The big Paramount dog barks Star Trek. The Decker mutt howls Star Traks. The Meneks lapdog annoyingly yelps BorgSpace while biting ankles.
Silence of the Dogs, Part I
The figure strode confidently down the cellblock. To do otherwise would invite, at best, verbal abuse; and, at worst, thrown items that the inmates, using their vast quantity of otherwise bored free-time, somehow managed to pass through forcefield wards. As it was, the expressions from the various cell occupants ranged from indifference to intense interest.
The cellblock was a very small portion of a much larger facility called Detention, an institution specializing in the incarceration of criminals who had been deemed by the court to have mental defect. For a great majority of the inmates, Detention represented a vast rehab center, one where adjustments were made using a variety of chemical and psychiatric means. A smaller subset required more extreme treatment in the form of mindwipe and complete personality overhaul. In the end, well-adjusted individuals were released back to society, time served and ready to become productive citizens. However, there were a very few whom, for whatever reason, did not fit the mould; and into this particular cellblock they were imprisoned, generally for the remainder of their natural lives.
The inhabitants in the cells to either side of the hallway gauntlet the figure traversed went beyond the merely psychotic. In many instances they were unique, the scientific description of their disorders understandable only by a miniscule percentage of clinical psychologists. Most had above-average intellects; and were additionally united in their dispassionate amorality, knowing right from wrong, but just not caring. The crimes perpetuated were multitude, from fixing stock markets to mass serial murder. Numerous races and hybrids thereof were represented, no one species cornering the market on psychosis; and there were even a trio of ex-Color present, three rogues in the same cell, disowned by their Collective, but accepted by the Second Federation as study subjects.
The cells themselves were an odd fusion of old and new. Forcefields were the primary deterrent from escape (additional means prevented flight out of the isolated cellblock and into the main facility), although it had been shown time and again that the often genius detainees had more than sufficient faculty to work around the barrier; and in the case of the occasional Color patient, even the strongest forcefield eventually displayed all the stopping power of air. To back up the forcefields, a simple cagework of metal bars, made of tritanium rated for a warship's subhull, had proved to be more than adequate. A secondary option was an extremely expensive distant relative of Plexiglas able to resist a direct nuclear blast, a necessity when shapeshifters were in residence or when an occupant became a little too facile in their throwing skills.
A cell at the end of the block, fronted by a forcefield and two layers each of metal lacing AND Plexiglas, was the figure's destination. Several cameras dedicated only to watching this particular cell were prominent, as was the robot - a wheeled rack of old-fashioned shotguns paired with disruptor rifles - which stood sentinel. A chair and table seemed incongruously out of place, set in the corridor an armspan beyond the multi-layered defense.
The cells bordering and across from the target cell were empty, their respective occupants long ago demanding they be removed to other residences; and if not that, then the vacuum of space was a preferable alternative.
The figure set down her PADD and a recording device upon the table.
"Clarisssssse," hissed a voice from within the cell, metallic undertones suggesting it to be mechanical in origin.
"Lup, you know very well my name is Ali. Partially because of you, and partially because of other work stresses, Clarise had a nervous breakdown and was granted a year sabbatical at Tantalus V to allow recovery. When Clarise left, you received me. However, Ali's multitude of shrinks and conventional doctors assure her that she has more than sufficient fortitude to withstand your little mindgames."
"Yous have been gone ssso longs," spoke the voice again, sibilance coloring the otherwise precise words.
"I was gone for an hour, to lunch, like I do every day that I have the opportunity to speak with you. You know the schedule; and if I happen to be tardy a whole minute, so be it. I am also well aware that you like to talk to people. If I weren't your conversation partner, you would be talking to nobody, especially since you creeped out all your neighbors. End of story." Ali's tone was no-nonsense, a firm requirement when working with this particular subject. The young xenopsychologist sat in the chair, then pressed a button on the recording device before picking up the PADD. Neither of the last two items were necessary, the ever-present observation cameras providing more than sufficient coverage. However, Ali had been classically trained and she felt more comfortable with recorder and PADD. "Shall we pick up where we left off?"
The eight-limbed reptiloid which inhabited the spartan cell rocked back on her four walking legs, mouth gaping open in an untranslatable hiss that nonetheless conveyed smug self-satisfaction. Indirect overhead lighting played along fine, mottled gray scales and dully reflected off of the metallic implants that studded her hide. Wickedly sharp teeth and talons - not her own, but rather substituted with tritanium replicas in her accelerated youth - glinted. Head bobbed as eyes, neither outwardly altered, focused on Ali through the intervening barricade of forcefield, metal lattice, and Plexiglas. "Yesss, Ali," hissed the vyst, "we shall continues."
*****
Captain Robert "Bobby" Funk sat in his command chair in the center of the bridge of SFS Rigatoni. His eyes were locked to the forward holomonitor, the window currently split to display two streams of information. The one to the right was a simple near-space schematic showing the position of Rigatoni and the presumed locations of her sister ships Tortellini and Vermicelli - silent running under cloaks prevented knowing exact coordinates; and also present were several civilian vessels. The left pane focused cameras upon one of those civilians, waiting at a specific point in the middle of nowhere, unaware that there were cloaked ships ready to swoop unannounced upon the clandestine meeting as soon as the command was given.
It was what Bobby /didn't/ see which made him nervous.
