This was insane.
Leonard McCoy stared at the viewscreen, watching the small shuttlecraft head straight for the cube-shaped Borg scout ship. It was a tiny thing, compared to the big cube. The beat-up old shuttlecraft had also seen better days. But Bones wasn't worried about the craft itself, but who was inside it.
James T. "I can't delegate!" Kirk.
Well, it wasn't really his fault—the Borg had insisted on a small, manned vessel with a single occupant to make the transfer. Somehow they had gotten Spock (he had a hard time calling him anything else—Borgified Spock? Borgish Spock? Blasted semantics!) here fairly quickly via warp, and he was now in the small cube headed straight towards Kirk.
"I don't like this," the Doctor muttered as the shabby shuttlecraft eked forward, the name "Jolly Roger" spraypainted on the back (courtesy of himself and Scotty on a lazy day a few years back).
"None of us likes this," Sulu said, sitting in the Captain's chair, the familiar scowl he often wore when he was concentrating on something, sank deeper into his scarred features. His fingers tapped the armrest in a staccato pattern.
"You pull him back the moment somethin' even thinks about looking fishy," Bones said, his nervousness causing his accent to strengthen. He leaned against a railing, as if it were a lifeline.
"Don't worry Doctor, I have Engineering ready to transport ze Keptin out on our command," Chekov said as cheerfully as he could muster, which wasn't very. They'd gone over it a thousand times, but he seemed to draw some comfort from repeating it again.
"Open a channel, I wanna talk to 'im," Bones shot towards Uhura.
She shook her head, sitting still and straight. "Captain's orders. Besides, they could think we're trying to pull something and attack him."
"We are tryin' to pull somethin'!"
"Well, technically we're not, this is fairly straightforward. The Borg beam a...supposedly...inert, however that works...Spock...on board his shuttlecraft, and he gets to turn around and come back to us."
"If you still believe it's gonna be that easy, Uhura-"
"It's not. Which is why he ordered us to fire if we even see a twitch on their end."
That's what worried Bones the most. He shared a terse glance with the woman at the communications station. She's known Jim as long as he had. He was standing next to her anyway, and leaned over.
"That's what I'm afraid of. You don't think..."
She bit her lip, an uncharacteristic display of anxiety on her usually stoic face. "I hope not. I don't think Kirk is the kind to just give up like that. Not after all we've been through. Besides, if anyone should miss Spock enough to jump into the Collective like that, it oughta be me. And I'm still here."
Her words of reassurance did little to ease the tension creeping up his spine, but he appreciated the gesture all the same, and gave her a tense nod.
Jim Kirk always thought Borg cubes looked like the most alien thing he'd ever set his eyes on, and that was saying something. Rarely anything in space held such a shape, and it added to an already sickly unease that their mere name brought about. The small cube hovered in front of the larger, disabled one, creeping closer to the shuttlecraft with every second.
Was he scared? He was knocking in his knees, but that wouldn't stop him from doing this. Was it a trap? Highly likely. If Spock were here, he would be giving him an earful right now.
If Spock were here. Which he wasn't.
Well, technically he was about to...
Kirk didn't like this one bit. It reminded him too much of what happened to Captain Pike. History was repeating itself. Of course, he didn't have to go himself. But it was his idea, and he was not going to let one of his crew put themselves in danger because of his idea.
He glanced down at the instrument panel, longing to push it and communicate with his beloved ship, even if it was for something stupid like a joke with Bones. But he daren't press it, in case it gave the Borg cause to suspect them. For once, he wasn't pulling a fast one. And he was starting to feel like he was on the receiving end of one his famous tricks.
"This is Kirk, I'm in position," he broadcasted to the Borg.
The smallish Borg Cube stopped in front of him. He heard the familiar whine of a transporter beam arriving. He whirled around, phaser rifle in his hands, pointed and ready. He didn't trust them.
His gut was right.
Six...seven...eight drones appeared in front of him in the small cargo bay of the shuttle. He vaguely heard someone yelling savagely, almost gleefully—was it him? He fired—they were dropping like flies. Then they stopped dropping as their armor began deflecting his shots. They'd adapted. He didn't see the one appear behind him, nor notice the two wires jabbing into his neck as the familiar yellow glow of the Enterprise's transporter beam wrapped around him.
