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It starts with one small seedling, tiny and pale, growing in a makeshift hydroponic pot (a section of metal tubing that had been sawed off of some ductwork). Nova has been watching him for a few days now, rummaging through scraps to find a dedicated light, create a bit of netting, and a small, functioning pump.
Nova wonders where he got the seed.
Polestar smiles faintly. He still has the slightly vacant look of one growing accustomed to being joined into a collective. But he shows her an image, a memory of a few small seeds in the pocket of the vest he was wearing when he was brought aboard.
He shows her an image of dried flowers aboard his old shuttle. She feels his fondness for growing things. It was dumb luck that he’d dropped that flower head in his vest pocket and a few of the little dried seeds fell out. Good luck, she corrects him.
Growing flowers? One says, incredulous.
I like it, Agnes decides. We can feel his thoughts. This is something he’s good at. Something he loves. Something unique to him. Maybe something useful.
It’s Nova, though, who has a vision as she looks at Polestar’s lonely little seedling growing in this shiny segment of metal tubing. She pictures rows of pots, filled with plantings of all kinds; grasses, leafy green ones, flowering plants, creeping vines. She envisions an interior landscape of a much larger ship, with small trees growing, even lawns. All of it will start from this little hydroponic pot.
Clean air, an actual ecosystem within their ship. Growth. Nurturing. Both functional and supplying a connection with the ineffable. In thousands of years, no Borg cube ever had green, growing life aboard it. Agnes had given up on potted plants in college because she couldn’t keep one alive more than a month or so.
Neither one of us, Agnes remarks, would ever have thought of this. We came to it because we found him, and because Nova has enough of both of us to see the dimensions of value to it. This is Nova’s vision. It’s wonderful.
It’s an idea that will scale beautifully, One agrees.
Nova absorbs the fundamentals of hydroponic gardening from the new collective member, and begins assisting him in creating a larger hydroponic gardening setup. She can’t explain why it delights her so much. Perhaps it’s just because it’s something new.
But because One still has the urge to perfect herself and the collective, and Agnes is relentlessly curious and excited to learn, it doesn’t take long before they begin expanding their methods. They dig into the science and with the added intellect, it doesn’t take long before the air quality aboard their little freighter is fresher than any ship in either of their memory bases. Bolian flowers– small clusters of puffy yellow blooms– and soon, Terran grasses, line the corridors and sit tucked in corners of central command.
Join the Borg, Agnes jokes, we have fresh air.
It is actually an efficient means of air filtration, One replies.
Yeah, and it smells nice. I have access to plenty of sense memories of your last cube, missy, and it was, how do I say this politely… dank.
I didn’t see anyone dabbing La Sirena’s stale air behind their ears either.
They look at the line of Terran sweetgrass stretching down the corridor. Polestar has gotten Nova very excited about the idea of “air plants” which require no soil to take root and need little light to survive. They will need to consider a surface mission unless they can locate a ship that has some to trade.
Anyway, Agnes parries, don’t sit here and act like your interest in them is purely utilitarian. I know you like them.
One doesn’t respond, but she smirks. Agnes’s hand slips up her back and with a gentle touch, calls a tiny orchid bloom out of the back of her neck. One shivers, hisses at the surprise stimulation. Unfair, she complains.
Admit you like flowers.
Settle down.
Agnes toys with the petals and watches with glee as One struggles to maintain her composure. Agnes feels the ripples of delight skittering down One’s simulated cybernetic spine. Just admit it. Admit you like flowers.
We are busy right now, Agnes.
Not that busy. Her fingers continue playing around the edges of the petals of that one luscious little pink orchid bloom. One is entirely too distracted by the sensation of it.
Fine, she snaps after a moment. Yes. I like them.
I know. I just needed to hear you say it. Agnes has that look, that little triumphant smirk. One plays at being irritated by her. They are two consciousnesses who have chosen each other, who are separate and who are also one, who are endlessly delighted with discovering the corners of each other as they pilot the seeds of a new world through the galaxy with no small measure of chaos, but also no shortage of joys, great and small.
It occurs to Nova that it might be nice to build a greenhouse the next time they do a salvage operation and expand the ship. She has a funny urge to start growing orchids.