"Are you /sure/ they are out there?" asked Bobby of the dark-haired woman in black uniform nonchalantly leaning against the wall next to the ready-room door. "The two targets coming to meet the courier aren't exactly something to sneeze at. The Taurini mob vessel is no problem, not for three Starfleet ships-of-the-line, even if the thing has a few black-market surprises. It is the Battle-class cube escort that gives me the willies." Bobby was well known for his occasional use of archaic Terran idioms, for all that he had grown up on a far-flung colony world in the Beta Quadrant where the major export was a type of native root vegetable, never seeing the ancestral home system until entering the Academy.
"Yes, our allies are out there," answered the Black Ops representative known only by the moniker 'Jane'. It was obvious she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes. "The purpose of a cloak is to hide, after all. The other two Starfleet ships of this little pasta salad taskforce are cloaked too, and you aren't complaining about not seeing them."
Bobby narrowed his eyes at the insult. It wasn't /his/ fault that the Macaroni-class of destroyers had been named by an anonymous technician who had thrown darts at a dictionary. He decided that the most diplomatic response was to ignore the comment. "Yes, but at least Tony" Bobby waved an arm to indicate the local Personality "has a decent idea where they are; and I am equally confident that there won't be any accidental friendly-fire incidents from them. A pair of Peach Exploratory-class cubes, on the other hand? Beyond the fact that this is /Peach/ we are talking about, can two Exploratory-classes stand up to a Battle-class, even with three destroyers assisting?"
"That is not our concern. Our concern is the courier and the Taurini mob ship. Our cybernetic allies will take care of the Battle-class."
Bobby's mouth compressed into a thin line. He'd had this non-conversation before, bridge crew as witness, but was always hopeful that answers would be forthcoming, even if slipped by accident. Unfortunately, Black Ops such as Jane were renown for their cliche need-to-know attitude. There was probably a whole chapter dedicated to it in some super-secret Black Ops training manual. "The Taurini mob works with Gray. Gray are not slouches." The Color had schismed from Green in the indeterminate past, commercial interests taking a decidedly nefarious and black-market turn. Eventually Gray had linked with the Taurini mob, serving, among other roles, as hired muscle. At one point, following Borg Collective attacks, the Color had gone so far underground that many had thought it to be exterminated. Eventually Gray had resurfaced; and while some rumors whispered that the mob was actually run by the Color, Bobby, personally, did not believe it.
Replied Jane evenly, "Peach will take care of the Battle-class."
It had not escaped Bobby's attention that Jane always used the words like 'Battle-class' and 'target' when referring to the Colored opponent, although Peach was always 'Peach.' What this meant, the captain of the Rigatoni was unsure; and he was probably just being especially paranoid since Black Ops was figuratively breathing down his neck at the moment. Still, something about the situation stank to the high heavens of Denmark.
Unnatural silence on the bridge reigned. None of the crew were especially trustful of Black Ops.
"Tony, status update," said Bobby into the quiet. While he would normally make such a routine inquiry via his transceiver link with the Personality, he needed /something/ to fill the empty air.
Tony's unpretentious baritone answered, "Taurini mob ship and Gray cube escort will link with the courier in about five minutes."
Bobby sighed. Hurry up and wait, the bane of existence for anyone in a militaristic line of work. At least this assignment was better than the one he and his taskforce had been yanked from, even as he knew a return to /that/ particular form of boredom was in his future once the Black Ops operation was complete.
The 'why' behind the blockade at Yannis II was unknown, at least to a mere captain like Bobby. What he did know was that up until a couple of weeks ago he and the other two members of the taskforce had been sitting on their collective rumps as their respective Personalities monitored the net of robot sentinels, watching for blockade runners. In the event of any outside ship trying to pass the net or a potential escapee lifting from Yannis II, Taskforce Pasta (damn the bureaucrats and their 'cute' naming schemes) was to swoop down for the capture or the kill, as necessary. Such had yet to be required.
Of course, in such a stimulating environment, the rumors flew. Bobby had not been immune. Among other things, one of his crewmembers, an ensign from night-shift inventory, had been removed just prior to the blockade assignment. The ensign had been one of those mixed ancestry types, a RomuVulcKlingdoriengi or such, the exact parentage unimportant except in that he or she (Bobby couldn't even remember the gender of the crewmember) had not a trace of human blood. Second Federation ships, especially Starfleet, had always been heavy with humans and those of human lineage; and more so than ever it seemed that those without human DNA were increasingly sparse. Bobby felt that perhaps he should be feeling some repugnance to the rash of similar racially-motivated 'reassignments' which were occurring fleetwide. However, a part of him also felt that in this time of uncertainty, when even long-time Second Federation members were threatening to cede because they claimed to dislike reasonable requests from the central government and Starfleet for used warp nacelles, draftees, and karaoke equipment, that such actions were probably for the best.
Besides - click of fingernail against teeth - hadn't the removed crewmember hailed /from/ Yannis II? And wasn't one of Yannis II's exports some sort of material commonly used in high explosives? Was there, maybe, a connection...? Before Bobby could pursue that line of paranoid reasoning, an attention-gaining series of beeps split the air.
"All targets are at the rendezvous," announced Tony.
Bobby leapt from his command chair.
"Give 'em a few minutes," lazily stated Jane. "We'll move in to capture the mob ship and courier only after Peach starts their attack run on the Battle-class. My fellow agents on your sister ships are relaying similar orders to their respective captains, so maintain subspace silence."
