement 
counter returned positive; no time was available to refine or alter it, 
so it went into play as is.
	Chewed corner subsection was thrust away, motion directly along a 
randomly chosen vector before Luplup could refocus her weapons.  Useless 
shield dropped, energy funneled into internal forcefields and structural 
stability.  Deft touches of dangerous impulse engines (the 
Exploratory-class cube owner's manual clearly stated all warranties void 
if impulse was utilized without releasing the emergency brake, thus 
"spinning the wheels" to coin a Terrestrial phrase) assisted thrusters as 
Cube #347 was put through the paces of an epileptic whirling dervish.
	4 of 8 observed Luplup pull back slightly, disrupters halting as if 
baffled by Cube #347's gyrations.  The impression was false; the vyst was 
merely rearranging her pieces so that her chessboard queen might be 
brought up in safety to wreck additional devastation.  The large species 
#56 creche ship moved near, energy signatures from revealed deflector 
dish spiking.
	Within the dataspaces, defense turned towards deliberations of escape.  
Weapons, insanely by 4 of 8's thoughts, demanded attack, a notion 
squashed by sensible parties.  Sensors noted one ship out of position 
from its mates; risk assessment declared it an open avenue to flight; 
Weapons was told to remove any obstructions.
	Escape was a total success, freedom gained and Luplup smote.  Cube #347 
jumped into warp and pushed speed to the maximum allowed given wounds; 
engineering priorities turned from keeping the vessel in one piece amid 
forces with the opposite goal to the task of (once again) rebuilding.  A 
large segment of the hierarchy worried about depleted duct tape supplies.  
Sensor grid caught the spoor of Luplup's fleet milling (in confusion?) 
over the spot of sister ship termination.
	4 of 8 considered the situation, part of his mentality still functioning 
in the vyst mode.  He made an observation, {Flight was too easy.}
	Second noted 4 of 8's dataspace location.  {We all earn our keep here, 
one way or another.  Back in your boxes, 4 of 8.  Luplup retains 
sufficient vessels to damage us and we require modifications of earlier 
scenarios to account for her lesser forces as well as the addition of the 
creche ship in the equation.  Get to it.  Comply.}
	{I will comply} automatically spouted 4 of 8 as familiar compliance 
pathways were triggered.  The ease of escape remained a troubling fact.

		*	*	*	*	*

	Thirty minutes passed with Runner lying undetected within the static 
warp bubble thrown by Cube #347.  Declaring the initial part of her ploy 
successful, Luplup beamed units into the place marked Bulk Cargo Hold #3, 
knowledge gleaned both from Captain-unit and from schematics taken during 
earlier encounters with Cube #347.  The attack group consisted of six 
soldiers, six workers, a barker, and Captain-unit; the latter was 
necessary in case the primary part of Luplup moved beyond the 12 AU 
limit, forcing Runner to act as an independent bud.  Enough firsts and 
first-brooders were on the scout to assure the budded Luplup mind would 
not be crippled, but the complex facts held in Captain-unit's 
Borg-modified brain had thus far not been susceptible to efficient copy 
and distribution to appropriate units.  Therefore, whenever Luplup 
required Bad-Mans learnings, she dipped into the well of Captain-unit's 
mind.  That expert knowledge was shown via every simulation to be a 
required component to successful task completion, and so Captain-unit was 
included.
	The area materialized into was one of near darkness, lights dimmed well 
below BorgStandard levels in a bid for efficiency and energy 
conservation.  Stacks of supplies were heaped against the wall, closest 
boxes of bright red and labeled in Borg alphanumerics "asteroid mining 
supplies" followed by a bewildering atomic structure descriptor.  To the 
other side of the assault group were rows of open shelves reaching 
towards a distant ceiling.  Most of the nearest metallic ledges were full 
of miscellaneous welding supplies, although a stash of outlandish hats 
from many races occupied a position three meters above the ground, 
stretching into darkness.  Vyst and humanoid hands flipped phase-cloak 
toggles, turning them on.
	As Luplup began organizing her selves and equipment, Captain-unit 
advanced beyond sheltering shadow.  He gazed to the bustle of Bad-Mans in 
the lighted portion of the cargo hold; Luplup observed with her 
Captain-unit eyes, passed questions to her linked Captain-unit mind.
	Bad-Mans activity centered on an area of tools, tables, parts, and raw 
material set apart from regeneration alcoves.  Forty drones were at work, 
busy assembling devices which Captain-unit could not identify due to 
distance and obscuring bodies.  He could and did, like a model unit, 
submissively name familiar machines:  plasma welder, replicator, a 
partially dismantled utility laser four meters in length, organics 
synthesizer, dilithium powered reactor.  Another double clawful of 
Bad-Mans strung wire unrolled from a large spool between power source and 
an unseen object.  The remaining numbers stood ridged in their alcoves.  
None paid attention to their visitors at the middle reaches of the 
cavernous bay.
	Subunit #522 will not pay attention to I, affirmed Luplup as she drew 
upon Captain-unit resources.  I do not know what the Bad-Mans toil to 
accomplish, but it will not impact my plan.  I will proceed.
	With intimate knowledge extracted from Captain-unit, Luplup had chosen 
Bulk Cargo Hold #3 as her beam in point.  Captain-unit knew subunit #522 
had disabled internal sensor and recording devices within the hold, 
rendering possible detection less likely than elsewhere.  Success, 
measured by reaching a nacelle joint and setting phase-cloaked bombs, was 
15.4% higher than starting in any other cargo bay, and 10.21% greater 
than a direct transportation to site.  Both were significant differences; 
the plan as being executed had an overall achievement probability of 
91.92%.
	The sensation is odd, commented Luplup to herSelf as she sent one of her 
units to inspect a bulkhead.  She suppressed a wince of expectation - 
flesh against cold metal - as a soldier placed her lower right arm into 
the wall and waved it.  It felt as if she were dragging her limb through 
water.
	Sensation is irrelevant, reminded Captain-unit.
	Abruptly the greater Luplup vanished, forcing Runner to bud, Self 
leaving mere self, a shadow of the whole.  A shadow with purpose, 
however.  The main fleet had lagged more than 12 AU distance.  No matter.  
The bulk of decision making smoothly shifted from a diffuse network of 
selves dominated by first-brooders to a self relying heavily on the 
command pathways of an ex-Borg unit accustomed to coordinating 4000 
quasi-individualistic drones.  The goal remained constant.
	Captain-unit withdrew from observing Bad-Mans, eyes passing cursorily 
over the mining explosives.  Attention returned to the boxes of 
incineration devices; the mind in the ex-drone considered.
	I must split those selves on Runner into the following partitions, said 
Luplup/Captain, and test the following simulations.  A list of eight seed 
scenarios were planted.  The results returned swiftly.
	Conclusions, mused Luplup/Captain, is no difference will be made if we 
succeed.  However, in the event of possible failure to achieve objective, 
subplan contemplated may allow for failure to convert into success.  I 
will proceed.
	An assault group worker detached a bomb from a comrade's backpack-vest, 
carefully lifting the device from its cradle of straps.  As long as it 
remained in the workers' phase field, it was amiable to physical 
manipulation.  The worker holding the bomb carried it to the mining 
charges, placing it on the floor next to several crates.  A depressed 
button activated the munition's own phase-cloak, allowing the device to 
remain securely phased when the unit removed her claws.  The explosive 
would be unable to be disarmed by those of natural phase variance. 
	Luplup/Captain was satisfied.  Let I go, she ordered her selves.
	One by one the units of the assault party plunged into the watery 
resistance of solid objects.  With a final glance towards unaware subunit 
#522, Captain-unit dutifully followed.

