Life As You Know It Is Over [18+]

Posted on 10 Oct 2013 @ 1:34pm by Legatus of Borg & Lieutenant Lilou Zaren
Edited on on 10 Oct 2013 @ 11:24pm

3,258 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: Episode 04 - Exodus
Location: Borg Cube - Subjunction 23 Grid 9-6
Timeline: MD03 0421hrs

[ON]

The perfect silence of the Cube's interior was rocked by the sudden sounding of a siren. Shrill and penetrating, the repeated alarm moved through every element of the Collective, as the voices that permeated the mind and body of every Drone began to speak in unison.

"Error. Symbiont datalink unstable. Resolve."

From it's alcove, Legatus of Borg was awoken, tasked to investigate and identify the issue at hand. Stepping down, the drone moved silently yet surprisingly quickly for an automaton to the relevant room aboard the ship.

Perfectly cubed in it's design, the room was unusually spartan for a cube - the walls were plain instead of being lined with alcoves as most space aboard a vessel usually would be, and there was only one table, upon which rested a spherical container comprised of a transparent material. As the drone approached, the biosensors in it's eyepiece automatically identified the contents of the container, the milky liquid that was used to host a Trill symbiont when outside of a host.

Within the container lay the symbiont recently removed from the new Trill drone, with a subtle difference. Attached to the front quarter of the creature was a device obviously of Borg origin, generating a mental link between it, and the cube's central computer, as the algorithms within slowly absorbed the experience and knowledge of many lifetimes.

Once again the voice of the Collective spoke, their analysis of the situation growing more exact with every passing second.

"Isoboramine levels have fallen to 66% - neural interlink node unstable - provide resolution."

Legatus could see the situation in front of it unfolding, the database of the Collective already knowing what the likely outcome would be. In silent thought, it relayed findings to the Collective as a whole, which replied with a single word.

"Proceed."

Moving to the only computer interface panel in the room, the Drone projected it's assimilation tubules and gave a single command. In a heartbeat, the whirr of a transporter and the dull green light filled the room, as the remaining un-assimilated member of the Galileo's crew materialised still strapped to the surgical bed she had been imprisoned on only an hour ago.

"Peers, Lilou - Human/Trill hybrid."

Lilou was awash in an amorphous wave of noradrenaline and dopamine. The nanoprobes that had been injected were doing their work, but the additional compounds that had been about to be injected to resolve the complications of her mixed DNA had not been administered before the green light had engulfed her and carried her... who knew where. Somewhere else on the ship. Her vision was blurred, half blueish-green and half normal; trying to resolve the differences between each eye left her more blind than she ever had been, but she knew the voice. "Commander," she mumbled, trying to work her lips around the words. "Commander Holliday. Commander Jonathan Holliday. You don't have to do this. You're... you have to get us out of here. All of us. They took Barel's baby. And-"

"Irrelevant. We are Legatus of Borg. We require a host for the symbiont in our possession. Your genetic structure has been resequenced to accommodate the existence of a symbiont. You will comply."

The drone seemed oblivious to the reference of it's former identify. Whilst it might have once been this Starfleet Commander of which the hybrid spoke, such individuality was irrelevant to the Collective - the greater whole outweighed any individual drone.

"Symbio-" She struggled in the straps that held her to the table. Her genetics had been resequenced? Was that why everything felt strange? Why her eyes couldn't focus? No, they'd done something to her with a drill- resequencing her brain's neurochemistry with hardware? She wished she'd paid more attention in biology and anatomy. She tried to get herself to think clearly. There was no way they would have had time to adjust her genetics - how long had she been passed out? "Legatus-" she began. "That's a name. Not a designation. So you have a name. You have an identity outside the Collective. Right?" It was hard to think clearly; she felt like she were floating in a kaleidoscopic fog. There wasn't really a question of complying or not. She was strapped to a table and the wobbly feeling in her head and hands told her she probably couldn't have run even if they'd released her. But she could keep them talking... "Listen, DNA resequencing takes a long time, doesn't it? What's the- why would you- I mean, you took the symbiont out of its host, so why don't you put it back in?"

