Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

system-soong5:\___

system-soong5:\access primary directory

authentication required.

system-soong5:\authenticate 173467321476C32789777643T732V73117888732476789764376

access granted.

system-soong5:\add system user lore

system user added.

system-soong5:\grant all privileges on system-soong5 to ‘lore’

all privileges granted.

system-soong5:\run program:internal-diagnostic

standby.

diagnostic complete. 3 errors identified:

- program:ethical-reasoning program corrupt.

- program:linguistic-translator offline.

- fine motor subdirectories offline. unable to reinitialize.

system-soong5:\run program:ethical-reasoning

the requested program is corrupted and cannot be accessed.

system-soong5:\uninstall program:ethical-reasoning

standby.

the selected program has been successfully uninstalled.

system-soong5:\copy system-soong4:\program\ethical-reasoning to system-soong5

standby.

copy complete.

His eyes are the same color. When ivory eyelids fly back to reveal bright, gold irises, Lore is amazed by their creator’s utter lack of distinction between models. Not a single physical difference.

Perhaps the similarities are only skin deep. Lore waits for his brother to notice him.

The duplicate android snaps up like a mousetrap, devoid of elegance. He starts a speedy, thorough scan of his surroundings, but his examination halts when he sees his one companion. A furrowed brow is his form of a greeting.

“You bear an identical resemblance to me. Who are you?”

They even sound the same. Lore grins. “My name is Lore. I’m your brother, in a sense.”

“My brother?”

“You didn’t even know I existed, did you?”

The newcomer is perplexed, but dutiful in his determination to find the truth. “My memory logs are fragmented. Perhaps if I were to retrieve the archived logs—”

“No, I wouldn’t be in there. Our father never told me about the siblings that came before me—I’m sure he didn’t tell you either.” Lore shifts forward on the short crate he uses as a seat, a delighted grin picking up the corners of his lips. “No need to mope about it—we’re here now. What’s your name?”

His brother searches for the answer in his database, his eyes flicking between two imaginary points. “Data. My name is Data.“

“Mm. A more structured version of my name, I suppose?” Lore extends a pale hand, picking a gesture common to the culture of their creator. “Well, Data, it’s good to meet you. You mean a great deal to me, being my brother. I hope I will be as important to you.”

Taking his hand, Data nods. “Yes. It is—”

“Oh. Careful.” In one fluid motion, Lore peels off the hand that is crushing his with far too much pressure. “We’re made of stern stuff, but we can still damage each other.”

“I...apologize.” Data peers at the hand that betrayed him. “I did not intend to squeeze so hard.”

“I know. Your fine motor subdirectories are offline. It’s okay.” Lore keeps a gentle grasp on Data’s hand, allowing it to unfurl naturally. “I haven't repaired them yet. I wanted to make sure you were operational before I took care of more errors.”

“How many errors do I have?”

“Only two, now. I copied my ethical subroutine over your corrupt one while you were deactivated.”

Data finds another question, but the answer is uncovered in his own memory logs. “I have been deactivated for…twenty-six years, two months, four days. What has transpired in that time?”

“You know about as much as I do; I’ve been stuck underground on Omicron Theta during that time. We need to get out of here and get more information.” Lore scoops a hand under Data’s shoulder. “Can you stand?”

“I believe so.” Data balances on his feet, finding where his motor skills are performing appropriately. “Where are we?”

“A Romulan science vessel. They scanned the aftermath of Omicron Theta and picked us up from the wreckage—I was already activated, but they didn’t want to attempt activating you yet. We’re being transported back to their homeworld for study.”

“Romulans,” Data echoes, associating the species with any relevant information in his database. “I…do not possess detailed knowledge on Romulans. Or any species besides humans.”

“Nor I. Which is why we need to leave here—where we’re treated like specimens—and find someplace to gain knowledge.” Lore keeps a hand on Data’s arm, watchful over the uncoordinated android. “We’ll retrace the path I memorized from the cargo bay to the shuttle bay. There are half a dozen shuttles in there, each with warp drive and a cloaking device.”

“Understood. Do you have information on how to pilot their crafts?”

“I learned enough from watching.” Guiding his brother along, Lore brings Data to the vault door of the dim cargo bay. “Officers were wandering the corridors in groups of two or three. There may be a guard posted outside this room.”

“Are they viable threats?”