		*	*	*	*	*

	{It itches!  It itches!  It itches!}
	For the twenty-first time in the last hour, Sensors was advertising her 
impossible itch to the general sub-collective.
	{It itches!  On Sensors' brain, in her throat, in her lungs, on the 
underside of her exoskeleton, all itches!}
	{Then scratch it,} Second told Sensors dryly.
	Sensors ignored the temporary primary consensus monitor and facilitator.  
{Oh, it itches, itches, itches!  A million [BonBon] bugs are crawling 
over Sensors' insides!}
	Second sighed, and demanded for the twenty-first time, {Whomever is 
teasing Sensors by tweaking the grid, desist.  It is not humorous.  I 
will find you - that is what I unfortunately do.}  Second paused, then 
directed Third to join him in Captain's nodal intersection.  A minute 
passed before Third arrived via transporter.
	"Any luck?"  Verbalization was the only method which allowed 
privacy...or at least gave the greatest semblance of privacy in a reality 
were everyone lived in the heads of four thousand neighbors.  And of 
course there was always the truly intimate setting which included 
trillions of mental peeping-Toms when the Greater Consciousness was so 
inclined to interrogate its wayward imperfect drones.
	Third replied, "Nothing.  The jokester has scrambled damning thoughts 
well.  I suspect the drone is running a multistream of consciousness to 
foil detection.  If command and control was not diverting resources 
towards 4 of 8, prankster-boy would already be caught."  Lighting caught 
glittering highlights from the silver-plated studs Third had recently 
installed in her cranium armor in imitation of skull piercing required by 
the multiracial religious sect Avatars for Free Body Design.
	"I know," said Second; and he did too, for what was the discussion with 
Third but an outward manifestation of Cube #347 talking to itself?
	{There is another possibility, low but of significant probability,} 
interrupted 4 of 8.
	Second rolled his two remaining eyes at the perfect mental enunciation, 
{Get back in your box, 4 of 8.  You are tasked to prepare us for the next 
Luplup encounter.}
	{The previous encounter is not complete.}
	{Say what?} asked Third incredulously.
	{What,} came 4 of 8's confused response.
	Third:  {Repeat?}
	4 of 8:  {What.}
	Third:  {Say again?}
	4 of 8:  {Again.}
	Second:  {Stop playing with 4 of 8's too-literal-at-times mind, Third.}  
Third gave a mental smirk as she beamed her body elsewhere, her physical 
presence no longer required.  {4 of 8,} commanded Second, {expand.}
	{Escape was too easy.}
	{We did remove an attacker from relevancy,} reminded Second.
	{By accident.}  In the not-so-distance, a certain weapon hierarchy head 
sputtered in protest, but was ignored.  {The enemy did not anticipate 
this cube might have retrieved an asset - myself - at the anomaly 
termini.  The asset - me - assisted in accurately foreseeing tactics 
employed in disabling warp drive and was able to lend weight in providing 
an adequate response.  That response cumulated in the destruction of one 
vessel.  How, I am unable to comment upon, as not even my /proper/ 
sub-collective has ever displayed such a lack of targeting competence and 
poor control.}
	{Get to the point, 4 of 8,} urged Second.  Weapons' grumblings were 
becoming louder, backed by an increasing portion of his hierarchy.  
Second preferred to not have Weapons' perform the rash act on the edge of 
visualization; 4 of 8's attempt to behave in a manner consistent with 3.4 
tau version of the Collective may have him be a pompous a** at times, but 
that particular pompous a** was necessary to Cube #347's ultimate 
survival.
	{I am locked into these vyst simulations, with myself as a component of 
Luplup.  One clear outcome of the most recent scenarios, other than the 
need for my brain to be realigned, is Luplup did not adequately push her 
advantage.  She was hesitant in action, slow to respond, and 
inefficiently deployed her forces, all traits opposite of those observed 
in the pre-anomaly encounter.  Thus, another answer is needed.}
	Two streams of data were presented.  The first detailed the sixteen 
ships identified to belong to Luplup's fleet; and the second focused upon 
signature traces received of the stationary fleet after Cube #347 escaped 
from the most recent spanking.  {Only fifteen of sixteen vessels noted in 
attack.}  Pause.  {Sensor readings indicate fleet beacons /still/ located 
at assault point, a probability too low to be deemed a reflection of 
reality.}
	4 of 8 swiftly summed simulation output, {Conclusion:  If I were trying 
to hunt this cube - not a sporting quarry - and I had shown myself to be 
in possession of advanced technologies and a propensity for elaborate 
ambushes, I would attempt to sneak a cloaked ship into the target's warp 
bubble.  Once I was sure I had evaded detection, I would transport my 
drones onto Cube #347.  At that point, many goals of sabotage are 
available [very long list inserted as a substream to continuing 
dialogue], but to avoid negative reaction I would tend to keep to areas 
unpopulated by resident crew.}
	Second was stunned, the sub-collective was stunned.  The Borg did not 
(except in very rare circumstances) employ wheels-within-wheels 
deception.  Forward through the Brick Walls of Life charged the 
Collective, method attaining greater efficiency of time and resources in 
a long-range view encompassing centuries.  Factoring guile into standard 
understanding of a species prior to assimilation or extermination usually 
required sacrifice of several cubes before the Greater Consciousness 
adapted.  In this case, one chance was all there was.
	{Itch, itch, itch,} complained Sensors for the twenty-second time.  
{Yes, a cloaked vessel located nearby may cause Sensors' discomfort, 
especially as the nuances and [burping paisley] advances of species #56 
are poorly documented.  And it is stolen species #56 ships Luplup 
controls.}  Sensors paused in concentration.  Where was the itching 
worse?  If she adjusted the grid such, did the sensation lessen?  Grow?  
{Face #2,} muttered Sensors, {is [seed cucumber green].  Itch, itch, 
[BonBon] bug itch!}
	{A single vessel of Luplup here?} demanded Weapons, vivid images of 
mayhem shifting from one centering on 4 of 8 to that of a vyst 
representing the collective animal.  For Weapons, and by extension the 
entire tactical hierarchy, the promise of an enemy was as relevant as 
confirmation of said enemy.  Especially an enemy which was unlikely to 
bestow the negative PR retreats ("Tactical reorganization," insisted 
Weapons during moments of rationalization) thus far experienced.
	Repeated Sensors, {Itching [BonBon] bugs off face #2.}
	Interpreting the ambiguous statement as a "yes," Weapons immediately 
powered cutting beams along the appropriate edges and began firing, 
sweeping the lines of green fire in a search pattern.  Eventually a 
hidden ship would interrupt the beam, assuming one was near.  The 
confirmed enemy would then feel the full brunt of phasers utilized at 
point-blank distances.  Of course, discharging any weapon at warp 
velocities was not a tactically sound plan, static warp bubbly highly 
susceptible to damaging electromagnetic- and plasma-induced distortions 
when origination was from the interior vessel.  The consequences for the 
computer (or in this case, engineering hierarchy as all labors abruptly 
dropped to attend the current emergency) unable to modify deflectors and 
compensate for insults ranged from mild punishment of warp bubble 
collapse to disintegration into component atoms and a puff of radiation.
	Weapons ignored the consequences:  an enemy awaited!

