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 joints 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 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?