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 I

	Captain stoically stared overhead at the thick layer of low clouds which 
evenly covered the sky from horizon to horizon.  They were dark, 
promising rain, but any drops which fell evaporated long before they 
reached the surface.  The ground around Captain was parched, the cracked 
earth attesting to the rarity of precipitation.  As Captain watched, the 
ambient light slowly leeched away to true darkness:  night was falling.  
One of fifty-three drones stuck on this greenhouse planet, he was a 
victim of a transporter accident only possible for Cube #347.  Somewhere, 
above the clouds, was the cube, hopefully trying to track down himself 
and the other wayward drones.
	It had all began with a routine reconnaissance of this system.  
Sixty-seven of this planet's years ago, a promisingly vibrant 
civilization had made its first tentative steps into space.  Shortly 
thereafter, a huge seismic event had released a gigantic plume of carbon 
dioxide and methane from beneath oceanic crust.  The gaseous belch had 
initiated a natural runaway greenhouse effect, destroying the existing 
ecosystem, followed by the budding space-age civilization.  First the 
Hive, then the Borg, had begun yearly treks to the planet to watch for 
any hint of the race's survival, and perhaps return to a technological 
society, although for vastly different reasons.
	As of the previous sixty-six years, no sign of survival could be found 
on the surface.  In fact, very little life appeared to be left, a mass 
extinction the result of the geological catastrophe.  Unfortunately, 
scans were not conclusive due to an odd quirk of the world's ionosphere.
	The ionosphere of the planet was peculiar, blocking most scanning and 
communication, either reflecting or outright absorbing them.  Among the 
list were the subspace fractual frequencies commonly used to link Borg 
with vinculum, and thence to Greater Consciousness.  Below the 
ionosphere, all forms of communication, scanning, and other 
electromagnetic or quantum technologies were functional.  It was only 
when signals were required to pass through the upper atmosphere was 
difficulty experienced.
	The problem had a work around, if it were necessary to place drones on 
the surface.  The ionosphere was transparent to certain esoteric, and 
thus little used, fractual subspace frequencies, but it required 
modification of a drone's neural transceiver to tune on the correct 
bands.  The procedure necessitated time spent on a work bench under 
specialized drone maintenance tools, items which were in short supply on 
the planet's surface.  As the original reconnaissance had only required 
routine, if meticulous and arduous, scanning efforts to probe through the 
ionosphere, no surface excursion with drones had been planed, and, thus, 
no modifications had occurred.  Therefore, for Captain and his fifty-two 
compatriots marooned on the planet, there was virtually no communication 
with the cube.
	The sub-collective remaining on Cube #347 knew their members were alive 
on the planet in the same way Captain knew the vessel was orbiting 
somewhere overhead.  Although the link between himself and the cube was 
limited due to ionospheric interference, it did remain in its most 
primitive form as a simple carrier wave.  No meaningful communication 
could travel in either direction, but it did serve as an indicator that 
drones were alive, possibly functional; and Captain could use it to 
assure himself that Cube #347 had not left the solar system.  
Unfortunately, the link was not sufficiently strong to allow the ship to 
pinpoint his location for transporters.  Meter by meter scanning of the 
surface would be required to find each misplaced drone.
	The whole situation had begun with the accidental tripping of a remnant 
of Hive-era code residing in the hardwired ship dataspace.  The fragment 
had not been purged by the Greater Consciousness six years post-Hive due 
to low priority.  For a normal sub-collective, the lines of software 
would have been merely noted and ignored, but Cube #347 was anything but 
normal.  Once discovered, it was only a matter of time before someone 
prodded it, simply to see what it would do.  On the surface, Captain did 
not have access to initiate a search to discover whom had rooting through 
restricted code, but it would be among the first things on his "To Do" 
list once he was found and returned to his proper place.
	The piece of code in question was a Hive experiment in drone 
ship-safety.  The concept was irrelevant to the Borg, who generally did 
not regard safety as a primary cube issue.  For instance, there was no 
method to eject an overloading warp core; and even the catwalk railings 
had been installed only because early in Borg consciousness too many 
drones had been lost to accidental falls of a terminal nature.  In the 
event of eminent, lethal danger to ship integrity, the code mandated 
drones to be beamed to the surface of any planetoid within range, 
placement random in order to maximize crew survival should one or two 
places, such as the caldera of a volcano, be unable to support unit 
existence.  The transporters had been almost immediately disabled as it 
became apparent what was occurring, but not before the drones present in 
subsection 17, submatrix 10 had been scattered like chaff all over the 
planet.
