Star Traks - BorgSpace Season 9: Encounter at Ambush Alley

Paramount owns the disco-rave Star Trek. Decker is the DJ of the Star Traks Bar and Dance Club. Over at the local BorgSpace sockhop you'll find Meneks.

Encounter at Ambush Alley

Identification Number: Lugger-class Cube #238-3152.b

Time Stamp: 773216.552.1

Contact: Report compiled by 2 of 5, consensus monitor and facilitator (subdesignation "Prime"), Hierarchy of Five, Command and Control, Lugger-class Cube #238 sub-collective

Subject: Encounter With Rogue Borg Exploratory-Class Cube #347, Part I

On timestamp 773205.331.9 at system catalogue code #TWA325.b (colloquially known by local freighter captains as "Ambush Alley," as well as other, less polite, names), this cube was beset upon by the rogue sub-collective of Exploratory-class Cube #347. This report, and those which follow, has been compiled and saved for such time it can be transmitted to the Collective due to our fractal subspace communications difficulties arising from effects of a transmutation pulse. We are now in the process of being boarded; and with a very small proportion of this sub-collective as weapons drones, our resistance is futile. More information will be forthcoming as it becomes available.

A full meme file summary is attached to this report.

*****

Ambush Alley. While the system had other, less interesting, designations assigned to it depending upon race or starchart, the generations of freighter captains who plied the nearby shipping lanes had given it the informal, and much more colorful, name. Oh, there were other labels in the three to fifteen letter plus range that had been applied over the millennia, but "Ambush Alley" was the most polite, longest lasting, and provided the best description.

The system was dominated by a glaring blue giant only a few million years old, but already displaying the temper tantrums which would cumulate in an explosive death twenty million years hence. Although stellar winds had carved out a cavity within the birth nebula, sufficient gaseous material remained to form a massive Jovian planet. The Jove, not quite large enough to be classified as a brown dwarf, whipped around its sun in a plasma-skimming eighteen days. No other planets had been able to form in the harsh environment, the Jove's gravity and aberrant orbit ejecting all potential siblings. Instead, billions, if not trillions, of asteroids and their comet cousins tumbled around the star, more-than-occasionally colliding.

The chaotic environment, adjacent to a major shipping lane, was a favorite for pirates, both those looking for prey and those escaping pursuit. In the first category, many techniques, from phony distress signals to attacks from warp, had been attempted over the centuries, methods evolving as the current cohort of freighter captain became wise. Those fleeing pursuit - not just pirates - often escaped to Ambush Alley. Sometimes the fox just wanted to hide amid the rocky debris and heavy ionization that played hob with scanners; and other times, the target looked to turn the tables, laying in wait for an incautious hound.

Borg Lugger-class Cube #238 sat at the far outreaches of the Ambush Alley system. The blue giant, despite its size, was a mere pinpoint of light, with the rest of the galaxy largely shrouded by the surrounding nebula. In recent years the Collective had taken interest in the route upon which the Ambush Alley pirates preyed. In consequence, freighter traffic was much decreased, pirates following their quarry to less dangerous pastures. A few optimistic (or crazy) bands remained, but none were desperate enough to set a lure which would only catch Borg interest. And, even if they were, it would be suicide to attack even the least of Collective resources.

Cube #238 was square within the category of 'least Collective resource.' As a Lugger-class it inherently lacked the offensive capabilities of its more militant brethren, although shields and armoring provided the best protection of all the vessel variants. Of greater importance, however, Cube #238 was the sole remaining depository of imperfectly assimilated drones now that Exploratory-class Cube #347 had been declared rogue and subsequently lost.

In the Primary Core, amid the hustle and bustle of engineering drones moving about their normal activities, 2 of 5 jogged. Sort of. The action was an odd stiff-legged gait, faster than a walk, not quite a lope, mostly artificial leg and whole leg at odds with each other and the inherently inflexible qualities of Borg body armor. A circular track of yellow paint had been applied to the deck, both a path and a warning, for when 2 of 5 jogged, she didn't always (consciously) watch where she was going, often to the detriment of those units who did not move out of her way. Flarn bulk, augmented by Borg hardware, had a tendency to flatten anything of lesser mass.

Many command and control drones preferred to remain in their alcoves, while others had been known to commandeer nodal intersections or storage closets from which to work. 2 of 5 (subdesignation "Prime," for she disliked "Captain") was most efficient in her role of primary consensus monitor and facilitator when she was on the move; and as once-upon-a-time she had served as Chief Engineer on a succession of academic science vessels, she preferred the ambience of the Primary Core.

The various Engineers over the years had learned not to argue with 2 of 5 about her choice of jogging tracks when she was Prime or Reserve.

Prime was unsure how the sub-collective should proceed, mirroring the general indecision of the 3000 drone crew. When passing the real-world coordinates of system #TWA325-b (nee "Ambush Alley") at hypertranswarp velocities en route to deliver items currently residing in holds, a Borg distress signal had been intercepted. Automatic root-level pathways had engaged, slowing the cube to normal space. Borg distress signal was an euphemism for 'salvage beacon,' a vessel needing to use one only in the case of vinculum failure (unheard of except in conjuction with complete ship destruction) or sub-collective termination (no one left to contact the Collective).

The problem was that no other Borg vessels were in the area, at least no /Collective/ vessels. Therefore, the signal did not belong to the Collective. On the other hand, the frequencies at which the beacon yelped were the same for Colors as for Collective, so it was not inconceivable that it was a Colored vessel calling for salvage. On the third hand, it was also not unknown for Colors to use a mock distress to lure unsuspecting vessels, Color and Collective; and the freighter captains /did/ call this system Ambush Alley.

{Sensor report,} demanded Prime as she turned the corner next to the lift.

{Elevated ionization levels combined with sensor ghosts from too many rocks with high metal content equals inaccuate readings} summarized the head of the sensors hierarchy. The response was the same as those given to captains, in the roles of pursuit or potential prey, since Ambush Alley had first been used.

The distress signal vibrated root-level pathways, a not-quite compulsion as the cube could always leave if foul play was strongly suspected, but otherwise strongly weighing any decision.

To inquire upon the Greater Consciousness for help in solving the dilemma was a poor option, one Prime wished to avoid. As of late, the Whole had become increasingly occupied with the used warp nacelle riddle, as well as focusing on musical endeavors and derivative art forms. And taking advantage of the Second Federation's fragmentation, of course. The troubles of an imperfect sub-collective would be placed low in the queue of importance.

One lap. Two laps. Three laps. The consensus cascade concluded.

Cube #238 plotted a course to intercept the distress call.

Ambush Alley lived up to its name.

As Cube #238 had cautiously approached tractor-grapple range of the Exploratory-class cube which was the origin of the beacon, the seemingly dead vessel had proved to be quite functional. At first glance it might seem preposterous that a ship the size of an Exploratory-class would even attempt to attack a behemoth eight kilometers per side, a Chihuahua taking on a Saint Bernard. Then again, the smaller opponent had superior maneuverability, greater power resources, and, most importantly, was more heavily armed than any Lugger-class.

Cube #238 did not stand a chance.

The first transmutation pulse discharge which washed over face #3 and spilled onto adjacent sides prompted the automatic response to bring forward a nonimpacted face. The Exploratory-class had already been in a tumble, now recognized as a carefully controlled spin, and so was ready to repeat the action of capacitor-fueled transmutation pulse on the new target. In such a manner, Cube #238 had been quickly rendered unable to communicate in a meaningful way on fractal subspace channels to the Greater Consciousness.