		*	*	*	*	*

	Low powered cutting beams blindly sliced again, weapon used as a prod to 
find Runner and provide a lit target for phasers.  With each pass the 
area to search became a bit less, vyst margin of security smaller.  It 
was only a matter of time and luck before Cube #347 found the hidden 
barrel and began shooting fish.
	Captain-unit and workers swiftly set explosives, phase-cloaks lifted in 
order to better manipulate charges and wires.  The region near nacelle 
joint segment 9a and 9b in subsection 20 was deserted of Bad-Mans, drones 
elsewhere as the plasma coupling machinery remained perfectly functional 
in a cube where many other subsystems were not.  The actual joint was 
immense, dense neutron-packed tritanium alloys and permanent magnetic 
fields sheathing nacelle segments.  The nacelles themselves remained 
unseen, bulk of 400 meter lengths hidden within armored near-vacuum 
thermoses.  The true target was the delicate equipment controlling plasma 
distribution, explosive destruction of which would lead to catastrophic 
consequences for the Bad-Mans ship.
	Berated Luplup/Captain to her workers, Be more efficient!  She 
contemplated utilizing her soldier guards, but dismissed the notion as 
the clade's hands did not possess sufficient nimbleness.
	Captain-unit stood back to survey Luplup/Captain's work, eyeing leads to 
make sure all was set.  As a worker pushed the button on the main 
detonator and engaged phase-cloak, a cutting beam finally penetrated 
Runner's disguise.  It was past time to transport units back to the ship.  
The fourteen member assault group, mission successful, disappeared amid 
pale red-purple sparkles.
	Runner rocked as a more powerful phaser kissed hull plates, leaving 
behind a cosmetic scar of molten metal.  Obviously Cube #347 had not 
quite pinpointed Runner, for when the vyst ship began to move towards the 
fluctuating boundary of static warp bubble, two additional phasers 
punched through the area just abandoned.  Knowing prey could not have 
escaped far, phasers stabbed from all four face edges, weaving a deadly 
fabric of destruction.
	Another impact, this time amidships just forward of the wing array, 
shivered shields.  Inside Runner workers scurried back and forth, fixing 
abused equipment as swiftly as possible.  Captain/Luplup powered engines 
as she turned herself into a target impossible to miss by extending her 
own warp shell.  It was time to leave.  
	The Einstein universe was reentered, Cube #347 in hot pursuit.  Luplup 
became one with budded selves, absorbing the units on Runner back into 
Self; she quickly consolidated her differing experiences, that of cunning 
assault and that of pursuit.  Runner folded back to Luplup's fleet, 
Captain-unit transferred to Brooder and sent to regenerate.
	What to do?  What to do?  What to do?  Many contingency plans detailed 
this exact moment when bombs had been set and the prey open to attack.  
Luplup was dissolving into partitions against her greater will, subSelf 
voices switching to distant mode in order to promote one plan or another, 
to detail nuances and applicability of a certain scheme.  She had never 
had such trouble making up her mind before!  One vision was clear in the 
increasingly chaotic situation:  Luplup's best chance was to advance now 
before Cube #347 returned to a warp environment, or worse, repaired 
transwarp drive.
	Luplup folded her fleet into the area, englobing the cube prey.  
Simulation 1e was currently best with 98.22% probability of success; 
however, simulations 18a and 22b stood at 98.19%, the former rising to 
98.23% success rate as Cube #347 took up a defensive spin opposite 
galactic rotation.  Suddenly simulation 62-1 leapt into prominence as the 
other scenarios wavered:  the Bad-Mans had powered up phasers along only 
ten edges instead of all twelve.  Indecision coloring her actions (and 
estimated to lower all successful scenarios by 37.22%), Luplup entered 
into combat with fluctuating priorities not all of Self agreed with, the 
outcome of which manifested itself as a less than coordinated charge.
	Aboard Brooder's bridge, Luplup's eldest first-brooder stood next to a 
console upon which was a recently installed red button of large 
proportions.  The button was the trigger to send a subspace blip to the 
detonator, causing phase-cloak to drop and explosives to, well, explode.  
The button was not necessary except in the abstract theatrical sense 
since Luplup could as easily directly told the computer to radio the 
detonation sequence.  However, in the quest to learn the abstract, the 
button just felt right.
	Luplup wanted to press the shiny button, first-brooder's upper left paw 
hovering over the console, eyes glinting.  The scenarios did not quite 
agree on timing, but the moment would come soon.  Not yet...not yet...not 
yet.