	Second had not been among the drones misplaced.  He had been in 
Maintenance Bay #5 undergoing his 100,000 light year checkup.  At least 
with his sudden elevation to primary consensus monitor and facilitator 
Captain knew he would be rescued swiftly.  Second would not desire to 
remain in charge one nanosecond longer than required.
	On the surface, if any of Captain's comrades in mistake had been within 
the 100 kilometer range of non-vinculum mediated neural transceiver 
communication, waiting would have been at least slightly less boring.  
Discussing the fate of the idiot who had triggered the safety protocol 
could have filled the time; and if individuals were close enough, members 
could gather together into a knot to lessen the scanning effort needed by 
Cube #347 to find them.  However, such was not the case for Captain, and 
all he could do was alter the spectrum of his visual input so as to 
better be able to stare at cracked mud in the dark.
	Captain has been beamed to the bottom of a lake bed deprived of its 
water due to the unrelenting evaporative pressures of heat, wind, and 
lack of precipitation.  At one time the lake had been a vast inland 
freshwater sea, its shores too far to see.  Now it was a desolate plain 
sporting a webwork of cracks and the beginnings of dunes built by sandy 
mud flecking apart under the constant onslaught of warm, blustery 
breezes.
	The scene was not quite as lifeless as it looked, as evidenced by the 
peeping cries of unseen lizards or small mammal-like animals taking 
advantage of the night to sound calls of mating availability and 
territory demarcation, or simply to exclaim to the universe that not all 
was extinct on the planet.  The animals hid deep in the cracks or quickly 
skittered from refuge to refuge behind Captain's back, never allowing him 
the chance to observe the creatures.  Prior to the unfortunate geologic 
incident, the fauna of the world had been based on a bilaterally 
symmetrical quadruped body plan, so he supposed the lizards or mammals or 
whatever which refused to hold still long enough for definitive 
identification were appropriately shaped.  The noises became louder as 
the night deepened.
	Captain wished the cube would hurry up and return him to his alcove.
	Abruptly the calls stopped, terminated mid-peep as if the plug had been 
pulled.  Captain blinked, aware that such could mean many things, from an 
end to the nightly ritual to the appearance of a predator.  He cocked his 
head to listen intently, to determine if the latter was the reason and, 
thus, was a new amusement to ever-so-slightly relieve his boredom.  
Instead of the expected scuttling tread of a slightly larger lizard or 
mammal hunting its smaller cousins, he heard the unmistakable, if very 
faint, sounds of running footsteps accompanied by the electrical whine of 
a machine.  The alien noises were approaching.  Captain turned to face 
them.
	In the distance, twin headlights stabbed through the darkness, 
illuminating the area before the oncoming machine.  By its smooth ride 
and near soundless travel, Captain postulated it to be an anti-gravity 
driven device.  Unfortunately, anti-gravity had not been among the 
catalogued technologies available to the sentient inhabitants of the 
planet prior to civilization collapse, a society who had just realized 
solid-fuel rocket boosters could be used to loft payloads into orbit, not 
just serve as carriers of fanciful fireworks.  Unless the race, 
hypothesized although not proved to be extinct, had abruptly jumped 
forward several centuries in technological prowess, the beings 
approaching were not of indigenous origin.
	Captain could not run.  For one thing, Borg did not run, both because it 
was not the Borg Way to retreat and because it was damned difficult due 
to combined weight of armor and implants weighing down drones.  For 
another thing, there was no place to hide, not a bush, not a blade of 
grass, not a rock.  Unless Cube #347 collected him in the next five 
minutes, he would be meeting the nearing welcoming committee.
	Squinting, Captain concentrated on the forms visible at the edge of the 
forward cone of light.  Keeping to the shadows, they were difficult to 
see.  The light amplification filters Captain had been using were 
discarded for infrared, which served to nicely pick out the six running 
shapes.
	Four legs hit the ground in a steady gallop, sharp foot-claws digging 
into cracked mud with each stride.  The body balanced over a complex hip 
arrangement, tail stretched behind and torso and neck fore.  Two pairs of 
arms - one stout with simple hand and large talons (limb major) and one 
delicate with three deft fingers and thumb (limb minor) - were held close 
to the torso.  The distinctly saurian head had was held level at the 
front of the forward canted body.  The skull clearly bulged behind the 
forehead.  Height, if still and head raised high, would range between 100 
and 120 centimeters.
