Minutes of the Meeting of the Vertically-Challenged Officer's Association, Local 204

Posted on Mon Dec 24th, 2012 @ 10:45am by Lieutenant Three of Seven & Lieutenant Jonathan "Jack" Mantell

Mission: Funzone
Location: USS Arizona, Deck 9 Aft
Timeline: Follows "Air Mail" and "Extreme Home Makeover"

"Cybernetic supplement thirty-seven gamma, please."

When making use of the ship's computer automated services, the former Borg was always particularly careful to demonstrate proper manners toward the machines. It was something of a quirk, or else, perhaps, a reflection of how Three saw himself. And so, by giving respect to the artificial intelligence around him, Three was in some ways saying that he was worthy of respect as well.

The cup materialized inside the replicator tray, indistinguishable for any number of beverage orders. Tea, coffee, chai, latte... The bluish liquid inside was chemical similar to the viscous fluid which constituted the bio-neural gel packs that the Arizona's replicators - like all the ship's computers - operated off of. And which Three, himself, operated off of. In many respects, Three was now the combination of both Federation and Borg bio-neural circuitry. The Borg were just a little more... extreme in their approaches to the science.

Taking the beverage, the small drone marveled again at the sensation of warm porcelain against the flesh of his hands. Tactile sensation, along with olfactory perception, were two improvements that had come with the current android model that the Ocampa's brain now occupied. The diminutive engineer's thumb brushed up and down the side of the cup as he pivoted, surveying the interior of the ship's bustling lounge.

It had been suggested that he take advantage of the requirement to periodically ingest replacement bio-neural gelatin by sharing in the humanoid social experience that was 'dining out.'

Of course, Three remembered very little of what it was to be a fully organic individual and, having been in the Collective for forty years, felt extremely inexperienced to know just how one started with... socializing. It had been different when the engineers had invited him into their games of Dungeons and Dragons, the invitation having been driven by their curiosity over the Borg's unique physiology. It had been a mutual curiosity then.

Looking over the sea of faces. Intimate conversations over small, dimly lit tables and large gathering of boisterous bands of brothers... This was a different societal setting all together.

The Borg settled finally in a niche carved out of one corner of the room. A table, alone. Watching, calculating, observing... Three was, after all, originally designed by the Collective to serve as a probe. There were many aspects of that reality that were ingrained in his cognitive processors. In a room full of people, the drone who was happiest in a sea of a billion voices, very much preferred the vantage point of drinking alone.

* * * * *

For a normal officer, the routine upon settling into a new assignment was as follows. Find quarters, drop off belongings; find captain, report in; return to quarters, unpack belongings; report to sickbay, get checked out; report to duty, exploring along the way. For Jack, the routine was as follows. Skip all the boring crap and just explore.

The first thing Jack noticed was that, well, the Arizona was huge. Coming from a Norway class vessel, the fact that the corridor actually curved out of sight because of the hull's shape, and not from any odd interior designs, struck Jack as fascinating. The Arizona also had a plethora of redundancies. Secondary Deflector Controls, Tertiary Phaser Focusing Arrays, Secondary Computer Backups, the list went on. It was actually a struggle to find something unique on the ship, so Jack did what any good explorer would do. He turned it into a game.

Deck 1 didn't count, since all the important parts up there were unique. Deck 5 had a gym, complete with an Olympic-size pool, for which Jack made a mental note to go back with a swimsuit. Deck 7 had the sickbay, and the boy gave that area a wide berth. Nothing would be worse at the moment than getting trapped by Starfleet's idea of maintaining crew health. Jack could attest to being quite healthy, he always made sure to eat plenty of fruit snacks and potato chips, which had to count for his daily servings of fruits and veggies.

