If Paramount owns Star Trek and you know it, clap your hands! *clap*clap*
If Decker created Star Traks and you know it, clap your hands! *clap*clap*
If Meneks writes BorgSpace and she stole Happyverse from Butler, and if this disclaimer is complete clap your hands. *clap*clap*
A Trip to the Happy Side, Part II
Last time on Star Traks: BorgSpace -
One sparkling day, Cube #347 attempted to re-establish contact with the Collective using not-so-good methods. The electrifying result flushed the sub-collective to the Happyverse! Joyous fun! In the Happyverse, Borgies were undergoing Party rehabilitation sessions and rebels were plotting to de-happify the Federation of Fun. Meanwhile, following the fallout of Fun War IV, Cap'n Bennie had become the secret shadow lord controlling trillions of adoring subjects via happy beams and the Borgy-derived happifier implant. Cube #347 sub-collective, vastly confused and dealing with too much static cling, ended up in the Fuzzylands where they met their 24th century Borgy counterparts. A whole lot more action-packed story with especially special effects occurred than a summary allows, but to relay such would mean writing Part I all over again. Therefore, no worries...and have a Happy Day! :)
*****
"I just want everyone to be happy. Is that too much to ask for?" rhetorically asked Captain Bennie Sisko, commander of Neat Place Nine and secret shadow ruler of the Federation of Fun. "Are you happy, Mr. Woofie?"
That question was not rhetorical. "Yes, sir, Cap'n Bennie. Of course I'm happy. How could I not be?" Lieutenant Commander Woofie tightly hugged his stuffed targ Mr. Fluffy as he walked beside his commanding officer. The pair were strolling the second level of Neat Place Nine's two story Promenade. Mr. Woofie was anxious: Cap'n Bennie only came up here to consider weighty, potentially unhappy matters.
Bennie stopped at a safety railing to look down upon the busy Promenade main floor. The Cap'n was perhaps a bit taller than the average human, although not overly so; and his build was solid, as expected from one who regularly worked out with weights for muscle tone, not bulk. His skin color was black, as was the facial hair he kept in a neat goatee and moustache with wax-curled ends. The top of his bald pate was painted bright yellow and decorated to resemble the Federation of Fun smiley face insignia.
"True, true, the happifier ensures you stay in an appropriate spectrum of happiness as initially provided by the happy beam," replied Bennie as he leaned on the rail to examine the evening crowd which was jostling to get into Quarky-poo's bar. One potential customer who tried to cut the line was sent skidding face first along the Berber carpet which covered the deck. Ouch, carpet burn. "Still, if you could rid yourself of the happifier and beam effects, would you be happy?" The Cap'n turned to face the lieutenant commander.
Woofie automatically squashed Mr. Fluffy to his chest until the stuffed animal was a cute, furry pancake. The six member Changeling bodyguard, although a polite five meters away, was staring intently with eyes that ranged one to nine per individual. "After Picard died," began Woofie carefully, his high-pitched cartoony voice more squeaky than normal, "you were the only one who would take me in. Only you. The Happymaster and Lisa-Love were too busy tearing the Federation apart. In the end, only you had the compassion, the will, the intelligence, and the firepower to fix the unhappy mess those idiots had made." Pause. "And you gave me the Defiant Defiant to play with too."
Cap'n Bennie's smile grew wider with each compliment Woofie delivered. "Excellent. I love underlings who aren't afraid to fawn upon me, yet manage to avoid the realm of outright brown-nosing. So, on to other matters. Do you think we are ready to invade the wormhole and provide peace and joy to all civilizations on the other side?"
"If you had asked me a couple of days ago," said the Klingon, Mr. Fluffy slowly returning to a more targish shape, "I would have said yes. The fleets are rebuilt and expanding, our more frisky neighbors have largely been pacified and happifiers installed, and even the Happymaster was appropriately leashed. But now...not only is Dillon acting out again, but the probe I sent to check on the incident Captain Bobby-sox reported turned out to be /two/ Borgy cubes." A pair of fingers were held up in emphasis. "/And/, to make matters worse, they were with a known rebel ship."
A solemn nod was Cap'n Bennie's response. "Aye. That summary-a-diddly knocks the nail on the head. Rebels and Borgy have to be taken care of before the invasion, else we may have great unhappiness coming out of the Fuzzylands. However, I, your Cap'n, have a plan. But we'll need appropriate bait."
Woofie nodded encouragement. From the ground floor arose cheers as two not-quite-sober (Quarky-poo only served real alcohol) individuals leapt at each other in a comically uncoordinated fist fight.
Cap'n Bennie smiled slyly. "I think we can take care of both problems at once." He raised his voice as he turned to point at one of his Changeling bodyguard, "Bring the Happymaster to me. Take him to the 'special' room. Tell him I may be awhile. If he complains, give him tea and biscuits. If he still complains, tell him that the tea was laced with HappyLax and that each unhappy word is a five minute wait for the bathroom."
The Changeling saluted, flowed into the form of an eagle, then flew away.
Bennie peered over the railing and grinned at the fight. At least one bloody nose was in evidence. "I just love it when people are having fun and being happy."
*****
The celebration in partymatrix node 023 was in full swing. Lights flashed in time with the heavy, primal beat of the music while carbon dioxide fog half obscured writhing figures on the dance floor. In the background a boldly sung karaoke song could be heard, at odds with, but not distracting from, the node's primary music. The cheers from a just concluded zero-gee mud wrestling match momentarily overwhelmed the beat before being swept away by the throbbing melody. The snacks and drinks buffet was an especially popular destination.