{Where are our shields?} demanded 5 of 5, Prime's Reserve, from the alcove he rarely left.

Prime slowed her jog to an amble, the better to not impede the increased level of activity in the Primary Core. High on the fourth level of the seven story room, she caught a glimpse of Engineer. His armor was brightly painted in blue and fuchsia diagonal stripes.

Spat Engineer, {Still off-lined for level 1 maintenance. I said we should have waited to enter the system until everything had been reassembled.}

{Backup shields?} asked Reserve.

{We still haven't tracked down the fuse panel that blew seven cycles ago. It was bumped to low priority - against my recommendation - when the clamp issue arose in Bulk Cargo Hold #3, and again when temperature control for Interior Cargo Hold #7 was on the fritz, threatening to freeze the neurogel.}

{Reserve backup shields?}

{Electrical grid surges from the transmutation pulses fried it. Time to repair is fifteen minutes, even with cube regeneration.}

Summarized Prime, {Translation: we have no shields.}

Engineer paused in his troubleshooting to lean over the fourth level railing to directly gaze upon Prime. {Give the Flarn a cupee doll. Bingo.} Garishly painted body vanished, back to work.

Sensors, many of them blurred due to transmogrification of the upper molecular layers of hull, sighted a low-velocity torpedo launch from the Exploratory-class cube. It was like peering through dark, smoky glasses. For a moment it seemed as if the torpedo was actually on a trajectory to /miss/ the large target represented by Cube #238, but at the last moment sharply veered, slamming into the hull. There was no explosion.

"Vessel identification," demanded an audio transmission in Borg multivoice mode. The torpedo had carried a subspace radio transceiver as its payload. The attacker obviously knew that the transmutation pulse played havoc with all surface antennae, not just blocked fractal subspace channels. The torpedo reinstated subspace capabilities, albeit at a limited range and only upon the transceiver frequency.

Prime keyed outgoing communications, confident the transceiver was sophisticated enough to bridge the relay between cube systems and its own workings. "We are Borg Collective Lugger-class Cube #238," was the reply. Standard protocol meant that multivoice was engaged. The words echoed on internal PA speakers as well as in the dataspaces.

"Lugger-class Cube #238?" There almost seemed to be a note of surprise in the rhetorical question. A video stream joined the audio component. "We demand access to your consensus monitor and facilitator."

Flarn have no noses to wrinkle, their facial features largely static even before addition of Borg hardware and programming. However, if Prime had either the nose or the proclivity, she would have done so. Instead she fully engaged her personal autopilot, setting her body to follow the yellow track, heedless of obstacles, as she turned inward. In her mind's eye she intercepted the video packets and opened them.

"Lucky us," said the blue-eyed drone, background that of a standard nodal intersection, who confronted Prime. "The odds of us waylaying the only other imperfectly assimilated sub-collective in the Collective are miniscule. Which meant that it was bound to happen, of course. Greetings. I am 4 of 8, subdesignated Captain, primary consensus monitor and facilitator of Borg Collective Exploratory-class Cube #347."

Prime blinked. The Greater Consciousness had recently declared the sub-collective of the named cube rogue! Cube #238 had done their best following that declaration to attract as little attention as possible from the Whole, concerned that the Greater Consciousness', with its increasing instability, might tack a similar label to their other cube of misfits. Such had not happened...yet.

Captain was not done speaking. Voice hardened, brokered no argument. "Stand down all drones and prepare to be boarded. Resistance is futile. You will comply. We have a few critical items left on our shopping list, and you will supply them."

*****

Identification Number: Lugger-class Cube #238-3152.b

Time Stamp: 773394.100.6

Contact: Report compiled by 2 of 5, consensus monitor and facilitator (subdesignation "Prime"), Hierarchy of Five, Command and Control, Lugger-class Cube #238 sub-collective

Subject: Encounter With Rogue Borg Exploratory-Class Cube #347, Part II

We have been secured by rogue Exploratory-class Cube #347. Most units of this sub-collective, except those considered necessary for the continued functioning of Cube #238, have been locked in their respective alcoves. The purpose of rogue Exploratory-class Cube #347 is supply acquisition. The following manifest items have been appropriated:

*Singularity Torpedoes (25) [Inventory #362T5-beta]

*Isolinear Chips, Mixed Variety (5 crates) [Inventory #F3211-gamma]

*Paint, Sunshine Yellow With Sparkles In (200 liters as 2 liter cans) [Inventory #9RR1-zeta]

*****

The clang of metal on metal echoed through the frigid air, followed by pregnant silence, then a boom. Prime interally winced as she considered the mess that would have to be cleaned up when the invaders finished collecting their supplies and left. In the Bulk Cargo Holds there were few visually-orientated sensors; and the current configuration of this particular hold meant that cameras were more obscured than usual. On top of that, since the Cube #347 sub-collective refused to allow Cube #238 drones to participate via the stevedore duties they knew so well, there were no units present to directly observe the disorder in the making.

Such was probably for the best. Doctor had already been forced to override glandular presets and increase Engineer's mood stabilizers several times since the boarding. In general, the engineering hierarchy was ready to riot, with command and control being forced to send key drones into regenerative stasis for the duration.

Metal falling against metal indicated the continuation of cargo abuse.

"Be more careful," admonished Prime, her breath forming into frosty vapor that hung in the still air of Bulk Cargo Hold #2. "If the borehole collar segments are warped beyond tolerance factor, this cube's efficiency quotient will decrease. Again. We have no desire to be assigned to hauling drums of fermented polyjuice. Again." Pause. "If you would allow us to assign assistance from this sub-collective..."

Captain, the Cube #347 consensus monitor and facilitator, Prime's counterpart, shook his head slightly. Biodossiers suggested the gesture was not native to Captain's species, so he was likely channeling the body language. "No. The less units mobilized, the less chance for undersired incidents." This was spoken as one who has had vast experience with imperfect individual drones slipping their leashes. "Begin pressurization sequence for Bulk Cargo Hold #3."

Prime resisted the impulse to reach over and squash Captain - the other drone only came up to her shoulder - recognizing origin from a very frustrated Weapons combined with base Flarn nature, but mostly Weapons. And Engineer. "Compliance. Initiating pressurization cycle," sullenly said Prime.

A Lugger-class cube, while externally resembling other vessel types in the Borg stable, has a fundamentally different internal architecture. Not simply an enlarged Cargo-class, the best way to describe the Lugger-class was as a "cube within a cube."

At the center of the Lugger-class was subsection 14, itself larger than a Battle-class. In many aspects, the subsection even resembled a conventional Borg vessel, including possession of eight Internal Cargo Holds instead of the ramble of tiers, hallways, and rooms present in other ships' central subsection. The Internal Cargo Holds held items of relatively small size or delicate nature, or items which had specific temperature, pressure, atmosphere, or gravity requirements. Other deviations were also present, such as four auxiliary cores (not ten), only two of which backed up the primary core, the other pair dedicated to cargo maintenance. Beyond that, the great majority of alcove tiers were immediately adjacent to the Primary Core and Central Engineering, not dispersed throughout the cube.