		*	*	*	*	*

	Subunit #522 covertly watched the intruders disappear through a 
bulkhead.  The subunit was far from stupid, and knew the troubles of Cube 
#347; it is difficult to mask the fact one is on the losing side of a 
battle when sparks are flying and inertial dampers are not dampening, not 
that the host sub-collective had anything to hide.  The appearance of 
(this universe) 4 of 8 and a squad of enemy assimilated animals had not 
gone unnoticed by the paranoid subunit.
	The withholding of information to Cube #347 sub-collective or the 
Greater Consciousness concerning the incident was a study in deliberate 
logic utilizing a view of a perceived problem much larger than one cube.
	The subunit dispatched five of its members to inspect a device next to a 
stack of mining charges.  Subunit #522 had already determined the 
intruder's phase shift by a simple series of optical filters; the object 
displayed the same variance.  While unfamiliar in design, function of 
apparatus was immediately obvious as the drone squad entered accurate 
visual range - a bomb.
	A bomb has one function:  to explode in vigorous endothermic activity; 
shrapnel, radiation, and other additions are optional.  Therefore, all 
bombs can be simplified into part A and part B, the former a detonator 
and the latter the section to go boom.  Bells and whistles in the form of 
timers, booby traps, and so on are no more than decoration.
	Subunit #522 gazed impassively at the potentially dangerous device, 
scanning it minutely.  The rest of itself continued important tasks.  In 
its phased state, the bomb could not be directly manipulated.  However, 
the miniaturized phase-cloak itself - an efficient technology not 
currently within vast Borg archives - was battery powered.  Waving an 
electrical disrupter unit, a standard tool mounted on 
engineering-specialized drones like 1436 of 199321, near the bomb 
sufficiently depolarized the batter, dropping the phase-cloak.  A few 
snips of wire latter and the bomb was no longer a threat.
	While carrying the prize of phase-cloak unit back to the main work area 
in Bulk Cargo Hold #3 (explosives had been discarded next to the mining 
charges), the detonator in 33191 of 99312's hands gave a small "bzzzt" 
noise.
	It was not relevant.

	The detonator gave a small "bzzzt" noise.  Four thousand drones sighed 
in collective relief.  Delta attempted to match to Borg files the design 
of the small phase-cloak device body A held; body B and 171 of 310 
carefully examined the huge plasma coupling machinery joining nacelle 
segments for additional unwanted presents.  
	{I can not find anything similar so miniaturized, so efficient,} 
reported Delta, {although there are elements superficially alike to 
species #82 and #5483, as well as expected species #56.  My hierarchy 
will dissect the phase-cloak under guidance of the Greater Consciousness 
to determine...}	
	The cube rocked, inertial dampers blinking off-line, enough to rattle 
implants, but not enough to turn crew into thin smears of organic goo 
laced with tritanium chunks.  Phasers lashed out in return, bestowing 
little damage.  Shield generators audibly hummed as Weapons' hierarchy 
modulated output yet again.  The bomb had only been the highest priority 
peril of many dangers to structural integrity, a slot swiftly replaced as 
the uncoordinated attacking fleet tried to bore through shields and hull.
	{Delta, we have other things to worry about.  Are nacelles secured or 
not?}
	In the scant minute between retreat of Luplup-controlled ship and 
assault by fleet, sensor hierarchy had traced the anomalous energy 
profile of a transporter beam.  Origination had been in the vicinity of 
nacelle segment 9a-9b in subsection 20, submatrix 3.  Careful examination 
revealed an earlier beaming into Bulk Cargo Hold #3, but subunit #522 
claimed to have seen nothing of importance during the specified time 
period.  
	With sub-collective flagging sabotage as high priority, Delta had 
dispatched herself and several drones she could trust to not push pretty 
buttons, no matter how tempting.  Violent destruction and plasma release 
from buried warp nacelles could lead to a good chunk of the cube 
vaporizing.  The cluster of bombs had been obvious, as had been their 
phased nature when Delta first tried to disarm them.  Because of the 
phase shift, the devices were essentially invisible to remote attempts to 
perform internal diagnostic scans; the only hint as to their existence 
had been the beam signatures.  Subsequent depolarization of battery to 
disrupt phase-cloak and removal of detonator from explosive was swift.
	Answered Delta to Second, {Secured.  Summarized status report follows.}  
Delta triggered to computer to provide Second with current damage log, 
tacking on an addendum concerning loss of primary shield nodes in 
subsection 18.
	{Any good news, Delta?}
	{We have repaired transwarp.  Did command and control hierarchy not see 
it?  Item 37, subparagraph theta, bullet 3a.}
	{Yes, so obvious,} was the dry reply.
	The cube shuddered again as Luplup's fleet finally fired disrupters 
together, the first such incident of true cooperation since the vyst had 
attacked in ragged formation.  Abruptly all enemy vessels powered down 
weapons and began to drift.
	{Die!} crowed Weapons into the intranet.  {Kill 'em all!}
	{No!} spat Second as conclusions concerning damage status - not good - 
were determined.  Individually the ships were not a danger; together they 
were devastating..  And output from continual 4 of 8 simulation 
partitions placed a high probability on another trap.  {We retreat.  
Third, rein in Weapons, if necessary.  It won't be necessary, will it 
Weapons?}
	Second ignored weapon hierarchy howl of impotent disappointment as their 
toys were snatched from eager grasp.  Random course inputted, Cube #347 
fled into maximum transwarp.

