NCC - 86105
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Resistance Is Consensual

Posted on Fri Aug 2nd, 2019 @ 10:21pm by Lieutenant Jillian Toomey & Ensign Song of Justice

Mission: History
Location: Transporter Room / Bridge
Timeline: MD 0 || 1000 Hours

Like two sailboats passing in the night in the maritime days of yore, the USS Armstrong had managed to cross paths with the Magnificent. The Elon Musk could have ferried him the entire way, but Ensign Song of Justice was as eager to be off that ship as the crew was to be rid of him. The chief engineer had forbidden him from ever stepping into main Engineering on any starship ever again. He had even gone as far to say so in Justice's service jacket. But that formal reprimand said nothing about shipboard Operations!

Pattern buffers between the ships reached out and shook hands, one being rid of trouble and the other receiving it.

Justice found himself aboard an Aquarius class starship, the first of his experience. The first thought that went through his mind was that it looked almost exactly like the ship from which he had just beamed over. Just smaller. Starfleet certainly didn't change up the transporter rooms very often. He recognized this as the fourth of four varied models currently employed by Starfleet R&D.

"Good morning, Magnificent!"

With nobody present save Justice and the Transporter Chief, the enthusiastic greeting seemed out of place.

"I said, 'good morning,'" Justice said to the crewman.

"Oh, um. Good morning, sir." The Transporter Chief powered down his console and set it to standby. He had no orders to pass on to the new arrival... a Liberated Borg, of all things... and there was nobody to greet him.

Justice stepped off the transport pad and toed his single luggage with his foot. Looks like he was expected to lug it himself. But that was just as well. He was starting from ground zero on a new ship, even if he was a department head. From his cadet cruise, he quickly learned Operations was the least valued department.

"Computer," he said aloud, fishing for something in his pocket as he did so. "What's the captain's location?"

The computer warbled its search process before responding.
"Commanding officer Lieutenant Jillian Toomey is currently on the bridge."

Justice accessed a handheld vaporizer and held it to his mouth, inhaling deeply. "Thank you."

"I... didn't say anything, sir," said the Transporter Chief.

"Wasn't talking to you." Justice smiled and blew out a large puff of vapor in the man's direction. "On second thought, though, you can have my luggage sent to my quarters."

"Yes, sir. What's the name?"

"Justice. Ensign Song of Justice."

He exited the transporter room and headed for the nearest turbolift.

The ride to the turbolift was uneventful, but that didn't stop Justice from filling it up with scented vapor. When the turbolift finally arrived, the doors parted and released several billowing wisps that seeped across the bridge. A voice called out from inside the dank cloud.

"Permission to enter the bridge!"

The door started to hiss open, then stuck halfway for a moment before they jerked and opened fully. The small bridge had a Caucasian female with long dark hair tied into a braid over her right shoulder and sat in the center chair facing a small viewscreen.

"I'll take the silence as a yes." Justice took another long huff before pocketing his vaporizer and boldly stepped into the next leg of his career. "Who's Lieutenant Jillian Toomey? I've got some reporting to do."

"That would be me," JT said as she came to her feet from the command chair and turned. Then she stopped dead in her tracks and her hand went to her hip, but of course there was no phaser there. Her mind took in the Borg's uniform and the fact that a) he had requested permission which she had granted - and the computer didn't relay - and b) He asked who she was and claimed that he had reporting to do. "And you are?"

Justice threw up a sharp salute that nonetheless failed to appear genuine. "Ensign Song of Justice, Proletarian Foreman or Chief of Operations, whichever you prefer, ma'am."

"Well, Justice okay, or do I have the say the entire thing every time?" JT asked, curious. The Chief of Operations part was in her mind and already half assimilated as she continued to study the Borg who had yet to try to assimilate her. He must be one of those former Borg that had been separated from the Collective like Hugh and company, she mused.

"Justice works. I was told that 'Song' is cultural appropriation from ancient Chinese imperialism." Justice shrugged. "Go along to get along, am I right?"

"Ensign Justice," she said as she ignored the history lesson or whatever he had been spouting. Her stomach growled and she knew it was almost time to get another bag of Japanese Doritos from the replicator and hoped it wasn't a new flavor which didn't taste like dog poop. "Why did Starfleet send you to my ship to be my Chief of Operations?" she asked him as he had yet to give her anything with his orders on it.

