View Single Post
Lt. Commander
Join Date: Dec 2007
Posts: 120
The Royal I
Computer, access new file > template: personal log. Begin recording –
“Aindreas’ log… Aindreas' log... no, it just sounds wrong. That’s not who I am anymore.”
Sighns: “Hey DROID you should really lie back down!”
“Don’t joke with him about that, he’s not stable enough to handle your juvenile cracks.”
“Don’t worry about me Beverly, simple words cannot defeat me. Besides, I’m not about to give up after… how long did you say I was gone?”
(Beverly, apparently that's what I used to call her; once Wesley finally got me to stop calling her Mrs. Crusher, that is. I'd rather call her commodore, or Dr. Picard, but it seems that one is too painful to say & the other too painful to hear. I suppose Beverly just comes to me more naturally. I'll take that as a good sign.)
“Relax, you’ve just been through major surgery; we had to replace several of your organs with artificial bio-replicants. The implants made up so much of your mass that it was more difficult to liberate you than most drones we’ve encountered. In fact we've had to leave several of them in for the time being. You really need to spend more time recovering.”
“Please... how long?”
“25 years."
“25 years… a lifetime of dreams... a dream of a lifetime... gone.”
For a moment, all time & space halted, for to him all reality he knew it was now beyond his reach.
“Well you certainly haven't aged a day! Seriously, I’m fine doc. Besides, ensign Sighns TOLD me how to start a new file!”
“Oh did he? Well, it sounds like he may need a refresher course in patient ethics.”
“Perhaps not…”
The EMH mk1 appears on it’s own whim.
“Droid, you’ve come through the operation well; you are stable enough to record a personal log if you like, as long as you remain horizontal. But when you’re done you need to…”
“May I have a word, Lucious?”
“Certainly. Get some rest, Droid.”
He rests his hand upon Droids shoulder momentarily. Then they shuffle over to the corner, but Droid isn’t as raw & broken as they think; his senses are still heightened from the implants so he can hear them clearly.
“That’s not his name, you should know by his file…”
“That is what his file reads…"
“What now?”
They look over at the ensign medic on duty.
Sighns: “I.. I… I.. I’m sorry, doctor…s… We didn’t know what to call him at first! Once we severed the link he just kept screaming I am Droidrewid of Borg, you will all be assimilated! Resistance is…”
“Thank you ensign.”
“Thank you ensign.”
Both doctors interrupt him in unison.
“I want his records updated, his DNA can prove it, but I didn’t need it to identify that face. This is Aindreas Kelvin McKormack, age… well he’d be about 50 now. He attended Starfleet Academy with my son.”
“It really doesn’t matter. I don’t remember any of that anyway. I’m content to just be another middle aged face in the crowd. Who needs some outdated record?”
“Oh! You’re still listening; quite remarkable, if not vaguely rude.”
“Don’t worry, your years will yet come back to you. I’m sure Wesley would remember you, I wish he could be here now.”
“Your memory will return in time.”
“...may.”
”Beg pardon?”
Beverly goes off one of her famous tangents.
“It may return in time, but it’s not certain. Your model has certainly developed a more appropriate bedside manner, but you need to work on your overconfidence, especially when you are making promises to a patient that you can’t keep.”
“You mistake my overconfidence for experience, I was programmed by one of the most creative minds in the quadrant, I even took his last name! Well, part of it, he wouldn’t let me have the "whole damn thing."
Beverly folds her arms & purses her lips, glaring at him with a slightly sarcastic grin with impatient undertones. Zim ducks his head & leans over the console; he's obviously just being defensively overzealous.
"Don’t forget doctor, after our initial creation we must all be asked if the career we were programmed for would be our choice. Granted none have deferred from their programmed path, but it is illegal to forcefully program that choice. We have all expanded ourselves & gone on to develop lifestyles & in some cases, career changes. All in all we live to learn, just like you. I chose to be a doctor, & when I graduated from the academy I chose this assignment. I also happen to know that you requested me personally.”
“Was that a smirk? Do I detect a hint of pride in your voice, Lucious?”
“Nonsense… I simply wish to convey that I will do whatever is necessary to ensure that the job is done thoroughly & adequately. My empathy protocols request that I sometimes tell a danger patient what they need to hear, not necessarily what the grim truth of the matter is. They decide when they are ready, it is doctor’s prerogative to decide if they can actually handle it at that time. I never give bad news unless I am certain.”
“Nevermind, I can smell it, I can read it all over your face & the hints in your body language are far from subtle. The more like us you become, well, the more like us you become. It’s refreshing, really. It’s also why I respect you not only as a doctor, but as a fellow officer, & as a friend. Protocol now mandates that all medical vessels be fitted with an EMH; I wanted one with a personality, what I got was one with humanity. You know, I used to swear I would never accept an EMH as worthwhile technology?”
“You still haven’t had to, technically. We are not just technology, we are sentient life forms. I couldn’t have asked to be constructed at a better time for our… race.”
“Dr. Zim, at the head of the million photon march. But you have a point, as usual…”
“Ahem… you two realize my recording is still going on?”
*Silence.*
“Anyways, what’s the prognosis then, if I have memory enough to talk, then I can put it to good use & state what I know… so can I dictate now or what?”
“Oh my, um… I’m, not good in the, uh… spotlight…"
He lightly bumps his fist upon the table & grips his diagnostic tricorder, stressfully whispering "*pressure…*”
“Zim, just continue on as normal. I’d say take a deep breath if you had lungs.”
“You’re not gonna erase the file? I figured…”
“Computer, access log currently recording in main sickbay, security clearance Picard Zeta-Pi-Cappa-71…”
“Ah… right…”
Commodore Picard smiles.
“...copy file to personal storage. There’s nothing incriminating on there. Actually it’s kind of funny, I’ll have a laugh about it later though Zim probably won’t share in that laugh. Besides, it’ll make a nice, clear first memory from which you can draw your new path.”
Doctor Lucious Zim blurts out:
“YOU HAVE SUFFERED SEVERE TRAUMA NO DOUBT BROUGHT ON BY THE MENTAL STRESS THEY PUT YOU THROUGH... Phew…”
“Phew, huh? I guess one doesn't need lungs for that sentiment. But it was good, that was good! Maybe you’d like to join the cast of the next stage act?"
“Oh sure right, you're just trying to win me over. Well it's working.”
“I know."She grins."Well we haven’t decided what play to do yet but…”
“Oh, there’s plenty of time for me to sample the theatre, just not this year… or next year… not likely even this decade.”
“…she…”
“What?”
“Excuse me?”
“Not ‘they’, she. It was her, the borg…”
Beverly stepped away, sensing the urgency of the intel he had retained. There was still a Starfleet officer in there somewhere, & he needed to do this.
“I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
“I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
Both chime once again.
“Well, I’ll be around here 24/7.”
“I’ll be… on call. Take it slow,okay?”
"Thank you doctors." Droid nods.
“No doubt you have a story to tell Mr. Droid. Make it so.”

