This is a standard disclaimer! Hark! Star Trek is owned by Paramount. Star Traks was created by Decker. BorgSpace is written by Meneks.
Old Dog, New Tricks - Part II
Previously on BorgSpace -
Luplup has returned. She's bigger and smarter than before, but still carries the same obsessive grudge against Captain as she did 500 years earlier. And now she has caught Captain and trained him to assist her in becoming QUEEN....
*****
Captain stood in his alcove, trying to blank his mind. Unfortunately, the ability which was innate to every Borg was elusive. Oh, his forebrain was busy with the give and take of life in an imperfect sub-collective, but his hindbrain could not surrender to the cold flow of numbers. He shifted an arm, a leg. Memories were quietly looping with obsessive intensity, recent recall playing over and over again.
He had been the last drone retrieved from the surface. On the plus side, the intense scanning required to track lost sub-collective members had produced the most intricate pictures of the planet under its shroud of clouds to date. On the other hand, no signs of the original civilization had been discovered; and, doubly grim from Captain's point of view, no vyst dens had been spotted. He would have been found sooner, but the cube had begun the detailed scan approximately 300 kilometers north of his beam in location, and it had subsequently required an examination of the entire planet before his signature had been detected.
Upon retrieval and return to Cube #347, Doctor had insisted Captain report to drone maintenance to be examined for irregularities. Captain had bluntly refused, claiming that after an absence of 73 hours from the cube, regeneration was a priority over being poked and prodded in a maintenance bay, especially a maintenance bay which had yet to be certified hamster free and thus was prone to sudden invasion by Weapons' overeager extermination squads. Doctor persisted, but was mollified when Captain promised to go to a bay immediately following regeneration.
{I do not need repairs at this moment,} had stated Captain, emphasizing the words "need repairs" in a subtle bid to elicit help. He did not dare any warning more overt due to the vyst whom was watching all interactions closely, her talon on a certain yellow button.
Unfortunately, expectedly, Doctor did not pick up on the plea, unsurprising as subtlety was not a Borg strong suit. Instead, the head of the drone maintenance hierarchy bubbled away, sternly admonishing Captain to make his appointment, else not be rewarded a biscuit treat.
In truth, Captain did not require immediate regeneration. He did need joint tightening, tendon realignment, and other minor maintenance matters which nanites could not perform. It was Luplup who whispered on her secret carrier wave for Captain to procrastinate; and it was Luplup who knew that even the most cursory of medical scans would reveal the surgical additions to Captain's brain.
Captain shifted his arm in a bid to find a position of comfort. It was a futile endeavor. In the back of his mind, the reel which was his recent memory rewound and began playing once again, audience of one examining every second of footage, looking for a way he could inform the sub-collective, the Greater Consciousness, of the danger. He shook his head minutely as, once again, he found no escape.
The sound of a drone disengaging from regeneration sounded to Captain's right as Second exited his alcove. With a *hiss*clunk* tubes and support braces separated and retreated into their storage niches. Heavy feet took only a couple of steps before stopping. Captain did not need to open his eyes to know Second was standing less than an armspan away, to know the nonexpression Second had on his face did not disguise the annoyance which hovered in the dataspaces.
"Are your muscular inhibitor connections malfunctioning?" asked Second peevishly. "Your fidgeting is highly distracting." Upon Captain's return, Second had dumped the job of primary consensus monitor and facilitator back into the domain of the rightful designation, as predicted. While he had subsequently been tasked with coordinating, compiling, collating, and other co-words the scan data in preparation to sending summary and raw information to the Greater Consciousness, Second did not mind the lesser duty. The difference between acting as mere node in a larger calculator and as drone-in-charge was immense. "I will be elsewhere where there aren't fidgeting units. Once your muscular spasms are under control, I will return."
Captain twitched a leg as Second's footsteps retreated, heading for the nearby nodal intersection and relative tranquillity.
Three hours passed as the normal near-chaos of Cube #347 occurred. The ship had yet to leave the planet, several swathes of planet requiring rescanning to fill in a few holes created by Sensors realigning the grid to esoteric settings at inopportune times. The final product was not high on the priority list of the Greater Consciousness, so there was no need for a real-time data dump of the raw information. The Collective understood delegation, and while Cube #347 wasn't necessarily the sub-collective to order into a fierce firefight or a delicate assimilation situation, they were still a (more or less) competent silico-organic node on the computer network and were perfectly adequate to the job of packaging original scanner data into something more palatable. While Captain's body regenerated and his foremind kept near-chaos from turning into anarchy, a nugget of himself argued with Luplup, telling her to be patient and bide her time.
Telling her to wait, to allow the sub-collective to find the short-range carrier wave, to determine that something was wrong with their facilitator.
{It is for the best,} whispered Captain as he tried to rationalize waiting into a concept the impatient Luplup could comprehend, and it is most logical. {By waiting longer, there is less chance suspicions will be raised, less chance an "accident" will be traced back to this drone, and thus back to you. Trust.}
Luplup's voice was firm, {Luplup does not trust any not of Self. Bad-Mans are especially not to be trusted. I hear of proverb: fool me once, shame of you...fool me twice, shame on me. You have fooled Luplup once and you will not fool Luplup again.}
Captain purposefully banged the back of his head hard against the rear of his alcove on the off chance the action might, just might, dislodge one of the vyst governors in his brain. It did not work.
{I heard that!} called Second, both internally and aloud, his physical voice made nearly inaudible with distance and ambient cube noise. {At the rate you are going, even if you didn't require drone maintenance before, you will after regeneration.}
Captain continued to make protests to Luplup concerning inaction for the next hour, each excuse becoming increasingly weak as the communal vyst's demands became more strident. Scanning was completed, and then, relief palatable from the designation which was Second, data and summary were sent.
<<Acceptable. Proceed to grid delta, sector 8731. Task: identify source of anomalous readings originating in supernova remnant. Hypothesis: species #8888 survey ship. Actions: observation.>> The Greater Consciousness curtly delivered the assignment, then withdrew. Cube engines unidled in response, preparing to hypertranswarp the cube elsewhere.