	The half dozen sprinting creatures were similar to each other, yet quite 
different in...accessories.  In the infrared view, slabs of articulated 
armor covered hide in a tight patchwork of cool metal over hot flesh.  At 
least one limb, usually a forearm, was a temperature much lower than the 
core body, indicating it was artificial.  Attached to the side of each 
head blazed the sharp light of a targeting laser.
	The anti-gravity slab which floated behind the group was also occupied, 
bringing the total number of approaching beings to seven.  Number seven 
was similar in size to its running compatriots, but nearly skeletal where 
the others were sleek with muscle.  Odd bulges deformed the skin over 
abdomen, torso, and neck; and a full hood of mechanical inclination 
shrouded the head, hiding all but the tip of the muzzle.  Reclining on 
the slab, the creature appeared disinclined to move.  From what Captain 
could observe of the limbs, they looked withered, barely able to carry 
the body, much less keep the pace of the escort.
	Captain was still as he took in the scene, face held as expressionless 
as if he were on display before the whole of the unassimilated populace 
of the galaxy.  Toward him came one of his worst nightmares, should a 
drone be allowed to have nightmares.  A stillness, a dread permeated his 
being.  The records he had accessed in the past pertinent to this 
situation had indicated that the entity, of singular mind despite her 
multiple vyst bodies, pounding towards him had last been heard of over 
two hundred years prior.
	Luplup appeared to be quite alive; and Captain was in deep, deep 
excrement.

	"On the machine."  The words had been simple and direct with a twang of 
mechanical undertone.  The largest of the armored vysts had gestured with 
an artificial limb major, displaying the telltale aperture of a 
disrupter, as if duralloy claws and teeth were insufficient weapons 
against a lone drone.  The slab lowered itself to an appropriate height 
to allow Captain to climb aboard, then shuddered with the impact of the 
heavy vyst unit adroitly jumping on deck.  Turning, the skimmer 
orientated itself northwest before accelerating at speed, flanked to 
either side with the remaining five vysts.
	"Sit," ordered the vyst as she herself squatted.
	Captain remained standing.  "Borg do not sit," he replied just before 
the slab jolted over a pothole too deep for anti-gravity to compensate.  
He quickly found himself on his butt, and only another pothole kept him 
from rolling off the railless skimmer.
	The vyst blinked.  "Borg sit if they do not want a face full of mud.  
You are like an integrator and cannot run.  You will stay on this machine 
with these parts of me until arrival at the nest."  Those were the last 
words the vyst uttered, content to stare unblinkingly at Captain as if 
expecting him to jump out at any moment.  Luplup appeared to have picked 
up or assimilated a better sense of vocabulary and grammar over the last 
five centuries, not to mention updating her voders to produce a more 
natural speech.
	Upgrading her lexicon had not been the only article accomplished since 
the last time Captain had encountered Luplup, if the units accompanying 
him were any indication.  The original vyst stock barely reached head 
above his waist; and even though he had seen Luplup's early attempts to 
genetically engineer taller, bulkier versions of herself, these creatures 
were of the most recent vintage.  The large vyst and her five running 
sisters were obviously of a tactical nature, analogous to Weapons and his 
hierarchy.  The final animal - the integrator - who had not reacted to 
either Captain nor skimmer antics, was not of a type he immediately 
recognized.
	Seen up close, it was obvious the integrator had been heavily modified 
through a series of surgeries.  Her stock, although similar in size to 
her tactical sisters, was emaciated in comparison with ribs and spinal 
processes evident.  Unlike the tactical units, there was less overt 
exterior modification, but shapes too regular to be natural were evident 
under the skin.  The hood Captain had previously noted at a distance had 
no eyeholes or obvious optic apparatus, but as all the vysts were truly 
linked as one organism, he assumed the lack of sight in one individual 
was not a hindrance.  The withered legs appeared barely able to support 
her weight, collaborating the tactical unit's claim that integrators 
could not run.  Walking was likely an effort.
	Skimmer and vyst escort steadily, if bumpily, traveled across the lake 
bed.  After 3.2 hours, the shore was reached.  Where once a pleasant 
forest had existed, only dead and toppled sticks remained, legacy of the 
acid rain which had pelted the area shortly following geologic disaster.  
The remnant of a concrete road, in appearance akin to the cracked mud of 
the lake bed, wound through the sylvan corpse.  The skimmer followed the 
old byway, running vysts forsaking cement for blackened soils more kind 
to feet.
