A Borg By Any Other Name...

Posted on Sun Feb 6th, 2011 @ 11:38pm by Lieutenant Three of Seven & Lieutenant JG Elizabeth Marion

Mission: Hippocratic Hijacking
Location: Deck 6 - Waste Management
Timeline: Follows 'Departure Briefing'

Waste matter was dirty business that no one wanted to talk about, let alone think of, despite its necessity being a commonality of any organism that processed matter through digestion. With a crew of over one hundred and ninety humanoids on board, the Arizona dealt with organic waste matter as a daily challenge that was undertaken in the furthest shadows and most reclusive parts of the ship. The intention was for the sanitation processes of the ship to be out of sight and out of mind, but while Three had no problem with waste... the small Borg did have an objection to waste being wasteful. And, indeed, the waste management system was consuming more energy that a function of its scope and design ought to have been making use of. A trivial amount, perhaps, but with a starship's finite resources even a single percent saved had real application in other areas requiring power. And the amount of power that Three saw being wasted on waste was near two percent.

A walk through of the waste management controls on Deck 6 had opened the Borg's eyes as to the problem. With waste management being so consciously ignored by most individuals aboard the ship, even many engineers, the system that had been installed used an older isolinear control circuit whose redundancies attributed to the additional energy required to operating the system as designed. It was not a flaw, simply a curious glimpse at the humanoid mind. Despite the production, removal, and sanitary processing of waste being a very basic tenant of life the simple fact remained that no one was going to use bioneural circuitry for stirring manure.

And with over a hundred people sharing lavatories across fifteen decks, Three could not have taken the waste management system off-line to change the hardware even were it authorized to do so. Admiring the technological throwback of mid-century engineering that rested in the, literal, bowels of one of the most modern starship designs in use in Starfleet, the Borg was confronted by the reality that it was not this ship's Chief Engineer. Were Three to come up with an improved design for greater efficiency, he would have to first take the proposal to Lieutenant Roberts, who would pass it to the Chief Engineer if he approved of it, and likewise it would be reviewed by the engineers before it could be given to the First Officer, and from there might reach the captain's desk.

For less than two percent increased efficiency in the power distribution throughout the ship. On a system that most engineers in Starfleet loathed to put their hands on.

It seemed a very real possibility that Three might have to come to grips with a one-point-seven percent excess of power consumption by the waste matter reclimation system, a most disturbing thought which occupied the Borg's attention for several seconds as the brain-powered android juggled concepts of system re-design against scenarios for submitting those concepts and dealing with the likely administrative red tape with eventual rejection. The brooding was interrupted by the sound of footsteps climbing down the maintenance ladder from the upper Jeffries Tube that serviced the out-of-the-way locale. Whoever was coming here would most certainly not be just in the neighborhood, so the former Ocampa turned to face the newcomer who would most likely have been searching for it. The appearance of Operations Lieutenant Marion only reinforced the logic.

"Why weren't you at the briefing?"

As with any time the Borg was asked a question, Three dissected the inquiry in order to cross-reference against recent events or other data which might be relevant to the conversation. In linear social interactions, particularly with Humans, there seemed to be many times that a metaphor or allusion to what might otherwise be an 'obscure reference' used casually. It was cause for many embarrassing misunderstandings. Blinking it's silvery eyes, Three finally gave the only reply that seemed plausible. "To answer your interrogative would require an understanding as to the event which you are referencing."

And, indeed, the look on Lieutenant Marion's face seemed to suggest that Three had once again failed to adequately grasp something as simple as conversation. With an expression of both exasperation and confusion, the woman blurted out, "Excuse me?"

Processing an inquiry as to defusing tense or awkward moments, which Three had amassed a lengthy library of, the small Borg shifted the muscles of it's face so that it was smiling as it tried to re-engage it's point from a restated angle. "My apologies. I only meant to ask what briefing are you referring to?"

"The one the captain called, that you didn't show up for," the woman retorted shortly, her face maintaining a stern look that seemed disapproving of the smile.

Resuming it's usual neutral expression, the Borg cocked it's head to one side as a quick scan of all cataloged items for the day revealed no event that would even closely matched the type of meeting that Marion had described. "I am aware of no such briefing," the former Ocampa answered simply, incliding it's head back to look up at the woman as the Borg added, "Though I do regret if my absence was inconvenient for the purposes of this meeting."

"How could you have missed the notice?"

A reasonable inquiry, Three assessed, as well as a question which it would want an answer to as well. Striding over to a black panel along the wall near the entryway, the Borg keyed the LCARS interface on-line. "Computer, please display the identity of the Assistant Chief of Operations," Three ordered succinctly, giving the display a cursory scan before announcing, "There is the problem."

Taking a second longer to inspect the listing, Elizabeth Marion seemed less certain. "What. It's you," she stated.

"It lists me as Lieutenant Three Seven," the Borg noted, inclining it's head toward the display.

Marion just threw up a hand. "Three Seven, Seven of Three, what's the difference?"

Turning it's head to one side, Three regarded the woman for a moment as though contemplating with some uncertainty whether it had correctly heard the question. "One is my name," the small drone responded crisply.

"No, it's a number," Marion replied flatly.

Raising it's head back up, Three could only nod. "You are correct, but more accurately it is a designation," Three stated. It seemed as though some explanation may be necessary to support the position that a designation was an adequate identity, so the small Borg tried to come up with an accurate but summarized account of how it had come to receive it's name.

As though confirming the drone's thoughts, Elizabeth stated, "It's morbid. Don't you have a name? Like an Ocampa name?"

Pausing, Three was confronted by an inquiry of a most personal nature for which there was very little he could recollect upon. And none of which was appropriate for casual conversation. Stammering slightly, the drone began, "I recall very little of what it was like to be..."

"Ocampa?"

"...living," Three stated finally, pressing a hand against the cool bulkhead. Tactile sensors in the hand-like construction communicated surface variation and temperature readings of the metal. A similar alloy to what Three's physical body was constructed of.

Which had very little in common with the body of a living, breathing, person.

"There were seven Ocampa children assimilated at the same time I was, each adapted into a central processing core for probes that would search for species or technology worthy of assimilation into the Collective," Three recalled, glancing up briefly at the other lieutenant as it continued with its summary. "I was the third to go through the assimilation process, making me 'three of seven'."

Pushing away from the wall, the small drone began to walk around the larger human. "It is an accurate identifier, more so than were I to make use of an Ocampa name. In my present form I am not an Ocampa or, at least, very little remains that was ever Ocampa," Three noted in the same somber tone, pausing in the entryway. "There are many humans named Elizabeth, yet that is your name as though it were uniquely your own. It is the same with me. There are many Borg with the designation 'Three of Seven', but that is my name."

The woman seemed at a loss of words, a situation to which the Borg could empathize. "I apologize, Three of Seven," Marion said finally.

"There is an expression attributed to Surak of Vulcan, 'nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim'. It means, there is no offense where none is taken," the Borg replied neatly, leaning its body forward slightly as it returned the smile to it's face and added, "But my friends just call me 'Three'."

Straightening back up, the drone turned to exit the room. "If you'll excuse me, I assume your presence here signals that I am wanted on the bridge."