Luplup hissed, {No more. Now. You will comply with Me, now. I will be QUEEN.}
Captain imagined one clawed finger pressing a certain button on a certain remote control. He could feel the response as a governor set deep in his brain directly stimulated an atrophied cell cluster, one which had been severed from the rest of his gray matter by nanoprobes shortly after his initial assimilation. The cluster of cells comprised his pain nexus, and they fired eagerly. The feeling was only a tickle, like that of an arm waking up after being deprived of blood, but it was body-wide, not localized to one limb. It was also only the merest hint of what could happen should Luplup decide to up the ante.
Original Luplup had indicated to Captain before his return to the lake bed that a sub-governor of the pain goad acted as a dead-man's switch. As long as the vyst carrier signal was present, it lay quiescent. However, should the signal be cut through design or accident, the sub-governor would immediately trigger lethal levels of pain. The linkage of Captain to the rest of the sub-collective, and thence to the Collective, would channel the extreme sensations prior to his termination, negatively affecting Cube #347, and perhaps, via sympathetic resonance, the Greater Consciousness as well.
Due to this threat, Captain was forced to loop the pain to himself lest another drone notice. If it had solely been his life at stake, he would have goaded Luplup to send him to an unpleasant death, for the loss of one drone was nothing when set against the good of the whole. However, the interconnectivity of drone to drone in one vast network ensued effects beyond his death. As long as he was alive, on the other hand, there was the chance Luplup would blunder, and the situation could be salvaged.
Captain gritted his teeth, grinding them loudly. {I...comply,} he choked.
In the cube intranets, Captain's mind glided from one line of software code to the next, the internal landscape to his perceptions resembling a three-dimensional tangle of cables. Some cables were neat, tidy, leading from point to point with minimum of divergence. Other connections were tied in Gregorian Mobius knots, complex snarls which embodied chaos theory. It was to the latter Captain focused upon, specifically, the sensor grid.
The grid was not Captain's ultimate destination, but the compromised pipes which were associated with sensors. Actions taken both by Sensors to align the grid to a configuration which satisfied her perceptions as well as individual drones attempting to hide their actions from internal passive sensors had transformed orderly natal code to a nightmare webwork in the course of a mere five months. As all algorithms were intrinsically linked to each other, it was a given that the haphazard nature of the sensor software would eventually propagate throughout the system, affecting seemingly unassociated code...such as engines.
Even as part of Captain was routinely imputing coordinates for hypertranswarp, another part was worming through an inadvertent backdoor which existed between the well traversed cables of sensors suite and that of the drive initiator. He purposefully did not cover his tracks, but he also did not overtly call attention to himself, for Luplup was riding along, remotely observing. Captain stopped his travels along the cable as his destination neared, perceptions altering tangled spaghetti to that of a console as seen from the back side.
Captain could feel part of himself on the front of the virtual console, entering numbers, pushing buttons, preparing to put the key in the ignition and turn it. On the back, however, wire anagrams invitingly curled. Sighing, Captain reached forward, pulling a specific cable from its socket; and in the software code, a single line was edited, a single character erased. Supralight drive of no flavor could now be initiated.
Snapping himself back together, Captain winced as he felt the satisfaction emanating along Luplup's link. Outwardly, he feigned surprise at the fact that the hypertranswarp drives had suddenly shut down, followed by transwarp and warp. Even impulse was limited to less than a quarter full speed.
{What happened? Report, Delta!} demanded Captain. He triggered premature completion of regeneration, ignoring the computer as it informed him that his cycle was not finished. He stepped from his alcove, turned toward his nodal intersection, and stomped off in that direction. It was expected, and Luplup would not allow him to deviate from his normal response patterns.
Delta was flabbergasted. {I don't know. All faster-than-light drives are inoperable.}
{Then learn what has occurred so we do know.}
{The cube is not in any immediate danger,} added Delta as initial diagnostic reports were collected and disseminated. {We have sufficient energy to power all systems, including defensive and offensive.} That was added to stave off Weapons' foreseen hue and cry. {We simply cannot go supraluminal. It is as if a connection was severed between initiators and drive. It must be a software error.}
Captain mentally shook his head as he entered his nodal intersection, calling up a holographic monitor. It appeared on top of Second, the drone bisecting the floating screen. {Unacceptable. Check all hardware. Do not dismiss a physical problem.}
{But...} began Delta. She knew it was highly unlikely that an equipment malfunction could cause such a precise problem in the drives and therefore did not wish to subject her hierarchy to a futile, long diagnostic procedure. Captain knew this fact as well, but he had to delay, both due to Luplup's urging and because the longer the wait, the more likely someone would discover the vyst riding on Captain's back.
Captain quashed disagreement, triggering the commands to force compliance. {Command and control will handle code. Engineering hierarchy will examine machinery. If both are accomplished at the same time, and if one hunt is unsuccessful, we will not be required to spend time doing what should have been completed concurrently. Comply. Provide estimated time to drive systems diagnostics.}
Delta sullenly answered, {Compliance. Baring the unexpected, we will be done examining drive systems in 54 hours.} She paused. {It will be a negative finding. Do you wish to bet upon it?}
Captain remained silent, deeming not to answer as he moved the holographic screen to a location which was not in the face of a complaining Second, then initiated a visual representation of the code hunt. He did not take sucker bets, especially when he was the sucker.
*****
Luplup rejoiced as a new brood of herSelf hatched, the unit's small minds swiftly integrating into the Whole. At the same time, she mourned as part of herSelf was lost, a dozen workers smashed into pulp as part of a tunnel she was digging to enlarge her den collapsed. A dataQueen came on-line. A tactical egg queen laid her 200th egg, a milestone which would be examined in order to determine exactly which gene combinations had fostered the accomplishment: egg queens were generally decrepit by the 150th laying, reproductive apparatus and birth canal walls degenerating due to continual use. She was everywhere, and most importantly, she was engrossed in her feed from the Captain Borg Bad-Man.
Nearly five hundred years ago, following the destruction of the last of her renegade Selves and the reorganization of what remained, Luplup had retreated to be one with her plans for revenge. Between bouts of dodging Hive attacks, as well as various Color factions which appeared to have inherited a dislike of the vyst consciousness from their parent, Luplup had slowly strengthened and spread herSelf. She had learned new ways of guile and cunning; she had learned new technologies and tactics. She had grown strong, but had also realized that she would never be the strongest unless she could destroy her biggest competitor for resources, for knowledge, for territory, for breeding room. After the Hive/Borg was eradicated, the Color factions would be relatively easy to kill. Luplup focused her attention on her problem with obsessive fervor.