	Several additional hours brought the group to an outcropping of bedrock 
and boulders.  Skimmer and vysts slowed as a solid seeming wall of rock 
was approached.  Assuming this was the goal and the pace upon returning 
was similar to that employed to reach their drone objective, Captain 
estimated that Luplup had embarked upon her kidnapping trek slightly 
/before/ his beaming to the surface.  The coincidence was highly 
disturbing.
	A holographic blind disengaged as the skimmer neared, revealing a dark 
hole with floor slating downwards.  The skimmer eased into the 
passageway, followed close behind by the five tactical units. 
	The long passage disgorged its contents to a busy hanger full of vysts 
walking and running on various errands.  Four of the tactical escort 
swiftly merged into the busy bustle, reassigned to other duties.  The 
largest vyst remained with Captain, however, joined with a sister only 
slightly smaller in stature.  He was urged to the ground and pointedly 
escorted towards one of the many corridors branching off from the hanger.
	The wide hallway was convoluted with numerous junctures, more like the 
den of an beast than a constructed facility.  Yet, the bite marks of 
stone cutters first through basalt, then granite, showed that the 
fabrication was deliberate.  Bare rock quickly gave way to metal 
paneling.  Corridors struck off in odd directions; and walls opened 
without reason into rooms both large and small.  Due to either a 
dampening field or a natural property of the surrounding stone, Captain's 
internal compass functions became nonfunctional.  Although he was 
producing a mental map of the complex as he walked, he was unable to say 
with surety how the twists and turns related to surface contours far 
above.  All he knew for sure is that he was being escorted ever deeper 
into the earth.
	Throughout the march, Captain saw a myriad of vysts, all of whom 
undeniably were individual units of the same entity.  The most numerous 
type were of a kind most similar to the primitive animal form Captain 
remembered, both in size and shape.  Like the specialized units, they 
were genetically modified to express non-vyst characteristics such as 
expanded cranial capacity and functional hands with opposable thumbs.  
Very rarely were they modified beyond the mandatory optical implant and 
the occasional limb replacement.  The few beasts which had been heavily 
augmented appeared to be done for reasons of salvaging a unit damaged due 
to accident.
	Less numerous and much larger than the primitive form were the type 
Captain knew to have a tactical designation.  Like his escorts, they were 
armored and armed, although the extent of each was, as in the Collective, 
likely a function of the specific hazards the unit would be expected to 
face.  The tactical units prowled the corridors, heads held high with 
instinct-driven alert despite the fact it was extremely unlikely an enemy 
could successfully penetrate this deep into the complex.
	Slightly smaller than the tacticals and more lithely built, vysts 
adorned with tools of all kinds busily moved here and there.  Captain 
hypothesized from the carefully trimmed forelimb claws, specialized 
replacements, and odd implants which perched on back and head that the 
vysts served a technical nature.  His assumption was borne out as he saw 
a cluster of the creatures working at a section of corridor denuded of 
metal panels, each animal swiftly manipulating diagnostic and repair 
tools on the series of cables which were bracketed to bare stone.
	Captain also saw the very rare integrator, either sitting motionless at 
the side of the corridor, else making her slow way through the crowd of 
her more leggy brethren.  Once his escort forced him against the wall, 
mimicking the actions of the vysts which shared the corridor.  Down the 
middle of the hallway sailed an anti-gravity pallet pushed by a mixed 
half dozen of the primitives and techs.  On the slab had resided what 
appeared to be another integrator, but this one obviously unable to walk 
due to the near atrophied condition of her legs.  In addition to the hood 
which shrouded her face, her spine and upper torso had been completely 
obscured with implants.
	Luplup was not totally comprised of vysts, as Captain noted.  She 
appeared to have continued her occasional assimilation of species which 
were not self.  Thrice he had glimpsed tall bipedal forms unlike the 
eight-limbed vyst.  Each sighting had been brief; and inevitably the 
being was among a crowd of the primitives, towering waist, shoulders, and 
head above the comparatively small units.
	Captain supposed there were other unit variations.   Luplup seemed to 
have "speciated" herself, producing extreme specializations from her 
original genome in order to fulfill specific functions.  At the very 
least, Captain assumed there had to be egg layers, parthenogenic 
reproduction the expansion method of choice of the Luplup Captain 
remembered.  Perhaps Luplup had even gone so far as to partition herself 
a queen caste, continuing along the direction she had been tending five 
centuries ago.  As evidenced from her thriving Self, she had managed to 
fix the mental schism episode Captain had fostered when last he had been 
in her clutches.