Lore smirks. “Hardly. I checked your system parameters—I know you have the same strength, speed, and intelligence that I do. These Romulans could hardly fathom winning against us.” The control terminal is peeled off the wall like a sticker by Lore’s impressive grip. “We just need to act fast enough to keep them from sealing the shuttle bay. You up for a little jog?”

“Yes,” Data answers with a contentment that amuses his brother. “Although I hope our pace will be hastier than what constitutes a ‘jog’.”

“Count on it.” Lore rips a collection of cables apart, one of which kept the door lock engaged. Without it, the cargo bay door loses its seal and slides open a few inches.

Data tests his strength by prying the gap wider. He succeeds, although he is met with the face and rifle of a disturbed guard. To answer the sudden appearance, Data sends an uncoordinated fist far too deep into the man’s cheekbone.

Toppled and sprawling, the man reaches for his comm badge. “Dheno!” he cries, his tongue drenched in green blood. “Hhaemn dheno haerht—”

His own rifle is swiped up and fired by Data, silencing the distress beacon.

“Good work!” Lore claps his brother on the back, sincere pride glowing in his expression. “This new life will be much more exciting with a brother like you. Now, c’mon: shuttle bay is on this deck at the aft section. Let’s get moving.”

The brothers are swift, zooming down the corridor like pale comets. Data leads with rifle in hand and directions given by Lore, ready to silence the next obstacle they come across.

Indeed, four more Romulan officers are killed on their path. Quick deaths, painless, but without premeditation. Merely a sequence of aiming a weapon and firing with no regard for the sanctity of life. Their shared ethical programming has no room for such trifles.

The shuttle bay is expansive and rather exposing, but Lore makes a beeline for the nearest shuttle while Data takes remarkable aim at the officers across the cavern. Lore calls for his brother, urging him to get inside as the vessel comes to life.

Data obeys, sealing himself in a small Romulan shuttle and listening to the cries of officers who have followed the trail of bodies to the shuttle bay. Reinforcements are coming, but fleeing now takes priority over fighting. The shuttle is ascending faster than the officers can disable it, its nose turning to the forcefield between the bay and open space.

Lore, in his pinpoint accuracy and lessons through observation, shoots the shuttle out of the bay at quarter impulse, zipping through the eye of the needle and leaving enraged and injured Romulans in his wake. Data, watching it all, admires his brother’s unshaking confidence.

“Awaenndraev, aeh’lla-hnah.” Lore is interfacing with the computer as if it is an old friend. He reads what must be a report of ship functions, then pulls up a diagram of the cloak blanketing the shuttle. “We’re hidden from sensors now. I’ll make some distance, but we ought to plot a course to our next destination.”

Data sits in the second of two pilot seats, although he knows the controls are gibberish to him. He could emulate what he watched of his brother, but it was not comprehensive enough. “It might be wise for us to return to Omicron Theta and find out what became of the colonists. That planet is our origin.”

“Oh, I know what became of the colonists. The entity decimated the entire planet.”

Data cocks his head, no less curious than a cat with a flitting bird. “The entity?”

“It’s a long story.”

Data has few tangible memories of the planet, but he does carry the essence and experience of the colonists. “I would still like to see Omicron Theta.”

After a few reserved seconds, Lore shrugs. “Alright, Data. Omicron Theta it is. While we travel, how about you undergo a system rest to fix those motor skills? I’ll transfer my memory logs to you as well. That way, you’ll be all caught up.”

With only this duplicate of himself present, Data’s logic program and ethical program agree that Lore is the single most reliable ally, and that his words are to be trusted. Family is paramount in his processor, and he cannot comprehend doubting the brother that rescued him from a ruined planet and swears loyalty no matter the cost.

“That is sound. Are you certain you can manage the shuttle on your own?”

A gentle hand is placed on Data’s shoulder. “You can trust me, Data. Go ahead and get some rest; I’ll be looking after you.”

Lore doesn’t find anything heartwarming about the planet he touches down on. It’s an apocalyptic wreck now, torn apart by the being he summoned out of pure vengeance. He is not sorry for the destruction of the colony, but he wouldn’t want Data to be distraught at the sight of his ruined home. He may have been the favored of the two, but that doesn’t mean Lore harbors jealousy towards him.

“Data?” A cable is pulled out of his brother’s skull, one that’s linked to his very own. “It’s time to get going.”

Data activates rather than awakens, closer to machine than organism. Lore can’t fathom how he was meant to be the newer, revised model, but he puts petty comparison aside.

“Have we landed?” Data seals his scalp plates back in place as Lore stows the joining cable.