The next unique place that drew Jack's eye was something that not even a starbase had. Before him stood the double doors, embedded with a frosted glass window with a Starfleet symbol etched in the pane, of some place called Deck 9 Aft. The boy stepped forward, and as the doors registered his presence and began to part, his jaw dropped. Deck 9 Aft was like no other place on the ship. Neither utilitarian nor minimal, Deck 9 Aft was a lounge laid out with splendor. The windows at the far side of the room displayed a portrait-like view of the stars, framed by the Sovereign-class vessel's shapely bust. Several tables were set up in a semi-circle around a wooden countertop behind which a small staff was serving drinks and food items. The tables were occupied with various shipboard personnel, officers, non-coms and enlisted persons alike. Their collective conversations created a buzz that even a Borg drone would have a hard time deciphering.

Jack's awe quickly turned to glee. Approaching the bar, he clambered up onto one of the stools set in front of it. "Milkshake, three parts chocolate, one part strawberry, and can you please shake it instead of stirring?"

The bar staff simply stared at the strange boy sitting at their counter for a moment. One opened his mouth to speak, but must have thought better of it. The other simply asked, "Would you like a straw with that?"

"Yes, please!" the boy chirped. When his shake was done, he thanked the barkeep and swiveled to face the crowd. He hopped down slowly, careful not to spill his milkshake, and scanned the room looking for a place to sit. Most of the occupants were engrossed in their own conversations, or in their work. Jack walked through the tables, looking for someone who looked ready for some company.

Jack stopped in front of a table, which was occupied by a most curious figure. Short, topped with a mop of brown hair, and drinking a cup of something-or-the-other was a boy dressed in a Starfleet uniform. Being another boy dressed in a Starfleet uniform, Jack could hardly complain. In fact, the only thing he could do is sit down at the table and say, "Hi, I'm Jack, who are you?" through sips of his milkshake.

It was not often that the Borg were 'surprised.' Scientific hypothesis may not work out as anticipated, but the Borg were extremely thorough in their observation and meticulous in their planning; however, no sooner had Three registered the approaching presence than he found himself seated across from the strange humanoid, which quickly identified itself in the unique manner of humanoid societies. 'Jack' would be a personal name, not a surname, and would be used as a familiar form of address.

Though he appeared human, the diminutive lieutenant was fascinating for the fact that, like Three, he resembled a juvenile lifeform. Through his various visual scanners, Three was confronted by the fact that every thermal measurement of boy-lieutenant matched that of a baseline human. This would have put the lieutenant across from him at about preadolescence point in development, approximately the same point in biological evolution as Three had been at time of assimilation. Were this a ship with families, Three would have calculated that this was one of the ship's kids; however, the Arizona carried no families on board.

Which left only one remaining possibility. "Three," the drone answered, adopting the shortened form of his designation as was commonly employed by those he interacted with on a frequent basis. "I am unfamiliar with your function on board this ship. You must have recently reported," the engineer added, as his mind worked out a logical approach to the social situation in which he found himself in.

It was then that Jack noticed the metallic implant protruding from around Three's right eye. Had he not seen it and only heard the boy's speech, he might have thought to check the brown-haired boy's ears to see if they were pointed. The logical, mechanical-type speech, the numeric name, the implants...Jack had only heard about them in Engineering journals, but to actually see a de-assimilated Borg was the epitome of Engineering cool. It may not have been in his job description, but Jack always felt that at heart, he was an Engineer.

"Whoa, you used to be a Borg, right? Do you still have the implants that give you enhanced vision and hearing? How about regeneration, do you still do that? Can you still assimilate people? That'd be really cool!" Jack almost exhaled the questions, they sped past his lips at amazing speeds. He took a long gulp of his milkshake, and let out a sigh. He sat back in his seat, a bit more calm now. Suddenly remembering Three's question, the blond-haired boy answered, "Yeah, I'm the Chief Flight Controller, just transferred. Would you believe I just came from a ship full of people like you? Well, not like you, but logical, mechanical. They were all Vulcan, can you believe it?"

Taking another sip of his drink, Jack asked another question, "What do you do?"