For not the first time, Bobby was suspicious that the Black Ops agent had a special implant to allow communications to others of her ilk on this assignment, perhaps even including the Peach sub-collectives she claimed were standing by. If such was true, Tony had yet to find the correct fractal frequency or determine the implant's power source.
Bobby refused to sit back down, instead turning to face Jane, a question to the forefront of his mind. He expected the same caliber of answer to the others he had asked before, but what the hell...the waiting just never seemed to end. "Tell me, just /how/ did you spy-types acquire the information for this mob courier run? We are out in the ass-end of nowhere between stars, after all; and while the Taurini mob can't hold a candle to the Orion Syndicate, I was under the impression that they were quite sophisticated when it came to hiding their illicit activities. It is almost like there was a high-level informant."
"That information is classified," said Jane, "on a need to know basis, and you, sir, are definitely not on the need-to-know list."
The cliched nonanswer was, in itself, an answer.
Tony interrupted, "Directed dampening field and transmutation pulses detected, Captain. Two Peach Exploratory-class cubes have decloaked and are beginning attack runs against the Gray Battle-class. I'm also reading subspace ripple charges, which will make supralight impossible for all combatants until the effect dissipates."
"Crap," muttered Bobby. "It doesn't matter the Color, but it is /always/ overkill." With a slight sideways glance at Jane, the Rigatoni's captain began to issue orders to decloak, re-establish communications with her sister ships, and advance into the battlezone to capture their mob targets.
*****
The facility's official name was Detention #7, although the inhabitants, involuntary and otherwise, had a multitude of other names, most very impolite. Some halfhearted effort had been made through the years by officials who had never seen the facility to rename it something more exciting, less bland. All the attempts were doomed to failure, especially once said official actually put in a visit. In the end, as dull as the name 'Detention' was to use, it was also the least likely to require ordinary interdepartmental memos be given an M-rating.
Detention was not located on the main thoroughfares, but then again, psychiatric prisons for the criminally insane rarely are. The small asteroid which comprised the facility was one of several old mining complexes abandoned in an asteroid belt, the system itself deemed commercially unviable by the company which had once-upon-a-time attempted to bring the relatively low-grade ore to market. It had not helped that archeologists had eventually determined that all the good asteroids had been removed approximately fifty thousand years earlier by an extinct civilization. Without any other attractions orbiting the dim white dwarf, such as a habitable planet or exotic space-time phenomenon, the company had moved on, leaving behind a few hollowed-out rocks.
Remoteness and presence of asteroids easily able to be retrofit to hold atmosphere had been the original attraction for the criminal justice system. Detention was essentially the equivalent of that cupboard in the garage where one stashes objects that one wants to forget about, but which cannot be thrown away, like Aunt Margie's fruitcake. It wasn't that the facility was particularly top-secret, just that no one, frankly, really cared.
For Black Ops, Detention was perfect. Where else to hide in plain sight one of the most infamous beings currently in existence?
Focus in upon one of the multitudes of small monitoring rooms scattered throughout Detention's volume. As all the others, this one is comprised of dozens of displays, some holographic and some not. With a few commands to the resident computer, an anonymous watcher can look upon any of the facility's residents, from those completing their final evaluations prior to release back to society to the closed-level detention block where the only avenue of escape is death. In this case, only one window was active, a large holodisplay lighting the otherwise dark interior of the monitoring room; and suspended upon the air was the still form of a necrotic-gray, eight-limbed repiloid, seemingly asleep within the confines of her specialty regeneration alcove.
The opening of a door to the monitoring room disturbed the single watcher, sudden influx of light washing out the display. The watcher looked over her shoulder in annoyance, an expression which remained in place as she registered the identity of the intruder. The door closed, plunging the room back into its original state of near darkness. However, a new source of light had joined the holodisplay, one which consisted of a pair of muted blinking lights and a targeting laser. It was to the latter that the watcher objected.
"Could you turn that off?" peevishly asked Ali.
The laser was extinguished.
"I would say 'thank you', but I'm sure such platitudes are irrelevant."
"Not necessarily," replied an unexpectedly pleasant voice, one which nonetheless included an odd reverberant quality. "Society demands politeness; and if I am to move within a nonCollective society and interact with its elements, then politeness is relevant."
"I thought I was the xenopsychologist here, the one with the license to analyze."
Rumbled the intruder with what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, "All sentients in the universe are xenopsychologists, for everyone is alien to each other."
"Except, I suppose, individuals within Colors, where everyone is a big, happy Collective family."
"You've been reading some of the papers by your colleagues specializing in psychoanalysis of Color and Borg motives, haven't you?" The tone was of mock surprise.
Ali noted that her implicit question had not been answered, not that she expected such. Peach was quite adept at never quite telling the truth, and drones like 8 of 12 whom functioned as Liaisons were among the best, whether or not their Greater Consciousness was paying attention. Of course, Ali, a relatively high-level member of Black Ops, the espionage unit of the Second Federation, was equally facile at such mind games despite her apparent youth. She was also a damned good xenopsychologist. "Knock it off, Liaison. From your mode of conversation, you obviously don't have your Collective sitting in your psyche and pulling your strings. What is your purpose for disturbing me?"