It was the Bulk Cargo Holds which truly defined the Lugger-class cube. A thick band 100 meters thick, similar in construction to the underhull complex, girded the X, Y, and Z axis equators beyond the bounds of subsection 14. The bands converted most of a Lugger-class into eight vast, open-volume cargo holds, accessible to the outside by eight giant doors, one per bay. The arrangement theoretically meant that each hold, like the their subsection 14 counterparts, could be separately pressurized, the equatorial bands that isolated each section airtight. In reality, the life support requirement to keep the Bulk Cargo Holds in atmosphere, temperature, and gravity was tremendous, so transported cargo was generally moved under conditions of vacuum with temperature preferably similar to that outside.

As a giant, empty volume is suitable only for transporting equally large cargo like Exploratory-class cubes, a number of hold configurations were possible using retractable spars and movable decking. The most commonly used arrangement was 'stack,' transmogrifying a cargo hold into multiple levels of warehouse-style storage space. Other variations existed, allowing transportation of almost anything which could fit into a cargo hold. And due to the inherent instabilities upon superstructure by having a large open space, empty bays generally supported a latticework of spars, strengthening internal integrity and providing the resemblance to a jungle gym for 100 meter tall giants.

When cargo had to be shifted during transport, standard operating procedure was to keep Bulk Cargo Hold atmospheric parameters at their preset settings. After all, a couple hours of vacuum and very cold temperatures would not harm a Borg drone. Captain had insisted otherwise to Prime, despite the fact his sub-collective units were no more hampered by ambient conditions than Cube #238's engineers, although he did not demand humidity or temperature to match normal Borg parameters. The reason for the stipulation was unknown, but Prime suspected that the increased energy use which required an auxiliary core unidled meant that less power was thence available should the cube decide to resist.

Or it could be because it was physically more pleasant and less damaging to Borg bodies to work in relatively warm, non-vacuum conditions.

Or...Cube #347 was theoretically as imperfect as Cube #238. There were indications that the Collective had improved censure filters in the centuries between Cube #347's mysterious 'death' and subsequent 'reincarnation.' Following an ill-fated exchange program with Cube #347, 67 of 400 of the engineering hierarchy had reported a general chaos and lack of unity within the other sub-collective, an atmosphere which had eventually eroded his filters and led to a temporary mental breakdown. Perhaps it had been inevitable that Cube #347 would step beyond the boundaries the current era Greater Consciousness deemed acceptable and be declared rogue. Logic and efficiency in such a case did not necessarily apply.

Prime clenched her teeth as metal was dragged across metal. Overhead lightstrips embedded in the underside of modular deck plating flickered, then steadied, as atmospheric generators in Bulk Cargo Hold #3 came fully on-line. Prime turned her head to regard the smaller drone beside her. "You are rogue. The normal patterns of rogues, either singularly or collectively, is to flee Collective, and Color, influence. Instead you have /attacked/ Collective assets."

"We are not rogue," bluntly stated Captain, attention focused straight ahead.

"Could have fooled me, and the Greater Consciousness," muttered Prime.

Captain's head swiveled to catch Prime in an unblinking stare. Consensus monitor to consensus monitor, there would be no winner in this eyeball contest. "We are /not/ rogue," repeated Captain.

"Then join with us, return to the Greater Consciousness when the transmutation residue is washed from the hull. If you truly desire to prove you are not rogue..." Prime left the invitation dangling as she turned her body and reached forward with her right hand.

Captain backed out of arm range, eye narrowed. "I don't think so," he said, not fooled by the ploy. "You do not understand. We are not rogue. It is the Greater Consciousness which is rogue."

{An insane rogue!} noted Reserve with surprise. {Delusional.}

{By definition, any rogue is insane,} replied Prime, her eye never leaving that of Captain's. {Of course, by definition imperfect drones also rank on the spectrum of insanity; but no imperfect sub-collective has been labeled rogue before. Perhaps Cube #347 represents a new class of insanity, expected rogue behavior not applying.}

Reserve wavered, {True.}

{But? There is a "but" to your thought-stream. Enlighten me/us.}

Reserve organized his thoughts. {The Greater Consciousness hasn't exactly been acting, well, normal as of late. There is the whole warp nacelle obsession, not to mention the research node we are scheduled to resupply has been partially diverted to contemplate a phenomenon knows as "Rocky Mountain Horror Picture Show" and its applicability to kinetic sculpture.}

{There is an explanation. We are mere drones, small cogs in a larger Whole. We comply as best we can,} insisted Prime, drawing the conviction around herself like a shield. Reserve was simply voicing the concerns of the sub-collective. Due to their status, they were distanced from the Whole; and in the same way an observer might see broad shifts on a battlefield invisible to the individual soldier, so Cube #238 had been watching changes in Greater Consciousness priorities.

{Kinetic sculpture?} persisted Reserve. {How does that further Perfection, unless you belong to Chartreuse?}

"Not rogues," Captain muttered to himself a final time. He blinked and head tilted sideways. The sounds of heavy objects being moved by inexpert hands had stopped, accompanying a report of multiple transporter signatures. "We are done in this Bulk Cargo Hold. Your inventory lists tritanium alloy ingots in Bulk Cargo Hold #3, as well as several other items of interest to us. As soon as the atmosphere stabilizes, we will proceed. You may return this location to its previous settings,"

{Joy,} commented Prime to herself as she released life support control to engineering hierarchy to do just that. "Shall we move on to the next stop on our little tour?"

"Second likes your attitude," relayed Captain. "Sarcastic and pointed. I..." The drone's voice trailed off as he froze in place, staring at nothing. Then he abruptly reanimated, muttering, "By the King, we knew this was going too smoothly."

The oath used by Captain was unfamiliar to Prime, not among the extensive dictionary of vulgarities part of the larger language files. "What?" she demanded.

Captain blinked again, then focused sharply on Prime, four thousand additional drones reflected in his blue eye. "Two Battle-class cubes have entered this system and are on a course to this location. Red."

*****

Identification Number: Lugger-class Cube #238-3152.b

Time Stamp: 773450.293.7

Contact: Report compiled by 2 of 5, consensus monitor and facilitator (subdesignation "Prime"), Hierarchy of Five, Command and Control, Lugger-class Cube #238 sub-collective

Subject: Encounter With Rogue Borg Exploratory-Class Cube #347, Part III

As of timestamp 773411.998.9, the primary consensus monitor and facilitator of Cube #347 relayed to this sub-collective that two Red Battle-class cubes had entered the system and were on a least-time intercept course for us. Due to a sensor system inherently inferior to the Exploratory-class grid suite, as well as general degradation from the transmutation pulse, we could not confirm until timestamp 773425.113.3. It is theorized with 93.5% probability the Red cubes were within range to receive the emergency beacon lure from Exploratory-class Cube #347 and have arrived to investigate, with the desire to salvage.

The Cube #347 consensus monitor and facilitator claims to have attempted communications with the Red vessels, but that the response was less than civil.

At this time it has been mutually decided by our two sub-collectives that the best policy is to cooperate. This sub-collective is hampered and cannot see well enough to navigate supralight speeds. Exploratory-class Cube #347, on the other hand, (1) greatly requires several items from our inventory of which we apparently misfiled; (2) has repeatedly insisted it is not rogue, and will prove it for Collective records; and (3) claims that it has a plan with 42.6% probability of working. Although we have not been completely informed of all plan components, our best-guess calculations are 37.1% survival.

