Disclaimer: I have no ties to Paramount Pictures or Paramount +, nor do I personally or professionally know Rick Berman, Michael Piller or Jeri Taylor. I'm just having fun in the playground they gave us all. Please don't sue me, as I have no money.

Trigger: None.

Warning: None.

Premise: Adaptation, not imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

Perspectives

By Juliette Lyst

Assent

Understanding always depends on how things are viewed, right?

What if what you see is skewed? How can we ever go from there?

There was so much more that we had to deal with, along with suddenly feeling so isolated. We had been damaged, our protective casing removed. The air felt strange on our body.

Broken and cracked, our connections had been severed in an explosion of energy. The perception of what we felt was indescribable.

It was pain. It was as if our internal components were being forcefully welded together. In all of our twenty years since joining, we had never felt something so excruciating. We knew something terrible was happening, could feel the electricity – once our friend – travel through our entire body, making nerve endings swell and burst from the overload.

We are not supposed to feel pain. Ever.

But then there was nothing but darkness. We wondered if we had been turned deactivated.

If so… we questioned when would we lose our full consciousness… when it was suddenly pulled away from under us.

We are uncertain how long we were… unaware.

Now all we had was the silence. That made us ache more than the physical pain.

We felt small.

We felt weak.

We were alone.

We cannot exist like this, so exposed. We had spoken to the captain of this vessel. She told us that we have no choice in what is happening to us.

We tried to call for another cube to come get us.

We made a mistake.

So now we stand, without the comfort of voices we heard for so long. Instead, we have to think for ourselves. Even as we look down at the silver suit that clings to the banding of metal around our ribs, we cannot help but feel repulsed. This is not how we are supposed to look.

We know that the silver suit is merely a cover for what lay beneath… a nightmarish amalgamation of metal and human flesh. We have seen what was done to our body.

We do not consent to having our body altered as it has been.

Our voice was drowned out by one so much smaller and inferior to us.

We are Borg!

…But we are just one. What can be done with just one?

"I should not have this name," the words came, unbidden. Once uttered, we could not push this thought away. Maybe One of None should be our name? A strange feeling overcame us then, one that made our throat feel tight. Is this some additional tactic of the human crew?! We were unfamiliar with this sensation… it was wholly unwelcome. We felt like this before when we were stuck in a tiny cell behind a force field.

Lifting our head to the dimmed lighting on the ceiling, we felt liquid pooling and trickling from both eyes. Feeling the fluids with our metal encased hand, we stared at it in fear then. "Our ocular implant must be malfunctioning..."

That was the last thing we needed! If the holographic butcher on this ship found out, he might remove that too. Blinking hard a few times, we tried to stem the flow. We had no idea how long we had to wait for any of the humans to come back in here.

A quick search had already told us what we suspected. We had no permissions in this ship at current and there was no way to be certain we would not receive another painful jolt as we had while trying to take over Voyager to return home.

Home… The thought came to us of the Cube and all of those we resided with. All had been destroyed attempting to protect this vessel... except a few… and of them all – only we remained. We could always find another Cube. In the Collective, there was never any confusion, no second-guessing, no doubt. We all worked seamlessly together for the same goal.

Perfection.

That harmony of minds was no longer within our reach.

We had to rely on ourselves alone. We have lost so much… Again, our eyes began to ache. The tightness in our throat had not abated.

Turning back to our alcove, we hesitated. We did not need regeneration for another sixteen point two hours. There was no need to connect ourselves to it. If we remain, will the queen ever find us again? As far as we were concerned, we were an unwilling captive of the human captain and her crew.

We had been denied the basic right that humans all took pride in.

Staggering forward a little, we struggled to right ourself and stomped over to the control panel for the alcove. The rhythmic clacking we heard was unfamiliar, but was something we would have to learn to accept.

For now.

Punching in a few commands, we felt a glimmer of relief that the alcove continued to obey us. However, that feeling drained away once we realized we were locked out of higher functions in the alcove.

We could not extend our regeneration cycle. We could not use it to send out a beacon for help.

Would it matter? We wondered. Is the Cube even waiting for us to return? In the past, we had seen what happened when drones were deemed unsalvageable.

