Letters Home From the Borg’s Assimilation Orientation

Stardate 69001.1

Dearest Mom and Dad,

Great first couple of days here on the ‘ol Cube. Can you believe I’m starting orientation? Overwhelmed by excitement and homesickness, but I’ve been assured that assimilation of my biological and technological distinctiveness would be not just be added; it will be added and respected. For the most part the Collective seems pretty cool and it’s definitely not as cliquish as I’d heard. However, they are extremely harsh on mistakes, even small ones. Speaking of, did you know it’s pronounced \fyoo-tahyl\, not \fyoot-l\? Tell dad I owe him a Coke.

Lovingly,

Luke Stewart

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Stardate 69017.9

Mother and Father,

Thought I’d write a quick letter before heading off to morning adaptation exercises. My Assimilation Counselor says the hive mind is absolutely mystified by my nanoprobe results. I told him, “All part of God’s mysteries.” Was then informed there is no higher deity other than the unrelenting pursuit of achieving perfection. Really, it never ends with the rules and mantras around here. But go along to get along, right?

Miss y’all,

L.S.

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Stardate 69028.1

Richard and Denise,

Got my ocular laser implant today and was bummed to discover it can’t disintegrate matter. It’s just an aid for daily PowerPoint presentations covering issues like how the myriad of biological and technical distinctiveness we’ve assimilated includes allergies that will immediately bring an end to Taco Tuesdays. Makes me wonder whose culture is adapting to serve whom. Anyway, some of the guys invited me to sneak out and “mix shit up” at a Romulan bar. It’s like they say, “All assimilation and no recreation makes Borg a codified boy.”

Best from your eldest.

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Stardate 69048.3

Consanguineous Predecessors,

I miscalculated the strength of Romulan ale by a staggering margarin, leading to the expulsion of biomass on a particularly belligerent member of Species 8472. Thankfully United Federation of Planets officials were on the premises and able to immediately initiate peacekeeping protocol and subdue the xenomorphic organism. It is a pity as my negotiations regarding inter-species propagation with a Catullan and her Risian friend seemed to be an imminent probability. I also ascertained, in quite disconcerting fashion, the Borg suit does not bio-recycle human waste as one of the older, cooler Borg advised me it would. At this point I suspect the passcode for the secret holodeck he sold me is an additional act of monkeyshine. As a punitive measure I’ve been assigned to three weeks in the maturation chamber.

Yours In Pursuit.

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Stardate: 69120.1

Bearers Of Similar Deoxyribonucleic Acid,

I’ve emerged from the maturation chamber to exhilarating news that I advise you ensconce yourself upon the davenport to receive. As a result of volunteering for assimilation orientation the Borg has concluded my genetic composition is worth aggregating into the Collective and the Cube is en route to Sol III! I am gratified by the notion of professional engagement with fellow colleagues of Species 5618. Please instruct the youngest of your offspring that this development does not give her permission to enter the zone in which I previously adhered to nocturnal repose. See you sooner than you think.

End Communication.