Freudian Slips

Posted on Mon Dec 24th, 2012 @ 7:16pm by Lieutenant Three of Seven & Lieutenant Tre Boid

Mission: Funzone
Location: USS Arizona, Counselor's Office
Timeline: Follows "Office Space" and "Taking Over"

After departing the counselor's office, Three had resumed his function as the acting Executive Officer. Cowell had officially transferred the Arizona's command codes and assumed command of the vessel, a fact which Three estimated would increase efficiency substantially. When he had submitted all evening reports to the admiral, the drone had taken up post on the bridge for the night watch. As Lieutenant Junior Grade Akron would be taking over the first officer duties, Three had agreed to carry the bridge into the first part of the morning watch in order for the other lieutenant to familiarize himself with the changes that had occurred over the preceding twenty-four hour period.

A linked consciousness would have eliminated the need for 'turn over,' as it was referred, but such inefficiencies of time were to be anticipated when cooperating with individualistic command and control systems.

The status of engineering had remained largely unchanged in Three's absence, as Ensign de Pazzis was a competent damage control officer to lead the efforts at restoring the ship. Senior Chief Frost had remained aboard, largely to monitor Three's progress in assimilating this body, but the drone suspected that the cybernetic specialist may have had an alternative motive in the fact that the senior chief's son was assigned to the Arizona. Regardless, the man's presence gave a welcome legitimacy to the engineering leadership in the wake of Haverson's questionable policies and orders. Three could appreciate that for what it was.

With the ship in dock and the reactor at minimal output, that left Three's responsibilities marginalized. An opportune moment, then, in which to avail himself of the critical incident debriefing that the counselor had felt was an important process. And if there was one thing which Three could appreciate, it was a process.

Arriving at the office on Deck Seven, which he had shown to the Betazoid just several hours before, the Borg reached up a hand to activate the door chime.

Tre was halfway through reading the psychological profile of Lieutenant Akron when the chime buzzed. "Come on in, door's open." He said as he looked up. He had a feeling he knew who it was, but wasn't going to guess. Or cheat and use telepathy, despite the desire at times. Instead he set down his PADD and stood up.

Three entered in time to see the man setting the padd aside. "Am I disturbing you, Lieutenant?" the drone inquired politely, clasping his hands behind his back as he paused just over the threshold.

"No, not at all, come on in, Lieutenant. How do you prefer to be called? I tend to do sessions with first names, so, please, call me Tre, or Doc if you're not comfortable with Tre." Tre said, smiling and motioning to the small couch with his hand. This was going to be interesting, seeing the former drone's reaction to the incident. He was sure there would be feelings of guilt, regret, possibly some anxiety. The man had ordered some of his crew to their death after all.

An intriguing question, one that the drone had not considered. "Most of the crew find it easier to simply refer to me as 'Three' rather than my shortened designation of Three of Seven," the Borg commented finally. In retrospect, it didn't really seem to answer the question that had been asked, but it was the only answer that Three had to give. None referred to him by his full designation, though arguably the remainder of the title no longer applied, as Three had ceased to function as any part of a Borg probe.

Obediently, the drone cross through the room to the small sofa and took a seat. "I trust that you found your accommodations adequate, sir... Tre," the drone inquired, as his conversational routines supplied a suggestion that the man's first night aboard the ship would be a appropriate 'ice breaker' in the social situation.

"Yes, they'll take a while to get to my personal feel to them, but with time. So, tell me, Three, using your own words, what happened. Start with leading up to the incident." Tre said carefully modulating his voice to be as accepting and non-judgmental as possible.

Nodding, the drone paused for a second in which to adequately gather its thoughts. "With the away team and executive officer missing, Captain Haverson ordered to ship to depart at warp," Three began, in an even, almost stoic tone of voice. "Our acceleration climbed to maximum warp, which we maintained for several hours. When advised of the need to reduce strain on the warp coils, Captain Haverson ordered us to maintain present velocity. In fact, he insisted we try to achieve Intrepid velocity."