		*	*	*	*	*

	Luplup snarled at herSelf, at her enemy, at the universe in general.  
She was frustrated.  She was confused.  She was triumphant.  She was 
scared.  She was enraged.  She was many emotions, non consistent, as 
parts of Self bombarded the whole.
	Too many possibilities, too many what-if's boiled in Luplup's mind. If 
the scenario seemed likely given current reality, the original creating 
partition loudly advocated its use, reaching out to assume control of 
local resources if the greater Luplup refused to enact the desired 
protocol.  And many scenarios had been completed which were similar, but 
never exact, to the reality presented.
	I am Luplup! trumpeted Luplup.
	*Simulation 5d has a 97.65% chance of success if initiated now,* 
reported partition 4c, a mixture of soldiers and firsts united by a 
brooder from each of the two represented clades.  The division had 
responded in the recently learned distant mode, not proper intimacy 
appropriate for talking to oneSelf.
	Hotly contested partition 16a, *Simulation 10e has a 97.68% chance of 
success if initiated now.*  The soldier-only collection heavy with 
soldier-brooders assumed temporary control of three ships, a move Luplup 
countered by submerging the partition fully into Self by force.
	I am Luplup, whispered Luplup.
	Not unified by one vision, but instead split by many possible battle 
plans differing from each other in ways a seasoned commander would deem 
trivial, the fleet of Luplup fought raggedly.  Response to shield shifts 
by Cube #347 was slow in comparison to earlier lightening thought 
processes; fourteen engaging ships focused on three separate targets, not 
a single goal.  Luplup drew a large portion of her arguing parts into 
Self, enough to allow a chance to determine at least one reason for her 
lax reflexes:  Captain-unit was not assisting.
	*Captain-unit* barked Luplup in sharp rebuke to the presence hiding 
behind a partition enclosing one Bad-Mans' mind, *attend me!*  The unit's 
physical location was the workroom he had gone to after his supposed 
dispatch to regeneration.  Currently he was assisting five workers in 
building external neural transceivers for use on future absorbed 
sentients.  The task was low priority, but Luplup had never to her selves 
to concentrate on any other duty, and so the units continued toiling like 
the organic golems they were.
	Unified in other respects, Luplup chose one of the myriad of competing 
battle plans, firing her fleet in unison.  Once Captain-unit was placed 
back into his position of battle responsibility, the cube's shields would 
become as armoring as air.
	*No,* was Captain-unit's simple reply.  He lifted a completed neural 
transceiver in inspection, ignoring Luplup's threatening posture as she 
surrounded the recalcitrant Bad-Mans unit with her five worker selves.  
She had also dispatched more heavily armed soldiers overseen by a 
first-brooder - the original Luplup self - to the locale; however, 
estimated arrival time was at least two minutes.  Luplup vaguely wondered 
why she had sent that particular part of herSelf as the units were 
several decks away, and not the many closer selves.  Just as swiftly, the 
internalized question was erased.
	*You will assist me!*
	Eye lifted from transceiver, calmly regarding encircling vysts as if 
seeing them for the first time.  Luplup felt what she could best describe 
as a twisting behind the partition barricade, followed by a snap as 
Captain-unit tore away from Self, splintering, fragmenting the whole.
	"I will not comply," stated Captain-unit verbally.  Suddenly her eyes in 
the form of the five workers vanished.
	Luplup screamed in rage, throats of selves howling.  Captain-unit had 
not only defied her, but had taken part of herSelf as well!  The action 
could not be tolerated!  Ironically, although she knew it not, the 
reaction was akin, if more emotion-driven, to that of the Greater 
Consciousness when drones were stolen.
	Captain-unit's fate at that point could have been predicted with high 
accuracy, a future involving strips of frozen flesh and detached limbs 
floating amid the dust motes of interstellar space, but another destiny 
intruded.  Fractures present in Self long before the addition of 
Captain-unit widened; dark breaks in the psyche surfaced.  A partition 
consisting of eighteen soldiers, five workers, and two each brooders from 
four clades rose up in challenge:
	*Partition 7a insists use of simulation 26-18, which has a 93.11% chance 
of success.*  Pause.  *I am Luplup.  I will use simulation...}  Pause.  
*I am Luplup!* roared the partition, echoing within the mental pathways 
of Luplup's noncentralized personality.  *I am Luplup!*
	All of Luplup halted in shock of the revelation; the exchange from 
unison firing through Captain-unit defection and now partition 7a 
proclamation had required mere seconds.  The fleet drifted in silence, at 
least in outward respects.  Internally, chaos descended.  Cube #347's 
departure into transwarp was not noticed.