First Luplup needed to force a routine from her rival, and for that she selected the planet on which her Original Self was currently housed. She knew that the then-Hive already showed an interest in the young civilization. With a few well placed explosives and loss of many units, Luplup precipitated a catastrophe which otherwise might not have happened for a hundred thousand years. The nature of the calamity left hope that the society, or at least the species, might have survived, might eventually struggle back to the stars. That expectancy was at first fostered by early Hive scans which indicated use of primitive electrical generation and propagation of electromagnetic-based communication beneath the insulating ionosphere. Unbeknownst to the yearly observers, Luplup had established a sub-brood on the planet shortly after her geological engineering, and it had required several planetary orbits around the primary for her to successfully eradicate the species.
Such was her obsession that she was willing to wait for a long time for her chance to strike to appear. Finally it had come in the form of an intercepted Borg report to scattered sub-collectives detailing Cube #347's resurrection. The Captain unit was returned! Against all forms of logical thinking, the original object of her fascinated obsession had come back to her. She must, she had to, incorporate him into her designs for revenge, for domination.
The dispatch of Captain to the planet for the annual scan was not unexpected. Due to the low priority of the task, in four years out of five, the existent sub-collective of imperfectly assimilated was the vessel which did the job. With two imperfect sub-collectives now under Borg control, Luplup had a 40% chance in a given year that Cube #347 would be the ship to perform the scan.
Once the cube was in orbit, Luplup had carefully, oh so very carefully, reached into the local node of the Borg network as represented by Cube #347. She had not done so before due to the dangers involved with discovery; and previously had limited her exploits on the data realm to passive searches for the frequencies which were currently carrying Borg information. At the moment, she had the correct fractual coordinates, and so had slipped into the dataspaces, slinking in the virtual shadows much as her Selves had hunted down the original species-owners of this planet.
The command code she eventually stumbled across had been unguarded, neglected. It tied haphazardly into the transporter system and would serve to hide her actions in the ensuing chaos. Luplup pounced upon the trigger, modified it slightly to center upon the Captain Borg Bad-Man designation, and activated it.
All had subsequently unreeled according to plan. Borg were easy to manipulate. It was not fitting they should be dominant. Only one could dominate, could be QUEEN, and it would be Luplup.
*****
Captain banged his forehead against a bulkhead plate in his nodal intersection, ignoring the perplexed look he received from Second. With the potential of literally trillions of Borg looking over one's shoulder, any vestiges of individual embarrassment or concern of how one is perceived by another were swiftly purged by the end of the assimilation process.
{You injure yourself,} stated Luplup.
Snarled Captain impotently, if quietly, along the private channel, {What are you going to do? Punish me?}
Luplup responded sagely, {As long as yours use is not compromised, it is snot bothersome. However, it is also not of yours usual behaviors. You should desist.}
No concern tinged Luplup's voice, only cold logic. Captain snorted, {I would if I could. Your governors are affecting my motor control. If you want me to desist, remove them.}
Luplup was silent concerning the order. She was the one in charge, and she would not comply.
The Greater Consciousness had not been alarmed when Cube #347 reported an inability to leave the planet for the next assignment. If anything, the Greater Consciousness had been surprised the scanning had been completed with only the minor mishap of a transporter accident. It would have been astounding if, in the Collective's acute estimation of Cube #347's abilities, the sub-collective had proceeded to its next appointment without delay or malfunction. Therefore and thereby, any hope Captain might have had that the Greater Consciousness would intuit an agent had sabotaged the cube were dashed.
Captain slammed his hand into the wall which had just been a recipient of his head, wincing as internal diagnostics reported breakage of delicate ceramo-metallic laminated and reinforced bones. No matter, the nanites would fix it.
"You should report to drone maintenance," insisted Second, his concern not for Captain the individual, but rather a reflection of the sub-collective knowing one of their more important cogs wasn't operating at full efficiency.
Captain controlled his muscles, then imparted Second a mental negative. "No. I am functional. We have a situation regarding supralight engines, and I must stay aware. If drone maintenance finds a problem, repair will be insisted upon, which may mean interruption of the sub-collective neural net if I am forced to unconsciousness. This unit will persevere until we are in hypertranswarp."
Second frowned as Captain referred to himself in the third person, then dismissed it as a reflection of cognitive and physical stress temporarily subsuming personality for underlying core drone programming. Captain followed the line of reasoning as it was shared among several drones, and cursed that he could not be more overt with his words. "If you insist," finally said Second.
"We insist."
Captain watched his hierarchy systematically zero in on the true cause of the engine shutdown. Forty hours had passed since he had forced Delta to begin an examination of equipment for a physical malfunction, and it was becoming increasingly clear no such fault existed. On his part, Captain had tried to subtly direct the command and control code hunt onto other tracks, but the possible software which could directly affect engine initiation was limited. It did not help that Second, his designation emote flow tinged with a hint of suspicion, had begun to question everything Captain did.
{Initiate search for path file tree delta-six, juncture eighteen,} said Captain to sub-partition 5, one of the teams methodically combing code and comparing actuality to examples of what-should-be.
Second prodded, {Why that branch? This branch looks more promising.} A schematic representation of the engine initiation hierarchies was built, the appropriate path highlighted. It happened to be the one on which the solution resided.
Captain sighed, {This task is not one you are assigned. Return to mining the scan data we acquired for irregularities and abnormalities.} The job which Second was supposed to be coordinating was a natural, if low priority, extension of the mission. Captain had elevated its rank and assigned it on the off chance a vyst den might be spotted. No such luck, not that Borg believed in luck, mind you, but the odds had not produced a favorable outcome.
In the darkest corner of Captain's mind, Luplup sat like the foreboding presence she was, watching all. {Ship stay, no go,} she hissed, {so yous will break something else.} She had been harping on this order for the past several minutes, never mind Captain could not attempt any action with Second metaphorically staring over his shoulder. {Do it, else I teach you whys not goods to go against Luplup.}
Captain was in his alcove, with neighboring Second elsewhere. Distance, however, was not a valid concept between Borg. {Did you say something?} asked Second.