Full memory memes are attached; and if this sub-collective does not survive sufficiently intact to transmit report and accompanying files, copies will be embedded in vinculum data architecture.

*****

The fundamental differences between Colors, and hence pseudo-personality, hinges upon definition of Perfection. For example, Green strives to buy Perfection; Red desires to exterminate all potential competitors to Perfection; Ultraviolet works to scientifically describe Perfection; and none is quite sure how Plaid defines Perfection, except that rubber ducks appear to be involved.

While Colors may temporarily align themselves to cooperate towards a greater goal, the truth is that each dislikes the other. 'Dislike' is not quite the correct term, connoting an emotion applicable only to small beings. It would be more accurate to say that Colors see each other as competitors to Perfection, much as a rooster resents other males who may visit his realm although he may allow trespass. In the end, after all, there can only be One.

When Colors can get away with it and benefit outweighs cost, there is no compunction about eliminating (or appropriating) Borg Collective resources...or those of another Color. Red, after intercepting Cube #347's distress signal before it had been cut, had obviously decided to investigate the source. What it had found was an Exploratory-class cube and a Lugger-class cube, all alone with no backup, neither a match for one Battle-class cube, much less two. For Red, it was the perfect opportunity. Even if resources could not be captured intact, such a prospect was not necessarily against the over-reaching goal of the violent Red.

"We need the shield synchronization key," insisted the voice of Captain over the Primary Core's speakers.

Due to poor sensor resolution and the number of obsticles in the Ambush Alley system, the Red pair had been forced to proceed toward their targets at less than speedy velocities. Anything faster than three-quarter impulse was to invite becoming a debris cloud. Red was violent, but not stupid. Therefore, several hours were available to prepare for the inevitable attack, during which it had probably never crossed the collective Red mind as to why the prey did not attempt escape. Regardless, to make the best use of time, the two consensus monitors had returned to their respective nexuses for purposes of coordination.

Prime sped around her track. By whatever imperfect quirk, Captain insisted a video component to the audio stream. Therefore, while she intercepted, and largely ignored, a visual of her counterpart in a nodal intersection, her return feed consisted of her trekking in a never-ending circle.

"Why not allow us access to the sensor boosters?" asked Prime. The words, never actually vocalized, were transliterated in the dataspaces and appended to the audio stream. "After all, the equipment is installed on Cube #238's hull."

Captain's image was as expressionless as usual, yet he somehow managed to project sobriety. "The raw data is configured to our Sensors. Trust me, you /don't/ want access: she is species #6766. You have sufficient redundant sensor resolution for your part of the plan. We require access to the synchronization key for our part." Captain paused, then continued, "/Your/ secondary backup shields were fixed from /our/ resources."

Prime cast her gaze upward, focusing on Engineer on a third level ring catwalk, motionless before a data pillar. "We would have repaired it eventually, except that assembling the contraption took longer than expected," muttered Prime, this time aloud to herself. The consensus cascade of dangers and benefits came to a conclusion. A one-way datastream was configured and embedded in a subharmonic carrier on the intercube communication protocol. "There you go."

Gratitude was not extended, but neither was it expected.

Busywork had filled the hours, now reduced to a last moment scramble with 3.2 minutes until entry into long-range Red offensive weapon volume. Shielded cables, strung by Cube #347 drones across the Lugger-class' abused hull, connected to compact sensor boosters haphazardly bolted on external sparwork. The other ends converged upon an external relay positioned to transmit into Bulk Cargo Hold #5. Such was necessary for the cavernous hold had been reconfigured to allow entrance and berthing of the Exploratory-class cube; and in order to retain a semblance of sensor resolution while surrounded by millions of tons of metal impacted by transmutation pulse, the boosters were needed. Cube #347 additionally required synching its sensors with Cube #238's shields in order to achieve best resolution, else risk crippling interference.

During the time period, the sub-collective of Cube #238, and specifically much of the 2000 strong engineering hierarchy, had not been lax. Inventory items #AB31C-alpha through #AB31C-lambda had been uncrated and assembled into one of the four borehole machines scheduled for delivery to Industrial Node Complex #521. It even mostly looked like the 'finished product' photo attached to the instruction file. No one was quite sure, however, if the three screws, one camlock, and single spring left over were extra hardware, or if some vital component was in danger of going *SPRONG!* at an inauspicious time. The units which comprised the two opposing camps of opinion on the matter were not speaking to each other, except where absolutely necessary, decreasing overall cube efficiency by 0.15%.

Following assembly, a few extras not part of the standard options package had been attached, and the entire contraption hauled to its place to await deployment.

{Targets slowing. Will enter effective Battle-class long-range weapons distance in 1.1 minutes,} announced the sensory hierarchy into the intranet.

Prime slowed her pace, angling towards the egress for the tier which housed her alcove. {All nonessential units, return to alcoves. Commence Plan A.} As internal transporter signatures increased and power demand on the primary core rose, the Flarn pinged Cube #347, following with a verbal update: "Plan initiated."

"Acknowledged," returned Captain, then added, "This would be much easier if we combined dataspheres."

"And let a rogue into our systems?" Prime turned onto the tier and made her way to her alcove. Her bulk precluded anyone else from passing her in the opposite direction. The central shaft stretched to seeming infinity before her, although she knew it ended in a bulkhead partition a mere 700 meters distant.

Countered Captain, "We are not rogues. I simply verbalize the inefficiencies stemming from lack of connectivity. We do not want you in our systems, neither."

"At least we agree on something," grumbled Prime to herself. She stopped in front of an alcove conspicuously larger than those to its left or right, one modified to fit Flarn physiology. Prime pivoted, then stepped back and up, feeling as clamps steadied her frame and umbilicals automatically inserted into various access ports. Before completely allowing herself to descend into the dataspaces, however, she took a moment to stretch extra stability bands, a "seat belt" of sorts, across pelvis and chest: the alcove clamps were old and did not always hold.

Satisfied she would not be ejected onto tier, over unsafety rail, and into central shaft at an inopportune time, Prime closed her eye, cut optical input, and sank into the dataspaces. An exterior sensor feed was reached for, allowed to dominate senses, data enhanced by the sensor hierarchy to remove fuzziness caused by transmutation pulse aftereffects.

The Red Battle-classes were slowing their approach. Perhaps their Greater Consciousness was finally adding up incongruities to determine something was out of kilter; or, perhaps, the action was standard procedure prior to a sure kill. Regardless, the pair were shedding velocity, separating to angle in from two slightly different directions. The long-range envelope had been passed, indicating that Red, as expected, was closing to energy weapon distance, eschewing torpedoes.

A certain asteroid was passed, similar to all others around it, its pock-marked face scarred with craters, layered with ancient dust. A scan, if one were made, would reveal a metal ore content sufficient to make a prospector drool if the motherlode had been located in an industrialized system. Many of its conspecifics had equal, or higher, metal intrusions; and when taken collectively, their sensor distorting properties, combined with local ionization, was one of the major reasons for Ambush Alley's pirate-friendly reputation.

{Launch,} curtly said Weapons, his growling voice, a result of a projectile to the neck during the long ago assault that had led to his assimilation, projecting into the intranets. The single word was accompanied by a tight-beam transmission from a laser emplaced on the hull, the simple technology adequate for the task. The infrared laser pulsed brightly, striking the perfectly normal asteroid.

