She woke up to the green light and a throbbing, nagging voice in her head: "Unit one of five, report to junction C-5 of the grid 7 for maintenance check." There was no place in her thoughts to respond, much less to analyse the words. She stepped down from the regeneration alcove and went through the dark, cramped corridor in compliance with the order. Yet another day began. A day filled with purpose, her thoughts in perfect harmony with the collective, her emotions practically non-existent. If you asked here whether she was happy, her answer undoubtedly would be: "Happiness is irrelevant." What is even more frightening, is that she actually believed it. She was a drone. She was Borg and that was what mattered. She had never bothered to think before. She had the collective to think and decide for her. On those rare occasions when the situation required inventive solutions, the drones would be ordered to provide an opinion. Such moments of freedom and independent thought, however, were extremely rare. Most of the time, the course of action would be decided upon immediately, with no hint of creative thought. She woke up to the green light. She opened her eye and experienced... shock. For a split second there were no voices in her head, no orders to follow, no nothing. She felt trapped, lost, helpless. From the dim green haze in her mind, suddenly, a single, meaningless word emerged: "Mummy!" "Unit one of five report to security central unit. Check for possible malfunction. She left her alcove and moved to comply. Something was still different, though. There were voices, the unwavering certainty of the hive mind was restored. But it didn't seem to fill her as completely as it was supposed to, leaving some very small space at the back of her mind. The strange word remained there. She was free to divert a small percentage of her attention to it throughout the whole day. She turned it over and over in her head, desperately trying to understand it. To derive any meaning from the sound of it. Mummy. Mum-my. Mu-mmy. She failed to understand. There wasn't such a sound in her linguistic data-base. She could of course, and, under normal circumstances, definitely would, re-route the question to the collective. Not this time. This time it was different. The problem hadn't come from the outside. It appeared within her. And, for the first time in her life as a drone, she felt reluctant to give up that shred of individuality. At the end of her shift she went back to her regeneration alcove. Before connecting herself to the device, she spent three full seconds wondering about what was happening to her. Strangely enough, this long period of inactivity went unnoticed. She was left alone with her thoughts by the hive mind. This amazing state of mind continued for the next few days. The drone allowed herself longer and longer periods of freedom from the collective. It seemed that after the initial order to check for malfunction, which was never found, the collective never noticed anything unusual. "Mum. Mummy. Mum-my." She would go on and on. This odd fascination with an unfamiliar sound nearly overwhelmed her. Yet she remained careful enough not to attract attention from the other drones. For hours she would let this sound repeat in her mind like a distinct mantra, devoting the rest of her mind and body to the menial tasks of everyday life in the Borg collective. Some time later, there appeared other sounds and even vague images. The drone wouldn't dare distract herself even more, so she could spend only so much time exploring the new sensations. One thing was obvious to her - these images didn't come from her life with the Borg. She was able to recall certain events from her past. From the times before she was assimilated. By the time this occurred to her, she must have been corrupted enough not to let this thought alarm her. Under any other circumstances, she would never let such thoughts linger for any length of time. She would immediately advise the collective of a possible sabotage and willingly undergo any necessary repairs. As it was now, she was happy to investigate the images privately without even once asking herself the question how it was possible at all. A few days later, something even more unusual happened. While working on one of the conduits, a routine task for her, she caught a strange look on the face of her fellow drone. It was as if some link was established between the two of them, mutual understanding that something was going on. She let another couple of days pass, though, before she risked speaking to the other drone. They were getting ready for their regeneration cycle. She turned around, and tried, cautiously: "Mummy?" She used this first word as a sort of password, hoping it would be recognized as a symbol of what apparently was happening to both of them. The reaction surprised her completely: "Oh, my sweet, you do finally recognize me? I've been waiting for so long!" The older, female drone left her alcove and hugged her tightly. Finally, an alarm went off in her head and she was about to rejoin the collective when something else caught her attention. The other drone had a wet face. The moist apparently came from her eyes. "What is wrong?" She asked her companion instead. "Are you malfunctioning?" The other drone pulled away from her for a moment to look carefully at her face. "Of course I am malfunctioning. You are, too. Haven't you noticed?" The drone had to agree, considering what had been happening to her over the last few days. "Shouldn't we report this?" She asked, knowing full well that it was a stupid question. Normally, the drones wouldn't be talking about such things privately, they wouldn't even be allowed the time for this. They would immediately report any such incidents to the collective. The very fact that the were conversing like this was proof that something was very wrong. "Listen," her fellow drone looked carefully around as if making sure no one was around. Another futile gesture. "We have been affected by a computer virus. We're only one of the first cubes infected, but once the virus is spread, we will all be free from the Borg." The thought caused the drone to shiver. She wasn't used to emotions, though, she couldn't tell whether it was fear or excitement. "The humans are attempting this along with the Scythiaans." "The Scythiaans?" She asked. She didn't have to ask about humans. She knew perfectly well they were species 5618. Suddenly it dawned on her - she herself used to be human! "Species 8472. They are working together to make us all free." "Fear. Excitement. Freedom," she kept on repeating the strange words long after their conversation was over. Somehow she was now able to retain her independence of thought even as the regeneration process was about to start. "Fear, excitement, freedom." "Freedom, excitement." The long forbidden words became a mantra for many drones in the times to come. Eventually, many of them died, forced into combat by the collective, but thousands more lived to tell their tales.