{No,} snapped Captain. {Return to your proper task. Now.}
Second gave a mental impression of rolling eyes. {Geesh. Bite my head off, why don't you? Doubts remain that your calculated search pathway is the most efficient, but I will comply. For now.} Second's nosy presence retreated, focus turning to the tetrabytes of planetary scans.
Several more minutes passed, then: {Hey, look what I found!} It was 47 of 79, displaying the code Captain had sabotaged. The drone from partition 8 had been poking around in a pathway which was not scheduled for search until nearly everything else would have been examined.
Captain wished 47 of 79 had not taken initiative, but, to not have taken initiative would have meant 47 of 79 was free of assimilation imperfection.
{Hah!} spouted Delta. Engineering drones enmeshed in dismantling various pieces of equipment reversed course, beginning the reassembly process. {I knew something physical was not broken! I told you so!} Choruses of "I told you so" mutated into "We told you so" from engineering: the hierarchy was not pleased at having spent over forty hours in frivolous toil.
Captain blocked the many gleeful voices, concentrating on 47 of 79. {Good. Fix it. Then we can continue with the new assignment the Greater Consciousness assigned us.}
{I warns yous...} whispered Luplup.
47 of 79: {Really? I get to repair it all by myself?}
{Yes,} said Captain, {you can insert the quotation mark all by yourself. Just be sure you don't make a mistake while doing so.} As Captain coached 47 of 79 through the elementary process of code repair (the drone could and did alter Cube #347's computer architecture at will when he wanted to, but when told to deliberately do so with four thousand designations watching, well...), he also installed a type of virtual Rube Goldberg device he had been designing since Luplup had begun to threaten him with the Button unless the ship was kept disabled.
As real Goldberg devices were a series of improbable happenstances connected together to perform a final action - pull lever to release ball, ball rolls down incline and frightens chicken, chicken lays egg, egg tips scale, scale pulls string which opens gate - Captain's contraption performed a similar operation in the dataspaces. The upside was the triggering action would cause a series of cascades among otherwise unrelated systems, which meant the connections were virtually untraceable, especially as the intertwined code would erase itself as each segment was completed. On the negative side, the program was extremely complex, and just as physical world Goldberg devices had the high likelihood of breaking at any number of weak points, so did the software version. Alas, the concept was the only thing Captain could devise in solitude, especially with Second popping in to 'supervise' at inopportune times.
47 of 79 inserted the Borg equivalent of a quotation mark, and set loose a rolling cascade of coincidences lost in the background of ongoing cube calculations. A small data sprite materialized, zipping a nearly empty data packet to the x-ray sensor cluster. The cluster mulled the instructions for several milliseconds, then returned the required information to an unusual address located among the massive program which was Weapons' BorgCraft simulation. The node almost immediately morphed the picture of an x-ray binary into a holographic Second Federation Starfleet scout vessel, releasing it to zoom along the corridors of subsection 18, submatrix 11 at mock supersonic speeds. One after another, disparate systems were accessed, each dutifully following the odd instructions received and passing on a data kernel which remained unchanged throughout. Finally the ultimate target was reached
The deflectors read the kernel, then executed it. As with the engine initiator code, a small, yet very important, fragment of data was altered. Unlike previously, however, a program nearly invisible in the background cacophony of deflector modus operendi began, one which would subsequently alter other, already examined, deflector code if the compromised data was scanned. It was a devious pseudo-virus, one which Captain knew he would not be able to insert again, no matter how Luplup hounded him.
{Fixed,} said 47 of 79 with satisfaction of a job well done. At the next cube diagnostic cycle three seconds later, the computer began blaring nonspecific warnings about the deflectors. It could not pinpoint the trouble, could not even say if it was of equipment or software origin, but was very vocal concerning the fact that deflectors could not be used. Therefore, while supralight engines were not available, without vital deflectors, Cube #347 was still going nowhere fast.
47 of 79 instantly fell back to the mantra common to all Cube #347 drones when something went wrong: {Didn't do it! Not my fault! Didn't do it! Not my fault!}
Second separated himself from his scan compilation duties, regarding Captain with growing misgiving. The generalized feeling was spreading among the sub-collective, but it warred with the absurdity of the paranoia, with the fact that a Borg drone could not be traitorous, not even one afflicted with assimilation imperfection. Second mentally poked at the holographic emitters, but without knowing for exactly what he was looking, could do little except uncover a scout ship model recently accessed.
{Delta,} said Captain, {you shall...}
{...check all deflector equipment. Yes, yes, I understand. As soon as engine hardware is reassembled, we will take apart other parts of the ship. And this will be as unnecessary as before.}
Captain silently agreed with Delta even as he shifted focus of command and control to deflector code, although he carefully censured his thoughts to prevent leakage of his knowledge. At this rate, he would be budding off an entire separate personality in the loop he was continually running in his backmind, the loop which interacted with Luplup and hid his thoughts from the sub-collective. It was a state of affairs which could not last indefinitely.
A miniature holographic Starfleet scout ship flew past Captain's nose, piloted by Second.
The vinculum controls were very easy to access. The primary consensus monitor and facilitator was the main liaison between sub-collective and Greater Consciousness, acting as an automatic screening agent to certify only the most formal contact was maintained between cube and Collective. Requests for archival material, for instance, or updates for the current location and trajectory of Sphere #45 were normal items to pass through the pipe, as long as they were relevant to the purpose at hand. Sometimes the screening was less than perfect, but on the whole, the Greater Consciousness was spared from responding to requests for a better mousetrap or a compiled history of floor wax remover for species #1001 through #2053. All communiques to the Collective were routed through the node which was Captain, be it 4 of 8 or another of the Hierarchy of Eight, no exceptions.
Captain paced back and forth in his nodal intersection, holographic screen slaved to his head so that it was always in front of his face. He had given up remaining in his alcove, the minor bumps and bruises he was acquiring from limbs and head banging into the sides of his alcove threatening to spill into drone maintenance and force Doctor to take notice, no matter how much Captain continued to claim to the otherwise concerning his need to visit a maintenance bay. While his arms persisted in the occasional flail and his head sometimes nodded uncontrollably, there was less chance he would bash himself into a bulkhead as long as he remained in the intersection. Pacing seemed to help, occupying muscles with action which might otherwise transform into unwanted motion.