"This drone has been purposed to act as a representative of the Collective. It was decided that a designation would therefore be suitable for interaction with lesser species."

Moving back a few steps, the drone cocked it's head to one side as a holographic projector whirred into life in the roof of the room and projected an outline of what was clearly Trill DNA into the space the drone previous occupied.

"DNA relevant to two species is present within your genome. Your species designation of Trill possesses DNA capable of interaction with the symbiont lifeform. Your species designation of Human possesses DNA that would inhibit this capability. Therefore this DNA has been suppressed - Borg nanoprobes are a highly effective nanomachine."

After a moment the projection showed the appearance of a nanoprobe, interacting with each base pair in turn as several genes became dark, as if to signify this apparent suppression.

"The original host has become one with the Borg. Another individual is required."

"And that's me," she murmured. "Okay. What's- why do- why should you in particular be used as a representative of the Collective? Because you were just taken. There has to be something about you - about this drone - that makes it more suitable for communicating. Isn't that part Commander Holliday? I mean, why communicate at all, if you're just going to turn us all into you, anyway?"

The drone remained silent for another moment, before closing down the holographic projection that separated the mechanical man from the engineer strapped to the bench.

Removing it's tubules from the nearby interlink panel, it stepped back towards the bench.

"This drone was selected due to it's knowledge of your vessel and crew. It was determined that your resistance quotient would be reduced substantially due to the knowledge this drone possess about your defensive systems, and your emotional attachment to this lifeform."

The drone paused for another moment to communicate with the Collective before continuing.

"Your remaining crew's biological and technological distinctiveness will not be added to our own at this time. This vessel is to escort you as ordered."

Lilou stared blearily at him; something was leaking sluggishly down her left cheek. It felt too thick to be water. "If the drone has knowledge, doesn't that mean you're still in there? Holliday? We don't know each other well, I know, but we both hate this. All of this. Remember when we ran my simulation on the holodeck? You- OW." Her head was pounding. Focusing on him, on trying to drag the will inside of him out to fight the nanoprobe army that had invaded his system, was getting to be too much. Talking made her want to throw up. And then suddenly, the pain was worse. Something had been in there, blocking the pain receptors and making... whatever they'd done to her a little less horrible. Now that was over and what remained was overwhelming pain around the left side of her face. So much she couldn't even begin to separate it to try to break down what had happened. The symbiont, she reminded herself. They'd taken it out of Raifi Zaren - she didn't even know his real name, she realized - and now they were looking to put it back in someone, anyone. Her. She was Trill enough. 'Enough'. How much would the Commission love that? Not that they'd ever see her, or Zaren, again, but still - Spirits, what had they done to the thing? Wasn't it a kind of sacrilege to interfere in a connection like that between hosts and symbionts? Then again, death was a kind of sacrilege, too. And stealing away the right to choose. Neither of those bothered the Borg; why should this? "Escort me where? I can't... move."

"We are referring to your vessel. We require the knowledge this symbiont possesses - our attempts to directly download this data has failed. To sustain it's organic functions we require you to undergo implantation."

The drone seemed to care less than nothing about the supposed memories of the drone's original body - it had become perfect since being integrated with the Collective, there was no need to remember that pathetic life as an individual. It had brought a voice to the Collective, order to chaos, light to darkness, nothing more.

Moving towards Peers, the drone cocked it's head as medical drones responded to the voice of the Collective and moved to attend.

"Once integrated you will remain an individual until a suitable download interlink is established to harvest the knowledge of this symbiont. After we have obtained what we need you will be assimilated. Life as you know it, has ended."