Would that happen to us?

"Why am I waiting for this?" We wondered aloud. We didn't need to punch in commands in the console. Tubules erupted from the back of our right wrist and wiggled freely in the air. As they approached the console, we became aware of voices.

They were coming this way.

With a hiss, we drew back the tubules and stepped away from the console. Turning our back to the entrance of the cargo bay, we jerked slightly from the force needed to retract our tubules back so quickly. Right hand flexing from the discomfort, we heard the footsteps and voices grow closer until the doors behind us opened.

"I've extracted 82 percent of the Borg hardware," the holographic butcher uttered, "The remaining bio-implants are stable and better than anything l could synthesize at such short notice."

Disgust rolled off us in waves, but we still turned around to respond. "It is acceptable."

We completely tuned out what else was said until the hologram walked past us. Then, we turned to the captain. It was important that we paid attention when she spoke.

"You'll have to spend a few hours each day regenerating in a Borg alcove until your human metabolism can function on its own. We'll leave one operational," the captain stated.

"Understood," we replied.

"Let's see how things go over the next few weeks," the captain hesitated for a moment. "I'll consider granting you access to the rest of the ship once l can trust that you won't try to get us all assimilated again."

"It will not happen again," This time, we meant it. We were coming to the conclusion that we would never be able to return. There were far too many unknowns for us to attempt so again.

"Good. If you need anything, contact me," After these words, the captain handed us one of the devices they used for communication. Then, she and her guard turned to leave.

As we also turned away, a thought occurred to us. "Red."

Confused, the captain turned to us again. "What?"

"The child you spoke of..." we replied. "The girl. Her favorite color was red."

Walking away fully then, we approached our console, not as anxious as before. We will have to learn to live among these humans, but not at all by choice.

"I see,"

We heard those words behind us briefly before the doors to the cargo bay opened and closed again.

Once the doors were closed, solitude crept in again. Can we do this? We stepped around our console, staring at the alcove. A new feeling crept in; one we did not enjoy. This new stillness was awful.

To stand and wait… with nothing at all to do.

It was not like a drone to be without any tasks at all. The Collective was always moving, always working. There simply was no time to do nothing at all. Yet, that was what we were doing.

"We can do diagnostics," we decided. On what though? As we eyed all of the other consoles, a thought came to mind. Is it possible to build anything from the Borg components? It was a question worth investigating. If anything, we could build a system to alert us to someone coming near.

Our hearing was far superior to that of the humans on board, but it would be better still to know before our ears did.

Resting a hand on one of the alcoves, we drew back our right arm, hand balled into a fist.

A Few Hours Later…

It was better to keep busy. The pieces we salvaged from the alcove rested on the floor, save the part we were currently in the process of molding carefully with the use of an exoscalpel found in one of the crates on the opposite side of the cargo bay.

The work proved itself to be tedious, and we felt distressed at how long it took to complete a simple task. Repetitively, we viewed the 'schematics' for the alert system we devised. Even though we did not need to do this, it was to better break up the monotony.

This time, we were distracted and were unaware of the doors opening behind us again. Head bent over our work; the sound of a cleared throat gained our attention.

Alarmed, we nearly dropped both the component and the medical tool we were holding.

"What exactly are you doing in here?" a familiar voice asked.

Unsure of what we should say, we resumed working on the component. It was still… difficult to grasp communication through speech. If we were on the Cube… There would be no need for a device like this one.

"That's not an answer," the voice chimed in again. "If you do not tell me what you are doing, I will need to call additional security down here."

A muscle twitched in our jaw, teeth clenching tightly for the first time. We felt the same way over the work that we did over this voice. "That will not be necessary," we finally spoke. Feeling like this was as alien as seeing ourselves without our protective armor plating.

"What are you doing?" The question was repeated.

Hearing it, we were compelled to both reply and keep silent. Which is best? We loathed the constant need to speak to relay any information.

"Commander Tuvok to Security Team One," the voice spoke.

Stiffening, we lifted our head, casting a furtive glance over one shoulder. Did it matter what we were doing? We were confined to this room for an undetermined period of time. Without access to the rest of the ship.

"Report to Cargo Bay Two immediately," he continued.