		*	*	*	*	*

	As Cube #347 sprinted away in transwarp, plans were being sequentially 
concocted and discarded concerning how to circle back to the battle site.  
The sub-collective needed to confirm Luplup had not used beacons to 
create a false fleet signature, and do so without falling into yet 
another ambush.  First, however, a hidden tracking device had to be found 
and removed from the hull.  Until then, Cube #347 was to stay in 
transwarp unless exigency dictated otherwise...no matter how many of his 
hierarchy Weapons rallied to send a certain mangled, spindled, and 
battered Exploratory-class cube into an extended brawl.

		*	*	*	*	*

	Captain-unit walked down the hallway, his objective nearing; his five 
worker units formed a protective circle orbiting around their new master.  
Luplup knew Captain-unit's goal, for while the barrier to his mind was 
dense, it still leaked slightly.  One of the tidbits visualized was the 
sickbay where the Bad-Man had awoken on Brooder; the image (deliberately 
released?) had been tinged with undertones of irony.
	Of the units originally sent to confine Captain-unit only the 
first-brooder remained; and by a set of noncoinsidences she was the same 
first-brooder Captain had once called "Queen."  The soldiers were now 
elsewhere in Brooder, split among two minor partitions claiming to be 
Luplup, both temporarily of no concern as they tried to absorb each other 
into a size sufficient to challenge the reigning Self.  Luplup had more 
immediate worries regarding the sequential put-down of splinters large 
enough to give threat; and to contain those parts of Self which were 
tottering on the edge of schism.
	"Return to I!  Comply!" spoke Luplup through the first-brooder.
	"No," came the monotone response.  One of the workers glanced at the 
ordering Luplup unit and growled.
	Luplup returned the warning with a sharp bark, showing the aged 
brooder's sharp teeth, raising her torso high in instinctual dominance 
display.
	"Comply!"
	"No.  I will not comply."
	Sixsome plus a trailing one stepped around motionless vysts, limbs and 
tails twitching, mirroring intensification of an unseen skirmish swiftly 
devolving into war.  A few workers wandered here and there, gait made 
drunken by forces demanding unit allegiance to the body Luplup, 
programmed minds attempting to fulfill the many miscellaneous tasks 
required to keep vessel and controlling entity functional.  Occasionally 
one of the mobile vysts would shuffle to a stop, mental resources 
demanded by one or another Luplup wannabe; inevitably, another worker 
would start in clockwork stiffness, picking up where compatriot left off.  
Seeming blind to the struggle around, oblivious barkers rose high above 
their half-squatting comrades, facial expressions, an impossible 
anthropomorphication as vysts did not possess the necessary army of small 
muscles, set in the blissful emptiness of simplistic idiocy.
	Captain-unit stopped before a closed door.  Not Born Of Self words 
stenciled to the side of the entrance identified it as one of several 
light surgical bays located on the deck.  The goal of the Captain-unit 
was reached.
	"Comply!" pleaded Luplup once more, a whining timbre from brooder's 
throat accompanying synthetic voder.
	"I will not comply with you again, my Queen," murmured Captain-unit.  A 
button to the side of the door was depressed.  Sixsome plus a trailing 
one entered the sickbay.