Activity participants (except at the food table) were an equal mixture alt-Cube #347 Borgy drones and rebels/refugees. Captain ranked the experience within the top five of the sub-collective's surreal category, above the goldfish cracker incident, but below the Director/BorgSpace-twentieth-century-Terra-TV-show episode.
"Can this noise be turned down a bit?" shouted Captain Singer of the rebel captured USS Funship Explorer.
"What?" mouthed Borgy alt-Cube #347 consensus monitor and facilitator MC.
"Can! You! Turn! Down! This music! So! That! We don't! Have! To! Shout! At each! Other?!" screamed Rebecca again. Her face was turning red with the effort.
"What?" asked MC a second time, followed by "Just a moment..." A low-grade forcefield consolidated. Inside the volume, party sounds were reduced to a muffled roar. "You were saying?"
Singer, who had drawn in her breath in preparation to bellow her question, noisily exhailed. "Never mind. That is much better."
MC nodded. "Good, good."
The forcefield enclosed a table around which stood - the node /was/ Borgy, and they had designed furniture for those of a flexibility-challenged nature - the primary conspirators of the upcoming rebel raid on Neat Place Nine. While drones were outnumbered by those unassimilated, mental linkages meant MC was an adequate representative for the Borg Collective and Captain sufficed for Cube #347. Small, individual beings were much less efficient in the information dissemination and decision-making department, even when compared to Borg (and Borgy) imperfectly assimilated. For the rebels, most important were Rebecca with her first officer ex-Colonel Martini Lazlo, and Lisa-Love Beck with her second-in-command Jaroch. Six other rebel captains and their officer back-ups were present, but they were, in the end, just so much potential cannon fodder and, thus, unimportant.
"How is the party?" asked MC, courteous host for the Collective.
"The hot salsa needs more kick," said Lazlo.
"That deficiency will be correctly," replied MC, head cocked slightly. "Proper culinary success is a challenge for us."
Spoke up a nameless captain, "I could use some more blue cheese dressing for my buffalo wings. And Stevey wants a beer refill." He was rewarded with a sparkly green transporter beam providing the requests.
"Anything else?" inquired MC once more. The Borgy drone was wearing a very small cowboy hat. "Before we continue onto business, Rebecca Singer, we have been informed by ensign Charleese Watson of your vessel that she desires to join the Party. She had been taken for a bodacious assimilation. Do not look for her at roll call tomorrow."
"Damn it!" exclaimed Singer. "Could you at least give me five minutes to talk 'em out of it /before/ you go Borgy them? How do I know that one of your drones didn't get Watson so royally drunk she didn't know what she was agreeing to? Assimilation isn't like a tattoo, you know." She pounded a fist on the table, causing drinks to splash.
MC was not impressed by the display. He stiffly smiled. "She was quite lucid. You may review the record of the request at your convenience." Pause. "Rejoice, another voice joins the Party!" A dimly heard applause of metal against flesh could be heard through the forcefield. The party continued.
"Enough irrelevancies," interrupted Captain into the small talk.
The creak of leather on leather signified Lisa-Love "Lady" Beck shifting posture. Unlike the other non-cyborgs present, she was not dressed in the gray and black rebel uniform. Instead, Lisa-Love sported tight black pants paired with a looser vest that left her arms exposed. A holster - weapons were not allowed - suggested a phaser and whip combo normally complemented the outfit. "Like, what the weird twin Borgy says, let's talk." An incongruous piece of gum was snapped.
"I am Borg, not Borgy," corrected Captain as he stared at the woman. The sub-collective had once met the Beck of its own universe. This version was quite disturbing.
If the Borg stare had any effect, it was not noticable. Captain was dismissed with a wave. "Like, whatever." Snap.
Jaroch cleared his throat. "I apologize for the Lady. She's in a leather-and-Valley-Girl phase right now. The electroshock treatments are helping." A sigh. "This is the worse case of happy beam withdrawal on record - five years and counting."
{This woman commands a starship and is one of the rebel leaders?} questioned Second, reflecting the shock of the sub-collective, only much more scathingly.
{Different universe, different rules,} reminded Captain. Aloud, "Irrelevant talk. We are wasting time."
MC sighed. "Party pooper. You are correct, though. If everyone will look to the monitor? You have all had sufficient time to evaluate the material and contribute to the plan. Therefore, this will only be a review." On the bulkhead adjacent to the table, a Borgy screen flickered to life. The display was green-tinted and slightly fish-eyed, artifacts which had been (finally) corrected in the Borg universe during the Hive era.
"Neat Place Nine," said MC. "We had to use a picture from the Neat Place Nine promotional brochure 'The Happiest Wormhole Gateway' because everything else we have is cluttered with ships." The main body of the station vaguely resembled a wagon wheel with only three spokes radiating from hub to rim. At each juncture of spoke and rim a docking pylon pair gracefully arched, one above and one below. A single Galaxy-class vessel parked at the end of one pylon to provide a sense of scale. The paint scheme was bright yellow with not-quite random splashes of purple and red.
Captain squinted at the display, engaging ocular filters to remove the omnipresent green tinge. "Other than color, a standard Cardassian station," he said.