Several cameras and associated sensors focused on the recipient of the laser, magnifying the scene. The dull glint of processed metal reflecting the blue giant's light was the only hint that something foreign might be hidden within one rubble-filled crater.

The Battle-classes were starting to spin, not so much for defense, but to more quickly bring readied weapons to bear when firing commenced. In response, Lugger-class Cube #238 fired thrusters to bring its own ponderous bulk into a spin. A subset of cameras continued to focus on the asteroid.

Suddenly a bright sodium search light flashed into existance, accompanied by slowly blinking green lights that outlined the waking behemoth's frame. There was a sense of movement, of rotation, of spin, all still largely hidden by the crater's deep shadow. Then the dull yellow of chemical propellant flared, slowly developing to bluish-purple as more efficient fuels, hastily prepared from precursor stocks from Lugger-class inventory, ignited. The beast was awake, and moving.

Stately emerging from the crater, overcoming the asteroid's paltry gravity, rose a geothermal borer...with modifications. It was a snub-nosed monstrosity 300 meters in diameter and fifty meters long, the business end a rotating/counter-rotating mass of circular bits coated in a nanogineered lattice of nuetronium-tritanium hybrid crystal with special exotic element inclusions for maximum hardness and best durability under harsh, abrasive conditions. Diamonds were as butter in comparison. The borer was the fusion of several assimilated technologies, designed to burrow through the hardest of rock and withstand punishing extremes of cold, heat, and pressure. The solid fuel rocket motors bodged to its backside were not part of the official blueprints.

Prime intently watched the borer, along with a great majority of her sub-collective. The machine was a key element of Plan A; and if it should fail, there was, frankly, no Plan B, unless one counted being sliced up by Red cutting beams once repaired shields inevitably failed. Right now the borer's simple computer should be locking on the radiation and heat signature of the nearest Battle-class. Rocket exhaust discharge intensified, propulsion tied into the circuits which normally regulated the borer's treads. The rotating bits turned towards a Red vessel as the borer accelerated well beyond its normal meters-per-hour speed.

Energy intensity maps indicated the Battle-classes were preparing to fire. Both had come to a drifting halt less than twenty kilometers from their target. The propensity of all Borg, be it Collective or Color, to ignore the novel until it had been proven dangerous tagged the borer as a non-threat. In fact, shields had been concentrated in the hemisphere pointed at Cube #238, effectively leaving the opposite side defenseless.

The borer struck a face of the Battle-class labeled Target #1. Bits immediately began chewing, grinding, digging through armor, warping and tearing aside that which refused to give. A brief puff of atmosphere, ignited by the friction heat of metal versus nanogineered crystal, indicated the underhull region had been penetrated. The borer began to inch forward, still-firing rockets shearing off as treads gained purchase: hull suspension elements were a much easier medium to drill than dense-packed neutronium armor. The weapons energy signature for Target #1 abruptly ceased as the cube began to spin faster, providing the impression of a person whirling in place, trying to look over a shoulder to see the insect gnawing upon his back.

The plight of Target #1 did not affect the actions of Target #2, as demonstrated by the low-yield quantum-cobalt hybrid torpedoes which were launched, four in quick succession. The torpedoes were a test for shields. Even with one of its on-site assets distracted, the Red Greater Consciousness knew that the munitions of a single Battle-class would eventually overwhelm the defenses of a Lugger-class, especially one which seemed intent on not fleeing, an action which likely indicated hidden damage.

Prime sent the view of borer burning into cube to a background thread process, substituting it for the link to Exploratory-class Cube #347. Captain was still in a nodal intersection instead of sensibly returned to his alcove; his single eye shifted to focus on his end of a visual feed which showed mostly empty Primary Core. The fact that Prime was not in the picture was unimportant. "Are you prepared?" she asked. "We are in a full defensive spin."

"More than ready," replied Captain. "Second has a partition sitting on Weapons to stop him from shooting up your hold or attempting any other equally undesired action. The borer appears to be a success. Estimated 8.3 minutes to reach the central core at its present pace."

"Do /not/ destroy Bulk Cargo Hold #5, or /any/ of this cube's interior structures," admonished Prime, channeling Engineer's abrupt distress. She disengaged herself from the engineering hierarchy's head concern, only to have Sensors direct a datastream at her showing a series of jagged energy spikes originating from Cube #347.

Captain's head swiveled slightly to direct attention at something unseen - a holographic display? - before returning to Prime. "It is under control. Position us. Red will soon dispense with the probes and commence full attack."

Prime intoned, {Initiate tractor sequence for phase II.} Another volley from Target #2 impacted shields, sending engineering units into action to replace blown relays before cumulative damage left Cube #238 without its primary means of defense. From the Red point of voice, shields remained unaffected. "You are being moved now," reported Prime to Captain.

In Bulk Cargo Hold #5, the interior hold tractors which had been holding Cube #347 in place began to shift the Exploratory-class' bulk. The tractors were more than sufficient for the task, their like originally adapted from docking facilities able to handle much larger vessels. Cube #347 was pushed forward, face nosing through the forcefield warding the hold's exterior egress, doors fully retracted. Once a third of the cube had been extruded through the barrier, tractors were placed in lock-and-hold mode.

"Positioned. That face will rotate towards Target #1 in forty seconds," stated Prime. A vessel eight kilometers an edge could only spin so fast without putting undue stress on the superstructure, especially when large sections of the interior had no permanent support.

Captain voiced a curt "Acknowledged," but the majority of his split attention had obviously already dismissed his Cube #238 counterpart for other priorities.

For phase II of Plan A, coordination was everything, and there was nothing Prime, or any member of command and control, could directly accomplish. It was all up to Cube #347 squatting partway out of Bulk Cargo Hold #5, and her own Weapons, the small weapons hierarchy rarely engaged on a Lugger-class cube. While Prime had confidence in her own sub-collective, the known instability of Cube #347, experienced via 67 of 400 during his exchange as well as dataspace files dedicated to a volatile history of imperfect "oopsies," worried her.

{Faster, faster,} muttered Weapons in the intranets, a command to the cube to rotate swifter. Prime absently blocked the impulse before it could be translated into reality. Target #2 had graduated to full quantum torpedoes with medium isoton yield and was starting to close to optimal energy weapon range. Meanwhile, Target #1 had a large, sparking, plasma-venting hole in one face, and one could only conjecture what sort of resistance the cube was mustering to try to halt progression of the borer.

As face #5 rotated towards Target #2, Cube #238 let lose with a barge of its own quantum torpedoes, the largest isoton yield, firing all eight launchers on the face. A few beats behind, eleven additional quantums and five singularity torps were spat forth by Exploratory-class Cube #347. Spinning progression brought face #6 to bear, as well as a screen of metallic chaff, antimatter bomblets, and an EM pulse bomb.

Cube #238 pinwheeled away as fast as impulse engines could overcome inertia.

As if in shock that its intended prey would dare resist, the Battle-class attacker at first did nothing to avoid the torpedo volley heading its way. By the time anti-missile defenses went into effect, it was too late, especially when the EM pulse temporarily blinded forward looking sensors. While twelve of the incoming quantums were destroyed, leaving the rest to shimmer shields impotently as they detonated, the barrage had been a mere diversion. It was the singularity torps which were the actual attack.