"Arrrghhh!" Bones knew something was wrong when he saw Kirk double over and collapse as soon as he materialized on the pad.
"Get a stretcher down here now!" he yelled to someone-anyone-as he ran forward, catching the Captain before he knocked himself out with his thrashing. He'd seen these symptoms before—he turned him over, looking for the familiar-
There. Two small holes and that ghastly gray spider-pattern that only meant one thing: Assimilation.
"And get security too!"
He loved Jim to death, he was basically his brother. But if this went south, they would need all the firepower they could get.
It was dark. And light, at the same time.
He heard a voice—no, millions of voices—millions of voices all in his head at the same time—millions of voices together in his head at the same time-
"WE ARE THE BORG."
"No!" Kirk knew what was happening, somehow, on a subconcious level. He was not...going...to go out like this.
"WE ARE THE BORG."
Everything was pulling at him. It would be so easy. So easy to just give up and become one of them. Like a family. It wouldn't be so hard losing his old family. This one was better...safer...bigger...he was tired. So tired of this. He could just let go and not worry about anything anymore.
"No..."
It was pulling at him stronger now—he was starting to forget—they were pulling his memories, taking them into their own, taking his thoughts, his personality, everything—they would soon be one, and he could stop worrying, now.
"Noooo..."
He should stop fighting, the voices said kindly. There was no reason to fight. There was no point in it at all. Impossible, anyway. Quite impossible. He should quit wasting pointless mental energy.
"I won't..." he said through gritted teeth, wherever 'here' was. He clenched his fists, while a million, million voices urged him to open his fists.
"Give me 30 more CC's of that hypospray! We're losing him!"
Bones rushed feverishly over his friend's body—not knowing if after this, his friend would still be in there.
He could sense them reading him like a book. Memories surfaced he'd thought he'd forgotten. The time when he was little and he'd stolen his brother's math homework, only to get annoyed with his wrong answers, do it for him, and stuff it back in his backpack, and inadvertently getting him to pass fifth grade. A stolen kiss on the moons of Denibia.
"I'm...Jim...Kirk...of the USS Enterprise..." It took a herculean effort to remember just that. In a moment he wouldn't remember it at all, the voices assured him.
"I've never see anyone fight assimilation this hard," Bones managed to mutter as his fingers dashed over the computer screen hung over the bed, warning him that he had no time left. If he could just catch it before it moved past its original entry point, as Kirk yelled something incomprehensible and thrashed-
It was too late, the voices said. He was one of them now. The memories flew past faster—getting commissioned—the first Borg attack—living life on the run—and Spock-
"SPOCK!" Kirk yelled with all his might, and knew no more.
Except it was suddenly sunny. Kirk blinked. He heard birdsong. A fresh breeze blew across his face.
Well, that was odd.
He opened his eyes, not expecting to see the lovely garden that rose up around him. He scrambled up, completely and utterly confused. The landscape spread out before him, a gorgeous sea of trees and life. It even smelled delicious.
The Captain sat on the fresh, dewy grass a moment, absolutely stumped. The last thing he'd remembered was...
"I'm surprised you're here," a familiar voice said behind him. He whirled around, and was immediately glad he was already sitting on the ground, for he would fall over, otherwise.
Spock.
Not Borg-Spock. Just Spock. In his Starfleet uniform, standing not three feet away, looking down on him like he was a curious specimen.
"But that can only mean one thing," he said, and he looked almost...regretful, if a Vulcan could look regretful. "And I can only offer you my deepest condolences."
"I'm dead?" Kirk wouldn't be surprised if he was.
Spock raised an eyebrow. "No, made part of the Borg collective."
"Same thing, isn't it?" Kirk managed to scramble up. He realized that he was also wearing his golden Starfleet uniform, somehow. He looked around. "If this is what the inside of a Borg cube looks like, I think we've made a terrible mistake."