Somewhere a bell dinged. "Give the drone a prize!" A party cracker materialized in front of Captain. Continued MC, "Yes, a Cardassian station, which means lots of armor plating and a large number of weapons. However, the station is not our goal. We, the Borgy, need bodies and you rebels need ships."
Singer muttered something under her breath about her crew already being poached. She was ignored.
"The war-games Funfleet consists primarily of Ebullients, Galaxies, and Defiants, with a few other classes thrown in." Photos and fly-bys of each vessel type were displayed. "Once every couple of days, the fleet gathers at Neat Place Nine in-between bouts of mock-killing each other. We calculate an 85.3% chance of this happening in two cycles. At that time, we will sweep in, grab what we can, and zoom away."
A new slide appeared on the display, this one a complicated mess of X's, O's, and arrows. "The Borgy will commit two Comedy-class cubes, including Cube #347, for the assault, and a Club-class cube to carry our booty home." Three of the icons were replaced, two by vessels Captain recognized to be Exploratory-class and one by a Cargo-class cube. "Our new Unhappyverse Borg friends will hold their cube in reserve. They have their own agenda, but I'm sure they won't mind providing support if necessary." Another X was substituted, this time by Borg Cube #347.
The sub-collective most definitely had their own scheme involving the Funfleet flagship Secondprize II and a certain transreality drive. The Borgy understood and only asked that casualties be kept to the Federation of Fun side. Oh, and that the crew of the Secondprize II be surrendered to be assimilated into the Party.
Singer narrowed her eyes at Captain. Lazlo did not appear to be reassured at MC's statement. Small beings and their grudges...a ship is attacked once, assimilation threatened, and one is never forgiven. No matter: forgiveness was irrelevant.
MC continued, "Accompanying Borgy assets will be rebel ships. Explorer is the only modern warship. Even with Borgy upgrades, most of your vessels will be vaporized if you try a direct assault. We strongly suggest you remain near Borgy shields and base your harassment runs from there."
Captain had reviewed the rebel "fleet," or, rather, Weapons and his hierarchy had. Other than Explorer, the ships were retrofit freighters and tugs, with a couple of luxury cruise ships. Inadequate against any of the Funfleet expected to be encountered. The exception was Beck's command, the Enterprise, an exact full-scale replica from the Kirk era, stolen from the Fun Times History Museum of Rigel IV; and although it was "modern" in age, it was very antique in material and construction.
There were grumbles, although none too vigorous, at MC's pronouncement that most rebel ships could not survive the thick of battle.
On the screen, icons went into motion. An improbably perfect raid commenced, with Federation vessels captured and no rebel or Borgy casualties. The likelihood of such a scenario was less than 5%, but neither Borgy nor Borg felt the revelation was a relevant addition to the conversation.
MC panned the gathering. "As a reminder, /everyone/ should be wearing their unhappifier necklaces. While it would be most efficient to allow us to install the implant in your cranium, this option has been met with resistance."
"But, like, my necklace is /so/ ugly. A big ball on a chain? Not /even/ retro. I could pull off retro. I can't do Borgy, and especially not ugly Borgy," complained Lisa-Love as she twirled a lock of hair around one finger.
MC locked his stare on Beck. "The necklaces protect you from happy beam effects. The Borgy are adapted. With a near 100% certainty, the Federation of Fun assets will attempt to Happy the raiding force."
Jaroch shook his head. "I'll make sure she wears it."
Attention shifted to the Yynsian. "Do so." The screen was blanked. "And with that, the party quotient of this sub-collective has plummeted to critical levels. Too much seriousness. We are instructed to have fun and I must comply. The salsa recipe has been adjusted. Enjoy yourselves and remember that if you wish to permanently join the Party, just talk to any drone." The forcefield was banished and MC disappeared in a transporter beam.
A squeak of leather and "Come on, Lazlo, I want to check upon Watson's 'story'," were the last things Captain heard before he returned to Cube #347.
*****
Lisa-Love lounged on the comfy sofa she had ordered moved into the Enterprise's quaint captain's office. Maybe her vessel wasn't up to the standards of Explorer, but it /was/ a lot better than Captain Freckle's garbage scow. She looked up as the door opened, admitting Jaroch.
"Lady," said Jaroch, "you called?"
Lisa-Love snapped her gum thoughtfully. "I think I'm going to instruct all male crewmembers to go shirtless and oil their torsos. That would be ultra-yummy. Not Pat'oc, though. He's, like, totally overweight and gross and everything. How'd he end up on /my/ ship anyway? I have specific standards, you know."
Jaroch internally sighed: looking after his Lady, while enjoyable, could occasionally be a trial. "We did need a Chief Engineer who understood Enterprise's replica engines and knew the difference between a dilithium crystal and quartz. You liked his accent as well."
"Oh, right."
"Shall I pass on your order, ma'am?"
Lisa-Love removed the gum from her mouth and absently stuck it on the wall next to several dozen other wads. A new stick of gum was inserted into her mouth. "No, no. That's not why I called you here." She reclined on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. "This raid will be, like, my best chance ever. These rebels are oh-so-yesterday. The Borgy are even worse. If they could, they'd sit on their butts until, like, the universe died or big hair came back in fashion or something. Good thing there are people who listen to intelligence and beauty and sexiness. Hopefully this raid - totally /my/ idea - will give me a chance to blow this popsicle stand to bigger and better things."