	Finally the trek came to an end.  The hallway terminated abruptly in a 
grand archway warded with a forcefield which vyst units blithely 
scampered through.  Beyond the entrance was a large open area.  The 
barrier was dropped as Captain and escort approached.
	The largest vyst urged Captain to enter the chamber.  The muzzle of a 
limb disrupter pressed into the small of his back was very persuasive.  
Captain stepped through the arch, followed closely by his two jailors.  
The forcefield snapped back into being behind the trio, isolating them in 
the chamber.
	The chamber was 70 meters across, decahedral in shape.  Up, up reached 
the sides, meeting a vault ceiling 25 meters above the floor.  Openings 
like the one Captain just entered could be seen in each wall; and 
forcefields warded them, preventing thoughts of escape.  Muted light 
strips of electric green and off-white cast a dim ambient light, 
sufficient for sight without casting shadows.  Dark niches could not hide 
the presence of silent vyst tactical units, all standing in positions of 
relaxed watchfulness.  A pair of small vysts, no more than knee high, 
scampered across the chamber, pausing to peer at Captain before 
continuing; they disappeared through an overlarge mousehole in the wall.  
At the center of the room rose a cylindrical dais, waist high.  The scene 
was eerily alike one emblazoned in the minds of all Borg drones - the 
node rooms where the Collective's queens were stored.
	The large vyst prodded Captain again, stopping only when they were 
positioned before the dais.
	Far above came the whining of gears, and an animated bust began to 
descend from the ceiling.  Captain internally groaned at the theatrics, 
knowing what was to come next.  The Collective had finally stopped such 
antics after one too many times dropping queens on the floor.  It looked 
good, yes, and never failed to impress some unassimilated schmuck, but it 
was hideously difficult to maintain the equipment.
	The head, neck, and shoulders of the vyst which had undergone spinectomy 
was that of an aged animal.  Her skin was taunt across facial bones; and 
the general shape of the skull itself was dissimilar to the vysts Captain 
had thus far seen, more primitive, less refined.  With a hiss accompanied 
by release of dry ice vapor, a limbless torso rose from storage in the 
dais.  The weaving spine of the bust slid smoothly into the body, 
snapping into place.  Pair by pair, eight legs rose in quick succession, 
locking into the correct body connectors (another reason the Borg had 
discarded this method of queen storage:  it was hardly impressive when 
legs ended up in arm joints, and visa-versa), followed by the tail.
	The vyst opened her eyes and drew in a deep breath.  The climatic build 
up was foiled as she began to cough, spewing twin plumes of dust, 
attesting to the body's disuse.  Hitting herself several times on the 
sternum with one limb major, the spasms were brought under control.
	Smoothly stepping from the dais, limb motors whirling quietly with only 
the faintest of whines, the vyst regally approached Captain.  She was 
shorter than the tactical units, yet projected an air which made her seem 
larger than she truly was.  Neck arched as she silently regarded Captain, 
eyes focused with the sharp gaze of a predator.
	"Does yous slike this body?" asked the queen vyst with a voice more 
mechanical than that utilized by other units, yet somehow quite organic.  
The sibilance of extra esses slurred the words together; and the 'b' was 
less than crisp in pronunciation, expected from a creature which did not 
have lips.
	The vyst cocked her head sideways, then whirled her body, stalking 
several paces away before stopping.  "Yous does not recognize me, does 
yous?  This unit, yous does not recognize."  The vyst tapped her chest 
with one clawed finger of her left limb minor.  "This part of I be 
Luplup.  Its has been a long times, has its not, Captain?  Its is a 
pleasure to find you again, although yous will likely not find this 
meeting so nice.  Welcome."
	Captain stared.  By all rights, the first vyst known as Luplup should 
have been dead to dust for the last five hundred years, yet, improbably, 
here was a unit claiming to be the original.  Captain shook his head.  
"Not possible," he uttered.
	Luplup bared a wicked grin.  Several teeth of the razor sharp set were 
chipped or broken, legacy of a senseless attempt by a young, foolish 
Luplup newly come to sentience to protect herself by biting Captain's 
armored leg.  While Luplup had long had the technology and skills to fix 
the cosmetic damage, she had kept the body's broken enamel as a reminder.  
"Much is possible.  This I have learned.  And yous shall assist me in 
turning another set of impossibilities into realities.  Todays is the 
last days of the Borg, and yous is the key to making Luplup dominant, of 
making Luplup not just Queen, but QUEEN."

	A laser scalpel quietly buzzed.
	Something went unpleasantly squish.
	Captain could do nothing.
