Persistence of Vision, pt 3

Posted on Tue Dec 25th, 2012 @ 3:16pm by Lieutenant Three of Seven

Mission: Funzone
Location: USS Arizona, Deck 3, Section 7

The drone froze, rooted in place as he found himself unable to fully comprehend the scene before him.

Silently, the cybernetic matriarch switched the padd off, laying it face down on the table before she turned her attention back toward her former probe. Crossing her legs demurely, the Queen clasped her hands together and rested her arms down on her thigh, patiently waiting.

If it was a greeting which she expected from her former minion, such was not the first thoughts to come aloud from his lips. "I am regenerating onboard the Arizona. There is no Borg activity reported inside the Federation," Three stated, apparently repeated aloud for his own benefit. He was talking himself out of a nightmare. "This is most likely a malfunction of my neural link."

A ghost of some wicked smile played across the woman's face as she offered a pale laugh at the commentary. "A neural link is the primary way in which we speak to one another, but family shares so many secrets. What is important is this," the woman opined, crossing toward the small Ocampa. Resting her hands on his shoulders, the woman peered down into his eyes to say, "You. Are. Borg."

Three's head flinched back further with each word. When he finally spoke, the drone offered meekly, "Correction. You are Borg. I am me,"

Standing erect, the Queen let her hands slide off the diminutive Ocampa's shoulders as she circled around behind him. "Three of Seven, primary processor for probe Twelve-J," the woman announced, lowering her head beside his right ear as she added, "What a unique, individual name you have kept for yourself."

Still rooted in place, the small Ocampa's face betrayed any number of expressions as the sarcasm settled uncomfortably. "Perhaps, if I were to accept that this conversation were actually occurring, then you would be willing to share with me the memory of my real name," Three countered dryly, pointedly not looking at the woman as he spoke. "In which case I will part with my designator, and have no further need for this correspondence."

A finger ran up his spine, the former drone giving an involuntary gasp as he sprang up on his toes.

"So this is how pitiful you have become," the Queen remarked, a tone of mocking concern muting her speech. "Bio-neural fiber simulating a nervous system. Faux organic skin stretched over duranium framework... You used to be capable of processing millions of sensory input per second from across whole sectors of the galaxy. Now you limit yourself to crude, primitive methods of perception."

Perhaps it was the nature of a dream, but even while Three was cognizant that he possessed no respiratory system, he found himself out of breath and gasping for air, vainly, as the cold, familiar hand continued to trace a path up the spine, along the jaw, tilting the face so that she could appraise the craftsmanship.

When he finally found his voice again, Three said merely, "Forgive me, but you cut the heads off of seven children so that you could use their brains in your science experiment." At last turning his eyes so that he could peer up the exoskeletal arm to the woman's silver eyes, the Ocampa added, "You do not get the luxury of lecturing me on what I have lost."

The false smile fell away. "Such ignorance," the Queen complained, drawing her hand away as she stepped in front of the small drone, contining, "The persistence of a vision in which the individual is the center of the universe."

Swallowing nervously, Three raised his head to ask, "Are you quite certain that you do not refer to yourself?"

The Queen's head snapped around sharply to regard the former drone with a seething glare. "Arrogance," the woman muttered, disdainfully. Resuming her seat, the Queen picked up the padd and cradled it in her lap, reading aloud, "'How much sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child.'"

"King Lear, Shakespeare, circa 1605," Three recounted, in a matter-of-fact tone. Pausing only a moment before adding, "My rebuttal: 'Out, damned spot.'"

Coldly, the Queen leveled her gaze over at the impertinent child. "Three of Seven, primary processor for probe Twelve-J..."

Trembling, fists balled up by his sides, the boy shouted, "'Out!'"

"Three of Seven, primary processor for..."

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Three of Seven, Chief Engineer, USS Arizona," Three interjected, shouting his name over the sound of the Queen's voice. Breathlessly he stood there, exhausted, voice raw.

Defeated, but refusing to admit such.

Standing again, the Queen made her way over to the former drone. Cradling his head, she leaned down to whisper. "My little probe, did you ever really believe you could leave?"

* * * * *

"Regeneration cycle complete."

Eyes open, the drone surged forward in a rush of anxiety and anticipation. Confusion gripping hold as the room began to spin, Three stuck somewhere between realities as he tumbled to the floor. Clutching at the bed sheet, the drone crawled along the deck for a moment, as panic subsided with the dawning realization of where he was. And, more importantly, where he wasn't.

Trembling arms felt for a handhold among the spartan furnishings that decorated the plain room, the small drone lifting itself up from the floor in an obvious struggle to pull himself together in the wake of a terrible vision.

Three had never screamed before, at least not to his recollection, though when he did, the sound likely reverberated through the walls of his quarters. Back arched, the drone's right arm began jerking in spasms as he tried, with his left, to grab hold of it. Assimilation tubules shot out of tips of his right fingers, as his hand began to drip with the blue, viscous gelatin that was his 'blood.'

What a fascinating empirical experience. Three believed that this was the physical sensation known as 'pain.'

"Three of Sev..." the drone began, finding its voice silenced as another spasm shot through it's body. As his head jerked roughly to the side, the drone tried again. "Three of..."

A loud burst of static came through the drone's mouth.

From an observational standpoint, Three believed that it was experiencing emotional anxiety. No doubt something to discuss with Counselor Boid. Three would have to add the works of Jung and Surak to his research list in order to properly prepare himself for the discussion.

Efforts at taking a seat instead resulted in the chair overturning with the drone in the middle of a seizure on the floor. Until his body just... stopped, and Three was left with the horrific realization that he was unable to move.

The loss of vision plunged him into a void, in which there was neither sound nor sensation. Trapped, in a prison of his own body.