Jaroch hummed thoughtfully. "I understand. Will I be coming with you?"
Lisa-Love rolled her eyes as she popped her gum. "Of course. Duh. We can talk about this more later."
Jaroch nodded. "Well, Lady, maybe it is time for a chair session? The leather is okay, but the Valley Girl speech is a bit...not the you we are trying to project. The crew is also starting to, well, not quite /complain/, but inquire about the gum wads they are scraping out of the oddest places." He kept his tone soothing, non-confrontational.
"If you insist," said Lisa-Love as she rolled to her feet from the couch, leather protesting. "I do so, like, love that tingly feeling of electricity. Yum."
*****
Captain Bobby-sox was nervous as he paced the small bridge of HappyDays. Sure, the captain's manual everyone received upon promotion to the rank said that one must remain outwardly cucumber cool at all times, but surely there were expectations. Sitting dead in space with active scanners turning his ship, his crew, and, most importantly, himself into a big target /had/ to rate high on the exceptional situation scale.
Today, due to serious uncertainty, Bobby-sox was wearing the standard Federation of Fun uniform, although he had added one embellishment in the form of a cute beret with smiley face. As he stopped pacing to adjust his hat, the bridge music currently playing in the background caught his attention.
"Ensign Sara-wara," Bobby-sox called to the woman at the Internal Environment console, interrupting her chat-board conversation, "put on a different music. Vulcan instrumentals are to precise, too not fun."
Sara-wara scooted around on her bean-bag chair to face the captain. "Anything in particular, Big Bob?"
"Something nature-ish?"
"Yes, sir. Happy to help you out." Of course, Sara-wara could not be anything but happy, happy beam sessions and happifier ensuring that perpetual state.
Gentle rain sounded from the bridge speakers. Very soothing. Bobby-sox knew he would have to use the bathroom in five minutes. He returned to pacing.
Captain Bobby-sox was unsure how his current assignment related to the war-games, and was becoming increasingly sure it did not. The HappyDays and four other Defiant-class vessels whose captains had drawn the low card in a deck cut were arranged in a broad arc seven light years from Neat Place Nine with the apex pointed to the Fuzzylands. The rest of the Funfleet, mock attackers and defenders, were at or near the station. Bobby-sox's only instruction, other than "Go here," was to perform continuous deep subspace scans and report to Neat Place Nine any anomalies.
At the next turn of his circuit, Bobby-sox re-re-adjusted his beret. From the pressure building in his bladder, that second cup of breakfast coffee was increasingly apparent to have been a bad idea.
"Contact, sir! Contact!" squealed Lieutenant Kalli-cute at the Sensors/Science-Is-Fun station. "I have a contact!"
"Well, make sure it gets to lost-and-found, then," said Bobby-sox absently.
"No, sir! /Sensor/ contact, Big Bob! Four subspace signatures originating from the Fuzzylands and zooming for Neat Place Nine! I think they are at transwarp! What should I do?!"
The happifier in Bobby-sox's brain, already reacting to unhappy bladder discomfort, sensed the developing depression associated with the unjoyful sensor news. Only Borgy had transwarp, which meant the incident a couple of days ago was not the spatial anomaly induced hallucination his Counseling session had insisted upon. The happifier beeped a warning deep in his mind. "Lieutenant, do the owners of the signatures see us? Are they changing course?"
"No, Big Bob! They are ignoring us!" Lt. Kalli-cute's exclamation points would be present at a funeral eulogy.
As the bridge music crescendoed into a torrential downpour, Bobby-sox's personal bladder emergency reached unHappy red alert levels. "Someone, go get Commander Loxy from the teddy bear picnic on the holodeck so she can do second-in-command things on the bridge. And...someone else, call Neat Place Nine and tell them there are uncute and unextinct Borgies heading in their direction." Pause. Squirm. "I'll be in the potty for the next couple of minutes."
The happifier would be much easier to appease if one major source of distraction was made happy.
*****
{We can still go back and destroy those five sentry ships,} commented Weapons with more than a hint of impatient jitter. {We are cloaked: we would never be missed.} The head of the weapons hierarchy was very unhappy, or as much as Borg were allowed that particular emotion. A small-scale war was happening, and Exploratory-class Cube #347 (with all its advanced offensive weaponry) was side-lined.
Technically, the Borg cube and sub-collective were being held in cloaked reserve, but Weapons had never even one for semantics, and even less so for prudent tactics. It did not help that the main battle was less than thirty kilometers distant, adjacent to Neat Place Nine. As expected, the Federation of Fun ships were resisting capture and impression.
The Federation war-games Funfleet, that of which was present, consisted of fifty-three vessels of various tonnages. At one end of the spectrum were the small, yet agile, Defiant-classes, all of which had names which began with "Happy." Spaces were optional. Thus far spotted were "HappyTrails," "Happy Birthday," and Happy-Go-Lucky." At the other end of the spectrum were the large (relatively speaking, when one's normal comparison was a Borg cube) Ebullient-classes. The Ebullient design was reminiscent of a Sovereign-class, but with an additional pair of warp nacelles and a broader saucer. The blueprints had supposedly been stolen from Cube #347's native reality. Whereas Borg history recognized the ship as a minor, unsuccessful footnote, here the "Fiesta Mode" had taken on a whole new meaning. The Ebullients were few, but they packed a punch.