	As when he had been captured prior by Luplup, he found himself in a 
maintenance shop specialized in drone surgery.  Unlike his earlier brush 
with the vysts, he was not rendered unconscious; and in fact had the 
distinctly disagreeable experience of remaining awake, but restrained, 
the entire time.
	The medium oval room was large enough to contain a dozen vyst-sized 
slabs organized in a starburst pattern.  Each table was set 40 
centimeters high; and the one to which Captain was strapped was too short 
for his body, evidenced by the fact his legs well overshot the edge.  
When first brought to the room, a complex instrument from a surgically 
phobic person's nightmare had floated in the center near the ceiling.  
Currently it hovered over his head, stabbing light on the top of his 
cranium and occasionally offering tools to the pair of vysts which worked 
there.
	Captain had not gone to the maintenance bay peacefully.  At the first 
hint of resistance in the central Queen's chamber, Luplup had used her 
escort tacticals to shoot him with a paralysis ray.  Even as he fell to 
the floor, limbs stiff, he recognized the weapon as a stun beam used by 
several carnivorous species to shock living prey so as to harvest it 
easier.  The place Captain was subsequently picked up and carried to was 
little different than a food rendering plant, in his opinion.  Tending 
the room had been half a dozen vysts which appeared to be of a tech 
lineage, except they were of the size of the numerous primitive workers 
units, several of whom had carried him to his surgery.  His escort had 
accompanied the group into the room, swelled with the addition of a trio 
more tacticals; and original Luplup had led the way, pacing stately 
beside her prisoner's head.
	Steel impregnated elastic cords had been looped around forehead, 
shoulders, arms, waist, and thighs, securing Captain to the table once he 
had been deposited.  The tacticals at the periphery of the room, those 
few he could see out of the corner of his vision, continued to keep 
weapons trained on him, however, just in case he managed to leap to his 
feet to wreck havoc.  While the stun ray eventually did dissipate, the 
bands served to immobilize him just as well as if Doctor had command 
triggered the appropriate paralysis pathways.
	Then the surgery had begun.
	Queen Luplup moved into Captain's field of view, peering down into his 
face.  "I am almost dones."
	Captain glared at the vyst, the only action he could take.  Whatever she 
was doing to his brain, pathways related to speech and voice were 
involved, rendering him mute.   Luplup, however, seemed to pick up on his 
wordless demand.
	"You wish to know what I is doings, don'ts yous?  I cans sees it in 
yours eyes."  Luplup reached forward with the hand of one limb minor to 
lightly touch the skin near Captain's unaltered eye.  The claws lightly 
dug in, causing blood to run, then were retracted.  "No, no neural 
transceiver for you this time.  I dos learn my lesson, yes.  You once 
scaused my mind to fragment, to become many small Luplups.  I had to hunt 
down all my bad Selves, to kill all those parts of mes.  It was snot 
good."
	The tacticals growled deep in their throats, then silenced.
	"No, it was snot good," continued Luplup.  "You were a very, very bad 
Bad-Mans, then.  I learned.  Now, this original unit is Luplup.  Luplup 
cannot fragment if the part that is Self is held in only one body.  
Luplup has many sub-selves, many underQueens, but none are truly Self and 
none are truly Queen."  The capitalization were obvious.  "All units are 
still I, but none can think or functions without this part of me, without 
this unit of I."  Luplup slapped her sternum with a limb major, eliciting 
the ring of metal on metal.
	Captain blinked, then tried without success to move his arms or legs, to 
test the give of his bonds.  There was none.
	"No, no more neural transceivers for yous.  Luplup is to be mores 
direct, this time.  Pain.  Does yous remember pain?  I install a goad in 
yours brain, coupled with governors.  I learned many, many, many broods 
ago about puppets.  One pulls on a puppet's string and it moves how one 
wants it tos.  You have the permissions I needs to sneak into the 
Bad-Mans network and destroy it from the inside, as yous once tried to do 
to me.  I will plays yous like a puppet.  You will be Luplup's puppet.  
If yous does not dos what I wants, you will be punished.  Bad-Mans have 
hurt Luplup many, many times, and now I will hurt Bad-Mans Borg, and in 
doing so, become QUEEN."
	Luplup withdrew her original, content that her rambling manifesto had 
been delivered.  What she meant by QUEEN, Captain was unsure.  However, 
as the first sharp pangs of a sensation long denied as irrelevant and 
able to be dismissed began to tingle deep in his nerves, he began to 
become slightly worried.  No, he berated himself, pain was irrelevant:  
stimulus-response was pertinent to small beings and not to a drone of the 
Collective.  He was not a puppet to have strings pulled, nor a dog to be 
trained:  he was Borg.