"No, this is a virtual construct. It is called Unimatrix Zero, and is created from the subconscious of certain Borg drones who happen to have a rare mutation. There are many of us, but it is a small number compared to all Borg. During regeneration cycles, we are allowed our individuality here. I suppose you could call it a sort of...shared dreaming."
The ill feeling in Kirk's stomach grew into a raging fire of horror and (likely simulated) bile.
"So I...I've been..." he shook his head. "I can't...the ship...the crew...what will they do, Spock?"
He looked at his friend, his face torn with despair. "They can't do this to me! Not after all we went through!"
He felt like tearing—destroying—the flowers and trees mocked him with their beauty, and all he wanted to do was scream in horror and trample on everything.
"I'm sorry. I truly am...Jim."
Hearing Spock call him 'Jim' snapped him out of his spiraling fit. He'd waited years...no, if he was being truthful—he thought he'd never hear that again.
"Spock...I gotta get back. We gotta get out of here."
"Impossible, I'm afraid," Spock said, looking down. "I've constructed many theories. We are powerless in this dream state, and are unable to retain our individuality during consciousness."
"I don't believe in the impossible," Kirk muttered, and began walking down the hill. He saw that there were other people—not just humans, but a handful of other species as well, milling about and quite honestly, looked like they were enjoying each other's company.
"Who are they?" Kirk jerked his head forwards.
"Other drones. Again, as I mentioned, not every drone is here, of course—just those with the mutation."
He stopped walking, and just stared, dejected. "This is it, then? To live the rest of our lives in this place?"
"This place is...admittedly, quite a pleasant place to be. You cannot even be killed here. You will just appear again in the next regeneration cycle."
"But it's not real!" Kirk turned around. As happy as he was to see Spock, he was still infuriated by his habit of saying exactly what he did not want to hear. "All of this, isn't real. How can you accept it?"
"How can you not?" Spock raised an eyebrow again, quizzical. "There is no point in railing against the inevitable."
"That's the Borg talking, Spock, not you! We've gotten out of worse scrapes than this, you and I! Think, you've got to use that brain of yours and just think for a moment-"
"Do you not think I have? Captain, do not take my acceptance as an agreement of the Borg's ways. I certainly do not want to see the galaxy destroyed. However, there is little I can do about it. Worrying about it, or getting upset, as you are at this moment, will serve no purpose. After all, we are fortunate that we are able to access Unimatrix Zero."
"Fortunate? Fortunate?" the vein in Kirk's forehead was throbbing, and Spock took a step back, realizing that he must have said the wrong thing to set him off. The people milling about at the bottom of the hill looked up, perhaps hoping for some amusement from the spastic newbie. Kirk didn't care. "I will not accept this, and I will do what it takes to get out-"
"You may occupy your time as you wish," Spock said almost flippantly, and even in a fit of anger, Kirk tried not to laugh. He had missed bantering with his friend, as irritating as it was sometimes.
"I guess this isn't so bad," he muttered, hating himself for wanting to let go. To just enjoy it. Spock was absolutely right, again.
But he couldn't let go...despite the pleasantness of the place, despite the freedom to just ignore life and be done with it, there was one thing missing.
"It's pretty, all right. And peaceful. But there's no hope here, Spock. Nothing to shoot for, nothing to strive for. There's no future," Kirk shook his head. "No accomplishment. I can't stay here. No matter how wonderful it really may be."
Without warning, he suddenly disappeared from Unimatrix Zero.
And woke up in Sick Bay, with Bones looking down on him with a smirk. He seemed worn out, the bags under his eyes darker than usual, but surprisingly cheerful. Unless this virtual world came with its own sickbay, he was back in real life.
"Welcome back to the land of the living."
Some of my favorite stories in TOS is when Kirk does his stubborn thing. In "This Side of Paradise", when the Spores had taken over the entire crew, when he fights it to the very end-you can see the parallel between that world and Unimatrix Zero here-Kirk can't stand to be in a place like this. Also in "Blink of an Eye" when he's taken into hyper-time by the people who live at superspeeds and they keep telling him he'll accept it in the end...argh, I just love me some stubborn Kirk moments. I think he would have given the Borg the ole what-for if he ever encountered them in the series.