It was, perhaps, a good thing that Three stored information differently; thus allowing him to sit through the rapid-fire deluge of questions without so much as batting an eye. Which was a separate matter, as Three's blinking was a result of a randomized algorithm that had been borrowed from the work of Soong in the field of android technology. The drone patiently cataloged each of the questions in turn, ensuring that each had adequate file space allocated so to formulate an appropriate response.

In retrospect, perhaps it was not a good thing that Three remembered as well as he did.

"I function as the Chief Engineer," the drone stated, electing to answer the most recent question. To respond to any of the preceding inquiries would have required substantive time, and follow up queries to ensure that Three understood the reasoning behind them, by which, assuming in the context of a time-limited social encounter, that Three would arrive at the last question then likely at that point neither of them would recall its context in the conversation. "I joined the crew on stardate 63978.29, originally under Captain Cowell."

"Cowell?" the blond-haired youth rolled the name over in his mouth. That was the Starfleet Chief of Staff now, a pretty big honcho on the galactic scale of honchos. "Wow, you served with him? You are officially cool, Three."

The drone inclined it's head at the comment. Internal sensors indicated that Three's power systems were producing ambient heat, though not to the extent that humanoid organisms generated and regulated their internal body temperatures. Which was to say, Three was cooler than a living organism, but 'cool' seemed a rather bizarre and relative term in which to state the relative temperature of another person... official or not.

Jack slurped at his milkshake until it began burping air into his straw. The boy shrugged and pushed the glass to the center of the table. Placing his arms on the table, he leaned forward on them, looking right at the Borg boy across from him. "So, I got a question for you. I know you Borg types probably aren't that fond of games, but I reckon you'd be good at this one. Want to play Kadis-Kot?"

A quick search of his entertainment index produced zero results. "I am familiar with the concept of recreation, and participate in some social activities intended as such," Three replied, as the index did contain forty-seven different manuals for Dungeons and Dragons, as well as fifteen separate rulings on interpretation of the manuals, eight player handbooks, four monster manuals, and a summary of changes between editions. Plus observed behavior related to the rules and practices applicable to chess, kal-toh, and strategema. "However, I am not unfamiliar with... Kadis-Kot," the Borg answered finally.

"Is this a board game, roleplaying game, or holo-interactive game?" Three inquired, preparing a new data entry for cultural assimilation. Kadis-Kot.

"It's a board game, of course. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you," Jack said with a grin, perhaps appearing more mischievous than he intended. He dashed to one end of the room where a storage of game boards lay, and picked up a case of kadis-kot to bring back to the table. As he was setting it up, the boy looked at his Borg opponent, and offered a wager. "A milkshake, or whatever that is you're drinking, says you beat me in the first game."

Surveying the pieces of the game as they were spread over the table, the Borg immediately went to the rules of the game, which were tucked inside the box, in order to begin a proper assessment of the manner in which the game was to be played. Upon hearing the stakes of this game, the drone did look up however. "Your proposed wager is inadvisable. I am unable to process organic dairy solids, and the sugars would clot my circulatory system. I suspect that, similarly, you are unable to process the inert and active compounds within this bio-neural nutrient liquid. However, I am unable to ascertain your exact species. You appear to be a member of Species 5618, however, a human of your physiological development would not be a member of Starfleet."

Jack just stared at the drone for a second, before shaking his head. "You're weird, you know that? Cool, but kind of weird." Then he broke out into a grin, "It's okay, I like weird. You're kind of like me, weird. I'm a Miran, I guess I'm kind of like a human, but somebody messed up a long time ago, and then we just kind of stopped aging." The boy frowned at his own statement, and offered a correction, "No, not stopped. It's just really, really slow. I'm not a doctor or a biologist, I don't know how to explain it technically. All I know is I've been ten for about four centuries, and eleven's not even on the horizon right now."

The Miran youth let out a sigh, and stared out the window for a moment. In that brief moment, the weight of what he said came crashing down on him. Then he felt Three's eyes on him, watching him, waiting. Jack cleared his thoughts, and grinned, "So come on, Weird-o, here's how you play."