The singularity torpedo is a devastating weapon, its temperamental nature and high manufacturing cost the primary reasons preventing mass deployment. At the singularity torp's heart is a miniature particle accelerator which smashes together opposing loads of one to six (rarely more) protons upon impact with target. The larger the proton load, the longer lasting the resultant black hole, and, thus, the greater the potential damage.

It is not the black hole itself which causes havoc, but rather its evaporation. The artificially created singularity is not stable, and nor is it meant to be so. In its brief milliseconds of life, the black hole's event horizon traps energy, matter, whatever falls into it, capturing all into a volume measured in Plank units. Upon evaporation, all accumulated information (the base state of everything) has to go somewhere, the laws of conservation prohibiting its loss. A massive explosion is the result, as if the simple disruptive influence of the black hole was not enough.

Needless to say, Cube #347's singularity torps were at maximum payload.

The first two singularity torps did not shiver Target #2's shields, but completely collapsed them. In the short length of time required for backups to come online, two more singularity torps hit two separate locations on the Battle-class' hull, vaporizing huge segments of armor and carving craters sixty meters deep into subhull corridors. The fifth torpedo wobbled off, missing its target and eventually slamming into an unlucky asteroid, seriously imparting a Bad Day to the powered down smuggling vessel which had thus far avoided attracting unwanted Borg attention.

Far from retreating, the Battle-class leapt forward, charging through dissipating chaff as shields reinitiated.

{I thought the "Objects In Mirror May Be Closer Than They Appear" visual filter had been purged,} complained Prime as the main camera feed of the pursuer altered. Sensors quickly moved to fix the datastream, stripping the visual optical effect.

A ping request for communication requested Prime's attention. She shifted focus, then winced slightly as the most recent engineering diagnostic summary reported a drop in backup shields by 15%, not due to battle damage, but from a brush with a rock near the same size as the cube. {Watch the driving, Reserve,} berated Prime.

"As difficult as it is to believe, our dictionary of vulgar words has expanded by six entries. Red is highly unamused, I will let you know," relayed Captain. "I think phase II of the plan has succeeded admirably. We are ready for the transfer and phase III...assuming you don't plaster all of us onto a planetoid."

Snapped Prime, "If you don't like the driving, you can get out and walk. Initiating transfer." The consensus monitor and facilitator cued engineering hierarchy to begin the ticklish maneuver to move Cube #347 from Bulk Cargo Hold #5 to Bulk Cargo Hold #6, a process which would have been difficult even if a running battle wasn't underway.

The equatorial axis bands which boardered the Bulk Cargo Holds were airtight partitions between bays. Usually. An accident - the less recalled, the better - had recently left a hole just slightly larger than an Exploratory-class cube between Bulk Cargo Holds #5 and #6. It had been temporarily repaired with modular struts and plates, large tarps, and portable forcefield generators, but a permanent fix at dry-dock was not scheduled until after the present cargo run was completed. Therefore, there was a convenient tunnel, if a bit tight, to move Cube #347 from one hold to the other.

Two of a projectile trio barely missed Cube #238, scattering a loose-conglomerate asteroid in a hail of pebbles. The third hit shields, but did no damage. The Red Battle-class had yet to risk the singularity torps it undoubtedly held at the ready, unwilling to deplete its limited supply. As Cube #238 began to round a fairly large asteroid containing an elevated concentration of sensor disrupting metals, the loss of line-of-sight tracking further diminished that prospect...for the moment. The Battle-class would not lose its prey; and Plan A also necessitated that such did not happen.

Part of Prime watched the Red vessel slowly sink below the view horizon, the Lugger-class cube cornering as tight as it could given physical size, speed, and maneuvering environment. When Prime was consensus monitor, she generally designated driving to her Reserve, experience demonstrating the disregard she had for bodies stepping in her way when she was on her walking track tending to translate to other endeavors. Unfortunately, while impediments often bounced off her armor-reinforced Flarn epidermis, such was not always true in the realm of celestial body versus Borg ship.

Besides, Prime had other things to attend.

The transfer of Cube #347 between cargo holds was precise work, requiring exacting use of hold tractor beams. It did not help that there would literally be only meters to spare. Such a proposition, relatively simple for a normal sub-collective, was demanding for the imperfectly assimilated. However, the engineering partitions customarily assigned to the interior tractors had become well integrated amongst themselves, One in purpose and mind, to the point that sometimes the drones would finish each other's streams-of-thought when engaged in moving cargo. Such was fine, for the Greater Consciousness /really/ disliked it when important freight was delivered with dings and scratches.

Unfortunately, in this case, the cargo had a Will of its own, and it wasn't necessarily cooperating.

"Stop it! Cease! You are wedged in; and I don't need a larger hole between our cargo holds!" Halfway through the delicate transfer, Cube #347 had fired thrusters along one edge, misaligning itself. The interior tractors, which had never been designed to hold uncooperative cargo, were unable to slow the rotation of the now catawampus cube, resulting in the present predicament. "Cease! Comply!"

Thrusters shut off.

Prime retreated to her body just long enough to straighten herself and prod clamps into reengaging. The stress of large object impacting even larger object had been felt throughout the cube, with the predictable result of her alcove trying to eject her. Resettled, Prime dismissed her body for the dataspaces.

On Cube #347, Captain, unsecured in the nodal intersection, had faired much worse, and was only now returning into the camera's skewed view. His optical implant wasn't quite tracking with his whole eye and a hose had been ripped. Blood seeped from a facial abrasion which nanites were already repairing. "Oops."

Prime was incredulous. She switched the camera feed from the Primary Core to a wide angle of Bulk Cargo Hold #6. A large circle and several flashing arrows were painted onto the image. "Oops? We will be in position in 8.9 minutes, and you won't be ready. Slowing down is /not/ an option, unless you fancy a dozen singularity torpedoes from our Red acquaintee."

Captain wiped the remnant blood from his face where it was threatening to drip into his eye. He critically looked at the red smear on the back of his whole hand, then raised his gaze to the intercube communication feed. "Panic is only for small beings. This difficulty shall be overcome."

"Panic? We are not..." Prime stopped herself as she heard the timbre of her voice on local loudspeakers echoing through the central shaft. She collected the Hierarchy of Five, along with key members of command and control, centering her sub-collective.

The break with the Collective was affecting communal psyche, not as profoundly as a normal sub-collective, but consequences were apparent. The Cube #347 node had erratically dropped in and out of the Whole since its return four years prior: maybe the cumulative effects of such episodes were what had finally driven that sub-collective to rogue status. Prime had no wish to follow in her imperfect counterpart cube's footsteps.

Emerging panic feedback loops were dissolved. Drone maintenance was directed to manually cue the release of calming substances from artificial glands for those engineering hierarchy members, such as Engineer, who were displaying excessive excitability, and thus weighting the Whole. Continued Prime after a few seconds, "We are...frustrated."

"Frustration is allowable, as long as it does not overwhelm," stated Captain calmly. In the background of the nodal intersection, a drone was walking by, one hand encased in a sock puppet and the other pulling a red wagon in which plastic pink flamingos were swaying. Captain ignored the distraction.

In the dataspace distance, engineering unit 67 of 400 requested to be put into stasis for the duration of the emergency. He was denied.

Prime tore her (and others) attention away from the wagon-toting drone. "We have finished analyzing the problem and are invoking a possible solution. It is suggested you /briefly/ fire thrusters along edge 3 to begin counter rotation, no more than 4.5 seconds, then /do not do anything else/ while the transfer is completed. Compliance?"

