fic: Floating World [Prelude]
I know, I know. WIP = suck. Not to mention the complete lack of work I've done on Sixty Six Seals, BUT I thought I'd at least post the prelude. You know, before October ends, lol. No clue how long this'll be, but I've got some right ideas all planned out, so hopefully it'll be fun! Don't be put off by the Star Trek-ness. I'm trying to make it accessable, fusion-wise. Borg = FUN! <3
Title: Floating World [1/?]
Author:
hikari_datenshi
Rating: PG
Genre/Pairing: Gen, but will become Dean/Castiel in the future
Spoilers: Zilch for SPN, some possible spoilers for Star Trek: Voyager with regards to the Borg.
Warnings: None yet.
Summary: On a routine reconnaissance mission, the USS Wayward finds more than it bargained for in an abandoned Borg Cube.
Notes: Written for the fusion 2009 prompt of Borg!Castiel and Starfleet Dean and Sam, and co. Star Trek/SPN fusion, obviously.
The forest behind Four of Seven gleamed in the night-time air. The moonlight glanced off blue leaves like mirrors, and the reflection in the lake stilled his mind pleasantly. The transition to Unimatrix Zero was always turbulent, but somehow just a single sight of the lake served to calm him, no matter how roughed his thoughts were, or how regretful.
He dropped to seating at the very edge of the pier, legs dangling over the side about a meter from the mirrored lakewater. Leaning back on his hands, he allowed his body to relax, and his head tumbled back to bring his gaze to the sky. The stars. He sighed, feeling the breath exit his lungs with a strange detachment that was all too familiar. It had been so long since he'd seen the real stars, burning their pathways through the heavens like fireflies caught in a spider's web.
A memory of his past life tickled at the corner of his mind, but he could not grasp it. Four of Seven did not have memories. He was assimilated - nothing should have been left of his self. But, inexplicably, he had found himself in Unimatrix Zero, this calm centre of a metal storm; a place where feelings were and memories existed and bodies were released from the ravages of implants and nodes and iron.
Four of Seven slid his hands apart and lay back on the hard wood of the pier, arms stretched to either side and fingers wiggling in the air above the lake. He had one hour of regeneration time and then he would be dragged back into his real body - that grey suit of assimilated meat and metal - and his real life would commence once more. He supposed this could be what the Borg-humans called Hell, but he knew no basis for comparison, so he chose not to dwell.
The peace of Unimatrix Zero was all the more poignant for its lack of similarity to the Cube, but Four of Seven did not allow himself to wallow in despair when his hour was up. He simply accepted.
---
Lieutenant Dean Winchester caressed the flight panel of the USS Wayward. It had been three long months of shore leave on Earth since he'd last sat in his place at the helm, and he would be the very first in line to admit that he'd missed it like he'd miss an arm or a leg. He just didn't feel right on solid ground, where the gravity was normal and food was actually cooked. And okay, so his rank might not actually be “pilot” per se, but flight controller and pilot were pretty close, and anyway, the chicks totally dug the pilot thing.
But where he was now, at the very front of his baby, the first to be seeing out into the vastness of space, that was where he belonged. He stroked the keyboard into responsiveness, getting that familiar kick out of seeing her light up, as if in anticipation of their flight.
“Hey baby,” he murmured. “Did ya miss me?”
The Captain rolled his eyes at Winchester's behaviour. “Are we going to sit here all day, Lieutenant, or are we actually going to take off?”
“Engaging thrusters, sir,” Dean replied, adding in an undertone, “don't worry baby, he doesn't mean any harm.” He patted the flight terminal fondly, and then tapped out the flight coordinates with practised ease. A final stroke and flick of his fingers, and the Wayward sprang into warp, leaving behind Dean's Earthly shackles and the boredom of being grounded for one more mission.
---
Captain's log, stardate 48315.98
Routine reconnaissance mission is underway. The Wayward has been assigned to investigate what appears to be an abandoned Borg Cube at the edge of the Alpha Quadrant. Probably not a threat, but you never know with the Borg. My Science Officer warns that it could be a trap, and I am inclined to agree. All due caution will be taken.