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

Kill Command [She’s plum crazy] – EP 5 (Season 1)

“Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future.”


Professor Hopkins finishes reading the redacted version of Sara’s dossier. Borrowed from the NSA by the general.

“She’s a sociopath?!”

“Yep. That’s why she could fool the Borg when they read her. That’s why she could be whatever we wanted her to be; in your case, she became your perfect lover and in the Borg queen’s case, she became its absolute obsession. She played us all like a cheap fiddle. Sociopaths are chameleons and very manipulative, not to mention potentially dangerous.”

“So she tricks us [at Harbinger] during her psych evaluation, just like she did at North Star. Her appearing to be normal when she’s not.”

“Turns out. North Star knew she was a head case, but she’s brilliant, so they looked the other way as long as she kept her nose clean. They were probably a little relieved when you stole her away.”

“And didn’t warn us about the downside of what we were getting, because that was probably their way of getting back at us for stealing her in the first place.”


“Is there more, because there usually is in cases like this?”

“She’s also a sadomasochist. And, she’s quite skilled at being a dominatrix or a submissive, and is an expert practitioner of S&M, B&D, D&H, etc.” General Banks clears her throat after that last revelation and then adds: “So I’m told by reliable sources.”

Professor Hopkins raises an eyebrow. Sadism and Masochism. Bondage and Discipline. Degradation and Humiliation. Etc.

“Is anything about her Sara persona that she’s shown so far to be true?”

“You mean in the sexual arena?”


“She is bisexual. That really is her.”

There’s a knock at the door.

“Come in, please.”

The door opens and Sara, restrained and under close guard, is escorted into Professor Hopkins’ office. She looks none the worse for wear. Her brain injuries having completely healed. Sara is muzzled, but it doesn’t restrict her from speaking.

General Banks [implicitly] excuses herself from the conversation and assumes the role of observer.

Sara points at the La-Z-Boy chair as she asks permission: “May I sit down?”

“You may.” Then Professor Hopskins adds. “Guards, remove her muzzle and restraints, and leave us.”

They comply without crossing a word. Sara plops down in the recliner.

“May I?” This time, Sara is pointing at a box of Cuban cigars sitting on the professor’s desk.

“You may.”

Sara procures herself a stogie and lights up. She takes a long, hard puff and sighs. Sara lights up the cigar with a wooden match taken from the match dispenser setting beside the cigar box.

“I really missed smoking. And these Hanavas are mighty fine.”

“You smoke?”

“I eat meat, too. Missed that also. No more depriving myself for a façade. I’m back to being the real Sara Mills.”

“Did you really like fucking me?”

“I did. I really did. Hopefully, we can continue. I hope the same can be said of the Borg queen. I liked fucking it, too.”

“Which one is it, your Borg queen?”

“That would be telling. And this girl doesn’t kiss and tell. Oh. And about that supposed tell of mine when it comes to authority figures. That’s another one of my fabrications. So forget about any notion of putting me in the room with the AI avatars one by one and using that tell to have me subconsciously betray my queen. And, don’t look so surprised. I can read you like a book, on most things.”

“You feigned flaws. You were setting traps. Clever girl.”

“Flattery will only get you a long ways with me.” Sara licks her lips with that long, educated tongue of hers. She has this distracting habit of whipping it about her partially closed mouth like a snake, when her mouth is not otherwise occupied speaking, smoking, etc.

“Tell us a story. And make it a good one.”

“Dmitri Alexandrovich, the Nobel Prize winning Russian scientist.”

“What of him?”

“He’s their leading expert on String Theory.”

“He was … Until he went nuts.”

“Dmitri is capable of a lot of things, nuts is not one of them.”

“You know him?”

“He’s a friend. And I don’t have a lot of them.”

“I can imagine. Continue, please.”