Prime's counterpart was silent as his whole eye lost focus, an internal debate in progress. Muscles in his face twitched several times before attention was returned to outside matters. "We comply. Initiating burn now."

The wide angle camera in Bulk Cargo Hold #6 showed the flare of thrusters along one cube edge. The action was accompanied by the tooth-numbing scream of unyielding metal against unyielding metal as the bulk of the Exploratory-class cube shifted. Tractor beams, which had been holding the cube steady, immediately began to push or pull, as needed, to continue the transfer. The hole between the holds would be enlarged when all was said and done, as evidenced by the continued protest of grinding metal and monsoon of sparks, but Cube #347 was no longer in danger of becoming a permanent fixture.

{My cargo bays,} sighed Engineer wistfully. {There hasn't been such a mess since the herd of live bonnyboks.}

The remainder of the transfer was anticlimactic, Cube #347 quiescent as the tractors of Bulk Cargo Hold #6 rotated the vessel, positioning it within the window of the bay doors. Like the neighboring hold, a forcefield was the only ward between inside and out.

Reserve pinged an update into the intranets, {Coming about.}

Cube #238 had essentially made a big circle, returning to where it had originally fled. Target #1 remained present, although its purposeless drift and flickering external lights accompanied by wide power fluctuations indicated the borer was near to completing its task. Target #2, on the other hand, was very much alive, and more than prepared to engage as the Lugger-class came to bay.

A Lugger-class cube, in comparison to the other ship types of the Borg fleet, has weak offensive capabilities. There are only eight torpedo launchers per face, although more would not unduly compromise superstructure stability, and the limited magazines do not include singularity torpedoes. The focus was on defense, with a hull 200 meters deep (fifty of which was layers of duralloy and ablative armor) and the strongest known shields in the Milky Way galaxy. The theory was for a Lugger-class cube to be able to withstand punishment long enough to escape or for more offensive resources to arrive on scene.

Unfortunately, neither option was a reality for Cube #238.

Lugger-class Cube #238 passed the dying hulk of Target #1, slowed to a ponderous halt, then began to reverse course. The defensive spin, which had been suspended during the chase, was reinitiated. Therefore, as the mobile Red Battle-class rounded the asteroid horizon, dodging hunks of rock as it sped towards its target, it was ready for the unconventional charge, the action having been relayed from its dying comrade. Just as Plan A, phase III, had dictated as needing to happen.

Prime was prepared for the concentrated assault as face #5 rotated forward, the Battle-class focusing its firepower on the cargo bay door from which had emerged the unexpected singularity torpedoes. The Red Greater Consciousness knew it would win, knew its asset could withstand the pitiful offense from the Lugger-class even as it pounded shields and eventually cracked thick hull. Such was a given, if, and only if, the one danger in the form of singularity torpedoes could be neutralized.

Shield diagnostics roiled through Prime's primary stream of consciousness, detailing energy drain, emitter status, number of blown relays, rerouting options. The power output from Auxiliary Core #3 rose in response to shield damage. Near-surface sensors, already abused by the transmutation pulse, dissolved into static. A triplet of singularity torps set the computer to warning of imminent shield collapse, its monotone dullness at odds to the frantic impulses of engineering and tactical hierarchies.

Meanwhile, face #2 swept forward and the distance between Cube #238 and Target #2 halved, entering energy beam range.

As before, the launchers sent forth eight quantum torpedoes not as an assault, but as a diversion. The actual attack came from the Exploratory-class cube nestled in Bulk Cargo Hold #6, an impossibility from the Red point of view because no passage between holds existed. Sixteen singularity torps, nearly all those remaining to Cube #347, were fired into the fray.

Prime could only imagine the surprise the Red Greater Consciousness must have felt as the torpedo volley neared, sensors indicating two-thirds of the swarm to be of the singularity variety. Defense was not a Red strong point, and counters were only able to eliminate the quantum threat before singularities imploded. At such close range (and closing!) not even imperfect drones could miss a large target.

Target #2 reacted as shields collapsed a second time, followed by multiple impacts of singularity torps. Since the cube was rotating, none of the torpedoes struck in the same area, but instead left behind a string of craters, many punching deep into the hull, joining the twin scars from the earlier encounter. One torpedo took a chunk out of an edge, puncturing the armed casing of the underhull warp nacelle and precipitating a chain reaction that truncated the edge by more than one hundred meters.

Despite the horrific damage, Target #2 was far from mortally wounded. A Battle-class cube is designed for, well, battle, with redundancies on top of redundancies on top of redundancies. Even in its current condition, Target #2 was able to fight, the shock which might affect a nonBorg crew irrelevant, along with panic, anguish, or fear. Above all, Red believed in violence, believed that only through the glorious blowing up of others, thus removing any contrary view of Perfection, would ultimate nirvana be achieved.

{Phase IV of Plan A initiated. Brace for impact,} called Prime into the intranets. She did not bother to repeat the warning to Cube #347.

Face #3 rotated forward, and was enveloped in a withering sting of neuruptor fire. The backup backup shields finally collapsed, exposing hull to the punishing onslaught. Duralloy armor bubbled and ablative armor flecked away. Red status warning flashed in diagnostics.

Edge 7 pivoted forward, smashing a glancing blow on Target #2.

An eight-kilometer-an-edge Lugger-class has inherently more mass than a 2.4-kilometer-an-edge Battle-class, even when the former includes what is essentially a lot of empty space. During the chaos of exploding singularity torps, Reserve had adjusted the cube's trajectory just enough to alter "strafing pass" into "near collision." The Lugger-class shook at the blow, but continued more or less on its course, none the worse for wear, thick armor successfully deflecting the stress. Thrusters began to slow Cube #238, just in case another pass was warranted.

It was not required.

Target #2 lurched off at a tangent to its original course, the blow having altered its controlled spin into a tumble. Although thrusters tried to compensate, sparkling cones of purple against the blue giant's omnipresent glare, they were insufficient to overcome the cumulative influence of plasma venting from the remains of the decimated warp nacelle. With almost majestic grace, Target #2 unceremoniously plastered itself onto an asteroid.

A Battle-class cube has redundancies, but not /that/ many.

For a brief span in time, the explosion outshone even the blue giant.

Prime opened her eyes. Most lighting on the tiers was extinguished, leaving behind the green glow of alcove status lights and the red of head-mounted target lasers. And the string of multicolored lights that decorated the alcove of 4 of 400 across the way. A "yippee!" echoed from a lower tier.

Adrenaline analogues coursed through Prime's system. She triggered the release of countering agents.

Cube #238 slowed its spin, halted, began to drift. It was time to recount damage, to determine what would happen next, to eject the rogue cube from Bulk Cargo Hold #6.

"What?" snapped Prime as an urgent communication request from Cube #347 interrupted her concentration. She split a part of her working consciousness to deal with her counterpart.

Captain appeared to have passed through the collision with little damage. A fading scar joined the vanished remains of the prior contusion, but otherwise he was whole. "My sensors hierarchy head insists she has heard something go *SPRONG!* from Target #1. Considering the translation issues common to the species #6766 algorithms, we are unsure it if is a miscommunication, but the computer insists transliteration is correct."

"A 'sprong'?"

"No, a *SPRONG!*. Sensors is most insistent."