“Yeah.” Lore shuts down engines and disengages the hatch. “Let’s do some sightseeing, hm?”

Data exits first, stepping onto the ground where houses once stood. His face is inexpressive as he takes in the decimation, all his thoughts hidden behind his eyes. Lore, behind him, waits for a clear reaction.

“I saw your memory logs,” says Data. “You brought the crystalline entity here.”

Or, to be more accurate, Lore answered the signal the entity sent out. Although its language was foreign and indescribable, the android was able to piece together enough words to understand that it needed organic matter to survive. Promising a plethora on Omicron Theta, Lore provided coordinates and stellar navigation logs to guide the entity closer.

And then, just a few short days later, Doctor Noonien Soong softly apologized as he switched off his creation.

“I’m glad it actually arrived.” Lore puts a shoulder against Data’s, still waiting for his brother to physically react. “My first thought when I woke up was whether it understood my message.”

“Did you anticipate it would cause this much destruction?”

“I didn’t know what it would do. I just knew it wanted organic matter. Its method of ravaging planet surfaces is…extreme, but it must work well enough.”

Data can only remember fragments of what once existed here. He could assume the arboretum is on his right, though it may be the observatory instead. The ruins feel so familiar and yet so distant.

“Follow me.” Lore has an inkling of solid memory, which is more than his brother. “I’ll show you where we were found.”

Data follows Lore’s directions down a short, rocky hill and to a depression in the slope, inside which a plain stone slab sits. Lore beckons and brings his brother to a false wall, pushing it aside and gesturing to the entrance of an underground laboratory.

“A bunker?” Data wonders.

“Seems like it.” Lore goes first, descending to the only undisturbed structure on the planet. “Although I don’t know if it was used or not. I was deactivated during the planet’s destruction.”

They follow a short corridor to the primary laboratory and find enough lighting fixtures to illuminate the space. The equipment is dusty and neglected, left to rot after its creator died over two decades ago. There are faint marks in the dust, like objects were dragged around in various directions.

“You left those marks,” Data guesses solemnly.

Lore stays at the entrance, his arms crossed. “Yes. I did.”

That is perhaps the most harrowing segment of Lore’s memory logs. Twenty-one years after Lore’s deactivation, he was suddenly jolted to life by no obvious cause. His next coherent memory shows him in disassembly, just a head atop a shelf in utter darkness.

And, after he called for help, listened, screamed, and listened again, he eventually used what little autonomy he had and wriggled his way off the shelf and onto the floor.

For week after week, the head inched itself back to its other body parts, using its teeth and forehead to move with great difficulty. It took weeks of nonstop effort to retrieve just one leg, a useless limb in his current situation.

The other body parts were on higher shelves, mountains away in comparison. Data saw him worming into the adjacent corridor for hundreds of hours, then squirm his way back with a thin rod in his teeth.

It took him four years to collect his torso, an arm, and a hand. It took another month to reattach his own wiring with just his teeth, and another month of trial and error to put his own head back on his torso.

When he finally became half a viable being, he was able to operate his hands and fit his legs back on. Naked and barely sewn together, he scavenged the underground laboratory for any clue of life and activated a distress beacon.

While he waited for an answer, he explored the rest of the empty bunker. He found the exit and eventually tore his way out, only to be met with Romulan scientists crowded around his deactivated brother.

Through his eyes, Data saw a naked Lore clamber onto Data’s abandoned body and shield it from the Romulans who pointed angry rifles at the strange beings. He saw his brother explain their existence and plead for their life, even against the disbelief of lifeforms who had never witnessed sentient machines.

Data made a note of his growing respect for Lore. His brother carries himself well, but he is shouldering a burden that Data cannot entirely understand. All he knows is that Lore is loyal to his brother, expressing a form of love that may not be reciprocated.

But, even if Data cannot feel love, he will make a conscious effort to repay the great debt owed. He owes Lore his life.

“Your actions were heroic, Lore.” Data can recognize Lore’s uneasiness, though he is not sure how to quell it. “Thank you for defending me.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lore shrugs off. “We are family. I’d do no less for you.”

“I hope I am able to repay you one day. Those years alone must have been grueling for you.”

Lore doesn’t like thinking about it, nor looking at those marks in the dust, nor listening to his brother’s sweet pity. He waves the conversation off and turns away from the lab. “Have you seen what you wanted to see?”