"Ah, direct as always, commander Ali. Perhaps I just wanted to continue my appraisal of you, to once again tell you that you have all the hallmarks of an excellent Peach drone. There are openings." The shadowed bulk of the drone shifted, the whole left hand lifting up to present itself as a fist, knuckles prominent. The rather sinister offer in the gesture was implicit.
"No." Ali was firm. "The answer is 'no' and the answer will always be 'no.' Besides, you expect to successfully circumvent my special Ops nanite suite here? By yourself?"
The hand was retracted. Silence was Ali's answer.
"That's what I thought; and I won't bother trying to find out your actual agenda for being here, because I know when such attempts are futile." The final word of the sentence was deliberately used. Silence reigned as both watcher and intruder focused upon the holodisplay. Lup, the assimilated vyst self incarcerated in the closed-level cellblock of Detention, continued to do absolutely nothing. An internalized datastream, sent to her from the facility's non-Personality computer through her Ops implant, confirmed that the vyst was truly regenerating. Finally, being only human, Ali broke the silence, "Do you think she told the truth, about her personal history?"
There was the creak of armor and subtle whine of muscle servos as Liaison shifted. "Partially. Our analysis indicates that there are definite truths, but lies were entwined as well. It is not possible to completely separate out which is which."
"Sort of like the reason behind Peach's involvement in the whole operation to break the Taurini mob, despite Color core directive to destroy all Luplup abominations whenever and wherever they are found, eh?" needled Ali. Silence again was the answer.
Lup had come to Ali's attention shortly after the single vyst self had been apprehended in a malfunctioning runabout. Commander Clarise had been initially assigned as Lup's primary handler, until the older woman had experienced her inopportune nervous breakdown. Such was the danger of the xenopsychologist's job, trying to get into the minds of those truly alien. Outward similarities, or lack thereof, were immaterial, the most alien of minds often found among the xenopsychologist's own race. The breakdown had required the assignment of a new handler, and Ali had been deemed best suited both for the job and the accompanying promotion.
Lup was a single vyst body of the larger Luplup, one who had apparently, against all expectations, gone rogue...and survived. 'Rogue' was perhaps not the best descriptor, but neither was 'assimilation imperfection' nor other labels applicable to aberrations found within the Borg/Color mindset. The thread that led to Lup started nearly a year and a half prior, when Black Ops, having captured Luplup, had tried to compel the vyst Whole via control of the Original Self Queen vector, the larval Queen yoole, and the reproductive egg queens. Ali had never managed to lever the complete story out of her superiors, but somehow control had been lost, both the Queen and the egg queens destroyed in the process. The yoole - now a vyst - was still around somewhere, but Ali was not party to location or examination of it despite the insights it would offer if compared against Lup.
Peach had been at the party. There were implications that Peach had been behind both the destruction of the planet where most of Luplup's brood, and her egg queens, had been kept, as well as annihilation of the secret Black Ops base Trident. Elsewhere, a Peach Liaison assigned to the fiasco had disappeared just about the time the Original Self had died. And now, here was Peach again. Such was not a coincidence.
What had remained of Luplup - about 200,000 bodies scattered between a Battle-class cube and several scows - had managed to pull together sufficiently following loss of self-nexus to escape. According to Lup, the defeat had been regarded as a mere set-back, a necessary sacrifice to regain freedom. Apparently realizing her tenacious position early while under Black Ops' domination, Luplup had instituted a program where one in twenty of her technician, type II, bodies had been implanted with a capsule holding cells taken from the egg queen lineages and the Original Self Queen nexus. Cloning quickly replaced the egg queens, restarting Luplup's reproduction program. The propagation of the Queen nexus required additional consideration.
After fracturing into multiple shards early in her history, each considering itself as the original, Luplup had realized the need to take steps to prevent such from happening again. One nexus vyst became the Queen, as close to the original genetic template as possible and the repository of the vyst 'soul.' The Queen functioned as both personality matrix and, more importantly, the ultimate pivot point around which decisions were made. To preserve a clean transfer to a new body as the older Queen wore out, a modified yoole self was created, the larval form kept free of nanites and implants until such time metamorphosis was required. Upon metamorphosis of yoole into vyst, the new self, innocent, was inoculated with nanites and the personality template (and control factors) transferred, leaving behind the old Queen body to die. With only a single Queen and yoole available at any one time to serve as the nexus, the actions of Black Ops had quickly taught Luplup he importance of multiple redundancy.
Freedom attained, Luplup had embarked upon an overhaul of her nexusQueen program. Now, multiple yooles were hatched, each immediately placed into Luplup's version of the maturation chamber for forced accelerated development. Some yooles were halted and put into suspended animation, a technology previously discarded by Luplup as having no use. A few yooles were grown to the vyst stage and placed into storage, minds blank. At this point, potential Queens were divided into two groups. Both groups underwent personality transfer. However, whereas six Tier 2 queens were set in stasis, the two Tier 1 individuals were stored in long-term suspension, higher functions turned off, yet still fed outside data to keep them synced with the Whole. In the event that something happened to the active nexus, one of the Tier 1 queens could be decanted and elevated to Queen with minimal impact to the Whole.
This radical new set-up, allowing for multiple queens, permitted an avenue for Luplup to begin experiments upon her formerly sacred nexus self. The genetic lineages of her other selves were highly divergent, emphasizing a wide variety of traits required for Self survival, yet the nexusQueen remained comparatively primitive. Now, instead of keeping a nexus for a long period of time, Queens were discarded quickly, mere months between each iteration, as new genetic tweaks were labeled viable.
