11-15-2017, 08:20 AM
Despite some initial… hesitation, the Borg had lurched through the gateway—a shimmering wall of energy that seemed to be obscuring something beyond it.
Its feet touched down upon grass, and its sensors, both organic and the barely functioning inorganic components, detected a drastic climatic shift. Aside from the small clearing in which it stood, the horizon was littered with massive, carbon-based lifeforms. The destruction of the Collective had rendered the drone unable to access its vast and unrivaled databases on organic life. For the moment, the giant constructs of green and brown remained still. They were either sleeping or
The Borg continued forward and lifted its remaining hand. With the failure of nearly all of its implants, its original biology was already beginning to reassert itself. Its flesh had already started to lose its normal Borg pigmentation. There was no telling what further exposure to vitamin D would do.
“We must regain our strength,” it spoke beneath its breath as it lowered its hand back to its side. Its eye returned back to the scene laid out before the gate. Something in its mind buzzed…
“Forest… Those are trees. We—I—remember trees.” The drone shook its head. “We. We remember.”
It wasn’t just the human physiology that was reactivating from its slumber. Memories, knowledge, and thoughts started to coalesce in the void that was the drone’s mind. It wasn’t the combined understanding of Species 5618… just the fragmentary intelligence of the drone’s former identity. The fact that it was forced to rely upon an individual sickened the Borg, but there was nothing else it could do at this moment. It had to utilize the resources available to itself or risk perishing and damning the Borg Collective to extinction.
“Trees,” the Borg whispered as it looked and watched a gentle breeze rustle the green orga—leaves—through the air. It felt something brush against its flesh, but the tissue lacked the receptors to convey whatever sensation a warm gust of wind contained. A glance down revealed ash-gray toes where a Borg would normally wear boots. “Grass. We are in a forest… a temperature biome.” The drone stepped closer to the edge of the clearing and swept the area with its functional eye. “What planet are we on? Sol III? Andalusia Prime?”
The Borg looked up at the sky. It seemed Terran.
“We require additional data,” the drone whispered as it made its way from the clearing and into the forest proper.
Its feet touched down upon grass, and its sensors, both organic and the barely functioning inorganic components, detected a drastic climatic shift. Aside from the small clearing in which it stood, the horizon was littered with massive, carbon-based lifeforms. The destruction of the Collective had rendered the drone unable to access its vast and unrivaled databases on organic life. For the moment, the giant constructs of green and brown remained still. They were either sleeping or
The Borg continued forward and lifted its remaining hand. With the failure of nearly all of its implants, its original biology was already beginning to reassert itself. Its flesh had already started to lose its normal Borg pigmentation. There was no telling what further exposure to vitamin D would do.
“We must regain our strength,” it spoke beneath its breath as it lowered its hand back to its side. Its eye returned back to the scene laid out before the gate. Something in its mind buzzed…
“Forest… Those are trees. We—I—remember trees.” The drone shook its head. “We. We remember.”
It wasn’t just the human physiology that was reactivating from its slumber. Memories, knowledge, and thoughts started to coalesce in the void that was the drone’s mind. It wasn’t the combined understanding of Species 5618… just the fragmentary intelligence of the drone’s former identity. The fact that it was forced to rely upon an individual sickened the Borg, but there was nothing else it could do at this moment. It had to utilize the resources available to itself or risk perishing and damning the Borg Collective to extinction.
“Trees,” the Borg whispered as it looked and watched a gentle breeze rustle the green orga—leaves—through the air. It felt something brush against its flesh, but the tissue lacked the receptors to convey whatever sensation a warm gust of wind contained. A glance down revealed ash-gray toes where a Borg would normally wear boots. “Grass. We are in a forest… a temperature biome.” The drone stepped closer to the edge of the clearing and swept the area with its functional eye. “What planet are we on? Sol III? Andalusia Prime?”
The Borg looked up at the sky. It seemed Terran.
“We require additional data,” the drone whispered as it made its way from the clearing and into the forest proper.