The landing lights of the craft pierced through the dark Montana night like a knife through butter. The ship eased its way onto the clearing, setting down its landing gear and settling into position.
All along the clearing, scattered like matches, was the small encampment of survivors of the post-atomic horrors, a ragtag gathering of misfits and everymen, put to the task of day to day survival in a cruel and uncaring world. A town wanting nothing more than to return to the days of normalcy of the early 21st century, before the days of Colonel Green and the Eastern Coalition.
The night sky lit up with shooting stars, obviously a sign of hope that perhaps after a decade, the suffering of planet Earth would end and a new generation of peace and prosperity would befall the planet.
The crowd that gathered around the landed craft looked in wonder and amazement as a side of the ship opened, revealing a walkway which lowered itself onto the cold, damp ground. A dark figure emerged from the ship and started walking down the walkway.
A lone figure emerged from the crowd, which stared agape at the ship and the extraterrestrial. A tall, lanky man wearing a heavy coat and a flight cap started walking toward the alien, knowing that an historic occasion that would be told years from now was getting ready to take place.
The two figures, one dressed in light, the other, clad in dark, stood in that clearing near Bozeman, Montana, and stared intently at each other. Dr. Zephram Cochrane, creator of the warp engine that culminated in the construction of the Phoenix, extended his hand in friendship.
The other figure, face devoid of emotion, looked at Dr. Cochrane's hand and extended its own. But not in friendship. The figure's hand extended, going toward Cochrane's neck, and extended tubules from its hand, which pumped Cochrane full of assimilation nanoprobes.
The crowd screamed in horror as Cochrane fell to the ground, choking as his skin grayed and dark splotches started appearing on his face. Several more figure started emerging from the cube-shaped craft, and finally, the lone figure spoke.
"Do not be frightened," the bald, long headed woman said, her head glistening in the green light coming from the cube. "We are here to bring you to perfection. We detected the warp signature of your vessel and deemed you suitable for assimilation. Your technological and biological distinctiveness will be added to our own. You will adapt to service us." The Queen smiled a ghastly smile as several Borg drones beamed into the middle of the crowd, assimilating people left and right.
People scattered in all different directions, but were stopped by dozens upon dozens of materializing Borg drones. The Queen watched in fascination as the hive mind grew and grew. Planet Earth was hers. Slowly but surely, it would be hers.
The Queen had had doubts about assimilating the Vulcan craft that led to her discovery of this backwater planet, but she now knew it had been a wise decision. If the fighting spirit she was now witnessing were an indication of the humans' spirit, then they would make a fine addition to the Collective, indeed.
All along the clearing, scattered like matches, was the small encampment of survivors of the post-atomic horrors, a ragtag gathering of misfits and everymen, put to the task of day to day survival in a cruel and uncaring world. A town wanting nothing more than to return to the days of normalcy of the early 21st century, before the days of Colonel Green and the Eastern Coalition.
The night sky lit up with shooting stars, obviously a sign of hope that perhaps after a decade, the suffering of planet Earth would end and a new generation of peace and prosperity would befall the planet.
The crowd that gathered around the landed craft looked in wonder and amazement as a side of the ship opened, revealing a walkway which lowered itself onto the cold, damp ground. A dark figure emerged from the ship and started walking down the walkway.
A lone figure emerged from the crowd, which stared agape at the ship and the extraterrestrial. A tall, lanky man wearing a heavy coat and a flight cap started walking toward the alien, knowing that an historic occasion that would be told years from now was getting ready to take place.
The two figures, one dressed in light, the other, clad in dark, stood in that clearing near Bozeman, Montana, and stared intently at each other. Dr. Zephram Cochrane, creator of the warp engine that culminated in the construction of the Phoenix, extended his hand in friendship.
The other figure, face devoid of emotion, looked at Dr. Cochrane's hand and extended its own. But not in friendship. The figure's hand extended, going toward Cochrane's neck, and extended tubules from its hand, which pumped Cochrane full of assimilation nanoprobes.
The crowd screamed in horror as Cochrane fell to the ground, choking as his skin grayed and dark splotches started appearing on his face. Several more figure started emerging from the cube-shaped craft, and finally, the lone figure spoke.
"Do not be frightened," the bald, long headed woman said, her head glistening in the green light coming from the cube. "We are here to bring you to perfection. We detected the warp signature of your vessel and deemed you suitable for assimilation. Your technological and biological distinctiveness will be added to our own. You will adapt to service us." The Queen smiled a ghastly smile as several Borg drones beamed into the middle of the crowd, assimilating people left and right.
People scattered in all different directions, but were stopped by dozens upon dozens of materializing Borg drones. The Queen watched in fascination as the hive mind grew and grew. Planet Earth was hers. Slowly but surely, it would be hers.
The Queen had had doubts about assimilating the Vulcan craft that led to her discovery of this backwater planet, but she now knew it had been a wise decision. If the fighting spirit she was now witnessing were an indication of the humans' spirit, then they would make a fine addition to the Collective, indeed.
