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 functiona, 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. I cannot allow my presence here to change the established sequence of events, although that may already be too late.
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. 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. If any of my logs 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 investigation to focus on a more pressing concern: My personal safety. I’ve read the history books and sampled many centuries, so this century would not have been my first choice, but I was not prepared for reality. In just under a week, I’ve already seen more injustice and moral failing than the entirety of the 24th century combined. 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 it has already lost 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 as not to attract attention or disturb the 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 posess 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, 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 argument between myself and a temporal-native human about the rights of sentient non-humans. This level of interaction goes against protocol, but isolation is harder than I ever imagined, especially as a former drone. 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 community of individuals 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 my argument, yet I continue to experience a variety of emotions. I fear that my efforts to show the temporal-local the consequences of their actions will only exacerbate the infection of carnism in their 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, including carnists, 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 miss the comfort of others. My cortical node is notifying me of the unscalable psychological resources being expended on this effort. Additionally, my psychological self-diagnostic and repair systems have uncovered projection of malice onto the temporal-locals, along with a strong desire to change their minds. If I cannot go home, I will bring the future to me… no, I must resist that thought.
These thoughts are failures, though, and they must be addressed. I have scheduled self-repairs to identify and address the root causes. The answer is obvious though even without a 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, but 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 call it) is effective enough to continue operation. It will remain in memory for now.
Entry 0006: Stardate -297345.03 (Gregorian Date 2025.09.12)
I have completed my psychological recalibration; however, one thought lingers: I wish to do more to prevent unnecessary suffering, and have considered providing free and unlimited access to replicated food sources, but any large-scale technological distribution would damage the timeline irreperably. 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. This a Borg Scale ethical problem, and Federation ideals are useless here. I, am useless here. I must get back to my own time.