Lup came out of that program, a proto-Queen who had never been allowed to be. According to Lup, cognitive tests performed by Luplup upon the latest batch of near-term genetic experiments had reported undesirable results, that the selves were too individualistic, too likely to lead to another fragmentation. The brood was eliminated except for a single Tier 2 nexusQueen, who was carefully severed from the Self and allowed to decant and wake. Luplup wanted to observe the outside manifestation of what testing indicated was wrong. As a Tier 2 nexusQueen was a self which had undergone personality/memory transfer, yet was not being held in backup suspension, Lup had awoken a very confused vyst, knowing something was wrong, but not knowing /what/ was wrong.
Then a natural catastrophe had occurred, the den-planet upon which Luplup had hidden her nexusQueen program not exactly the most tectonically stable An earthquake caused distraction to the Whole, damage to the den-facility. In the confusion, Lup had followed her instincts, leaving before she could undergo the vivisection that she would have performed on herself if /she/ had been in Luplup's place. She was, after all, Luplup, and knew how Luplup would react. She was also single, alone, and not Luplup...she was Lup.
The exact details of Lup's experiences between decanting and escape were not forthcoming, and nor was the sequence of events which had eventually led to her being found by Second Federation. It was in those omissions and blatant alterations of story each time it was told that likely lay the most lies. What was relevant was that Lup claimed that the cognitive tests had not shown fault in /her/ genetics, but rather it was the current nexusQueen which was exhibiting a too-self-ness that had escaped discovery during testing and not manifested until it became apparent that Lup was a superior lineage, a rival. Whether or not this was ego talking, a manifestation of the defects Luplup had detected, or truth, Black Ops did not care. A single vyst self, unable to reproduce, suitably held in isolation where nanoprobes, implanted technologies, and natural weapons were useless, Lup represented a treasure-trove to be exploited.
Lup /was/ Luplup. She /knew/ Luplup's personality, psyche, at least up to the point of personality transfer. Lup somehow /knew/ how Luplup would act and react. There was no physical link as far as could be determined, yet the depth of knowledge, including current events and mindset of Luplup, was disturbing, as if she was a Tier 1 nexusQueen, held in suspension while absorbing all that occurred in the Whole.
Elsewhere in the galaxy, the free Luplup appeared to have undergone a radical shift in her thinking beyond the recognition for Queen redundancy. Perhaps deeply affected by the loss of her Original Self, yoole, and egg queens, Luplup's modus operandi had changed. For unknown reasons - or at least ones that Lup would not elaborate upon - she had attacked Gray in desperation...and won. Gray was no more, a fact that few outside of Black Ops (and Peach) knew, the Color subsumed by Luplup, herSelf a Queen to those drones which remained existent. Using Gray as a front, Luplup interacted with Taurini mob...and, if rumors were to be believed, had taken over the criminal organization, although not via assimilation. The 'why' was the biggest unknown, and the most disturbing. Luplup's focus, until the Black Ops' capture, had been to grow herSelf large enough to dominate all; and those not of herSelf, especially Colors and Borg, were regarded as rivals to be aggressively dealt with. Cooperation of any sort, without assimilation to be a part of the Self, was new.
These two disparate nodes - Luplup as mob boss and Lup as rogue self - might have been curiosities, even to Black Ops, neither incredibly important when considered on the geopolitical scale of the galaxy. However, the Taurini mob had become a right pain as of late, even before the inclusion of the Luplup element, indiscriminately selling weapons to those resistors who no longer wanted to be under the we-know-best benevolent control of Second Federation. Therefore, to break the Taurini mob, it was necessary to break Luplup; and the key to Luplup was Lup. Somehow Lup was able to channel Luplup, at least to a sufficient degree that key raids could be devised. Lup claimed that the flashes of inspiration which came to her were dreamlike and largely incoherent, and because of this limitation there was no way to definitely track Luplup to her central base.
Peach, as always, was a cipher. The Color had approached Black Ops, offering their services for free, which in itself was suspicious. The Color claimed they cared little about the Taurini mob, but did wish to eliminate the abomination which was Luplup. Peach knew about the Luplup-Gray-mob connection, and about Lup. Peach also assured Black Ops that any actions on the part of their previous Liaison in regards to Original Self was due to unfortunate circumstance; and that they had no idea how Luplup's den-planet became literally shattered ("We maintain spy technology, not planet-busters...look to Red!") nor Trident's destruction ("You'd need an Assault-class sphere for that, minimum...all we have are Exploratory-classes in our fleet."). Peach knew Lup would never cooperate with the Color should the vyst be stolen, and was willing to allow her to remain in Black Ops hands if it meant access to Luplup's den when it became known. Until then, Peach was quite content to cooperate in ways which would lead to breaking Taurini mob, and, thus, killing Luplup's selves.
Black Ops did not trust Peach. However, the higher-ups in Black Ops were also unwilling to let such a potential advantage go astray.
Which, in a convoluted manner, led to the monitoring room on Detention, currently shared by Ali and a Peach liaison.