Second materialized in the nodal intersection, then proceeded to observe Captain. He had just returned from sorting a dispute between 173 of 480 and 5 of 300 concerning a game of miniature golf, the Andorian version. Andorians enjoyed miniature golf, as long as it involved blades, electricity, and snacks which a sane individual did not wish to know the origin of. Second watched Captain pace back and forth, forth and back. Mentally, his presence was leeched onto Captain even more overtly than in the physical world.
Luplup was being insistent, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her secret frequency from the rest of the sub-collective. {Quiet the vinculum. I wills be moving soon, and the Collective cannot knows of what Luplup does.}
Captain avoided Second's gaze as he strode past on his latest circuit of the nodal intersection. His facial nerves were disengaged, blanking his expression; and he made sure his forebrain was noisy with the sorting of deflector code for the elusive problem. {And how am I supposed to do that without the Greater Consciousness knowing? Large portions of the sub-collective mind are becoming suspicious that I have changed since my little planetary excursion. I cannot do anything in the dataspaces.}
Luplup did not take no for an answer. {Yous are smart. Yous may not be as smart as Luplup, but yous are somewhat smart. You have eight minutes to quiet the vinculum, else I wills push the pretty yellow button...level 4.}
Captain winced. Level 4 was highly unpleasant, much as he imagined holding onto a live electrical wire might feel prior to his introduction to the Borg and the subsequent severing of neural pain centers. {I will do as I must do.}
{Compliance is good. Good Borg Bad-Mans.}
Second continued silently to stand and stare. His mind reflected his command and control duties, but a significant portion of his multi-tasking awareness was centered on Captain, scrutinizing every real or virtual action.
A flurry of activity abruptly began as a group of drones led by 178 of 203 seized control of the transporters, initiating a game of tag. Thirty-seven Borg were involved, each beaming here and there willy-nilly throughout the volume of the cube in an attempt to either catch the It, or to stay away from pursuers.
{Second,} said Captain, {since you appear to be doing very little at the moment and have plenty of mental resources available, deal with 178 of 203 and her cohorts.}
{I'll have to catch each one separately, run them down! You know how that group works!} complained Second.
Captain paused his pacing to regard Second squarely. "Go deal with them, unless you relish we repeat that one incident...?" Archived files were brought forth, files which outlined a massive game of tag gone awry which, in the end, had involved nearly three-quarters the cube compliment and the extensive moon system of a large gas giant.
"Fine," said Second, disappearing as a transporter caught him. He was on his way to ambush the tag groupies.
With his chance available, Captain ran a quick inventory search through his backmind. There it was, in Bulk Cargo Hold #2 - 200 bottles, 2 liters each, of a mildly caustic liquid with a citrus twist, i.e., carbonated non-cola soda drink. He grabbed one of the containers with a transporter, setting it to loop in the buffer. Finally the most recent It beamed into the vicinity of the vinculum, five signatures hot on her heels. Piggy-backing his buffered bottle on that of one of the chasers, he diverted it at last moment to the vinculum itself, and more specifically, the interior.
As everyone knows, liquids and computers do not get along well. It does not matter how spillproof an electronic gadget is made nor how well advertised it is to be waterproof. Certain liquids - coffee, soda, and tomato soup - have the uncanny property to search out the most minute seam or casing imperfection and enter it. Once inside and exposed to zipping electrons, bad things tend to happen. The vinculum, designed to survive forces which could cause the destruction of the most powerful Borg vessel, was no exception.
The soda bubbled and hissed as its container was breached, effervescent bubbles swirling among the solid state electronics which comprised the vinculum. Things sparked which should not have sparked, hidden from view by the thick casing of the vinculum itself, as well as the layers of armor which shielded the machine from catastrophes such as the cube exploding. The ship computer, already abused from engine initiator and deflector incidents, issued a warning that Something Was Very Wrong.
{Shut it down as much as possible,} demanded Delta to Captain as she responded to this latest emergency. Her bodies roused from regeneration stasis, cycle only half complete. {Report! What has happened?} This order was directed at her hierarchy. Engineering was slow to respond, many bodies pausing in the middle of deflector dissections in order to better understand this newest of maintenance troubles. Captain complied with Delta's request, narrowing the connection to the Collective until it was solely a carrier wave, able to allow the Greater Consciousness to know Cube #347 remained functional, but little else. The vinculum would remain at its narrowed bandwidth until engineering could determine what had occurred and devise the best method of either fixing it or working around it.
Second returned to the nodal intersection. With him materialized 289 of 510, loose skin folds of the scruff of his neck firmly caught in Second's grasp. "What happened?" he demanded.
Captain gazed at his backup and the squirming 289 of 510, "And when did I become responsible for every thing that goes out of whack on this cube? I have been busy in the deflector code hunt, among other things. Check my log files, if you must. We are Borg. Borg do not sabotage their own ships, their own sub-collectives! The way you are going, you are obviously needing a mental readjustment by Assimilation. Schedule yourself a neural tune-up and attitude adjustment."
Reeling from the verbal attack, Second let go of 289 of 510, who immediately disappeared, back to the game of tag. Captain felt as Second rifled through the logs, finding nothing amiss. "Your suggestion is extreme."
"Then stop accusing me of what I know you are accusing me of."
"I have said nothing," protested Second.
Captain replied, "But you have been thinking it, or at least you have been the loudest of those thinking it, which is as good as verbalization."
Second huffed, frowned, then left in the clutches of a transporter beam, off to retrieve the escaped 289 of 510.
{Very good,} purred Luplup. Captain felt perhaps, just perhaps, a level 4 jolt of pain would have been preferable.
Captain aimlessly walked the corridors near his nodal intersection, staying away from catwalks and other passages which did not have the protection of walls to either side. His right leg had begun to twitch more than before, and he did not relish the thought of accidentally careening over rail and into a shaft. As it was, he was ricocheting off more than his fair share of bulkheads and had nearly ran into one engineering work detail. Captain would have been moving in more of a straight line, had he been paying more than superficial attention to his surroundings, but internal matters dictated otherwise.
{Disable shields,} demanded Luplup.