A smile ticked up the ends of Justice's mouth in a suppressed smile. "If I were a logical Vulcan, I would say because you are in need of my services." He paused to scan the bridge with his ocular implant before adding, "But as a Borg mutualist, I'd say it's because beggars can't be choosers, Lieutenant."

"What is a Borg mutualist and what do you mean, you're a beggar?" JT asked as she came around to face Song from less than a meter away.

"Drones serve the Collective. Liberated folks such as myself form cooperatives where everybody voluntarily acts in mutual interest." Such talk invariably got Justice excited and it showed. The whirring of the nanoprobe tubules on his wrist was only partly muffled by his sleeve."If you'd like to know more, I'd just love to get you better acquainted. Nothing irreversible, I promise."

She looked down and stepped back by the odd sound coming from his sleeve, then back up at him. "Did. Did you just offer" she asked in a tone of partial disbelief and a full knowledge that Starfleet was doing it to her again and would until she had a full crew.

"Oh, never, that!" Justice assured her, brushing off her concerns with a wave of his hand. "I'm not a barbarian. We become acquainted with each other for ease of cooperation. It's all voluntary and consent-based, of course. If the Collective had been less imperious and 'resistance is futile' about it, I expect they wouldn't have had to capture people. Of course, the life of a drone is less than glamorous, isn't it? Our way is so much better." He let out a blissful sigh and stared off with a faraway look in his non-glowing eye.

"Acquainted?" JT echoed. "Ease of cooperation? I'm not too sure about that. There's some regulation about the captain of a ship not fraternizing with her crew." Especially not when it came to becoming Borg or anything else, she thought.

Justice threw his head back and laughed. "Fraternizing? Hardly. As a former eunuch, I'm a cybersexual, so I doubt you even have the necessary equipment. Then again, we've already agreed beggars can't be choosers, and since we're all assigned to the USS Panhandler here, I figure we're all going to be light on choices for some time."

"It's the Magnificent," she growled. Fucking walking talking cyber porn toaster, she mentally added. "Anyhow, Ensign. What experience gives you the right to be in charge of Operations? She's a small ship, but we'll have a lot of duties and demands on the computers."

The question evoked a sound somewhere between a scoff and a snicker. "I spent a year as a cadet engineer aboard the Elon Musk. Compared to that, keeping the transporter matrix online with this dinky boat should be a breeze."

"I hope you don't think that's all there is for you to do, Ensign Justice," JT said. "You'll be in charge of user access and control interfaces, software and data retrieval and storage, maintenance of the system, administer the LCARS, communications, sourcing materials we'll need, scheduling recreational usage, allocating power and everything else outside of transporting. Being a cadet engineer doesn't mean you know Operations." But it does mean that I'm screwed, especially with the Chief Engineer that I've already met. "Can you manage all that?"

"Oh, my," Justice gasped. "Starfleet really got to you, didn't they? Who was it? An overly ambitious captain? A bitchy flag officer? A negligent counselor? Whatever it was, I'm sorry, Lieutenant." He put his hand over his heart. "I promise you that I will do all of those things that any third year cadet is qualified to do, that I spent the past year doing for my superior officers, and the things that any Borg-oriented individual can do in their sleep. So help me all!"

"Got to me? No one got to me. I got what I wanted," she said. "And try to at least make it a fourth year cadet and if I ever say we need power for shields or something important, just make sure you try to get me that power immediately."

"I'm glad it was consensual," Justice said, making a tawdry inference. "Consent is the bedrock of civilization, after all. For instance, I consent to providing you power for shields or something important. It's my choice, and I am happy to do it." As the Borg man smiled, his ocular implant flashed a brighter hue.

"And orders are just that and whether they are consensual or not, it's what they are," JT said. "Do you have anything else?"

Justice reached into his pocket and removed his vaporizer. "Nothing that could top that streak of eloquence." He took a hit and blew out vapor all over the place. "I'll take my leave."

JT started coughing. "Computer, ventilate room," she ordered and sighed as it quickly sucked the foul vapors off the bridge. "And don't ever smoke that on my bridge again. Dismissed."

"I am amenable to that," Justice said. He clicked his heels together and saluted JT again before bidding a hasty treat to the turbolift.

Once Ensign Justice had left the bridge and the air was freshly recycled, the acting commander of the ship went to the center chair and fell into it almost boneless. "First a redneck wearing a ten gallon hat who wants to tear my ship apart, then a Borg that wants consensual assimilation. Who's next, the Easter Bunny?"


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