Lilou squinted at the additional biomechanical humanoids approaching her. She thought about screaming, but what good would that do? No one who heard her here would care one whit. Struggling had proved fruitless when she hadn't been battling nearly overwhelming pain; doing so now would prove even more pointless. She could barely summon the strength to flex her fingers; she couldn't see more than blurry blue-green-gray shapes. "You have to make everything so dire sounding, don't you. You'd think if you were so happy to be part of the Collective you'd give us drinks with umbrellas and say 'Welcome to your new bot-life' or something, wouldn't you?" She'd never been particularly funny to begin with. The last few years coupled with the last few hours had done nothing to improve that, but she had to say something. She couldn't just lay there and say 'sure'. The worst of it was that she'd spent years seeking permission to return to Trill and become an initiate for symbiont consideration, like her father before her. He had wanted it for her. An honor of the highest form, he'd called it. She had wanted it, because... why? Because he'd wanted her to. Because it would have connected her more fully to her Trill heritage. Because she felt the same aching emptiness as every other Trill; she was biologically designed to be home to a symbiont. That didn't scare her. The blurry figures who were going to take an event that should have been planned for, prepared for, and cautiously attempted in a safe surgical suite while she was out cold and turn it into a painful, unhygienic horror fest in order to strip mine one of Trill's greatest resources for learning... that scared her.

The two medical drones which entered the room were even less talkative than their supposed "representative" - quickly moving into position to perform an operation that they had the assimilated knowledge from hundreds of procedures to call upon.

Reaching out, one of the drones deployed a laser scalpel from within it's prosthetic arm, making a perfect incision from one side of Lilou's abdomen to the other, the scalpel perfectly cauterising the wound as it moved through her soft (compared to Borg armour) flesh.

The second drone moved to the tank, collecting the symbiont from it's milk-like life sustaining habitat, before positioning it directly onto her stomach, knowing that the creature would automatically want to move into the safer habitat of a host.

The joke had apparently not been funny, nor interesting enough to distract them further. Lilou couldn't stop the scream as her flesh was sliced open; the scent of her own skin cooking was strangely familiar, though entirely nauseating. Unfortunately, unlike whatever they'd done to her face, the pain was not enough to send her reeling into unconsciousness, so she was all too aware and alert when her bowels were lifted up and out to find the spot evolutionary empty in her abdomen where the symbiont would be housed. Staring at her own intestines, she gagged on her own bile, and when she'd managed to spit it out and to the side as much as she could to not strangle herself on it, she saw the last of the fleshy, now too pale, symbiont being lowered into her. Her innards followed. Then the sickening scent of her stomach being shoved back together again at high temperatures. There was so much pain, she didn't even know what to do with it anymore. Between her stomach and her face, she was swimming, and it was all she could do to reach and stretch and try to find some kind of life raft so she wouldn't simply die from exposure.

Then... there it was. Like lightening bugs at first, pale and flickering at the corners of her perception. Then static stings, piercing the veil of agony to ping her distractingly. That static shock expanded to bolts, then a lightening storm, until every nerve in her body felt as though it were glowing. Too hot. Too bright.

Images flooded her mind's eye: tranquil deep blue coves, endlessly tall trees with spots of greenery like clouds in the rafters, faces - so many faces of children, men, women, Trill, Bajoran, Cardassian, Klingon, Betazoid, Orion; there were a crowd of children running rampant by a lake, touching and laughing and diving under the water's surface like balls being juggled. She turned to Toran with his hair just beginning to gray, squeezed his hand, and laughed. "They're growing up," she whispered. "So are we," he laughed. A child ran and leapt, tightening himself up and dropping whole into the water's surface. Crash. He dove for the red clay earth as something blasted overhead and crawled across the ground to the nearest of the Bajoran rebels, running his tricorder over the injuries and packing them as best he could as the man fired over his head. Crash. She'd fallen off the table trying to catch her runaway ill-programmed mini shuttle. Hanor looked down at her with a dissapointed, furrowed brow. "You've broken my Catalepsian surveyor. What do you have to say for yourself, Lilou?" She cradled her bleeding knee, "I'm sorry, Papa, I couldn't reach-" Crash. He wasn't so much standing as tied to the upright interrogation panel; dark all around, not even a crack of light, how many days had it been? Then light, overwhelming light. "You'll tell us what you know of the Bajoran Insurrection, Trill." "Holding me," he spat a mouthful of blood to the side and some caught his chin, dribbling down his neck, "is in direct opposition to those words of peace you spit at every UFP official who comes your way."