Captain bounced around a corner, treading on the foot of a scrubber-wielding drone cleaning graffiti from the wall. {The cube's shields are not raised. Why should you care.}
{I needs to get aboard, and I cannot dos so if shields go up. Yous will disable shields.}
{It is possible to access engines, deflectors, even communications. The shields, however, will be guarded. Heavily guarded. Weapons is in charge of shield functions, after all. Covert actions will not work.}
{Do so! I tell you to do so!} screamed Luplup impatiently.
Captain urked as a wave of pain crashed over his body. He ran head first into a wall, falling to the ground where he quietly shuddered. Warning diagnostics flashed for attention, signals which Captain quashed before they could leak into the dataspaces and attract the focus of drone maintenance. Perhaps he would lie here for a moment, propped up by the bulkhead, until he could deal with Luplup's demand? It seemed prudent.
{Fine,} weakly returned Captain to Luplup. {I will prove to you shields are not accessible. Just allow me a minute to recover.}
Luplup insisted like a spoiled child, {Now now now now now! Right now you will do as Luplup tells yous to!}
Closing his eyes, Captain turned his attention deeper. {Okay. Just no more pain. No more pain, and I'll try to do what you tell me,} he replied monotonely.
Satisfied she had gotten her way, Luplup remained quiet.
Captain delved into the dataspaces, diving once more into the Mobius spaghetti which was lines of code. Stealthily his hindmind crept along as foremind continued its normal consensus monitor operations, probing as he approached the first place he knew to have a gap in the software protections surrounding the shield command triggers. The hole was not obvious, but neither was it unknown to the sub-collective. Near it, predictably, hovered the dull presences of a pair of the weaponry hierarchy. While the two designation radiated boredom, unlike a physical guard of the unassimilated sort, they remained alert. There would be no entry through that hole.
After examining several other possibilities, Captain settled upon a breach which was near (relatively speaking in a digital sense) to the main thoroughfare. In the shadow of datasprites, daemons, and busy drone designations, this small crack bored through the software protections. It was, oddly enough, formed by interactions between aspects of thruster control and the rail gun system. Captain had not delved deeply into the nature of the hole when it had come to the attention of command and control a month prior, but its minor status had precluded searching for its exact cause in the face of more pressing demands. It remained low of the "fix" list of Captain's hierarchy.
Unfortunately, despite the minor status of the hole, despite the fact that an electronic intruder would have no idea that the compromised code existed, more of Weapons' hierarchy carefully watched. Leashed sniffer programs prowled as far as they could from their masters, watching for suspicious activity; and nearby were caged several vicious hunter-seekers. Captain knew the latter had been rewired as of late by assimilation hierarchy upon demands from Weapons, the drone suspecting that there was a link between disruption of engine, deflectors, and vinculum. The hunter-seekers would go after a drone designation, should they be set on the trail, as eager to tear apart Borg programming as they would an electronic virus, with the same terminal results.
Captain made a mental note to have a word with Weapons concerning the internal threat the reprogrammed hunter-seekers poised, especially should they be accidentally unleashed. The consensus monitor and facilitator retreated from the code tangle which was shields.
{See? It is not possible to enter,} sent Captain to Luplup.
Luplup mentally growled. {Bad! Yous did nots try hard enough. Bad!}
A thud echoed down the corridor as Captain knocked his head against the wall he was propped against. {That was uncalled for,} he managed to choke out.
{Do betters next stime,} asserted Luplup. {Shut down shields.}
Captain opened his eye and focused attention to his optical implant as he heard the distinctive clack of incisors. Towering above him and blocking the already dim BorgStandard light of the hallway was Doctor. The rodent wrinkled his nose as he peered down at Captain, ears perked forward.
"You have been avoiding your vet! Bad Captain! Bad Captain!" admonished Doctor as he shook one hand, index finger extended. "We are going to go to your doctor's appointment, right now!"
The words echoed too closely the ones which had been flowing from Luplup and which were now silent. "Go away, Doctor," said Captain. "I do not need medical attention. I am functional to a sufficient degree to perform my duties."
Doctor bared his sharp teeth in a grimace. "You cannot even stand up and walk down a hallway. I know: I have been observing you. It is time to listen to your vet." He paused, then added slyly, "If you come, I have a special treat for you! A squeak toy all your own! How does that sound? I have a whole box of them for you to pick from."
Captain groaned, "Squeak toys are irrelevant. Leave me alone. Comply."
"You cannot compel your vet when he is doing his duty, and you know that. I did not wish to do this, but I will. If no carrot, then a stick, not that I approve of corporal punishment. No, no, no, never," said Doctor.
Captain tried to stand up, but failed, sliding down the wall back to where he had begun. In his mind he heard {Drone maintenance path command override - execute body paralysis of voluntary muscles on...}
{Command control override drone maintenance path command! Abolish and ignore all commands originating from drone maintenance in regards to unit 4 of 8!} frantically countered Captain. He felt the order from drone maintenance wither as the command and control pathway forced precedence.
Doctor agitatedly clicked his teeth together as he felt the unprecedented mental resistance from Captain, a drone who could barely control his own muscles. Switching tactics, Doctor requested transporter lock on his defiant charge, prepared to beam him directly to a maintenance bay.
Captain halted that attempt too, causing an emergency shut down of all transporters on the cube. Drones all over the ship began to complain, especially engineering, who had been in the middle of transferring the inventory of Bulk Cargo Hold #6 to #8. Unfortunately, it was now readily apparent to the entire sub-collective that something was greatly wrong with their consensus monitor and facilitator, something which could not be explained away by mere reluctance or lack of time to visit Doctor.
Doctor's ears laid back against his skull. "Naughty boy. You will thus be carried to the nearest maintenance bay." Nearby materialized 84 of 133 and 62 of 152, two hulking units from drone maintenance. They functioned as orderlies, physically restraining drones who were less than cooperative and whom, like Captain, managed to resist all attempts to shut down. The two drones had flunked the weapons hierarchy aptitude test, but not by much.
"Come on," rumbled 84 of 133, his voice a bass made even lower by deliberate manipulation of vocal cords and synthesizer, "time for your checkup." A massive arm reached down to grab Captain's much smaller organic limb. 62 of 152 silently acknowledged agreement as he followed suit with the artificial limb. Muscles enhanced with servos or not, there would be no escaping from the two brutes.