	Luplup was fragmenting:
	*This I is Luplup!*
	*Luplup is this collection of selves!*
	*I am Luplup!*
	*I am Luplup!*
	*I am Luplup!*
	Luplup, at least the largest splinter which held the original Luplup 
brooder unit, struggled to hold herSelf together.  Unfortunately, as soon 
as one partition was reabsorbed into the whole, another would split.  The 
greatest incident of schism was among the soldier clade, although worker 
groups did exhibit their own wish to secede.  While most firsts stayed 
with the first among first-brooders, some defected.  Barkers tended to 
passively follow whatever partition they were immediately associated 
with, allied both to all and none.
	Each twist of psyche hurt Luplup much more than any phaser, any 
disrupter.  Much of her tactical and mechanical knowledge was tied into 
the clades of soldier and worker, respectively; and each defection shaved 
off a curl of data, a nugget of learning.  Worst was fragmenting of the 
first clade, for that was the literal dissolution of Luplup herSelf, of 
the part which made Luplup /Luplup/.  A religious culture might describe 
the vyst as soul-shattered; a psychiatrist would say she was in the final 
traumatic state of true multiple personality disorder.
	*I am Luplup!*
	*I am Luplup!*
	*I am Luplup!*
	The first among first-brooders shuddered as the cutter Slash abruptly 
folded space, forcefully tearing Self from Self.  The vessel reappeared a 
quarter light year distant, within sensor envelope of Brooder, but well 
outside the 12 AU barker reach.  Luplup allowed the unit to open her 
eyes, not surprised by the sight she beheld.
	Captain-unit lay upon the low sickbay bed, section of skull over left 
ear removed.  Luplup watched one of the converted workers carefully 
dislodge a small rounded chunk of dull metal from the humanoid braincase.  
The scene was reminiscent to the neural transceiver extraction she had 
supervised only a short week earlier.  As the bloody object was dropped 
to the floor and cranial armor replaced, Luplup vaguely wondered how 
Captain-unit maintained his dominance over her sundered units.  An 
unfamiliar blinking light at the juncture of neck and shoulder provided 
the answer:  exterior neural transceiver.
	The aged first-brooder exhaled an untranslatable groan as her frigate 
Rend mimicked the tactic of Slash.  It reappeared half a light year to 
the galactic north, out of barker range of both Slash and the diminished 
fleet.  Runner folded away, then immediately returned, reabsorbed part of 
Self on the scout once more in control.
	Captain-unit awkwardly reached his nonprosthetic limb across body to 
feel the side of his head.  Satisfied all was in place, he swung legs off 
table and stood.  Luplup dejectedly craned her local unit's head upwards 
to keep eye contact, Captain now commanding a height advantage over the 
biobed sitting vyst.  The five assisting worker units scrambled away, 
shivering to a statue standstill against the nearest wall.
	Unable (and not expecting) to reach Captain-unit with nonverbal methods, 
Luplup spoke, "You tricked I, tricked Luplup.  You cause me to fragment, 
to lose bits of Self to other bits of Self proclaiming to be a true Self, 
not a partition or bud."
	Captain-unit regarded the first-brooder unit for a long minute before 
replying, "The seeds were already planted, Queen.  I felt the fractures 
when you absorbed this drone into yourSelf.  You did not take into 
account I am imperfectly assimilated; the irony - you remember your words 
to me? - is that if you had kidnapped any other drone from any other 
sub-collective, you would have been successful.  Instead, you stole me.  
I was a part of Luplup, but I also retained individuality, a corruption 
even the powerful Greater Consciousness has been unable to purge.  When 
you desired to learn how Borg thought and were organized, I 
complied...with methods unique to Cube #347.  The Collective works in a 
similar manner, but more subtle, more flowing, as befits a proper 
collective consciousness.
	"Borg methods would never have worked for you, Queen.  Never.  You were 
originally of One mind.  The use of partitions only sped fragmentation 
beyond the bounds for you to control."
	"Why did you not warn I?" snarled Luplup.
	Captain - no longer Captain-unit - shrugged, "You did not ask, Queen, 
and I am a very good drone at following literal orders.  I must now find 
a shuttle, assimilate it, and return to my proper sub-collective."
	Luplup could only watch in impotent rage as Captain left the sickbay, 
trailed by his quintet of workers.  The first-brooders of Runner were 
trying to secede again, and /physical/ fights had broken out between 
opposing soldier partitions.  The first among first-brooders closed her 
eyes, unit fully giving her mental resources to domination.

		*	*	*	*	*

	Captain strode down the corridors of Brooder, ignoring the chaos around 
him.  Vysts squatted in the center of the hallway, legs ridged and arms 
dangling, unseeing as perhaps a dozen sisters engaged in vicious 
tooth-and-claw combat only meters away.  At two separate, yet 
interlocking, planes a civil war raged.  A gooey pile of egg yolk and 
half-formed embryos blocked a door from closing, revealing the glimpse of 
a shattered nesting area in what had once been a formal dining room.
	The five vysts following Captain were nothing more than automatons, 
central nervous system slaved to the Borg's superior neural complex.  
They had no more ambition, no more will than a barker, severance from 
Luplup and clade brooders leaving behind an organic machine lacking 
"soul."  Captain used his quintet as he would any useful device, then 
leaving it forgotten until needful once more.  Those rival Luplup 
factions which advanced on their supposed conspecifics swiftly turned 
away in confusion, targets unresponsive to conversion attempts.
	An elevator ride to Brooder's lowest deck was uneventful, doors opening 
to an expanse large enough to fit several species #56 scouts like Runner 
side-by-side with enough room left over for servicing equipment.  The 
cavern was chill, sporadically lit with flickering light strips, and 
empty except for a trio of desired warp-capable intership cargo shuttles.  
The ships were neatly parked within the confines of painted stalls next 
to a distant bulkhead, likely a position occupied since last used by long 
dead pilots.
	Captain stopped, turning to regard his vysts.  Swiftly he tore what 
little knowledge they had concerning shuttle specifications from their 
minds, then sent the quintet scampering towards a control kiosk.  While 
the vysts began to push buttons under Captain's specific instructions, 
the drone himself completed the trek to a transport, opened a hatch, and 
entered the cockpit.  Captain laid a hand on the primary navigation 
console, activating assimilation tubules to jack himself into the ship's 
processor.
	As bay doors rose in response to vyst success, it became readily 
apparent no forcefield acted as a barrier to the vacuum of space.  The 
omission had been a deliberate action by Captain:  he neither needed nor 
wanted his tag-alongs, and this was the swiftest disposal method; and the 
collapse of a few bulkheads might sow additional chaos for Luplup, 
increasing escape odds.  The vysts passively flew into the darkness of 
interstellar space, five dots among a hurricane of unsecured dry-dock 
dross.
	An exterior observer might call Captain's dispassionate action cruel.  
The observer would be wrong.  Borg are not cruel; the emotion is 
primitive, irrelevant.  What had been accomplished was through the cold 
numbers of logic as best calculated by an imperfect sub-collective of 
one.
	Captain took his stolen shuttle from the confines of the bay and set a 
random course at warp 7.53, the ship's maximum sustainable speed.  Next, 
a noisy distress signal was set, a message requesting recovery by the 
Collective of a drone.  Cube #347 would eventually find their primary 
consensus monitor and facilitator.