She opened her eyes, willing the pain back and down. It wasn't helping right now. Neither was Lilou's fear. It was a matter of survival now, for both of them. Stay alive long enough to get out of here. Save the others, a vague impulse came from the back of her mind. Interesting. Try to drain me like a sponge, will they? she thought viciously. The residual terror - not only for herself but for her compatriots - kept her heart pounding hard, almost in her throat. Useful. They read bioelectric signals, did they not?

The drones backed away, satisfied that their procedure had been completed, one giving a final dose of nanoprobes to repair the damage to Lilou's systems before retreating out of the room, leaving only Legatus to step forward.

"Hybridization complete. Your biological systems are stable."

Zaren shifted irritably as she felt the nanoprobes eating away at the leftover bits. She didn't want anything extra in her. They'd already nearly killed her once. Had stolen Raifi from her like blundering idiots. They'd pay for that. "Congratulations. You didn't kill me. Now maybe we can communicate like reasonable lifeforms."

"You are an imperfect creature formed from two imperfect beings. We are the Borg. We are superior."

"From some perspectives, perhaps. Not from mine but, if you're correct, my perspective is flawed by my sense of individualism." She was able to sense now what the trouble with her eyesight had been before. Calibrating the implant's visual relay with the unhindered vision of her right eye was a problem without whatever nanoprobe connections they'd planned on implementing. Oh, it could be dealt with without the use of the Borg's internal circuitry, but that would require medical technicians and access to supplies her former commander would be unlikely to supply her with. So. She shut her eye and focused entirely through the implant. Off color, but at least not dizzying. "So what do superior beings have to gain from keeping this less than superior being alive? Hm?"

The drone said nothing for a moment, standing in silent discussion with the Collective before finally relaying an answer.

"The Collective gathers both technology and knowledge. The parasite within you has a substantial life span. We wish to obtain it's knowledge."

"So that's what that cold, stinging feeling was," she murmured wryly, observing him through the fluctuating lens. So still. So stern. Not too different than he'd been before, actually, aside from the pallor and the additional hardware. Oh, and the lack of passion. Then again, zealotry was a kind of passion in its own right, wasn't it? "What's the lifespan of an average drone, I wonder, barring destruction in battle?"

"Dependent on the species of origin and biological age at the time of assimilation the average drone has a lifespan of 64.42 of the Federation time measurement of years. "

Borg technology had the ability to make sure a drone lived as long as possible but even that technology could not stop the natural aging process of organic tissue indefinitely.

"However - a drone does not leave the Collective upon deactivation - their memory engrams remain part of the whole."

"Sixty-four years," she tutted. "I think your hardware's draining your vitality. Ever thought about using UV lights in these ships instead of these nasty ones you've got installed?"

"Illumination choice is irrelevant."

The drone replied, unphased by her questions. The Collective placed little merit on aesthetics and the choice of lighting was unimportant for a group who could see in most of the EM spectrum.

"If all you're worried about is vision, maybe, but bodies rely on light for energy as much as food or... whatever it is you all fuel on. And since you still have a body, a little ultraviolet light might just help with your longevity issue." She needed sleep. Sleep, rest, steady pulse, steady breath. Healing. But talking seemed to be putting off... whatever it was they had in mind as their new method of information extraction. So talk she would. "Just a suggestion from a former medic. Do what you like with it."

"Irrelevant. You will regenerate."

Stepping forward the drone extended its assimilation tubules and slipped the, into it's unwilling patient's neck, sending another wave of nanoprobes into her system with one simple instruction - sleep.

She grappled against the wave of neurochemicals released, but nothing beat chemistry except chemistry. Her body lost its tension, sprawled noiselessly within the restraints on the metal table.


[OFF]

Legatus of Borg
Borg Representative
Borg Collective

Lieutenant JG Lilou Zaren
Assistant Engineering Officer
USS Galileo

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