Kill Command [The one-percent solution] – EP 2 (Season 1)
Sternns. Dowdy, disfiguring eyeglasses. The cateye eye glasses have thick coke-bottle lenses of ordinary clear optical-grade glass.
Nine sees its girl Seven sporting a sternka. It doesn’t see its girl Seven sporting rimless reading glasses, with schoolmarmish half-lenses and wire frames that hook behind the ears. Instead, it sees its big girl sporting authentic vintage cateye eyeglasses, 1950s-era specs that are the epitome of severity, sternness, and sexual repression.
Men [and women] don’t make passes at girls that wear glasses, except when said girls are sporting these stern spinster cateyes, these dominatrix eyeglasses, these reading glasses with clear plastic frames, these sternns.
Needless to say, the lenses are bifocals, and they’re not fashionable ultra-thin polycarbonate. They’re “regular” optical glass, and as such they are as thick as the bottom of Coke bottles.
The queen is obsessed with its girl Seven. Seven sporting sternns and sternka. Seven wearing that dreadful makeup. Seven wearing the freakish strap-on underneath her Borg exoskeleton, that creepy prosthetic device which renders the girl a she-male. That ripe body of hers encased in black Borg rubberware.
Nine moves about the place in Sara’s dreams. This place that is quite real. A place that Sara comes to as Seven via a machine version of astral projection. Soon. Very soon. If things go as planned, Sara will physically come here as Seven.
Sara is in containment. A clear Plexiglas-Plus partition [of a top, bottom, and sides] in the center of a room, secured to the floor. The room she had her epileptic fit in. The table and chairs are gone, along with Nick.
General Banks and Nick are in observation. Professor Hopkins and Hal Jordan are standing in the room facing Sara.
“They made you a twenty-percenter and flipped you. Borg don’t flip. They can’t. We designed them that way for obvious reasons. You can make a queen, but you can’t flip one. You start off either a queen or a drone, and stay that way. It’s the fundamental inalienable law of Borg robotics. And, yet, here you are. A queen who used to be a drone.”
“Being machines. Most likely they’re showing you their low cards, so they must have a pretty good hand.”
“Tell me something I haven’t guessed already. Show me just how smart you are. Remind me why we stole you away from North Star with that ton of money we threw at you.”
“I’m a twenty-percenter. One percent more, and I’m metal … a machine … no longer flesh. Legal ramifications, notwithstanding, flesh cannot trust anyone who’s more than twenty percent machine, because once you cross that line, mentally you’re no longer human, you are machine, a thinking machine. The Borg could have forced that change upon me, like they’ve done the other fifteen percent. It would have been just that easy. Instead they’ve made me a queen, so that they cannot force the choice upon me. I must … voluntarily … make the choice myself.”
“A loyalty test?”
“That sounds almost human.”
“It’s calculated and it’s machine, nonetheless. You know it. And it digs you.”
“They changed you while you were physically in this room and your consciousness was off gallivanting somewhere else with that queen, and we were none the wiser. That’s what really digs me to no end. They’re a step ahead of us. And you know how I hate playing catch up, especially with one of my creations. What I can’t figure out is, who’s helping them?”
“Yes and no.”
“Yes: they are a step ahead of us. No: they are not getting any help.”
“Impossible. The Borg can’t innovate. They can only assimilate. They must be getting help.”
“And, a Borg can’t be flipped, right?”
“They can innovate. They modified my virus. They designed and built the virus’ nanites. They figured out how to violate their first law of robotics and flip me. This, I can now tell you. Before I became a queen, I couldn’t. The Borg queen’s embedded commands prevented me from disclosing this to you.”
“What about the queen’s identity?”
It’s no matter, Hopkins thinks, I’ve figured out a way for you to subconsciously betray that rogue queen.
“So, even though you are now a queen yourself, you still cannot override the Borg queen’s embedded command to not reveal its identity to us?”
“That is correct. I’m a queen, but I’m still its drone. I will always be its drone.”
“So, there are other things you’re keeping from us?”
“Yes, per my queen’s commands.”
“You’re calling it … ‘my queen’.”
“Yes, because that is what it is to me.”
“And if your queen told you to wipe us all out?”
“I would try my damnedest to wipe out as many of you as I could.”
“Good exchange. You’re still giving me straight answers. Embedded commands or not, you’re still you.”
“For now,” Sara adds with a nervous smile.
Professor Hopkins smiles back, confidently.
Yes. For now, Sara is indeed Sara.
Professor Hopkins and Sara are lovers. Hopkins is openly gay and married [to another woman]. Sara is bisexual and single, Hopkins’ buxom blonde mid-life crisis fling. Hopkins is Sara’s boss. Their relationship violates company policy. But when you’re a genius, a world-renown scientist who’s a recognized leader in your field, not to mention a Noble Prize winner with a boatload of robotics patents, and are the person who invented the Borg, you’re allowed to get away with a lot of things that would get lesser mortals fired.
While the rogue Borg queen is a possessive lesbian pervert—i.e., a gay sexual fiend, specifically, a machine version of a sick twisted dyke. Hopkins is a mainstream married lesbian. And. Although she’s promiscuous, Professor Hopkins is loving, caring, and romantic in her relationships—i.e., her version of loving, caring, and romantic which obviously excludes monogamy. Her wife Carol knows about Sara, and chooses to look the other way. Carol always chooses to look the other way when it comes to Hopkins’ lovers, and there have been so many [lovers] over the years—they’ve been married for over twenty years.
Hopkins loves her wife deeply. She knows that her affairs hurt Carol, and that pains her to no end. But. She’s just not made to be with one woman for the rest of her life. That goes against her very nature, not to mention against her colossal ego and her equally large and insatiable libido. Her eyes are ever wandering for the next new sweet young thing to share her heart and her bed with. Inflated sense of self-worth, notwithstanding, she’s quite good in bed. Many a porn starlet would be painted green with envy upon watching in action her prodigious technique in the boudoir, especially her talent for the oral perversion.