		*	*	*	*	*

	It was dislike at first sight, irrelevant as the phrase was.
	After less than ten hours travel, a battered Cube #347 exited from 
transwarp, homing in on Borg distress call.  The shuttle was expediently 
tractored into a cargo hold even as Captain was beamed to maintenance.  A 
substitution of the vyst-built and vyst-orientated external transceiver 
for a proper Borg model allowed Captain to return on-line.  Now all that 
was necessary for complete repair was introduction of 5' nanoprobes 
specifically programmed to disassemble their vyst counterparts, and 
finally wait for a new internal transceiver to grow.
	It was when Captain beamed back to his alcove for regeneration - a cycle 
which would included not only internal repair, but intimate access for 
the Collective to properly pick the brain of their recovered drone - that 
he found it already occupied.  With his double.
	{Second, what is this unit, I mean drone, doing in my alcove?  And why 
does it look like me?}
	Second had been somewhat dodgy upon Captain's return once the latter had 
regained dataspace access.  Uncharacteristically, Second had insisted 
Captain be fully functional before restoration of command codes, claiming 
it was for the best interest of the sub-collective if himself and 2 of 8 
temporarily retained their assumed duties.  Captain did not argue, loathe 
to return to baby-sitting four thousand Borg, but was extremely curious 
over the departure from Second's normal attitude concerning captaincy.
	A certain face was peering out a certain distant nodal intersection 
towards a certain alcove.
	{4 of 8...I told you to go elsewhere,} said Second.  The words were 
directed to the drone in Captain's alcove.
	The eye of Captain's twin remained closed; face was absolutely 
expressionless.  {You required I go to an empty alcove located in 
subsection 14, submatrix 3, a place currently in the midst of a 
malfunctioning holographic system which includes banshee-screaming 
razorbeasts and an unpleasant purple goo.  There is also a local epidemic 
of "hallucinatory" drone sightings.  Unacceptable.  I will remain here.}  
Pause.  {And as far as what I am doing, I am standing motionless.}  The 
voice was similar, yet slightly different from Captain's own mental 
signature.  It sounded...prissy, with a by-the-book quality more extreme 
than any in the Hierarchy of Eight employed, Captain included.
	{Don't talk as if I'm not here!} shouted Captain, causing drones all 
over the cube to wince, and Delta to glare in annoyance as the next 
diagnostic cycle reported lighting strips in subsection 2, submatrix 17 
nonfunctional.  {I have had a very, very bad week.  Now, who is this 
drone with /my/ designation, and why is he in my assigned alcove?}  Even 
as the question was voiced, pertinent information was automatically 
accessed.  The resultant display flashed at high speed, summarizing 
events since Captain's kidnapping.  It was data Captain had purposefully 
neglected accessing until he was in the comfortable and boring security 
of his alcove.
	"Bad week?" repeated 4 of 8, eye opening to regard Captain.  "At least 
you remained in your native timeline."
	Captain replied in kind, "I've been a cog in a Collectivesque entity 
primarily populated by Borgified pre-sentient animals."
	"And I've been likewise, in a virtual sense.  A mind slave to this 
sub-collective, locked in isolation boxes."  4 of 8 stepped from the 
alcove to go belly-to-belly, psuedonose-to-psuedonose with his opposite.
	"You've had it easy with standard regeneration alcoves and mixtures."
	"And you've not had to endure the gross operational inefficiencies of 
this cube."
	Second ducked back into the nodal intersection.  The accusations were 
becoming louder and increasingly creative, soon to plummet into insults.  
It would be best if the cube proceeded as quickly as possible to the 
anomaly and returned 4 of 8.  Admittedly the floor show was entertaining 
and the bets bandied within the intranet interesting, but eventually it 
would wind to a conclusion.  The subsequent blossoming of an ugly 
relationship would cause the gross inefficiencies 4 of 8 attributed to 
Cube #347, incompetence which the Greater Consciousness could not broker 
even in its imperfectly assimilated members.  The immediate solution the 
Greater Consciousness would demand and receive would include terminating 
the pair...which in turn would leave 3 of 8 not with temporary captaincy, 
but as Captain.
	3 of 8 despised the position of Captain.
	With Luplup's fleet apparently scattered according to the sensor grid, 
the anomaly - six limping days of travel hence - was Cube #347's 
destination.  Next stop:  3.4 taus shifted universe to try to explain to 
an irate Collective why their drone had been borrowed.  Second hoped the 
consensus cascade he would shortly initiate would agree to simply lob 4 
of 8 towards his cube via an old captured shuttle, then dive immediately 
back into the phenomenon.

		*	*	*	*	*

	Shortly after Captain's "liberated" shuttle had sped from the conflict 
at high warp, the civil war drew to a close.  At its center was Brooder 
and five other ships firmly under the control of the largest Luplup 
fragment, inclusive the original unit.  The remains of four additional 
vessels, one gutted corpse and three debris fields, silently drifted.  
More ships and units had been lost in Self discord than in battle against 
Cube #347.  Of the remaining six ships, two had folded into the void, 
paired into a strong Self; and the other four flew in four different 
directions, each embroiled with internal skirmishes as the Luplup of each 
vessel continued to fragment.
	Luplup watched the sensor echo which was Captain's shuttle recede, the 
larger vector of a still tagged Cube #347 on an intercept course in 
transwarp.  Captain-unit had left her with the legacy of the Bad-Mans way 
of thought, a useless gift in an of itself.  However, the concept of 
percentages, simulations, triggered responses, and other previous 
abstractions were now concrete; and that which was concrete was adaptable 
into Self.
	But first...
	But first Luplup had to retreat, had to lick her wounds.  Other Luplups 
(impostors, believed the original, a similar sentiment held by each of 
the fragments) now existed, selves which would directly compete for 
resources.  They had to be dispatched, else they gain advantage and take 
the ultimate prize of destroying the Bad-Mans, of absorbing all 
knowledge, all power.
	Satisfied she was not to fall immediately apart, Luplup codified her 
grasp of Self, brutally terminating those units which demonstrated the 
slightest hint of schism.  Unnatural self selection.  What did not kill, 
made strong.  The Borg, Cube #347, Captain, would have to wait until 
another day.
	And when the vectors of Captain-shuttle and Cube #347 intersected, the 
latter turning ominously towards Luplup's truncated fleet, folded space 
drives were initiated.
	The cosmic hunt continued.