On the holodisplay, Lup moved an arm; and simultaneously the feed to Ali's implant indicated the initial stages of wakening from regeneration. Out of the corner of her eye, the xenopsychologist saw Liaison's head tilt slightly and whole eye glaze, indicating an increase in data, likely one accompanied by instruction from his Greater Consciousness.
Ali was not overly surprised at Liaison's actions, certain that Detention's computer system had been compromised very shortly after the Peach drone's arrival. Before Liaison's Exploratory-class cube ride had left - Peach had a very limited fleet, and even had the Collective been willing to idle a vessel nearby, the sight of a cube associated with espionage-for-hire hanging around a supposedly unimportant prison facility would have elicited comment - a mini-vinculum had been installed by Peach technicians. While Liaison was physically alone, the mini-vinculum allowed continual connectivity with his Greater Consciousness.
Liaison blinked once, twice, awareness returning fully to the here-and-now. "I wish to be present at the next interrogation with Lup. I have a few questions that I would like to have answered," he said.
Ali was not fooled. Those polite 'I's' translated directly to 'we's'. Before her promotion to commander and assignment to be Lup's primary handler, she had written some of those papers psychoanalyzing Borg/Color motives of which Liaison had accused her of reading. She stood. "Lup is apparently waking up, as I'm quite sure you are aware of, so why don't we go now?" Although there was no distinct plural-we tense in contemporary Federationese, reflecting its distant English roots, the 'we' nonetheless managed to indicate that Ali was well aware that more would be attending the interrogation than just a single Black Ops operative and a lone Peach drone. "Lup's dreams are most coherent if she is confronted following regeneration."
"You first," answered Liaison as he shifted his bulk, allowing Ali room to pass. The drone heaved a long sigh. "Peach offers excellent dental and medical benefits...are you absolutely sure you would not like to join?"
*****
Distant from the aging yellow star, floodlights and the occasional flare of a plasma welder erratically lit the scene. Without the advantage of an overall picture, the viewer was left with a sense of disconnect, of unknowing the purpose of what was obviously a busy endeavor. Scaffolding, metal plates, a geometrical form half finished...it was only when the observer realized that the each pinpoint within the swarm of moving lights represented a single individual that scale snapped into concrete reality. Orbiting in the darkness of the trailing Trojan point of an icy gas giant was a small shipyard; and under construction was a Battle-class cube.
Luplup's nexusQueen hissed contentedly to herSelf, body crouched comfortably upon a padded bench. The habitation modules which accompanied the mobile shipyard had been built for humanoids, not eight-limbed reptiloids, but Luplup was quite adept at adapting to whatever circumstances demanded. The thick pane of transparent material in front of her nose was not glass, but it served the same purpose. It was through this not-glass that Luplup watched her masterpiece constructed, one more viewpoint among hundreds of thousands of viewpoints.
Nose turned away, head of nexusQueen swinging to regard the not-self individual before herSelf. The loss of the single viewpoint was unimportant in the grander scheme of things, but in some respects it was the most vital, representing the shifting of attention by the Whole. As with the construction effort, the use of a single Self body, even if it was a nexusQueen, as a focus was irrelevant, multiple other Selves in the observation node perfectly able to serve the same function. However, the psyche of most not-selves, including the one currently cohabiting the node, became distressed if they did not address what was perceived to be the 'leader'.
Irrelevant. All irrelevant. Admittedly, while some Self configurations were more equal than others, in the end All were Luplup.
"Failure is due to yous," accused Luplup of the short Bajoran male before her nexusQueen. The man's arms were held by a pair of flanking ex-Gray not-Selves; and three tacticals of assorted types crouched nearby, disruptors aimed. The metallic twang of her voder was sharp, and unnecessary, for Luplup knew perfectly well how to tune the machine for a 'natural' voice. The machine, however, was essential as she had yet to produce a viable Self able to speak without mechanical aid. The purposeful mistuning created subharmonics most not-selves unconsciously found intimidating. "My fleet should be /five/ Battle-class talons, but instead it shall bes four. I now must /replace/ the ship lost to ambush, not grow. It is Taurini mob faults."
The Bajoran representative to the Taurini mob shook.
The meeting with the courier had been a disaster. The purpose of the meeting - information, drugs, weapons, whatever - was unimportant, easily replaced; and, in truth, the same could be said about the physical assets lost, be they a Battle-class cube or her slaughtered Selves. Of the Taurini mob ship, the robotic courier, and all attending not-selves, well, Luplup did not really consider them. What Luplup was angry about was the fact that the fight happened at all. Someone was leaking information, and as that someone could not be Luplup, either her natal Selves or her ex-Gray not-Selves, then process of elimination provided the pointed finger.
"Taurini mob tells SecFed and spy Bad-Mans Borg where to make the ambush," accused Luplup. Growls arose from the Selves in the node; and even the ex-Gray not-Selves vocalized noises that never would have been allowed if their Greater Consciousness had not been shattered, sundered, killed.
The Bajoran's eyes widened. "No, no, no!" was the protest.
At the ambush, Luplup had not gone quietly. She had managed to destroy both Taurini mob ship and the courier, thus denying the attackers the fruit of their endeavor. The slippery Second Federation destroyers had largely escaped intact, although one had been forced to limp out of the warzone after a series of hits had broken shields and taken a chunk out of bioarmor and underhull. She had also rent one of the Peach Exploratory-class cubes, had felt the satisfaction of watching one blow up before being overwhelmed herSelf. With the knowledge gained from her assimilation of Gray, as well as gossip circulating on the GalacWeb, she knew that while Peach was powerful, it also had few spacefaring assets, and the destruction of the cube and its crew would be felt. Admittedly, Gray's (Luplup's!) fleet was been even smaller, but she was in the process of changing that deficiency.