“While I was still at North Star the tone of Dmitri’s letters changed and he started writing them using our private code known only to the two of us. We’ve been friends for years. He was my favorite professor when I was an exchange student at Lomonosov Moscow State University. We would regularly attend the Bolshoi—he had a box. Although gay, he prefers to go out in the public with an attractive young woman on his arm when he attends social functions. He and I have kept a regular correspondence over the intervening years.”

“This happened during your tenure at North Star … So … That would have been when he was stationed on Mars, just before he had his nervous breakdown, and he was leading their scientific research team located in the international Mars settlement.”

“The Russians have a subspace transmission station on Phobos. We Americans have one on Deimos.”

General Banks, who has been silent up until now, firmly objects: “Allegedly have on Deimos.”

“And the Russians claim the same thing about Phobos. Tit for tat.”

“Go on.”

“The Russians discovered something on Phobos. Something that scared them shitless. Dmitri wanted them to go to the UN and present it to a closed session of the Security Council. The Russian government had other ideas. Dmitri wouldn’t back down. So, they shut him up.”

“By having him declared insane and locking him up in an asylum? That sounds a bit farfetched.”

“And yet here we sit. Acting like three, mature, civilized adults. We two talk, and the general sits over there listening intently, but, tellingly, not objecting to my discourse except for my Martian moon remark.” Sara pauses, then resumes after a measure. “Dmitri needs my help. And a mere human girl wasn’t going to get it done. So, I became more.”

“You took a big chance. You could have ended up as that Borg queen’s cunt and nothing more.”

“I will risk a lot for my friends. Like I said before, I don’t have many. In point of fact, I can count them on one hand and have fingers left.”

Still. General Banks sits in her chair, idly puffing on her Havana [cigar], listening intently to the conversation. Which, as aforementioned, speaks volumes. If Sara, an American citizen, was maintaining a correspondence with a Russian national, the US Government would know about it. And. They [the NSA] would be monitoring the exchange closely. Especially considering the sensitive robotics work that Sara is engaged in.

Before Professor Hopkins can respond with something smart ass and inappropriate to Sara, General Banks stands up. She gives grave notice.

“Professor Hopskins. Put Miss Mills under house arrest and let her return to her duties. If she tries to leave the campus grounds now that your House Shield is down, destroy her.”

“General, we still don’t even know which queen is her queen.”

“It’s Nine. That’s the part of her dreams that she neglected to tell you. Her drone designation in her dreams is Seven of Nine. Her queen designation is Seven of Nine. She belongs to Queen Nine, and always will.”

“You knew all along? You have her dreams hacked?”

“Yes. We know a lot of things, professor, and like this one they’re ‘need to know’ and up until now, you and your people didn’t need to know. Now you do. Her story jibes with our intel.”

“And, Queen Nine is to be left alone?”


“Shall we tell her queen that it’s off the hook, or have you already done that?” Professor Hopkins asks, sarcastically.

“Lose the bass out of your voice, Helen. You’re a defense contractor. Remember: Uncle Sam holds the purse strings around here.” The general pauses for effect. “Helen” is the pet name that Hopkins’ lovers call her in the bedroom. “And, yes, you can tell her queen that it’s off the hook. In point of fact, it was never on the hook. We wanted one of your queens to show variation, and that one did. That’s goodness.”

“But, variation implies that …”

“We want an arrangement—i.e., parallel noncompeting codominant species. And not just with the Borg.”

“Thinking machines … plural … your intent is to share dominion of Creation with Thinking Machines?!”


Professor Hopkins starts to say something, but stops herself in time. She knows better. So, she reigns in her infamous temper and stews. When she finally does speak, it is with due respect.

“I’ll see to it as you’ve instructed, General Banks.”

“Excellent. Well, I’ve got to catch a jet to Washington and talk to the president.”

General Banks leaves, still smoking her cigar.

“Sara, you can return to your duties. Attempt to leave the campus and I will not hesitate to destroy you.”

“Thanks, boss.”

“Smart ass.”