“They made use of his inactive Borg leftovers.”  Lieutenant Ada Josephs stood over the bio-bed where the unconscious body of Baron Nine rested.  She handed the PADD with the report over to Commander Park, “It’s remarkable.  As they worked, they learned – thankfully, removing their latent programming wasn’t hard.”

Park, a science officer by training, read the report, her eyes focusing on the code itself.  “It’s crude, but effective.  But then there’s this segment towards the end – it is learning.”  She’d thought it would be simple to resolve, even though the discovery was disturbing.  Now that the operating system was not just learning, but applying the learning to advance its goals, it raised her growing level of fear and worry.

Ada’s face was etched with concern.  “Whatever it is, it’s capable of escalation.  I can repair the physical damage to Baron, but his mental and emotional state will take additional measures.  The scans show significant distress markers on his brain – intracranial pressure was applied.  I’ve only read about it in studies and engagement reports.  There’s obvious Borg behavior in this, but it’s also different.  It’s curious without an understanding of the damage it can cause.  The Borg know what they’re doing, and they still do it.”

The executive officer walked around the bed, wishing the answers were there to see.  “Can it be taught?  Can we teach it to understand that what it’s doing is wrong?  It’s asking for new directives – is it just a matter of a system update?”

Ada sighed, looking sadly at Baron’s comatose form.  “I don’t know – it may be past the time for an uploaded fix to happen.  Self-awareness, especially with the Vorethi biological imperatives onboard, is probably going to get in the way.  It depends on how long they’ve been running on the initial directive.”

The viewscreen on the Franklin D. Roosevelt displayed the Vorethi Chief Premier as he spoke.  “You must understand our situation.  The Blood Guild is reluctant to accept responsibility.”  The wide eyes of Chief Premier Gooren could not hide the stressful position he’d been forced into holding.  “We are having ongoing discussions with the Greater Guilds and hope to have a resolution soon.”

Peter Crawford couldn’t help himself.  He laughed.  Twice.  “Chief Premier, I’m not sure you understand the situation.  I may have failed to explain and properly warn you of what is happening in the far reaches of your asteroid field.  There are Vorethi-bots who have already attacked and done untold damage to a Federation survey ship.  They have made it clear they require speaking with the creators who Frankenstein-ed them together.”  He watched the universal translator struggle with the classic Earth book.  He found the Vorethi politician’s ever-widening eyes amusing.  Whatever the translator had used had shaken Gooren.

“No, you have explained clearly.  Your use of one of our most ancient texts may be helpful.  ‘Mortacia’ is an ancient story of guile, hubris, and an unfettered ego fed by a dark desire.  She was a mad scientist trying to perfect the Vorethi bloodline through experiments and bioengineering.”

Crawford found it intriguing.  “What happened to her?”

“Her creations ate her alive, ripping her limb from limb.”  The Vorethi paused, as if remembering the rest of the story.  “People say they became drunk on her blood and did unspeakable things to her workers.  It is an old tale, retold many times.”

Peter was no longer intrigued.  He regretted asking.  He tried for a redirect.  “How will this help?”

“The Blood Guild finds the dark tales of our culture fascinating.  They have used them in their iconography in the past.  This story, however, they avoid.  In the beginning, they claimed Mortacia as their supposed ancestor.  Public sentiment did not go their way, and it required a shift to a less offensive mascot.”  Gooren chuckled, an odd growling sound coming from his throat.  “They are not well-liked.  If the larger guilds agree to inform the public, they could apply ample pressure.  Such an announcement has not occurred in many years.  You see the difficulty.”

Peter didn’t.  “If the Vorethi-bots do not meet the creators and receive a new directive, they may decide to come and find them.  I don’t know if the original directive was clear on the creator aside from their being the Vorethi.”

“You’re suggesting the Vorethi-bots will attack?”

Crawford nearly rolled his eyes.  Diplomacy was one thing, but stating the obvious to the seemingly oblivious Gooren was buckling his decks. He worked to cool his frustration.  Diplomacy, he told himself, was a game of patience.  Extraordinary patience.  “I don’t know how things work out here, Chief Premier, but I understand that actions have consequences.  And the Vorethi-bots have plenty of reasons not to stop at our survey ship in order to find their creators and ask for an updated directive.”

“I will get back to you.”  The channel closed, leaving Crawford feeling very unhappy.  He reminded himself that at least they would have an answer to his questions.  What that response would contain, he couldn’t guess.  He was also worried about what a lackluster response would mean – for him, Perseverance, Runyon…and anybody else standing in the way of the Vorethi-bots.

He turned to the communications station, his worries pushing him to ask for help. “Better loop in Fleet Captain Fontana.”