The trauma which had divested Luplup of nexus and egg queens had also fostered a fundamental change in how she regarded the universe. Oh, she was still cunning, still desired to be QUEEN of all, to make the galaxy and beyond her nest. However, no longer was she satisfied to be a mere hunter-gatherer, to take what she wanted and be content with her gains. The concept of farming had never occurred to Luplup, a predator in both form and mind, despite the example put forth by the Collective, whom carefully managed their crops of sentient species until such ripened into desirable technological or biological distinctiveness. Luplup did not know what to label herself as, and, frankly, did not care. All she knew is that she had to grab on to her destiny, control it, not be satisfied to take only what blew her way on the universe's fickle winds. To this end, /building/ of powerful ships using the strongest design she knew was important; and the use of Bad-Mans schematics was a delicious irony. Beyond ships, it was also a necessity to interact with not-selves, to keep them whole and not assimilated, no matter how much that rankled, for they could acquire stuff that Luplup needed with minimum of fuss and without, most importantly, loss of Self. Eventually all not-selves would become a part of Self, but until then, they did have their uses, could still service Self.
"Taurini mob not-selves are the traitors!" screeched Luplup.
"Why would we sell out ourselves? You are crazy!" countered the Bajoran hotly. Face paled as he abruptly recognized the folly of his words. Eyes were closed to await for the inevitable, be it death or assimilation.
The Taurini mob represented a tie to the outside universe, one which had come with Luplup's conquering of Gray. In many respects, Gray had been the Taurini mob, the brains behind the operation, as well as the heavy muscle. After taking all that Gray had known and believed unto herSelf, the first thing Luplup had dumped was the Color's notion of Perfection. She did not care about the ex-Color's rather complex scheme to achieve a concept irrelevant to herSelf. Oh, the Taurini mob representatives had been surprised to be find Luplup at their next meeting, not the expected Color liaison, but they had also been pragmatic about the change in leadership, especially when Luplup made it clear that she did not care about stupid things like money or political power. The Taurini mob could have all those things, as long as they continued to supply Luplup with the materials she needed to grow big. As this arrangement was actually a step up from the understanding with Gray, the Taurini mob had acquiesced, particularly as Luplup had /not/ thrown away the invisible reins, spurs, and goads which had linked the mob to the Color. The mob needed a powerful patron to survive, while Luplup could easily slough Taurini and strike out on her own.
Luplup chuckled, the sound emerging from her voder as an odd crackling hiccup. Her Selves offered barking laughter, even as tacticals kept weapons aimed steadily at the Bajoran. "I think I believe yous. I do. Not that I bes crazy, but that Taurini mob not-selves are not to blame." Luplup held out a hands-minor. A nearby worker dashed forward and placed a fluffy white object into the waiting hand.
The Bajoran cracked open his eyes.
"The spy Bad-Mans are crafty," commented Luplup aloud, more talking to herSelf than to the mob representative. In her hands-minor she cradled a stuffed animal, a white Persian cat. Luplup was unsure why she liked this toy, except that stroking the faux fur was calming to herSelf. It was also easier to replace than a live cat when 'accidents' occurred. "Oh, they are sly and crafty. And their ships can hears things from far, far away. They have probably been intercepting transmissions, even though I use Gray protocols that not supposed to be able to be listened to. Sly, sly, sly." The nexusQueen chuckled to herSelf again as she contemplated the oh-so-dangerous foe, much more so than the larger Second Federation. "I has come up with plan."
The mob representative blinked, then asked cautiously, "What is it?" Perhaps he would be escaping this situation after all?
"All Taurini ships will have a part of mySelf on board - an integrator, a worker, and a tactical. This is concept of liaison, yes? With mySelf everywhere, I can tell you commands and secrets, without worry of spy Bad-Mans listening." Luplup paused. "However, if ambush happens again after I install liaisons, then I know information leak is from mob. Mob will feel my slash when I prune." Jaw of the nexusQueen dropped into a toothy vyst grin.
The Bajoran gulped. "Um...if that's it, can I go now?"
"Silly little not-self, no, you may not go." For emphasis, Luplup had her ex-Gray not-Selves increase their grip on the Bajoran. "There be more to discuss...lots more to discuss. Soon will be easier when I do liaisons, but that is then and this is nows.
"I be thinking of ways to rid us - mySelf and Taurini mob - of annoying Second Federation that bes eating your profits and making it more difficult to gets me the things I need. We will make it sos that it better, safer for Second Federation to be elsewhere. The spy Bad-Mans must go as well...only they must go permanently. As I destroyed Gray and assimilated it unto mySelf, I will do so with Peach.
"However, first...first there is something else that must be done."
With the ambitions set on the table, one to harry SecFed forces and the other to /eradicate/ an entire Color, what was Luplup contemplating? Taking on the Collective? Assimilating the Prophets? Those were some of the thoughts whirling through the representative's head, although he knew better than to speak his confusion aloud.