Captain found himself being dragged backwards down the corridor. Doctor followed behind, ears upright once more, his incisors occasionally clicking together. "Very, very good, 84 of 133! And you've been practicing, 62 of 152: no sign that the patient's arm was going to be pulled from the socket at all! And you, Captain, you have been a very naughty boy. Tsk, tsk."
{File path priority command override - initiate deep regeneration sequence alpha, all units excepting designation 4 of 8,} frantically boomed Captain into the dataspaces. The drone maintenance units which had been dragging him backwards down the corridor abruptly released their hold, dropping him to the deck. Eyes glazed, the elephantine drones transportered to their alcoves; down the hallway, several engineering drones stood stiffly, let tools slip from their grasps, and did likewise.
Second managed to direct a single word towards Captain, trying to fight the compulsion even as his mentality was driven deep into non-thought: {Traitor.}
And then, Captain was alone.
Captain was not alone for long. Almost immediately the blue-green glow of a transporter not of Borg origin lit the corridor. The ship computer, still active if reduced to the equivalent of silicon idiocy as its drone nodes were removed from the system, automatically reported 2,177 transporter signatures located at various points around the cube, but concentrated near the vinculum chamber, primary engineering, and auxiliary engines. Vyst materialized from the beams.
In front of Captain stood the diminutive Original Luplup. Her stature might not have been imposing, but she held her self regally, neck arched. Luplup's mechanical walking legs whispered quietly as she approached Captain, metal talons clicking against the deck. In her limbs minor she clutched Captain's remote control; and her limbs major were held ready to defend herself with lethal intensity.
{Yous did good,} murmured Luplup internally. {Good, very good.}
Captain twitched, head jerking sideways before he could get it under control. "Get out of my brain," he snarled. "Talk aloud."
Original Luplup clicked her teeth together as several of her units in the corridor barked with vyst laughter. Captain felt her amusement through the link in his brain. "Yous are a funny puppet. No, not a puppet, a pet. Maybe I wills keep you as a pet? I have assimilated the concept of pet. Luplup used tos be a pets once upon a time, when Owner was alive. Owner was taken by the Borg, and Luplup was left ons her own. I likes the idea of yous as pet. It is ironic."
Captain glowered down at Luplup, then pointedly raised his head and stared straight ahead, ignoring her.
Vysts began barking again. A tactical unit materialized in the corridor, holding a length of rope. It dashed forward, followed by a pair already present. The vyst pair forced Captain to kneel by roughly kicking him in the back of his knees until he was forced to the deck, lest fall over. The tactical with the rope swiftly tied it around Captain's neck, then gave the free end of the impromptu leash to Original Luplup.
"Come," said Luplup as she tugged on the rope with a hand major. At first Captain refused to stand, but he quickly regained his feet as Luplup briefly depressed the pain button on her remote control. "We wills go tos your nodal intersection."
Captain lagged behind Original Luplup as she led both of them back to nodal intersection #19, subsection 17, submatrix 10. When he fell too far behind, Luplup would either pull on her leash, else prod him with the tacticals whom were following. That was the outside world, however. Internally, Captain was keeping track of the violations Luplup was performing to computer and hardware, especially those which were playing with vinculum and associated systems.
"What are you doing?" demanded Captain as he was led around a corner into hallway 97. The nodal intersection was near.
Original Luplup continued to walk as she talked, confident. However, she was not too forthcoming in the explanation department, unlike some nemeses the sub-collective had come in contact with over the years. "Soon Luplup will be QUEEN. However, I needs to remove the Borg Queen, or rather Queens. Then Luplup wills step in durings the confusing and become QUEEN. I prepare. It is very complicated and yous are only a pet." She tugged on the leash again. "I think I wills train yous to do tricks. Roll over. Fetch. Jump." Pause. "Beg." The trailing tacticals burst into barking vyst laughter once more.
They entered the nodal intersection. Luplup's units paused, heads darting this way and that as she took in her surroundings. "Yesssss," the Original hissed, "this will do. This will do nicely. This vessel mark has holographic interfaces, yes? Yes, it does, I sos remember. Sos...if I trigger this command here..." Luplup's voice trailed off as a segment of her mind blatantly invaded the cube's computer network, questing towards the lightly warded code lines of the holographic system. She had yet to enter the more vital parts of the computer, but the holographic projectors were accessible. A pair of screens flickered into being, reflecting the point of view of two vysts, which by their moderate stature and location at one of the ship's primary computer nodes, were likely technician, type III. "I like this, yessss I do. What say you, pet?"
Captain looked down at the Original Luplup. "I say you have made a mistake. Borg do not and will never roll over, fetch, or jump. And never beg." In the intranets, a one word command was spoken: {Initiate.}
All over the cube, drones which had been in stand-by mode awoke and stepped from their alcoves. Vyst units squawked and snarled as they were picked up and had necks and major limbs broken. Unfortunately, as proven when the sub-collective had first encountered Luplup, vyst units were more akin to ambulatory limbs of the greater body of Luplup than Collective drones, and could remain functional through injuries which would disable a Borg. The broken legs, however, served more to immobilize the dangerous vysts than terminate. The latter was taken care of by squads from the weapons hierarchy: it is very difficult to emulate a zombie when one has been disintegrated into component atoms.
Luplup shrieked as she realized she had been deceived, all of her Selves undulating with wordless rage. Cube shields snapped into place, effectively preventing additional vyst reinforcements...and also trapping the admitted soul of Luplup. Original Luplup stared at Captain, her body shaking in anger. "Bad pet! No kibble! No play ball! No life!" The remote control dial which controlled pain level was spun to its maximum.
Second materialized from a transporter beam next to Luplup, snatching the remote control from her limbs minor. "Tsk, tsk. Having a pet is a big responsibility, you know. Ask Doctor. Treats work much better than physical discipline, or so say most obedience books. I think we'll remove this before Galactic-PETA hears of you and decides to sue for cruelty to pets. Oh, and by the way, Captain, that leash is you. Definitely."
