A Cube. A Drone. A Doctor.

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A Cube. Not just any cube, but one simplistically designed for production, efficiency, and assimilation. Its odd size is only underscored by its incredible technological superiority. Its exterior, however, hides its technology well. From the outside, it almost resembles a multi-tiered scaffold. Its ease in movement seems nearly impossible, with common sense leading one to believe its momentum would be hindered by drag. However, with no atmosphere in space, that notion is moot.

 

Within its scaffold walls, its totally open to space. Each of its multiple levels are designed to hold thousands, if not millions of drones, supplying each with their alcoves for energy supplication, regeneration, and debriefing. Each alcove is connected to one another and then to the hive mind. All drone minds are interconnected, sending and receiving directions to each other and the Queen. All actions, fluid. All commands, immediate and timely. Any pause would be catastrophic.

 

Going deeper towards the core of the cube exists the central nerve system. A specific home to the Queen, here resides the source for all commands, each specific and at the same time general to each of its drones. A virus contracted here would cause such a chaos within the cube as to separate its elements, the force spreading materials for light years.

 

Each alcove is equipped to house one drone at a time. With one command, a drone knows it is time for a visit at its appropriate port. It connects itself physically, actually, into the main computer. The drones intricate and invasive biosuit creates mechanical commands to be translated into electrical charges into the nanoprobes and cranial implants found throughout the hosts body. Instantaneously, rejuvenation is experienced with just the click of a plug into the mainstream.

 

The Borg drone is silent as it receives. It rests. It experiences no brain wave feed back. It does not reflect. It does not ponder. It does not anticipate. Its only stasis is in regeneration. And when it disconnects physically again, it continues in its preoccupation to work for the good of the cube.

 

The Queen has no discrimination. Any form it can implant with its technology, any specie, any frame that is usable, is assimilated. A Vulcan, a Klingon, an Andorian, it makes no difference. If its functioning and accessible, it is conformed. All culture, all personality, all feelings are erased. In their places reside Borg order, unity, oneness. All essential for the success of the cube as a whole. An interruption in any area would also be disastrous.

 

Success of the union is imperative. If a drone malfunctions, its energy and structure is reabsorbed into the collective. The Borg must survive to bring order to chaos. Or so it has related many times to its victims. Such destructive power and yet its mechanically sound and seemingly indestructible. Such concise order and yet it reeks incredible havoc, mentally and physically. It silences individuality and awakens broadband group unity. What a horrifying metaphor for the human condition of the past.

 

Indeed, the Borg are a force to be reckoned with. But, like all beings, they have their weaknesses and vulnerabilities. It was those faults the Arcadia's Chief Medical Officer was determined to find. But not necessarily against the cube; more on a medical level, against the probes. It was possible, medically speaking, to convert a Borg drone back to its original form. But only if completed within a certain time frame. Doctor Knollwatcher knew of cases where this was proven. Most notably, that of Captain Jean Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise. Reconversion was possible. Time was the issue.

 

This is what gave Andrea her hope in finding her lost Brother and Uncle. The last contact known of the two was a log entry and a warp signature from their shuttle last year. Andrea put the medical padd she was studying down finally and placed her hand over her chin. Her office desk was covered with the latest Starfleet knew about the Collective and she had poured herself over it during the Arcadia's break in activities.

 

Folding her arms on the desk now, Andrea rested her head over them. She took in and let out a long sigh. 'Im going to find them' she reassured herself. 'And when I do, Ill be ready.' The Doctor drifted off to sleep.

 

'Ill be ready.'