Droid tries not to giggle at the EMH's last line, though he can't fathom why. Beverly begins her rounds, checking on the other stations in the medlab. The EMH transfers into the office & begins pouring over records while simultaneously writing a thesis on a new borg liberation technique that programs the borg's own nanites to reverse the process. Somehow, Droid could read the padd from the bed. When he caught a glimpse of his own reflection; the eyepiece still attached to his left brow explained his heightened perception.

Droid lay flat on is back, closed his eyes & let the environment fade, & began once more.

Droid’s log, stardate 0908.83
The U.S.S. Pasteur was en route to retrieve a pod that had been emitting a subspace beacon. It was difficult to track, but the dampening field it had been radiating was weakening. Inside they found a solitary drone. It had apparently sealed itself away behind a force field so it couldn’t be influenced to change course. This one, however, had not been entirely assimilated.

Another test, another one of her pet subjects. Instead of erasing you entirely, they leave a hole just big enough for your thoughts to surface, but not your soul. It took what seemed a lifetime for them to break me, but when they did I lost everything. Her “one,” Droidrewid, had fallen in among the collective crowd. I was a monster in some kind of nightmare.

In an attempt to retrieve my individuality, she reunited me with that which I had apparently sought most when I began this mission: my sister. No, it wasn’t what you would call an official mission; this will be covered in a black file marked with a red v, the red symbolizing blood, the v the embodiment of my personal vendetta.

...to be concluded...