Unfortunately, one particular Ebullient-class by the name of Secondprize II was not immediately in evidence. Of all the Funfleet vessels, Secondprize II was guaranteed to have the transreality drive which would be able to send the sub-collective back to its native reality (the temporal displacement was a secondary problem). Intensive scans continued.
Normally, a mere fifty-three Federation-style ships, even including the six capital Ebullients, would have no chance against a pair of Exploratory-class cubes. That equation appeared to only be applicable to Borg, however. These...were not Borg, but Borgy; and the cubes were Comedy-class, not Exploratory-class. The Borgy MC had implied that assimilating offensive and defensive systems was not a priority, but what exactly such had meant had not been apparent until now.
The two Borgy cubes (the Club-class largely remained out of the battle theater) were barely holding their own against the Funfleet. Admittedly, "disable and capture" was a more difficult task than "smash and destroy," especially against a resisting target. However, that part of the grid tracking the Borgy cubes was reporting massive shield failure cascades out of proportion to the energies observed; and the disruptors and cutting beams were only half strength of that an equivalent Borg cube of the era. On the other hand, the laser system made excellent 3-D renditions of plump ballerina hippopotami wearing party hats; and the firework torpedoes, useless against enemy shields, illuminated the battle with a celebratory air.
The rebel ships, even the antique Enterprise replication, displayed a better grasp of tactics, even considering the current strategy of hit-and-run-away-really-fast.
{Another one,} noted Sensors forwarding a background datastream which registered a non-damaging impact to sensor grid section #12 and adjacent hull plates. That was the /third/ incident; and 80 of 152 was offering excellent odds on a possible fourth. The Federation was attempting the sneak-the-runabout-through-shields trick, but kept running nose first into a cloaked Cube #347.
If any of the Funfleet had been paying attention - of course, who expects a vessel as large as a Borgy cube to have a cloak? - they would have noticed an odd volume where misaimed munitions abruptly halted.
And speaking of cloak.... {Status?} inquired Captain to Delta. The Borg version of cloak was energy-hungry, flakey, and tended to fail at the most inappropriate times. Although the Greater Consciousness would never admit to an inferiority complex, the reason for incomplete adaptation had much to do with the Collective's attempt to show Peach that anything Colors could do, the Collective could do better. Peach continued to win this particular stealth technology war.
Answered Delta, {The primary cloak subsystems are beginning to degrade faster than we can replace blown elements. Secondary systems are starting to take the load. Estimation to failure: 8.3 minutes.} Next to cube regeneration, Delta greatly disliked the cloak and its associated maintenance headaches.
Captain acknowledged the update, then returned to general consensus monitor and facilitator duties. The recent termination of 8 of 8 due to injuries had increased the Hierarchy of Eight burden, and would continue to do so until a drone with the proper mental fortitude was transfered into the slot. Standing in his nodal intersection, surrounded by the soft outlines of holographic windows, he was a statue. Head shifted slightly as the sensor hierarchy registered two items: the exit of the five Defiant-class sentries from warp, followed by the appearance of Secondprize II. The Funfleet flagship was /finally/ joining the battle.
{Good,} said Delta, {we can disengage the cloak.}
{And something will get blown up!} added Weapons eagerly. He was not particular if the target was Federation, rebel, or Borgy.
Happiness? What was happiness? Happiness (or at least its illicit bastard off-spring hedonism) was a beach on a resort world, mildly alcoholic drink in one hand with the other arm wrapped around the waist of the human Playbunny of the Year. There would be fireworks, lots of them, lighting the sky as the sun dropped over the horizon, only to be replaced by a luscious full moon. The sand would be just so...
"Captain Big Bob?"
...not too coarse, but not that get-in-every-crevice sugar stuff, neither. Also...
"Wake up, supreme sir. We are about to come out of warp."
...there would be no crew, no scary battles, no second officer present to force him to leave his personal, Counselor-approved happy place.
Captain Bobby-sox snapped out of his doze, then instantly regretted it as the crick in his neck protested. Upon his assumption of the HappyDays command, he /knew/ he should have insisted the interior decorator install a comfortable recliner for the command chair instead of the regulation inflatable chair.
"Is Big Bob awakey-wakey?" inquired Commander Loxy, her Vulcan feature filled with compassion and concern. The Vulcans had become one extremely messed up race, first happy beamed until happiness was the only logical pursuit, then installed with happifiers.
"I'm awake. I'm awake," Bobby-sox said, wincing at his second officer's loud tie-dyed shirt. He sighed, adjusted his beret to proper jauntiness, then put a smile on his face and jolly thoughts in his head as his happifier rumbled a silent warning. While the nap-time beach would be a happy place to be, he was even more happy to perform his Funfleet duty to valiantly throw himself and his crew into a futile battle which would ultimately lead to his extinction amid a gloriously pretty ball of flame. The happifier was satisfied.
The lieutenant currently manning helm spun the steering wheel as HappyDays smoothly exited warp, followed on her heels by the other four sentry vessels.
On the screen, Neat Place Nine was at the edge of the battle which took center stage. Most of the war-games Funfleet was present, swarming two Borgy cubes. One of the humongous Club-class cubes was rapidly retreating from the fracas, a scorched Galaxy-class Federation ship caught in a tractor beam. Ominously, Borgy #4, to be matched with transwarp wake #4, was not present. Several rebel ships were assisting the Borgies. It was difficult to tell which side, if either, was winning.