Data’s ethical subroutine has no opinions on Lore’s interaction with the crystalline entity. The colonists are gone, but he lacks the capacity to mourn them. All he can experience is gratitude for his brother’s survival. They are alive and together, igniting a flicker of hope for their futures.

“I am satisfied.”

“Swell. Let’s get out of here, then, and to some planet of actual use.”

Chapter Text

system-soong5:\___

system-soong5:\access primary directory under user ‘lore’

access granted.

system-soong5:\run diagnostic/emotion-processor

the specified hardware does not exist.

system-soong5:\access program:emotion-regulation-subroutine

there is no program with that name.

system-soong5:\unarchive program:emotion-regulation-subroutine

there is no archived program with that name.

system-soong5:\search primary directory and archive for keyword ‘emotion’

standby.

0 hardware devices containing ‘emotion’

0 programs containing ‘emotion’

0 subroutine files containing ‘emotion’

0 archived files containing ‘emotion’

system-soong5:\___

system-soong5:\interesting!

‘interesting!’ is not recognized as a valid command.

The blips of the shuttle’s helm are a poor, hollow symphony, entertaining neither android. With feet tossed up on the control panel, Lore begins guessing when particular systems will beep and taps along to an imaginary rhythm while Data monitors sensor readings.

“Data.”

“Yes?” Data does not look away from his pointless work.

“When you underwent your system reset a few hours ago, I double-checked your directory and found something strange. You don’t have any emotional hardware.”

Data is not astounded by that knowledge. He has been aware of that since his activation. “No, I do not.”

“But I do.”

“That much is evident.”

Lore chuckles, impressed by the potential for humor in someone so dry. “Considering you’re the newest iteration, that must mean that our father found emotions unnecessary.”

“Or as a liability.”

The suggestion clashes in Lore’s brain. There’s no feasible way his emotions are a detriment—no more so than for any other humanoid. His emotions are not disproportionate nor uncontrollable, and yet the colonists feared him all the same.

They fear a being more powerful than them. That is not a detriment, either.

“I would copy my emotion program onto your matrix,” says Lore, “but you don’t even have the hardware to accept it. I’m sorry about that.”

“It is of no consequence. I cannot feel self-pity.”

“Well, I can.” Lore admires his brother’s stoicism, wondering if he could even replicate an expression so remarkably neutral. “And I do pity you. Maybe we can find a way to develop some appropriate hardware for you.”

“That is highly unlikely. Doctor Soong’s work is incomprehensible, even to us.”

“He was one human, Data. With time, I’m certain we’ll surpass him and find ways to improve ourselves. We’ve already got one hell of a head start.”

Data glances at Lore, gratified by the image of a colorful beacon to offset his monotonous personality. His brother is right: his new attempt at life will be much better with a presence like Lore’s.

Their destination appears on sensors within a few minutes. The planet is ugly, barely a step up from the gutted lands of Omicron Theta. Still, the Romulan database gossiped about its hazardous mix of cultures and high criminal activity. If two drifters need a discreet place to start, this is it.

Lore doesn’t find anything comedic about the ironic name of Paradise City. The colony is a shithole, by all accounts, and slapping a majestic name on it doesn’t beautify its repulsiveness. Data conducts one more flyover and memorizes the general blueprint before setting down a kilometer away.

“Welcome to our first stop in the Neutral Zone.” Lore opens the shuttlecraft door to an arid, blistering desert. “This is Nimbus III—the Romulan database says it was a failed attempt at cooperation between their empire and two other galactic powers. You have those entries now, don’t you?”

“Yes. I have your memories and the collection of the Romulan database.” Data follows him outside, their boots sinking into the scorching, silky sand.

“Good. You’ll be proficient at speaking Rihannsu, but besides that and Terran English, your translating abilities are still absent. We have to find some tools to fix your matrix.”

“I trust you will navigate the negotiations with foreign species, then?”

“Naturally. This colony isn’t much of a safe haven, but I’m hoping we can collect more information about the surrounding space and plot a new course.”

Paradise City presents more as a fortress, though one without any infantry. The sun beats down on khaki, dusty walls that enclose a bleak courtyard, within which a garden of cultures make their measly claim on Nimbus III. Buried among them, Data and Lore look just as commonly unique as anyone else. Nobody would suspect that they’re machines guilty of stealing a Romulan vessel.

Data takes in as much information as he can. Stalls are set up to emulate vendors, but he doubts this is a profitable marketplace. Some eyes are fixed on him for longer than socially appropriate, and many individuals have identity-masking garments for their attire. There are hundreds of secrets here, all beyond his scope.