"I was preoccupied by the task of trying to cool the port nacelle, which had begun to overheat with the volume and duration of plasma flow exceeding its design parameters by twelve percent," the Borg related, continuing. "I requested a second time that the bridge reduce speed, when the warp coils at junctions ten, thirteen, and seventeen ruptured. The subsequent collapse of the warp field dropped us from maximum velocity to subspace, sending a shockwave through the structural frame of the vessel. The resulting stress fractures caused a breach in the EPS grid, as well as several deuterium reservoirs, which alternately caused fire and flooding in the lower parts of the engineering section. This included a rupture of the primary plasma manifold on Deck Nineteen."

"Automated controls, including fire suppression systems, were off-line. With plasma fires approaching the anti-matter containment pods, and no ability to eject them remotely, I directed Damage Control Specialist First Class Jarick to take a team to Deck Twenty One in order to prevent a possible loss of anti-matter containment," Three recalled easily, each detail coming as though recited from a book. "As the main line fire from Deck Nineteen burned down into Deck Twenty, it was strengthened by the toxic gases coming from the ruptures further below. This burned out all of the two deck above Petty Officer Jarick's team, making their safe extraction impossible."

"With the plasma manifold valves open, decompression of the lower levels would have risked decompressing the volume of the ship," the drone explained, pausing only as it weighed whether there were any other relevant details before he ended this summary. "I closed the value on the primary plasma feed, thus allowing for Decks Eighteen through Twenty-One to be vented into space. This resulted in my being ejected into vacuum, along with any members of Petty Officer Jarick's team who might have survived, however unlikely, to that point."

At last coming to a full pause, the drone looked up at the counselor to inquire, "Is that an adequate summation, Tre?"

"This is for you, Three, not for me. When you came to, how did you feel? Have you taken the opportunity to think about how you feel?"

The drone reflected on the question, initiating a diagnostic of his cognitive processors as he came to a conclusion without answer. "I am uncertain that I understand the nature of this query," Three stated, in a matter-of-fact tone. "When I came to, I was at the Daystrom Research Institute. I had been placed in this body, prior to which I had no ability to experience tactile sensation. To... feel... as you do," the drone related, or tried to.

"Emotionally feel, Three. Sadness, anger, guilt, frustration, helplessness, remorse. Not sensation, emotion." Tre said, using his hands slightly to help him express what he wanted to. "Were you torn over the fact that you sent men to their deaths?"

"Hesitation would have further risked the vessel," the drone answered, almost too neatly. Pausing, the drone hesitated a moment before adding, "I... regret... that Petty Officer Jarick was required to perform the duty, but logically he was the only adequate choice. I am cognizant that, for some reason, his death has troubled me more than the others however."

"Troubled you in what way? Although, death troubling you is normal, it is natural. Life is precious, and unlike a Borg drone, unique, one cannot simply replace a unique soul in the same way one replaces a Borg drone. So your recognition that at least this one person's life troubles you is good." Try replied gently. "Can you tell me more about Petty Officer Jarick? Was he a friend?"

Three nodded his understanding of the request and then opened his mouth. And stopped. Repeating the gesture one other time, the drone again paused for a diagnostic of his auditory and cognitive processors. "It is difficult to compress the experiences with one individual over the course of several years into... words," the drone complained finally.

"I was not originally designated as this vessel's chief engineer. I began my tour on the Arizona as the assistant to the Operations Manager. In that capacity, Petty Officer Jarick demonstrated he was a competent member of the engineering staff to assist me where necessary. One of my first projects onboard was to correct a two percent surplus consumption of power by the waste processors. Petty Officer Jarick volunteered some of his time over shore leave to accomplishing this project," Three recalled, again reciting events as though reading them from a book. "When I was later re-assigned to engineering, he invited to attend a social meeting of NCOs that was taking place in one of the engineering workshops. He, and several others, were engaged in a social recreational activity known as a roleplaying game, in which he was the arbiter, and over which he and several others debated facets of engineering science."

