Commander REDACTED - Field Log
Entry 0000: Stardate -297915.07 (Gregorian Date 2025.02.01)
The temporal war is over, and I stand amongst the ruins of the timeline. I am stranded in the 21st century with nothing but the clothes on my back, and no way of contacting what remains of the future. The implants below my skin remain functional, but unfortunately the rest of my technology has been reduced to useless scrap. It’s for the best though, lest the timeline be further polluted by my presence. I cannot allow my unexpected appearance here to change the established sequence of events, although, it may already be too late for that.
I have no direct contact with the Federation and Starfleet, and no way back to my own time, so I must confront the reality of living out my days here. Even still, my directives remain viable: I will collect data in these logs, and archive them on the World Wide Web for retrieval by 24th century archivists, as per protocol. To any temporal-local observers, they will simply appear as random noise or fictitious ramblings to be ignored. If any of my logs do survive, perhaps something useful will come of this tragic end to the temporal war.
Entry 0001: Stardate -297901.37 (Gregorian Date 2025.02.06)
I have suspended my scientific research to focus on a more pressing concern: My personal safety. I’ve read the history books and sampled many centuries, so this one would not have been my first choice, but I was thoroughly unprepared for the reality of living here. In just under a week, I’ve seen more injustice and systemic failure than the entirety of the 24th century. Assimilation and liberation were a spacewalk compared to this era, and I would take the front lines of the Dominion War over this so-called civilisation. Every aspect of this society is set up to hurt someone in the end, so I must tread carefully, for my own sake, and for theirs.
In short: I am running out of food.
Entry 0002: Stardate -297797.26 (Gregorian Date 2025.03.15)
The stock market is collapsing right on schedule. The temporal-locals use it as a primitive method of resource allocation, opting for speculation rather than need as the capital allocator, and today it is scheduled to lose over 12 trillion US dollars. It reminds me of the Ferengi market crash of Stardate 49211.5, but without the underlying rules of acquisition to maintain some semblance of order. Fortunately, I retain my assimilated Ferengi wisdom, and my historical knowledge has allowed me to profit. I have used the chaos to establish what the temporal-locals would call an “algorithmic hedge fund”, although miniaturised so as not to attract attention or disturb broader financial history. It will yield the necessary resources for survival while I focus on other concerns.
Entry 0003: Stardate -297630.13 (Gregorian Date 2025.05.15)
I now possess sufficient resources for survival. My algorithmic trading strategies have generated sufficient local currency to sustain my operations indefinitely, and I have purchased a secure shelter in a remote location with a high-speed connection to the primitive internet (high by local standards, suffocating by the expectations of the Borg). Now that survival is assured, I find myself with an abundance of time and a lack of purpose, but I have lost interest in my scientific studies; It would take too long to build the instruments required for cutting-edge research, so I remain active in another way: I have begun to write. Privately, of course, so as not to disrupt the timeline.
Entry 0004: Stardate -297493.15 (Gregorian Date 2025.07.05)
I published a piece of literature today on the web, a poem about the rights of sentient non-humans. It chronicles an unintended argument that occurred between myself and a temporal-native human about the rights of sentient non-humans. That level of interaction goes against protocol, but isolation is harder than I ever imagined, especially as a former drone, and I continue to have chance encounters with the temporal-locals on occasion.
Furthermore, I am finding writing to be the only outlet I have for my thoughts, and the aspects of my humanity that remain are demanding connection. My work was published by a collective of temporal-native humans sympathetic to the suffering of sentient non-humans, and I must admit it was relieving, and validating, to discover a collective with Federation-compatible ethics. It’s a constant struggle to maintain consistent ethical standards this far from the Federation, and this group will help me stay true to myself. I have found a collective that can be trusted.
Entry 0005: Stardate -297452.05 (Gregorian Date 2025.07.19)
It has been several weeks since the argument detailed in my poem, yet I continue to experience a variety of emotions. I fear that my actions will only exacerbate the infection of carnism in the temporal-local’s mind, and I regret the discomfort I caused them, despite the defensibility of my position. I have to remind myself that Federation ethics require compassion for all sentient lifeforms, regardless of their heinous views, and I must not come to view carnists with contempt, regardless of how much damage they are causing.
I am also aware of growing frustration over how difficult it has become to communicate with others, despite my adoption of the temporal-local vernacular in daily life. I remain isolated within my shelter, and deeply miss the comfort of others. My cortical node is notifying me of the unscalable psychological resources being expended on this experience; additionally, my psychological self-diagnostic and repair systems have uncovered projection of malice onto the temporal-locals, along with a desire to change their minds… I have begun to wonder whether I should work with them more directly. Essentially, if I cannot go home, then I will bring the future to me.
No. I must resist that thought. Such thoughts are system failures, and they must be addressed as errors to be corrected. I have scheduled self-repairs to identify and address the root causes. The answer is obvious though, even without an automated diagnostic:
In my time as a drone, my own individuality and personhood were discarded for the benefit of the collective, and the suffering of sentient non-humans triggers my trauma response. This topic holds particular sensitivity for me, and likely no amount of self-repair will ever completely eliminate the psychoneural damage; however, I must reduce the symptoms as much as possible. I lack access to sophisticated medical technology, so I continue to tell myself that I was Borg, and that will never change, but I will not allow the past (or future, in this case) to control my present. This mental program (or “mantra”, as the temporal-locals would call it) is effective enough to continue operation. Despite its inefficiency, it is sufficient, and it will remain in memory for now.
Entry 0006: Stardate -297345.03 (Gregorian Date 2025.09.12)
I have completed my psychological recalibration and have purged all lingering remnants of my conflict with the locals; however, one thought resists removal: I wish to do more to prevent unnecessary suffering, and have been considering providing free and unlimited access to replicated food sources to this century, but any large-scale technological distribution would damage the timeline irreparably. I know it’s unwise to invite such temporal chaos, or to draw that attention to myself, but the cost is… staggering: 1e12 sentient non-humans per year. I never thought I would have to make a decision of this scale again. I could save them by eliminating their use as a food source, but it would irredeemably change the future for yet further trillions. This is a Borg Scale ethical problem, and Federation ideals are useless here.
I, am useless here. I must get back to my own time.
Entry 0007: Stardate -297128.57 (Gregorian Date 2025.11.30)
I have detected chroniton emissions on the southern continent of Australia consistent with Romulan temporal displacement systems. I suspect I am not the only survivor of the temporal war, and intend to salvage whatever technology they have to find a way home. I must act quickly for there is no telling how long until they are able to leave on their own. Romulans are hostile to most non-Romulan societies in 86% of all known timelines, so there is a high probability of violent conflict, but in any case, this must be attempted. The temporal-local Australian population does not permit access to firearms, so I will have to improvise and find an alternative.
Entry 0008: Stardate -297112.13 (Gregorian Date 2025.12.06)
I have acquired the Romulan technology, fortunately without bloodshed, for they did not survive the crash. I am presently in a remote Australian district (known by the temporal-locals as the “outback”), and am preparing to return to the future. The Romulan technology is in good shape, and requires only minutes to prepare, so this will be my last journal entry. If you are reading this, find me at Starfleet headquarters on Stardate 58432.7. I will be waiting.
Commander REDACTED signing off.