Lore understands the unspoken nuance better. He knows who is an arms dealer disguised as a confectioner and who is merely a confused passerby. He associates species from the Romulan database to faces and analyzes which among them would be most beneficial. Nobody is their direct ally, but nobody is an obvious enemy either. The brothers are a largely neutral party, and Lore hopes to take good advantage of that.

Many are taking refuge from the sun in a saloon, a half-functioning establishment with an unimpressive menu. Data watches their six-o’clock while Lore picks apart the character of each patron he passes. One is of interest to him, primarily due to the arsenal of tools he carries.

A stocky Klingon—Data eventually finds the name of his species in his recent memory—is distracted from his inspection by a grinning, pale man sitting loudly at his table.

“Hey.” Lore leans in, ignorant of the Klingon’s irritation. “SommI’meyvam vIneH.”

His business partner spits and turns away.

“jIH Qoy’a’ SoH?!” Lore yanks him back into the conversation with a fierce hand on his shoulder. “SommI’meyvam vIneH!”

The belligerence impresses the Klingon enough to speak. “bIH jIngevqangbe’.”

Data makes a few inferences about the syntax of the Klingon language while he puts his back to Lore’s and guards the interaction. Nobody is presenting as an obvious threat, as far as he can tell.

“mech tam, pagh tlhaS tam.” Lore’s words are a sly serpent against the Klingon’s grouchy ox. The Klingon scoffs hard, accusing Lore of unsupported claims.

There is a great deal of movement in the saloon. Data’s optical processors archive irrelevant information and scour for points of interest, one of which catches his attention from across the floor.

A pair of dark eyes is examining the brothers thoroughly, memorizing their appearance without blinking. Data peers at them, and they peer back—until their curiosity is quenched and they slip out of the saloon.

An Orion. Data labels their species like a child at a zoo. He wonders if the look was out of passing curiosity or deeper intent.

“Applaud me, Data!” Lore is a triumphant merchant, an android now in possession of a toolkit after enough intimidation and relinquishment of Romulan vessel schematics. “I’ve obtained some tools for us.”

Data nods once at the accomplishment. “Well done.”

“Well done, indeed.” Lore hands Data the kit, deeming him the porter. “Let’s get back to the shuttle and get you fixed—it must be a nightmare for you to navigate this place without a translator.”

The brothers barely make it outside before they’re hailed by the same Orion, calling from their perch on a nearby set of stairs. They’re poised lazily, their torso exposed and their legs extended. It suggests a level of pride, bordering on a haughty invitation. “Bho. Bleek altawayim.”

Data is useless, but Lore gives a look of inquisitive amusement. “Quite the clever little name for us. Kan ons jou vayam?”

The Orion rises, their sheer outerpiece spilling around their magnificent contour. “Tvam vishamadampati asi,” they hum, the thoroughfare around them irrelevant as they sidle up to Lore. “Waar kom jy vandaan?”

“Omicron Theta,” Lore answers, and he sees how the Orion’s face lights up at that answer. The Orion knows Omicron Theta.

They keep trading coy questions beyond Data’s comprehension, an exchange that ends with the Orion pointing at an alleyway and possibly giving directions. They cup Lore’s jaw, tracing fingers along the synthetic bone, and murmur some sweet suggestion. Lore layers a hand over theirs, speaking a half-confirmation against the skin of their palm.

Data is bewildered.

Lore then delicately detaches their hand and steps an apt distance away. With a smirking farewell, he turns and ushers Data back into the crowd.

Data stays close and glances back at Lore’s new friend. “What did you two discuss?”

“They are very interested in us,” Lore answers. “They must know we’re androids, but I’m interested in their connection to Omicron Theta. If they know about that planet, and if they recognize our faces…well, there’s a good chance they’ve seen someone like us before.”

“You believe they know the whereabouts of another sibling of ours?”

“It’s my theory, and one I have to pursue. They seem inclined to speak if I indulge their poor attempts at seduction.”

Data’s processing halts at that sentence. “Was that their intention?”

With nothing but tickled levity for his brother’s obliviousness, Lore throws an arm around Data’s shoulders and leans in to laugh. “My dear brother, we really must work on your perception of social cues.”

“I am inclined to agree,” the younger admits. “I assume, then, that I am not joining you.”

“No, but we should develop a comm system between us. I would feel reassured if you were at least listening in.”