At tactical, Lieutenant Kaluhaluha practically vibrated, "Fun, fun, fun! This will be much more exciting than pretending to blow things up! So many lights on my console! Who shall be the first target?"
"I don't know," replied Bobby-sox, sleepiness gone. "Is Secondprize II out there?"
"No sir!" squealed Kalli-cute. "No Secondprize II transponder! The Defiant Defiant is available!"
"Well, call them, then, or Neat Place Nine. Ask for instructions. We'll make this situation most happy if we go where we are most needed." For once, Bobby-sox was glad to be commanding a small ship: he was a much smaller potential target.
Said Lt. Kalli-cute, "Sir! Do I getta lollipop?! Or an ice cream?! Secondprize II has just appeared and is hailing /everyone/!"
"Commander Loxy, give the lieutenant an orange lollipop." The pronouncement was greeted by a near ultrasonic squeak of joy. "And put the hail on screen, someone."
The viewscreen split horizontally, squashing the battle to the lower half while displaying a very disproportionate and unflattering picture of Happymaster Dillon in the upper.
"All is good...your Happymaster and Supreme Commander is here."
"All is good...your Happymaster and Supreme Commander is here."
Lisa-Love Beck slapped the unpadded armrest of the very uncomfortable original reproduction (including authentical fake Kirk butt cheek imprints) Enterprise command chair. "Like, about freaking time. That half-Borgy imbecile has, like, been cowering someplace, I bet." She aggressively snapped her gum.
"Probably," said Jaroch mildly from Lisa-Love's right where he was using the back of a console to keep himself on his feet given the general lack of chairs on the bridge.
Lisa-Love turned her head, causing near one meter Pippi Longstocking braids to swing around and forcing Jaroch to duck. Unfortunately, the most recent shock therapy session had retained Valley Girl and substituted leather for outrageous hair and patched overall dress. "Not probably, reality!" Hair swung back to original position. "Everyone, including the Borgy, are, like, paused right now to listen to his drivel. Time for my ultimate plan to capture the Happymaster. When I'm done with him, he'll quite 'happily' declare /me/ Happymaster. Then I'll rule the Federation of Fun, smash the pitiful Borgies and rebels, and /finally/ be in charge of a better ship than this antique."
Jaroch queried, "And me, Lady?"
"Yes, yes," Lisa-Love waved a hand, "as we discussed, you can be Emperor, or Empress, or whatever."
Jaroch smiled widely.
For all the mutinous talk and villainous revealing of plans, the other rebels on the bridge did not protest. Lisa-Love had been very careful in hand-picking her crew, down to the least cabana-boy, selecting only those who, for whatever reason, had a fanatical devotion to their Lady. Some had been severely confused upon de-happification, others were victims of her Playstation days, and a few were simply highly ambitious and saw the rebellion as a dead end.
Lisa-Love stood up and pointed. "Okay, everyone. Like, it's time to put plan Beck Beta into effect. Let's go steal Mr. Borgy-face Dillon over there."
"Yes, Lady!" was the answering shout.
{That action is not tactically sound,} voiced Weapons as Enterprise left the Borgy halo of influence in which the rebels were basing their harassment activities. {Calculations indicate all rebel vessels would be required to successfully defeat an Ebullient-class Funfleet ship.}
The Enterprise did not travel very far before it was lanced by a tractor beam from alt-Cube #347. Due to the fact that Borgy technology was augmenting rebel shields, the tractor was able to pass unscathed for a secure lock upon hull. Sensors reported tightbeam communication between Enterprise, Explorer, and Borgy cube, but a combination of angle, distance, and disruptive electromagnetic radiation prevented eavesdropping.
Captain refocused the sub-collective upon their goal. {Prepare to enter combat. Target is Secondprize II. Weapons, capture the target. Leave it unharmed. You may destroy other targets, but preference is Federation over rebel. Assimilation and weapons hierarchies, once the vessel is secure, assimilate the crew; those individuals we do not need we will transfer to the Borgy.} The string of orders was less directives than sub-collective stream-of-consciousness as routed through Captain. Secondary and tertiary streams examined weapons status, maintenance reports, power inventories, and the twenty most effective ways to rid a plant lice infestation from a container garden.
Cube #347 slowly spun into a defensive rotation as impulse was engaged. Weapons lock-outs were abolished and targets prioritized, appraised by command and control for suitability, and acquired. The cloak was dropped. An auxiliary core was unidled to strengthen shields.
Captain focused on the screen with Secondprize II, the target outlined in a red aura.
"'Don't be so hasty, boy,' I doth quote from Grandmother's Adages, chapter 18, verse 3," said DEVIL as its caterpillar avatar interposed itself between Captain and the holoscreen. The physical maneuver was mirrored in the dataspaces, snapping Captain's focus and sending ripples of temporary confusion through the sub-collective.
{Go away, program,} replied Captain internally as he overrode the emitter the AI was using, banishing the caterpillar.
DEVIL, however, would not be so easily dismissed, reappearing within the holoscreen and blotting out the tactical view. "Thou must listen to me. The probability wave thou rideth willth not collapse in thou favor. Thou must wait to achieve thy goal." Several hands waved frantically.