	Queen Luplup bared her broken teeth in a vyst smile as she regarded 
Captain.  In her set of delicate limbs minor she held a device resembling 
the complex controller of an RC airplane, only more so.  Lights blinked 
here and there, and it had an excessive number of toggles and buttons.  
She fingered a switch.
	"Whats are you supposed to say?" asked Luplup.
	Captain gritted his teeth.  "This drone is a Bad-Mans," he muttered.  
His head twitched uncontrollably as he tried to fight his puppeteer.
	{Again,} whispered Luplup's voice in his mind.
	"This. drone. is a. Bad-Mans."
	At this periphery of the Queen chamber, several tacticals clicked their 
teeth together.  "Wrong.  Yous are still fighting me," pronounced Luplup.  
One talon hovered over a big button of bright yellow.
	Captain fixated his attention on the claw, head tic momentarily stilled.  
"I complied," he snarled.
	Queen Luplup snapped her jaws together loudly, teeth gnashing.  "You 
scomply badly.  I wills be discovered.  Punishment."
	Captain fell to the ground in a pain-wracked seizure as the yellow 
button was depressed.

	Captain stared dully at the wall, his mind detached as much as possible 
as his body was manipulated.  He was no stranger to having another pull 
his strings, but when the Greater Consciousness did so, the submission 
felt right.  This was simple violation.
	A monitor had been dragged into the chamber.  Currently, several of 
Luplup's primitive units, whom Captain had simply designated "worker" due 
to their lack of obvious specialization, stood before the screen, 
observing.  On the monitor was the recording of a humanoid teaching dance 
steps.  Luplup was attempting to manipulate Captain's limbs to follow the 
instruction film using her remote control.
	After refusing to help her, Luplup had flipped a switch which 
essentially severed Captain's control of his voluntary muscles below his 
neck.  At least she had tired of bestowing pain, a goad which was well on 
its way to training Captain, despite his desire otherwise.  He had 
forgotten the power of pain; and even those memories which he did retain 
did not do justice to the direct stimulation of the pain centers in his 
brain.  Captain desired to suicide, but even that option was closed to 
him, one of the first things Luplup had carefully disabled during his 
neural surgery.
	"Arm out," muttered Luplup.  "Silly creature, nots enough arms.  Not 
enough limbs."  Luplup appeared to be unaware she was talking aloud to 
herself, the words passed from unit to unit as they echoed original 
Luplup.  Captain's right arm lifted in a less than graceful movement.
	Turning inward, Captain hunted once more among his neural pathways, 
searching for a corridor which would allow him to free himself, or at the 
very least, end it all.

		*	*	*	*	*

	Luplup was escorting the Bad-Man - the Borg, she reminded herself - 
Captain back to the place she had found him, her tacticals Selves running 
freely and her integrator, type I, Self sitting on the skimmer.  She was 
also digging tunnels with worker Selves; and genetically modifying newly 
lain eggs with her technician, type II, Selves; and reclining motionless 
in alcove cradles as dataQueens, a living data depository of grossly 
expanded brain and withered limbs.  She was many places at once, but 
mostly she was centered in her Original Self.
	Usually the organic Original Luplup was stored in a bath of nutrient 
fluids, her flesh, trimmed to its absolute minimum, kept safe from 
dangers which might harm the seat of herSelf, of her soul.  Five hundred 
years ago, Luplup had allowed her central Self to be increasingly spread 
among the newly genetically engineered units of her greater body.  Even 
if Captain had not encouraged the process, she now knew fracturing of her 
mentality had been inevitable as separate specializations gained 
individual outlooks and drives different from other lines.  In a way, the 
Bad-Mans (Borg!) Captain had done her a favor, forcing what was 
essentially a multiple personality disorder to the surface and making her 
deal with her problem.  The solution had been a complete reordering of 
her central Self, the one which retained the Original Luplup body, prior 
to hunting down and destroying all the delusional copies.
	If the Original Luplup was the soul, the main switching board and 
ultimate decision maker for the Body entire, then her underQueen Selves 
performed the cognitive functions.  Much of the logical and illogical 
thinking which comprised Luplup, as it did any being aware of itself, was 
processed by the underQueen caste.  They functioned as primary cognitive 
nexuses for those far-flung sub-broods of herSelf which were hidden on 
planets other than this one.  However, the underQueens were also slaved 
to Original Luplup, mere extensions of her will and would be (were) 
unable function except with the most base instincts without Original 
Luplup to act as guide.  Variations of the underQueen included the 
dataQueen, living archives of all knowledge Luplup knew, and the 
eggQueen, layer of broods from which the Queens were derived.  DataQueens 
and eggQueens did not possess the cognitive abilities of the underQueens.