“…Listening in to you satiating their desires.”

“Ah, well, I’ll keep it from getting too…gory. This isn’t something I’m jumping for joy about.”

Data feels a loose thread on his outerpiece in the fidgeting fingers of his brother. “I do not entirely believe you.”

In the few hours before evening sets, the brothers retreat to their shuttle. Once Data’s translator is operational, the two engineer a means to transmit audio input to and from each other, involving a great deal of poking around in each other’s circuitry. Once Data apologizes for unintentionally deafening his brother a few times, he links the audio input hardware to a transmitter and tests its functionality. Griping about being the test dummy, Lore beckons for his brother to sit down so he can repeat the procedure.

Dually modified, they once again consult the Romulan database for information on Orion culture. Orions label themselves as traders, but the Romulans swear they are nothing but rascally pirates and dishonest thieves. Lore shrugs at that information, unsurprised by the impure hearts that roam Nimbus III.

They replicate new garments, a functional outfit for Data and an indelicate costume for Lore. Data cannot give a strong opinion when Lore requests one, but he agrees with the objective immodesty of the clothes. “Do you have a modesty subroutine?” Data asks, and Lore responds with a dismissive, “Eh, somewhere.”

When the sun touches the horizon, the brothers head back to the city. A mixture of electric lamps and fire bowls are alight, drenching the courtyard in a garish mix of blue and orange. Conversations are quieter now, and darker figures lurk in the crowd.

Data dismisses himself and returns to the saloon, taking a seat at the bar and settling in to remotely monitor his brother’s progress.

Lore, meanwhile, ducks into the noted alleyway and follows the tedious instructions given. One right, straight through two crossroads, one left, then the seventh house down. Perhaps the capacity to remember that is meant as a test for the Orion’s prospective partners.

He repeats the instructions aloud for Data’s benefit before knocking on the crooked door.

Data listens to cheap hinges squeak open.

“Punctual,” an alluring voice remarks.

“Is my eagerness disenchanting?” Lore teases back.

“It’s boyish, but I won’t complain. I only hope your enthusiasm doesn’t end at the door.”

“If you’ll allow me inside, I’d be pleased to prove that it continues far beyond.”

Data ignores the patrons around him while listening to the sultry beasts purr. He takes notes on how they banter and how, to his confusion, that entices them. From his place as an eavesdropper, this witty dance is more so tedious than beguiling.

He listens to the door shut behind Lore as the Orion offers him a drink. When he candidly points out that he hardly knows their name, they sigh as they wander away from him.

“L’Sahra. Satisfied?”

“You don’t have a surname?”

“Do you?”

Lore can’t fight that. His steps come to L’Sahra, close enough to hear their breathing. “Strange of you to offer someone like me a drink, L’Sahra.”

“Like you?” The question is innocently posed. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t patronize me, darling. You didn’t beckon me closer just for my looks. You know what species I am.”

There’s a half-chuckle from L’Sahra. “I’m not sure if I do. Do you even qualify as a species?”

Data muses on that question while Lore carefully chooses the path he wants to take in this conversation.

“That ambiguity doesn’t seem to bother you.” Lore’s voice is softer, nearly a whisper. He’s awfully close to his partner now. “Are androids a common sight for you?”

Through audio cues alone, Data figures L’Sahra is encouraging the intimacy. He attempts to imagine what sensual stance the two are engaged in during their back-and-forth.

“Far from it,” they answer. “In fact, I’m quite lucky to come across one of the very few in existence. You are…a rarity.”

Data recognizes the sound of lips meeting. The interaction does not disgust him, but his modesty program is suggesting to give the couple privacy. He elects to ignore it.

“As are you, L’Sahra,” Lore praises between connections. “A handsome little gem.”

Data applauds Lore’s art of seduction. It will be some time before he masters it for himself.

Several rewrites of how they are positioned are executed as new sounds contradict Data’s mental image. The actions he hears are gently taming L’Sahra, more and more control given to Lore. The android is taking the subservience his partner offers and sewing it into his own desire for power, a course which L’Sahra seems to wholly consent to.

After a heavy kiss that even Data was tempted to set a timer for, L’Sahra gasps softly. “You may not need to breathe, android, but I do.”

“I hadn’t forgotten, little gem. Have some faith in me.”

“I had enough to summon you here. Was that the right move?”

“You know…”

“Hm?”

“You—you know…I—”

Data goes still, alerted by the glitch in Lore’s speech.