"In a mission not long after, several engineers were killed or declared missing in action; including the chief engineer - whom I then replaced at Captain Cowell's direction," Three recalled. "By then, Petty Officer Jarick had earned my trust to be competent to serve as the ship's Damage Control Assistant. I qualified him as an Engineering Officer of the Watch and, when time permitted, would attend the social gatherings around the roleplaying game he directed. He was... efficient," the drone remarked finally, which was, in the end, the highest compliment a Borg could give.

Tre nodded at the appropriate times, hoping to keep the explanation going. "So, would you describe him as a friend?"

The diminutive Ocampa mulled over the question for a second longer than was usual. A trait, it seemed of this conversation as a whole. "A friend is someone attached by affection or esteem. I do not believe that term adequately describes Petty Officer Jarick," the Borg remarked finally, looking back over at the counselor. "We had a professional relationship in which I respected the unique capabilities and functions he performed, on duty and off duty, in organizing the engineering NCOs and in carrying out his tasks - be they directed or self-appointed."

As an aside, Three was vaguely pondering the question of whether there was anyone he would describe as a 'friend.' It implied an emotional relationship that the drone had not contemplated previously, and would require some study to determine whether such was relevant to the Borg's function. "I had come to rely on Petty Officer Jarick as part of the function of the engineering department. I will have to adapt for the absence of his expertise," Three stated simply.

Once again, the Betazoid nodded. Although he had a feeling that the root of his issues with Three were not going to be with his problems with the incident, but his lack of emotional response to anything. "Do you feel emotion?"

"I am... uncertain," Three admitted frankly. "When I was on Deck 20, in the fire, my physical housing beginning to melt down... I accessed memories of my life before the Borg that I had not recalled previously. I... remembered laughing. Is that unusual?" the drone inquired, turning the question back on the counselor.

"People in imminent danger of their lives often experience what most people call 'their life flashing before their eyes'. It takes a split second to think on the things you loved, the things you miss, the things you wish you could have done differently or better. It's not unusual. Perhaps, now that you have a second chance, you should take some time and try to consciously access those memories. See what other things you can remember." Tre replied, though he knew given how many times he had seen his own life flash before his eyes, some things didn't come back the same way as they did in that moment of sheer panic.

"When the Borg finished assimilating me into a central processing unit, my memory engrams were purged in order to ensure that my cortical array was processing pertinent scientific data with sufficient volume for my anticipated one hundred year service life as a long-range probe to the Gamma Quadrant," Three stated, unaware that he had lowered the volume of his voice slightly. "As such, my early memories are fragments of data. Difficult to process for file recovery or identification."

Not entirely true. The Collective had left him with the memories of his assimilation. "What I do recall... I prefer not to think about," the drone related quietly, his eyes shifting so that he was looking at the floor rather than the counselor.

"Because it is uncomfortable? Frightening, even?" Tre asked, also lowing his voice to match the intonation. "Everyone experiences frightful times, some more than others. I have a few experiences I don't like to think about, but it's important to not bury the thoughts. Burying things can cause the issue to fester, like wound."

"It is uncomfortable to imagine going to back to an existence in the Collective, and yet it would not be possible for me to ignore that it is that experience which makes me what I am," the drone stated.

Tre nodded, "As the same, my experiences were uncomfortable, and I hope to never repeat them. They also make me what I am. When you say uncomfortable, do you feel anything more than hesitation?"

"I am uncertain hesitation is the correct term," the drone related. "I find it difficult to process those particular memories, but it is my nature to be logical. There are salient points each account has provided which I hope to learn and adapt from."

Tre sighed, then nodded again. It would take more than one counselling session in order to get Three to access his emotions. To deal with them, if he recognized them or not. "Very well. I would like to continue talking to you about this, over time. Why don't you come back next week? We can discuss anything new in your life, maybe see if you can do something fun."

"Fun..." the drone echoed, mentally accessing its memory of the ship's schedule in order to map out an appropriate block of time for fun to occur. "Very well. Thank you, Counselor," the Borg remarked, rising from his seat.

"You're welcome. Come see me if you need anything." He said, also standing up. "Have a wonderful day."