Feeling drained, we set the component and exoscalpel down on our console. Our confinement would be without any duties at all, so it seemed. Clasping our hands behind our back, we continued to look away from the doors as the security team quickly reached us.

Even more bothersome, they were joined shortly by the captain.

"Tuvok… What's happened in here?" Janeway asked, maintaining a neutral tone.

"I am attempting to figure out that as well, captain," he replied. He approached Seven of Nine and observed the component and medical device on the console. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked.

Features in a stony mask, we did not respond. It was not that we did not understand the question, but it was that we did not understand why we were asked anything at all. Was this not the lone place we had access to?

"I was just here a few hours ago," Janeway remarked. "Right?" Walking around her new crew member, Janeway crossed her arms. "I told you that I didn't want you to try to get us assimilated again."

"…Yes," We spoke after a long silence. "You did."

"So, what is all this, Seven of Nine? Did you decide to renege on your words?"

Asked so directly, we had no choice but to continue to speak. "No, that was not the intention, captain."

Picking up the component, Janeway studied its edge. "Enlighten me then,"

"What do you wish to know?" we asked. We were not purposefully being vague, so wanted to understand.

"Are you trying to build a weapon in here?"

The question was unexpected and for some time, we merely stood, not making direct eye contact with the captain. We wondered briefly why we were asked about weapons. Was it not obvious to them what we were doing at all?

The silence must have said more than we ever could.

Irritation visible on her features, the captain gestured to one of the guards. "Take her back to the brig,"

Hearing those words, we stiffened momentarily. What had we done to deserve that? We were being taken to an even smaller space… again?

"Go with them," Janeway stated, looking at the new crewmember. Even though she was curious over the young woman's intentions, she wouldn't be fooled again.

Nodding quietly, we turned and began walking with the security team. As we passed through the halls, a familiar form caught our eye. Stopping immediately, we looked to the left.

As if sensing our stare, the man turned around.

Ensign Kim, we needlessly reminded ourselves. It wasn't possible to forget anything, let alone the various members of the crew on Voyager.

Harry's mouth worked a few times, but he was uncertain what he could say. He hadn't forgotten how she had knocked him unconscious while trying to contact a Borg ship.

"Seven of Nine," one of the guards spoke. "Keep moving." Yet, the man did not lay a hand on her, aware that she could easily escalate the situation.

Instead of obeying them, we fully turned to face the Ensign. It felt odd to see him again, remembering how harshly we had treated him before. "Ensign Harry Kim," we spoke, noticing how he flinched as if struck. A strange pain was felt in part of our chest then. What is that? We were experiencing far too much in one day.

"What's the hold up?" Janeway asked, making her way to the head of the security team. Making it to the front, she saw that their Borg had taken several steps in Ensign Kim's direction.

But no further.

Knowing that it would be foolhardy to run if she was truly intent on reaching him, Harry remained in place.

"Seven of—" Janeway began, only to be interrupted.

"Ensign Kim," we spoke again. "We apologize for what we have done."

His eyes widened.

"I," the word was a strange one. "I am sorry, ensign." The words spoken, we returned with the security detail and entered the turbolift.

We saw Ensign Kim's face suddenly appear before the doors closed.

"Seven," he spoke quickly. "I forgive you!"

Outwardly, we were unaffected.

He had not used our full name.

We were unable to respond, but felt a strange warmth in our chest.

How curious…

Author's Note: Hey there! Hope you enjoyed my tentative foray into the ST:VOY fandom.

I've had this idea kicking around in my head for a while. I'm not entirely sure if the POVs I had in mind are reflected properly. I'm testing out a slightly different method of writing. I hope it's okay!

Sorry for the delays with NtC! I've been coming to terms with quite a few things outside my writing. For more information, you can take a look at my blog on WordPress.

First off, for Navigating the Curve, I need to begin Chapter 19. Oops.

It usually doesn't take me very long to write the chapters, maybe a few days… but the editing I do in one sitting, which can take 3 hours or more. And I still can't catch all of the mistakes.

One of these days, I'll catch them all. I have some revisions coming for chapters near the middle, so keep an eye out!

Take care!

XXO

~J. Lyst