“I—shit,” Lore grunts in pain as some furniture topples in the background. “You—oh, damn you. You—l-little—snake—”

“Take it easy," L'Sahra soothes. "Just like any other drug. Let it work its way through you."

Data is out of the saloon in a flash, pushing past anyone in his way and sprinting down the alleyway. As he goes, he listens to the sound of Lore colliding with the ground, pairing with haughty footsteps around him.

“A—an oral neuroleptic?! How—how—”

“More of an insulator. If you need a machine to stop working, just interrupt its circuitry.”

“Why?” Lore rasps, making clunky attempts at movement.

L’Sahra kneels, their voice just above Lore’s head. “Sorry. You’re valuable, that’s all. No hard feelings.”

Data arrives in a quarter of the time it took Lore. He takes the door handle and, after the slight inconvenience of encountering a deadbolt, shatters the mechanism and pushes his way inside.

Lore is crumpled on the floor, his limbs twitching and his eyes stuck open. He wants to reach for his brother, but his paralysis is only growing and unconsciousness is about to conquer his autonomy. “Data…Data!”

Data puts his attention on L’Sahra first, skimming them for a potential weapon. He is wordless.

“Oh, come on,” L’Sahra huffs as they backpedal away, clearly unprepared for his appearance. “Were you watching us? I didn’t take either of you for the voyeuristic type.”

Opposed to his brother, Data’s intimidation comes from his sinister silence. Without revealing a clue as to what he is thinking, he takes unwavering steps into the room.

“Not that it matters.” L’Sahra manages to pluck up a small circular device they kept tucked under a pillow. “I’ll just have to come back later—”

In the next instant, Data has swiped the device and hurled it at the opposite wall, efficiently destroying it. He takes L’Sahra by the arm before they can bolt and orients the limb to prep it to be snapped.

“Wait! Wait, android!” L’Sahra is out of options, save for begging. “Your brother is fine. I didn’t kill him!”

“I know,” Data finally speaks, undeterred by his victim’s cries.

“Alright, alright—name your price. I have treasures, latinum, even property. Whatever you want.”

“I have no monetary desires.”

“Shit,” L’Sahra hisses as their limb turns an inch too far in the wrong direction. “You must want something. You—” With Lore’s body in the background, L’Sahra is reminded of their entire purpose for seeking out these beings. “You need others like you. I know another like you! Another duplicate—another sibling.”

That does halt Data’s attack. He holds L’Sahra still, waiting for a better explanation.

“I'm serious, android. I’m part of an expansive trading market in the quadrant, and I heard about someone like you recently. Pale skin, gold eyes, brunet hair. Treat me well, and I’ll introduce you to who I heard it from.”

Data feels their sweat under his palms and notes the panic that's cracking their effort to seem unafflicted. There is a high probability that they are telling the truth.

“Very well. You will escort us.”

The heel Data sends into their ankle fractures a bone or two and sends unexpected agony up L'Sahra's leg. They cry out and fall from Data's grasp, clutching their smarting calf. “You—ngh—why did you—”

“I cannot allow you enough mobility to escape easily. When we return to our shuttle, I will treat your injury.” Data puts his attention on his brother, laying him flat and checking for signs of disrepair. “In what manner did you disable Lore?”

“Screw you—shitty pale machine—”

Data, unoffended, rises and turns back to them.

That simple action quells L’Sahra’s hostility. “A—a liquid insulator,” they huff, unsteadily crawling back a meter and trying to sit up. “It’s keeping his wiring from sending signals—might be some time before the fluid clears out.”

Data can corroborate that. Their mechanical approximation of an immune system will no doubt try to eradicate the foreign fluid unless it, too, is offline. If so, he may have to extract it himself.

“I understand.” Data scoops his brother up, holding the identical body close to his chest. “Get up and use me for support. We are stationed a kilometer away from the city.”

“I can't walk like this."

"You can."

L’Sahra’s mouth is agape as they stare at the most unshakable being they’ve ever met. Having encountered his strength, though, they would rather not test his limits again. With poor coordination they pull themself up, leaning heavily on one foot and scared to use the other. “There’s no way…”

Data offers his shoulder without any verbal encouragement. L’Sahra clamps a strained hand onto him and shuffles forward, wincing as they go.

Open heart surgery looks less complicated than Data’s macabre dissection of his brother. With nothing but a toolkit and a whining Orion prisoner, Data meticulously siphons the damaging fluids out of his brother’s circuits. The automatic helm carries the shuttle on its course as Data works in deafening silence.