After glaring at Second for a brief moment, Captain calmly reached to his throat and ripped the rope from his neck, tossing it to the ground. He next knocked a loose bulkhead plate from the wall, exposing not only the interstitial space with its normal collection of conduits, wires, and miscellaneous blinking lights which did nothing, but a disrupter rifle. The rifle was primitive compared to the limb mounted hardware the weaponry hierarchy used, but it would serve its purpose. Captain shouldered the gun, pointing it at Original Luplup, only the most minor of quivering showing that motor muscle control wasn't quite optimal.
"This charade is at an end, as are you, Luplup," pronounced Captain.
Luplup snarled. "You forget...I controls your life. Now I cuts the dead-man's signal, and turn yous into a dead Bad-Man." She waited, then grew agitated. "No work!"
Captain peered down the barrel, the built-in aiming apparatus of his optical implant making the gun sights superfluous. "I dislodged that particular implant. Not much, but just enough, when I banged my head on the walls of my alcove. Unfortunately, the loose governor impinged upon my motor control, affecting it. However, I do not think it will sufficiently hamper me in what needs to be done."
Original Luplup swung her head back and forth, looking first at Second, then at Captain. "You have to catch me first!" The Queen body leapt towards the catwalk as the two tacticals launched themselves at Captain in a suicidal leap. Captain went down under the attack, but not before he triggered a shot from the disrupter.
Second winced as the energy beam barely missed him. Original Luplup, however, was not so lucky, and caught the discharge squarely. She fell, squealing, as motors in her lower back shorted. Unlike her organic counterpart Selves with their spinal cords of neuron and legs of muscle, nanomachines could not repair the damage. Luplup fell to the ground, legs unresponsive; tacticals, technicians, and integrators all over the cube did likewise, acting in sympathetic reaction to their Queen of Queens, to their soul.
Captain pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the long gashes which cross-crossed his back, two breaking through armor to skin and muscle beneath. He walked forward, rifle trained on Original Luplup. The vyst matron twisted her neck, the one mostly organic appendage left to her, and bared her broken teeth. Her still functioning forelimbs attempted to drag her body forward, but they were not sufficient for the job.
"This ends here. No more, Luplup. No more revenge. Haven't you learned yet? Revenge is for small beings. You act not like the Borg, but like a small being. Borg would never engage in an action as petty as revenge. Well, not usually, and when it is done so, the galaxy is not informed upon the matter. Anyway, if you cannot be assimilated, then you will be destroyed. The Greater Consciousness wants you destroyed," said Captain as he looked down at the defiant vyst. The rifle fired, bathing the form in an incandescent green. When the flare faded, Original Luplup was gone, no more.
Captain lay quiescent, his cranium opened and the delicate insides exposed. Different from his previous experience in this situation, he was not strapped down and, more importantly, the work bench was sufficiently long to support his legs. However, he almost wished he was under the laser scalpel of a vyst: at least Luplup had been mostly silent during the procedure, unlike the talkative Doctor.
"Look just look, how this area here and been butchered, 106 of 133. My, my, my."
"This is going to have to go."
"Isn't it amazing this poor puppy remains functional? What a mess."
{Doctor,} said Captain, {I am attempting to block out the damage Luplup did to me. Keep your comments non-verbal, else disengage my aural implants.} Much of the sub-collective was fascinated by the alterations to Captain's brain and were, thus, watching intently the appropriate SurgicalTV dataspace channel. Captain himself had been avoiding all relevant feeds as much as possible.
"Okay," replied Doctor, a promise he broke seconds later as he exclaimed over placement of a governor. After several such verbalizations, he accused, "Why did you not let your vet in on it?"
"It" had been the flimflam performed on Luplup. Shortly after returning to the cube, a purposeful head banging episode had managed to dislodge the dead-man's implant deep in his brain. Unfortunately, although it had been rendered nonfunctional, the governor had subsequently impinged upon a vital neuron cluster, causing uncontrollable tics; and those tics had only served to further misplace the bit of hardware, exacerbating the muscular control problem. Despite the difficulties, the removal of the governor had opened up a new avenue of opportunity.
The virtual Goldberg contraption had not only carried a kernal to the deflector systems, but had included a terse, dense packed data nugget for Second. The nugget had outlined Captain's trouble, the sketch of a plan, and admonishment to leak the knowledge to none except those necessary. It was Second and other hierarchy of Eight members who would have to (1) craft an "alpha" variant to the global regeneration command and (2) create an informational upload to inform the general sub-collective what had occurred upon awakening. No acknowledgment could return to Captain that the tasks had been successful. When Doctor had finally insisted upon a checkup, Captain could only hope that the commands would work.
In the aftermath of the destruction of Original Luplup, the vyst units had largely reverted to base animal instinct. Moments of cooperation had appeared, as if some central remnant of Self remained to Luplup following the severance of her head, her soul, but the circumstances were fleeting. The confused vysts on the ship were swiftly eradicated; and on the planet, eighteen dens were now known, individuals escaping to the surface from underground and now visible to scans. Elsewhere in the quadrant, other vyst concentrations were being discovered, each chaotically out of control without a guiding presence.
Cube #347 remained in orbit over the planet, acting as sentry. A small Borg fleet of a mixed dozen Assault-class spheres and Battle-class cubes were enroute. In their holds the vessels held munitions created during the Dark war, weapon able to cause the yellow dwarf primary of the system to explode in a nova. All planets would be destroyed and the area sterilized. Everywhere a vyst den was found, a similar procedure was to occur; and future astronomers in 100,000 years would surely marvel over what had caused the premature destruction of so many stars which should not have been able to self-destruct in such a manner in the first place.
Captain knew all this, but he cared only in a distant way. Luplup was effectively gone, good, whatever. More important was the immediate situation, the one which had four interested drone maintenance units elbowing each other for the chance to directly view Captain's brain. As he watched, another half dozen Borg materialized in the bay.
{Am I a side-show for which you've sold tickets?} demanded Captain. {Repair me!}
"We are working on it," answered Doctor. The rodent was standing to the side of the table, allowing access for the growing crowd of observers. "Your vet knows best. When we are all done and good as new, I have an extra-special treat for you - a squeaky toy with a bell!" A bright yellow rubber ball was displayed. Doctor shook it to demonstrate the all important bell. "Why don't we decide now what color you want. I have yellow, blue, red, green, orange..."
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