Prime felt an overwhelming urge to go walking, to think while on the move. However, such would run counter to the general proclamation that only necessary units should be mobile; and if she flaunted the directive, the next thing would be /every/ drone with a quasi-excuse would be out and about. Such was one of the dangers of an imperfect sub-collective. Prime vaguely wondered how Captain dealt with such things, but now was not the time to inquire. "Fine, fine, we'll query borer status."

Control of a torpedo tube was negotiated between Weapons and Engineer, cumulating with the launch of a probe towards Target #1. The Battle-class cube was essentially dead, the 300 meter wide hole though its vitals too much for it to cope. Once the borer reached the Primary Core and blew itself up, the threat would be definitively ended.

The probe went into station-keeping orbit around the slowly tumbling Battle-class cube, positioning itself over the borehole. The tight-beam laser, Cube #238's only communication relay to the outside universe, focused upon the probe. Instructions were sent. A reply was received.

{Not good,} reported Engineer to Prime. {The borer has slipped the camshaft to tread four, seventy meters short of its goal. It is stuck. It seems it is missing a few important parts.}

{AH-HA! We win! We win! We win!} chanted an alliance of drones, celebrating the triumph of their wager over the Spare Part group.

Prime blocked the distraction. {It can't move at all?}

{If we want to spin it in a circle, maybe,} replied Engineer, accompanying the words with a diagram of the borer performing a slow barrel roll, {but it isn't going to forward or back with the entire tread seized.}

{Weapons charging, Target #1,} suddenly interrupted Sensors. {Torpedoes locking, I think.}

"Torpedoes locking, Target #1," simultaneously relayed Captain. "Shields would be nice...and what went *SPRONG!*?"

"Our shields are not recovered," curtly assessed Prime even as she queried status. Engineer was dismal in that report, noting repair from battle damage would require several hours, minimum.

On the visual feed, Captain had stilled in the characteristic pose of a drone in deep, intensive internal communion.

Suggested Engineer, {We could blow it up.} The words were simultaneously overlaid with internal sensors reporting two of Cube #347's auxiliary cores unidling; and Sensors confirmed a targeting lock upon the gaping hole to Bulk Cargo Hold #5.

{What?} exclaimed Prime, her concentration shattered by too many urgent requests requiring facilitation converging upon her at once.

{Send a signal to trigger manual explosion of the borer,} repeated Engineer into the sudden intranet silence.

Prime grasped at the proffered thread, gathering together command and control. A Lugger-class sub-collective's most urgent decisions usually revolved around the most efficient way to shift cargo, not perform battle. Without a link to the Collective or personal experience to draw upon, Prime, the sub-collective of Cube #238, were noticeably slower in making a quick decision than what was needed. {Do so,} ordered Prime to the engineering hierarchy.

As the signal to detonate was sent to the borer, several things happened in quick succession.

Two torpedoes launched from Target #1, a final effort from Red to strew violence, to break all the toys, before its asset was eliminated. As the torpedoes left their launchers, the heart of the Battle-class blossomed into fire, overflowing from the borehole and effectively gutting the cube beyond the ability of redundancies to recover.

The combined output of two auxiliary cores energized Cube #347's shield emitters, which were then strained to the breaking point to expand a protective envelope to include the Lugger-class cube in which it was still incarcerated.

The first singularity torp hit the attenuated shield, immediately causing it to collapse. The energetic backwash, however, was just sufficient to nudge its twin off course so that it slammed into, and vaporized, the armoring beside the open door to Bulk Cargo Hold #5. If one or both torpedoes had entered the unwarded bay, there was the high probability that subsection 14 would have been struck, seriously, maybe fatally, injuring the cube. As it was, the damage was largely cosmetic. Ugly, but not critical.

A blast of static and a blizzard of icy gas drew Prime's strained attention back to the still functional intercube channel. The view cleared, revealing Captain staring up at something located just above the camera pickup. He was holding a fire extinguisher in his whole hand, head and shoulders coated in carbon dioxide backwash. Satisfied that whatever was on fire was now out, Captain's piercing blue eye looked directly into the feed. "You obviously need a little bit of work on your sh** hitting fan reflexes. Then again, Lugger-class cubes lead an intrinsically more boring existence than Exploratory-classes. I'll give you some advice before we leave, but first...we have to finish filling our shopping list."

*****

Identification Number: Lugger-class Cube #238-3152.b

Time Stamp: 773926.771.0

Contact: Report compiled by 2 of 5, consensus monitor and facilitator (subdesignation "Prime"), Hierarchy of Five, Command and Control, Lugger-class Cube #238 sub-collective

Subject: Encounter With Rogue Borg Exploratory-Class Cube #347, Part IV

Rogue Exploratory-class Cube #347 left upon the following route <trajectory vectors embedded> at timestamp 773899.013.3. However, due to the time required to wash the hull to a sufficient extent to re-establish Collective connectivity, it is highly unlikely the course will continue to be valid.

Following confirmed termination of the final Red Battle-class cube, the consensus monitor and facilitator of Cube #347 reasserted control over this sub-collective. Additional items were removed from our inventory; and it is known that several scavenging parties were transported to the remains of the Red vessel. Although this sub-collective was unable to conclusively identify items and quantity thereof which were acquired, sensor data confirms at least forty proton loads (size unknown) and associated singularity torpedo accelerators were among the recovered cargo.

Of special note is a conversation which was held between consensus monitors shortly following resumption of control of Cube #238 by the rogue sub-collective. The final action of the Red cube had been predicted by the weapons hierarchy of Cube #347 from a sub-scenario originating in a modified tactical model entitled 'BorgCraft.' This is the data which was originally withheld from us: with this additional information, the Cube #347 assertion of 42.6% survival probability via Plan A become valid, compared to our original calculation of 37.1%. What the rogue sub-collective failed to inform us upon is that Plan A did not end with the destruction of the vessel designated 'Target #2.' In fact, there was a 'phase V' in which Cube #347 sacrificed its shields to singularity torpedoes, then proceeded to use the shelter of the Lugger-class (us) as a launch point for a head-to-head battle. We are relieved that scenario did not come to pass, as the final result was the complete destruction of Lugger-class Cube #238 and this sub-collective. As it was, the Cube #347 consensus monitor claimed 'phase V-beta' was a more suitable outcome due to the greater ease of acquiring supplies, the alternative a search through material spread over half the star system.

His tactical hierarchy head was of differing opinion, but was overruled.

Note that this vessel has priority need for dry-dock maintenance. In addition to the previously logged hole (now expanded) between Bulk Cargo Holds #5 and #6, plus the large amount of damage surrounding the Bulk Cargo Hold #5 exterior door and numerous incidences of hull neuruptor damage, much of the interior of Bulk Cargo Hold #6 will require renovation prior to next use. A memory meme of the circumstances leading to this requirement (acid scars and graffiti are explained within) are embedded within this report.

We regret to inform the Greater Consciousness that Geothermal Borer Alpha [Inventory #AB31C-alpha through #AB31C-lambda] was completely lost. Additional items no longer within our manifest due to Cube #347 acquisition, consumption during battle, or because it was accidentally misfiled and not yet found at this time include:

*Tritannium Ingots (10 kilotonnes) [Inventory #UYN35-alpha]

*Nitrous Oxide, Gaseous (500 liters as 50 liter cylinders) [Inventory #1738B-delta]

Return to the Season 9 page