On Liberated Borg and Inclinations Towards Mutual Aid Resources for Public Infrastructure
To establish the themes by which this section shall extrapolate on, allow me to share a small anecdote from my time on the Liberated Borg homeworld.
It was during the eighth month of my stay on Ohniaka III, a week into the Capitol city's beginning of wintertime. While similar to the biting cold I’ve experienced visiting Earth’s city of Vancouver, Canada during December or one of Andoria’s more “balmy” springtime days amidst their icy townships, I found the winds rather chilly one evening, bundling my coat to excuse myself for a quick, warming smoke from my tobacco pipe. Supervising author Junction Horus and I were waiting at a public transit stop to head to an art gallery’s recent installation from a renowned, yet elusive hard-light hologram sculptor, and the cold seemed to have seeped into the soil and caused some newly-inlaid paving to crack the amply-spaced stop.
At least, this is what we postulated, after I slipped and rolled my left ankle, accompanied by what I heard (and felt) to be an ungodly snap as I tumbled to the ground and my pipe flew out of my hands.
I promise the reader that, from this point on, the preamble of my tumble takes secondary focus to the context of this entry's subject.
As amiable and sudden as a flock of San Francisco's Starfleet HQ pigeons, I was descended on by xBs already at the stop, a dozen murmurs of varying “are you alright?”s echoed by a host of augmented individuals crowding around me. As I clenched my teeth from the immediate pain, I remember Junction Horus confirming to bystanders everything from my name, pronouns, down to the microseconds in which my observed fall happened. While three xBs blocked the path so no one might accidentally cycle by or walk through my impact site, another group of six immediately circled around the offending crack in the pavement to observe it and, one pulling out a personal communicator, began to call for something I could not hear, as my attention was drawn to one one, not two, but three medics Junction Horus was conversing with. One xB, even, took the time to fetch my pipe for me, studying its craftsmanship and inquiring of its nature, and I realized this individual was distracting me from the searing ache in my ankle that my pained face most likely communicated.
I began to realize that it helped to have a culture with its highest level of societal care invested in medical and communal wellbeing, as I gave one xB permission to remove my boot and sock to examine the pained, already-swelling joint. From a suddenly-produced medical tricorder at this xB's side, the metal of their augmented hand was surprisingly caring, careful, and mindful of my initial (perhaps obvious) surprise, the crowd of xBs seemingly further fascinated by the fact I was a completely non-Reclaimed human in their world and so willing to be treated and cared for by their attendance. With one medic scanning, one affixing a cold patch, and one carefully holding my extremities, not three minutes later I was back on my feet again, the first xB recommending that if I still felt soreness after the event, I replicate a cold patch under a replicator serial number, or that I visit a clinic not a block from where Junction Horus and I resided, as these clinics are open 24/7 for all urgent physical and mental care. My mind, admittedly, was still processing the speed at which the xBs seemed to communally not only care for my injury, but also remedy the offending problem, as three xB construction workers beamed in from out of nowhere with large tools and direction from the crowd of six. By the time the transit car approached the stop, the attending group had returned to waiting as if nothing had happened at all, save for polite glances from my attending physicians (and some-still surprised, potent stares from xBs at my very presence).
Functionality, to xBs, is communal, and one inherently powered by mutual aid. It echoes heavily of anarcho-communism, with the extra "intimacy" of post-Collective life; if one aspect of the society is harmed or injured, none may proceed further until the offending problem is corrected. This desire for societal functionality is not a demand, but rather willingly and instinctively given, as if to oppose the Collective’s forced Hivemind of indenture that would have them blindly and oppressively service its needs (which could abandon a "unit" without a second thought). Without delving into further societal details such as communal food blocs, the lack of capital currency, and infrastructure automation (though my writings will detail these later), assistance is communally delegated according to the specialties of interests per-xB. The individual's unique talents assist in identifying, fixing, and "adapting" to a problem, repurposing that quality which the Collective so brutally foisted upon them. Individuals’ strengths make up the communities’ strength and is, like so many aspects of Ohniaka III, a paradox of refusing the Collective’s demanded suppression of individuality, and rather celebrates the unique strengths of many to create one collectively-supportive community.
To allow the reader a satisfying narrative end to my anecdote: by the time we arrived back to the station three hours later after our outing to the gallery, the crack had been very well tended to in our absence, complete with a charmingly-small construction fence surrounding the square to indicate recent, drying work.
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