	Controlled by the underQueens were the myriad of genetic castes.  Luplup 
had long since undergone a self-speciation of her original genone, 
stretching and modifying her genes, a process which slowly continued, to 
produce many forms.  The basic lineages were worker, tactical, 
technician, and integrator, although others did exist, generally kept in 
hibernation storage until needed.
	The workers were the type most similar to the original genome of Luplup.  
The genes were kept as unmodified as possible in order to serve as a 
template for the creation of new castes when necessary, or to determine 
why a change in the latest generation of tactical or technician had been 
found nonviable.  Workers were not surgically altered beyond the required 
basics, serving as general peons, expendable.
	Tacticals were the fighting part of Luplup, specialized for the activity 
although many of her Selves were perfectly able to use talons or pick up 
a weapon.  Representing the largest and heaviest lineage, Luplup 
continued trying to stretch her genome to greater extremes.  Tacticals 
were also generally the most modified, following integrators, with a 
suite of implants and assemblies installed as soon as young reached full 
size.
	Technicians came in three sizes - type I, type II, and type III.  All 
were extremely dexterous, muscular, and sleekly built.  Type I had nearly 
the same height as the tacticals.  These Selves were associated with the 
technical aspects of building and interacting with machines, as well as 
researched new technologies Luplup acquired.  Type II were the same size 
as workers and acted as maintenance for other units and did any 
assimilation related duties.  The smallest, no more than 15 centimeters 
high at the hip, were type III.  Type III selves performed much of the 
same duties as type I, but were able to fit in the very small spaces 
which the larger type could not.
	The lineage which was modified most, both genetically and surgically, 
were the three integrator types.  Type I and type II retained only the 
most basic of autonomic brain functions, just enough to allow breathing 
and keep the heart beating; and type III was little better even though 
that kind of Self could move, if necessary.  Integrators functioned as 
the vyst equivalent of the Borg vinculum, and so movement was not high on 
the list of necessities required for the caste.  Type III's were mobile, 
able to accompany tactical, technician, and worker groups, functioning as 
a booster to connect lesser parts to the nearest underQueen within a 
planetary sphere.  Over the area of a solar system, type II Selves 
maintained linkage of individual Selves to the central reining 
underQueens.  Finally, type III connected far-flung broods to each other 
and to Original Luplup, allowing Luplup to spread herSelf over the volume 
of a quarter of the galaxy.  All integrators had multiple technologies 
embedded in body and brain.  True, Luplup had yet to learn the technology 
that Borg knew, but she would, someday, be able to be anywhere, 
everywhere.
	Perhaps that day would be now.
	All castes were produced by egg laying queens.  The queens, 
noncapitalized, were essentially mobile egg factories which were the 
depositories of the caste's genetic profile.  Theoretically, any unit of 
a particular lineage could lay eggs, but in practice, Luplup used 
stunting hormones such that only a small percentage of a caste could 
actually produce eggs.
	Original Luplup sedately walked the corridors of her den, watching 
herSelf through many pairs of eyes.  Around her mechanical body bustled 
the crowds of workers, technicians, and tacticals which comprised her 
busy body, as well as the slow integrators which glued it all together.  
Luplup knew she should return her Original Self to safe storage, but was 
loathe to do so:  it was not often she exercised this part of herSelf, 
and it was pleasurable.  She rationalized her decision as a requirement 
to stretch little used muscles of what remained of her organic Self, as 
well as a need to make sure her complex mechanical body was in working 
order.
	Several running hours away, in the dead lake bed, Luplup off-loaded 
Captain.  The cube above the clouds would shortly be passing over this 
region of the planet, scanners searching for this lost sub-collective 
member.  With parasite camera in place, as well as suite of pain goad, 
governors, and secondary transceiver, Captain was wired up and suitably 
trained to be Luplup's agent.  Satisfied her plan was proceeding as it 
should, she turned skimmer and began running back to the den.  It would 
not be to have the cube find her Selves in addition to Captain.

************

Here ends Part I of "Old Dog, New Tricks."  Tune into the next story to 
see exactly what new tricks Luplup has learned, and how she plans to put 
them to use.  Has the Captain finally met his match?