Captain turned ninety degrees to his right, initializing a new tactical view. Wards were placed around the stream to prevent the AI's intrusion. "Success is 97.3% assured, given the primitive nature of this era's technology compared to this cube. There is 2.2% chance Weapons hierarchy will 'accidentally' destroy the target; and the final 0.5% is split amid increasingly improbable events." Ten kilometers from the battle's fluid parameter, and none seemed to have noticed the looming Borg cube.
Holographic cigar smoke enveloped Captain's head, causing loss of visual acuity. "Glory be, I be able to skim the probabilities, remembereth? Now not be-eth the best of times for thou. Let me coordinate thou activities to best effect," pled DEVIL's voice. "Forsooth, at least listeneth to the sayings of the Happymaster."
The omnidirectional hail from Secondprize II had been dismissed to far background consideration when it became apparent Happymaster Dillon was a rather unsightly small being with megalomaniac tendencies and the inability to present a purposeful speech that did not ramble overlong. Probabilities were high that any competent speechwriters had long since been disposed. DEVIL forced the audio-visual feed to the sub-collective's forefront.
"...and, finally, I, Happymaster Dillon of the Federation of Fun and your jolly friend bring you allies to crush Borgies and rebels once and for all!"
{Sensors reports multiple [purple] contacts,} informed Sensors. A datastream accompanied the insectoid's remark, detailing tentative capabilities based on initial scans.
From the sensor shadow of Neat Place Nine and Bajor materialized a small armada of vessels. They were of multiple types, all non-Federation, many of them matching historical configuration associated with First Federation era Gamma Quadrant. Dominion(er) styles were most prevalent, hulls painted a shocking purple, with window filters and warp drive additives taking the color motif perhaps a bit too far.
The weapons hierarchy continued to radiate confidence as the first Federation vessel was targeted with a hard lock. High yield quantum torpedoes were launched. Of course, the weapons hierarchy would be confident regardless of the reality of the situation.
Captain dismissed DEVIL's concern as the Funfleet finally noticed Borg cube and began to react. Weapons hierarchy assurance was dominating the sub-collective's stance. The weapons were pitiful, barely shivering shields adapted to conflict which included Colors, Second Federation bio-armored ships, and singularity-based torpedoes. "We will acquire our goal. Our technology is superior. Resistance is futile."
"But," tried DEVIL again.
{Go away, program.}
DEVIL sighed as he faded from Captain's nodal intersection. ::Just remember that I did trieth to warn ye of impending doom.:: The AI quietly whistled a 'happier side of death' refrain as it wormed itself into the dataspace nooks and crannies it called home.
{Boom,} said Weapons with satisfaction as the first Federation Funfleet target exploded.
Woofie grimaced as his tactical officer reported the destruction of another of Cap'n Bennie's secret Peace Fleet by the impossible Borgy cube. The Peace Fleet had temporarily halted the cube's advance, but only due to sheer numbers. Woofie was loathe to ask for the reserves to be committed. Even the most powerful tri-cobalt device barely made an impact; and the offensive weaponry from the cube was several magnitudes higher than any previously encountered Borgy ship. It /had/ to be a prototype, Borgy finally switching from Party technologies to those that could actually do some damage.
Meanwhile, the two normal Borgy cubes were presenting a show come to be expected from Fun War IV. There had been a baffling incident with the reproduction Enterprise Woofie had heard had been stolen from some history museum somewhere, but the offending rebel had been passed to the larger Club-class, along with a total of three captured Funfleet ships. Now it seemed as if all except the super Borgy cube were in the initial stages of disengaging.
Woofie was under orders to not allow that to happen.
"Cap'n Bennie," said Woofie to Bennie Sisko on the viewscreen, "the joyful diversion you skillfully concocted seems to be working; and the happy beam barges are nearly in place." Pause. "I don't mean to cause offense, superior shadow lord, but is this wise? Maybe the rebels might be affected by the happy beam, but surely any remnant Borgy have adopted." Woofie unconsciously hugged his stuffed targ.
On the viewscreen, Cap'n Bennie frowned. For the occasion, he had put on his best happy clown paint, but under his painted smile was a downturned mouth. "I'll ignore your doubt, Mr. Woofie. Even if all we happy are rebels, that'll be one less thing to worry about for our eventual Gamma Quadrant invasion. Besides, once the rebels have been properly outfitted with happifiers, I'll make sure the Controller has them on their knees joyfully surrendering all the Borgy secrets they know."
Woofie smiled slightly, "As you say, Cap'n Bennie."
At tactical, Lt. Commander Arty-farty gleefully interrupted, "Excuse me, sirs, but all tugs report that the barges are in position. Industrial happy beams are deployed and ready to rock and roll."
Cap'n Bennie's image lifted an eyebrow in voiceless instruction.
"Mr. Arty-farty," commanded Woofie, "tell the barge crews that now would be a most super excellent and a half time to fire."
"Party on!" agreed the tactical officer.
Many actions and way too many sub-plots mixed with a dash too many characters: a God-view is required.
Barges carrying part of the happy beam network normally installed at the wormhole terminus are positioned near Neat Place Nine, above and below the volume of battle. Great dishes - modified deflectors - stud the sides of the large oblong boxes, each one sparkling the blue-violet of suppressed energies. Computers finalize angles and dispersal patterns as power output from warp cores mounted on the barges spike.
On the Enterprise, Lisa-Love throws a hissy fit tantrum that leaves several bridge personnel mildly concussed by her hair. The Borgy multivoice, unimpressed, continues its monologue on the virtues of partying nice together.
