I ripped apart my girlfriend’s laptop to see if I could get it to boot up. It turned out that the laptop was made in a different century, and short of time travel, I could do nothing to get that Compaq to breathe again.
So instead I went bananas with my screwdriver. I autopsied the machine into a pile of parts and screws and circuits. The battery was one one of the few parts I kept. It weighs the same as a small sack of avocados. It’s shiny and square, and imparts a strange feeling of importance to anyone holding it. As though I could snap this thing into the hull of a starship and avert a warp core breach. Or something.
OK, so maybe not anyone holding it will get this feeling. Just those of us who grew up on ST:TNG (and to a lesser extent DS9).