"I have already begun. There is a speck, a mote, an insect that bothers me, has bothered me, has been the reason for my difficulties since I came to bes mySelf. Insects shall be swatted, smashed. Taurini mob shall assist. Will assist. You will all comply or you will all become part of Me!"
As the nexusQueen leapt to her feet, crushing stuffed cat to her chest and letting out a hunting howl, the Bajoran almost felt pity for this 'fly' who Luplup had so fixated upon. Almost. The fly wasn't himself or his organization, and that was reason enough to be relieved. Once the fly was out of the way and Luplup destroyed by her hubris to believe she could take on SecFed and /Peach/, well, Taurini mob had always been survivors; and if Luplup didn't take them down with her, they would survive, even prosper.
"Taurini will comply," said the mob representative.
*****
Lup hissed. The sound was that of a teapot on permanent boil, sound emerging with no beginning or end. No translation was possible for the same reason neither laughter nor screams could be intelligibly rendered. Then again, none was necessary, the hiss more than adequately conveying menace, disapproval, even, maybe, a hint of fear.
The vyst's eyes were focused on Liaison, head bobbing up and down in primal threat. The fearsomely clawed hands of limb-major flexed as prey was imagined to be rent; and so also did taloned feet flex against duralloy floor. The hiss finally moderated into recognizable words, even as the display continued unabated, "Ali...whys did you brings this.../things/ to me? Yous know I /hates/ the Bad-Mans, and thisss...ssspy Bad-Mans above all." The sibilance was much greater than usual, vocalizations interfering with the voder's mechanical speech.
For his part, Liaison appeared to be indifferent to the vyst, standing as motionless as the guard robot.
Ali interposed herself between Lup and Liaison, forcing the vyst to change her focus. Lup swung her head back and forth, trying to see around the obstacle, finally settling down on her walking legs, posture indicating not defeat, never, but temporary truce. The hissing tailed off. "Ignore Liaison for now. He has some questions for you later. As you very well know, Peach is working with Second Federation to break the Taurini mob. Because you are our link with the mob, it is only fitting that the Color might have direct inquiries in order to better position its resources. Liaison has been here before, and every time we go through this same circus."
Lup snapped her jaws together. Eyes narrowed. "I will dos as Ali asks: I will ignore the spy Bad-Mans because they are beneath me, less than me." The excessive sibilance was damped, speech patterns returning to their normal cadence as the failed nexusQueen calmed.
"Very good," soothed Ali. She had known what would transpire and so had brought neither writing PADD nor recorder this time. The ever-present monitoring cameras would have to do. "We'll get to Liaison's questions later. For now, I know you just woke from regeneration. Tell me about your dreams." She took a few steps sideways, removing herself from the psychologically uncomfortable position between a Colored drone with aspirations to convert her to Peach and a seriously pissed-off killing machine, never mind the latter was within a warded cell.
Lup's head followed Ali, posture confirming the utter dismissal of the drone as relevant. This routine was familiar, the 'dreams' and impressions which flowed to Lup as she regenerated somehow a reflection of the Luplup reality despite lack of a hardware linkage. Mostly the visions were useless, recollections of constructing a vast cubeship or the tedious repetition laying eggs. However, sometimes there were nuggets within the rough such as the one that had led to the ambush of courier, Taurini vessel, and one of Luplup's Gray Battle-classes.
"Tell me about your dreams," insisted Ali, voice soft.
"There was the new cube, always building to become complete," sighed Lup as she began her recitation. "An accident, Selves lost, Selves burned, but no matter, the building continues, must continue. There was also a man, a not-self, scared. This be funny to mySelf. He tells me things I do not like, and I get angry, mad, ready to tear and bite and scratch. But then I figure the truth, with neither mySelf nor the man to blame. The man will not be torn or bit or scratched, but I pretend otherwise and are amused. Little Fluff is my favorite friend. I am laying eggs, so many little Selves, needing more, ever more. There is room, and I need Selves. I..."
Ali listened, trying to commit the narration to memory and gain first impressions. She would have to go back over the camera recordings later, try to winnow away the superfluous chaff to reveal potentially important revelations before sending the video and notes to her superiors. There was never any logic in the tumble of Lup's words, described scenes disjointed and in no particular order. The 'man' was probably a Taurini mob representative; and it was not unexpected for anger to be present, as it had the last several regeneration cycles since the ambush.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Lup stopped, head raised as high as possible as she almost stood her body on clawtip. "Something comes!" she yelped in confusion. "Why do they come?"
Simultaneously, an alarm went off in the closed-level detention block, mirroring the wordless warning the computer was relaying through Ali's implant. She glanced over her shoulder at Liaison, who had his head cocked in the stereotypical Borg posture of heavy data transfer and deep communion with the Colored Collective.
"What the hell are /they/ doing here?" asked the Peach drone outloud, nearly mirroring the question posed by Lup.
Obviously Ali was missing something. Unfortunately, before she could frame a request to the computer to tell her what was happening, she felt the tingle of a transporter beam prickle her extremities.
Seconds later, the end of the detention block was empty, Black Ops xenopsychologist gone, along with Peach liaison, vyst, and any detainee who had had the misfortune to be within twenty meters of the beam-out point. Overhead, the alarm continued its incessant wailing.
***********
Here ends "Silence of the Dogs, Part I". Return for Part II to see what Cube #347 has been doing, find out how Peach will try to turn the situation to its advantage, and to learn if Luplup will /finally/ roll over and die.
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