— Posted in Gee Whiz!, Kill Command, Vampire Noir

Kill Command [The Last Empress] – EP 7 (Season 1)

The Last Empress: Madame Chiang Kai-shek and the Birth of Modern China, by Hannah Pakula. With the beautiful, powerful, and sexy Madame Chiang Kai-Shek at the center of one of the great dramas of the twentieth century, this is the story of the founding of modern China, starting with a revolution that swept away more than 2,000 years of monarchy, followed by World War II, and ending in eventual loss to the Communists and exile in Taipei. Praised by China scholar Jonathan Spence for “an impressive amount of telling material, drawn from a wide array of sources,” Pakula presents an epic historical tapestry, a wonderfully wrought narrative that brings to life what Americans should know about China—the superpower we are inextricably linked with.

 

Never underestimate metal. They can go from mind-numbing debauchery to efficiently-exercised genocide at the flick of a proverbial switch. This is one of those times.

 

They’re in Professor Hopkins’ office. Professor Hopkins, General Banks, Nine, and Seven. Increasingly, when Nine and Seven go about the campus together, Sara is conspicuously absent. Oftentimes as not, it’s Seven, not Sara, who goes to work in the robotics lab.

They finish listening to the recording. It’s in Morse code. And is emanating from The Hillary Rodham Clinton Campus, one of North Star’s much smaller satellite campuses. On the hour, every hour. They’re here, everyone is them, help us!!!

As usual, when the Borg are present, General Banks abstains from the conversation. Choosing to observe. And only participating when she feels she has to.

“And the reason why we should care is what?”

“We’d like you and Seven to investigate. Needless to say, the campus has been quarantined via Shield.”

“You’ve sent Away Teams in?”

“Yes. Four of them.”

“None have returned?”

“None.”

“You’ve lost contact with all of them shortly after ingress?”

“Yes.”

“Most interesting. A worthy puzzle to solve, maybe. It might even justify your interruption of our nightly debauchery.”

Nine smiles. That mischievous Cheshire cat smile of the queen.

Seven’s hard, pretty face is haughty and aloof—the face of a disinterested, two-legged calculator. Hers is the cold calculation of an efficient, not-so-mindless drone. In purely human terms: The Danish personification of an icy blonde of pure Nordic/Scandinavian extraction. Then, just like that, interest in the human affairs at hand momentarily flushes the girl’s face—her queen has willed it so. And, in its wake, the girl’s eyes are not-so-vacant and her gaze not-so-distant anymore. It’s a vacancy and disinterest that returns with a vengeance, though, when her queen ceases to will her to care about the concerns of flesh. So. Once again. Blank eyes. Blank expression. In Borg terms: Hers is a Borg drone’s blankness. A blankness reflecting, chillingly, that the machine intelligence in residence occupying her mind has no interest whatsoever in the affairs of flesh unless her queen wills it so.

Amplified by her Bolshoi makeup. Haughty, aloof, and seemingly unattainable yet you feel compelled to try anyways—i.e., you carve to have her, this haughty Borg bitch—and, you must be used by her at any cost, even at risk of your soul.

The Borg queen motions for its drone to speak. The haughty gesture of a dominatrix to its submissive marionette—submissive sexually and otherwise. A submissive who herself is a Borg queen and therefore a haughty aloof dominatrix in her own right.

“It must be of a serious nature for you to risk Seven’s queen.”

Seven’s voice is flat, so flat and matter-of-fact that its monotone is disconcerting. A tone that accurately reflects her total and complete disinterest in the problem afflicting the humans. Even more telling and far more disturbing, though, is her referring to herself in the third-person. She has never done this before.

“Yes, it is, Seven.” Professor Hopkins clears her throat and redirects her attention and the conversation back to Nine. “So serious in fact, Nine, that we strongly feel that we need Sara in place of Seven.”

“But what you get will be Seven with Sara’s overlay once we make our ingress of Hillary.” An even wider grin, inhumanly wide grin, from Nine. “An overlay … That’s all that remains of the person you called ‘Sara’.”

Professor Banks involuntarily shudders. Nine notices her tell. The machine’s glee is profound in response to the scientist’s affectation. Seeing how things are going, General Banks interjects.

“Or maybe you’re lying, Sara still exists, and you’re just yanking our chain.”

“Only time will tell.” Nine laughs, manically. “Only time will tell.”

Finally. Professor Hopkins pulls herself back together. She’s made of sterner stuff.

“Now that you’ve had your laugh at my expense, we’d like you to assemble with an Away Team in the gate room.”

More classified stuff revealed. The existence of a stargate on compass.

“As you command,” Nine bows, mockingly. “As you command.”

Then. Totally out of character. Seven speaks completely out of turn. As if she’s the only queen present. And she continues to refer to herself in the third-person.

“In spite of Seven’s disinterest in your problem. Seven is more than aware of what you problem entails—the generalities, not the specifics, of course. You are intending on pitting absolute evil against absolute evil and wondering if it will backfire on you. It will. But not in the way you would ever suspect. We [Borg] are not immoral. We [Borg] are amoral. There’s a difference. At times, we may distract ourselves with immoral acts, but, that’s all it is, a distraction—not an expression of moral corruption which always betrays inner weakness and rottenness to the core. No Borg of the Collective is weak or rotten. Doubt that. Challenge us. Dare to try and realize our extinction, and it’s you who will become extinct by our handiwork. So. Rest assured. If They dare to try and realize our extinction, then it’s They would will cease to be. That’s why we are choosing to involve ourselves in this matter. We want to see what their intent truly is.”

Seven walks out of the office. Positioning herself in the hallway by the office door where she will wait for her queen and their armed marine detail who will escort the two Borg down to the gate room.

“As I warned you. Your Sara is gone. Only an overlay remains. That was your demo,” Nine delivers as a parting shot just before it leaves the office.

So. What the humans are hiding isn’t so hidden after all from the robots.

But. There’s more than meets the eye on the Borg side, too. Concealed by their EXO is something most telling. Nine is no longer a she-male. Nine is anatomically correct for a human female down there, and what a sweet, hot, tight snatch, it is, a real red snapper. Its all-woman is on full display underneath its EXO. The same can be said of Seven. She is no longer strapping—i.e., her all-woman is also on full display underneath her EXO. And, likewise, what a sweet, hot, tight snatch, Seven has, a real red snapper. Pussy galore times two.

All-woman versions of Nine and Seven. Two badass chicks are again two badass chicks, with no more gender-bending to get in the way of their aggressive expressions of estrogen maximized. Both of them smoking hot, by the beauty standards of their respective species [i.e., metal and flesh].