Cap'n Bennie picks his nose, stares at the booger, then eats it, unaware that he is still on the Defiant Defiant's main viewscreen.
Three Funfleet ships have been captured by the Borgy, but retreat is problematical. The problem is not the Federation swarm, but rather a difficulty originating from Comedy-class Cube #2234. Within the Borgy Collective, MC and his imperfect sub-collective are attempting to convince their opposites that now is not the best time to raise party quotients depressed from the seriousness of the raid. The Battle of the Karaoke Machines will have to wait until return to Partymatrix 001.
Rebecca Singer wonders why the hell the Borgy haven't given the order to flee; and Explorer can't leave until the cubes do. Unfortunately, all hails are being met with a busy signal and a video propaganda option to learn why all small beings should leave the cares of the universe behind and join the best Party around.
Happymaster Dillon uses his Happy powers to lethally wedgy yet another speechwriter as initial response polls suggest his speech was not universally beloved by all. He ignores the fact that he had added to and/or changed the entire speech such that only two words were as they were originally composed.
Cube #347 destroys a trio of purple ally vessels, finally wedging open a volume large enough to allow continuation of advancement. Secondprize II will be within tractor range in thirty seconds. Capacitors are charged for emission of a directed dampening field pulse to more easily secure the target.
On the HappyDay's darkened bridge, Captain Bobby-sox leads his crew in a happy sing-a-long of old Terran campfire songs, all Counselor approved. His ship is among those held by the Club-class cube's tractor beams. Don't worry! Be happy! The happifier is banishing apprehension and making everyone /very/ happy, with help of recreational drugs requisitioned from medical.
Woofie does his best to ignore Cap'n Bennie's booger eating antics, throwing Mr. Fluffy with unerring accuracy at science officer Miss P'tahaha when she threatens to snigger. The Neat Place Nine feed abruptly disappears.
Everyone caught up? Thoroughly confused? Annoyed by the present tense active voice? Good! Now, where's the switch to turn off the God-view...?
An unknown energy field washed over Cube #347's hull, saturating the battle zone. Irrelevant. The local technologies were no match for advanced Borg equipment.
Target: Secondprize II.
Optimal tractor range attained.
Acquired.
Locked.
Initiate...happiness!
A big smile stretched Captain's face as Cube #347's impulse engines cut, leaving the ship to drift on the present vector. By a mere fifty meters Secondprize II missed becoming a cosmic bug smear. No worries! All holographic screens faded from existence in Captain's nodal intersection. Defensive spin was halted, shields lowered, weapons idled. A pretty purple ship detonated a photon torpedo against hull armor, barely scratching it. Captain...giggled.
Second skipped in from the alcove tier. He stopped, then spun in an awkward pirouette. "I/we don't know what is wrong with me/us, but I/we don't care!" He held out an artificial limb to Captain.
Captain grabbed the arm, and shortly the pair were whirling in a circle, laughing as Borg were not meant to laugh. It was horrible. It was scary. It was just plain wrong.
{Sensors sees Borgy and rebels going bye-bye!} reported Sensors with unusual clarity. {The Borgy MC tried to hail us, but it [itched] and Sensors became unhappy, so Sensors did not pass the [ice] to command and control.}
Captain and Second paused as the virtual visual datafeed showed cubes and rebels speeding away, then vanishing into transwarp on a Fuzzyland vector. Then they returned to spinning in a circle, joined moments later by 16 of 203 and 331 of 510, from alcove 1 and alcove 2, respectively, of the connecting tier. The nodal intersection was becoming crowded, but that was okay.
Captain, proxy for the sub-collective, found happy music that most could agree upon, setting it to play on all cube speakers.
Sensors sighed in Captain's mind. {Sensors is unhappy and [itchy]. Answer the hail from the [pillow electric] station? Sensors does not think they will go away like the Borgies did.}
Captain left the dance, turning to open a holographic window against the bulkhead. Behind him, the three remaining drones began an ancient chant about rosies and posies, ending with everyone clattering to the floor. It was a happy thing. Unfortunately, as consensus monitor and facilitator, it fell to him to deal with other, perhaps less happy matters. He absently noticed that Cube #347 was no longer under attack.
A human with dark skin, a clown face, and yellow smiley on his bald head materialized. Captain cocked his head slightly: he had not bothered to search for a CatwalkCam view; and the human was seeing himself and the drones cavorting behind him.
"We are..." started Captain, trailing off. It was important. An extremely distant part of him (the sub-collective?) whispered that the situation was not right. The unhappy voice was ignored. "We are...Borg." He paused again, trying to recall the next bit, but the data relays were oddly occluded.
The human smiled a happy, joyful smile. His eyes twinkled. "And I'm Cap'n Bennie Sisko. If you are Happy and you know it, clap your hands."
Captain raised his hands, whole and artificial, and brought them together. Behind him, Second, 16 of 203, and 331 of 510 paused in their game to copy the action in unison.
"Very good," said Cap'n Bennie. "Very good indeed."
**********
Here ends "A Trip to the Happy Side, Part II." None of the questions asked at the end of Part I were resolved. Therefore, once again...will Cube #347 return to their Unhappyverse reality? Will Happymaster Dillon's special happifier provide amusement for Woofie? Will there be a musical number with Can-can drones? Will the BorgSpace author decide to answer none of these questions in Part III?
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