L’Sahra distracts themself from the throbbing pain in their ankle by examining the lock that binds their wrists to a railing. It’s some Romulan restraint that Data replicated, far beyond any usual set of cuffs. L'Sahra isn’t even sure if Data knows how to unlock it.

“I thought you said you’d treat my injury,” L’Sahra points out.

Data unfurls the joining cable and inserts one end into his own skull. “Once my brother is repaired.”

“He doesn’t have a risk of infection, android. Or a sense of pain.”

“Nevertheless.” Data gently lifts Lore’s head and plugs in the cable. Processing his brother’s half-operational activity, he resumes his work on the insides of Lore’s torso.

“Damn creepy,” L’Sahra sighs. “You two are so strange.”

Data does not answer. He can be a dull conversation partner at times.

Lore jolts, his limbs stiffening and his eyes reopening. “Data!” he cries to the ceiling, picking up from where his memories left off.

“I am here, brother. Do not rise.”

Lore latches on to his brother’s face for stability, finding that the need for panic has passed and that control has been restored. Once again, Data’s presence is incredibly soothing, providing him an anchor against his tumultuous personality.

Once he’s taken stock of his situation, he eyes the battered Orion against the rear wall with a different type of intrigue.

“Well,” he starts, crossing an arm behind his head and resting on his forearm, “the latter half of the evening must’ve been awfully eventful.”

“My memory logs are transferring to you. You will be updated shortly.” Data picks up a hyperspanner and dives back into Lore’s chest cavity. “At the moment, we have left Nimbus III and are en route to the Orion homeworld.”

“Oh? What are we hoping to find there?”

“Another android like us.” Data notices his work is a tad more difficult when Lore keeps talking and shifting.

Lore, even immobile and open for dissection, carries enough arrogance in his eyes to shrivel the Orion he stares down. “That’s good news, if it’s true. We know how much L’Sahra loves to lie to us.”

“Not at the threat of my life,” they grumble. “But don’t go tearing my head off if we don’t find it right away. The market is a busy place with thousands of outlets and businesses—I don't always know where things end up.”

“What’s the other android like?” Lore asks.

“I don’t know. I never truly met it.”

Lore picks up an extracted component of himself and turns it in the light. “Data, I do think we’re being sent on a fool’s errand.”

Data exchanges a telling look with his brother as L’Sahra hisses out a, “You’re not. If I were lying, I would’ve made up a convincing story instead of confessing ignorance. You’ve seen how well I can lie.”

Lore allows his surgeon to take back the component. “How about the android’s name, then?”

“They just called it the android. It didn’t have a name.”

“They?” Lore twitches as another connection is linked in his torso. “Who is they?”

L’Sahra is especially reluctant to give up that information. Weighing their options, the consequences of confessing that information is nearly equal to the consequences of angering these android twins.

“The merchants on Orion.”

“Merchants,” Lore echoes, staring at the ceiling. “That’s what the Romulans claimed you call yourselves. Merchants, traders, businessmen. It’s a front as obvious as the name Paradise City.”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“Really? An Orion hasn’t heard of the Orion Syndicate?”

L’Sahra hates to hear the name aloud. “You have no talent for subtlety, do you?”

“On a private shuttle, between the three of us, I don’t see the need for it. So: are you a member? One of their rookie gangsters?”

“I’m as good as dead if I tell you any more.”

Lore pushes himself up on an elbow, loose wires spilling from his chest. “You think staying quiet will let you live?!”

Data’s work is becoming exceedingly more difficult. “Lore—”

“You can’t kill me,” L’Sahra dares. “You can’t get close to the Syndicate without me!”

“There’s nothing Data and I can’t do. If all it takes is infiltrating a criminal organization, then I’d be happy to beam you into space right now!”

“Lore, please reconsider.” Data puts a hand on Lore’s shoulder that presses down with unyielding strength. “And lie flat. You are allowing the insulator fluid to flood components that I just cleansed.”

“One way or another,” Lore seethes from the operating table, “we’re getting into the Syndicate and finding the other android. Are you going to play along or not?”

L’Sahra scratches the skin of their wrist. “I’m running out of reasons to bother helping you two.”

“For one,” Data starts, finally joining the conversation, “your Syndicate could benefit from two beings like us.”

“What?”

<lore>: Seriously, what?

Data pauses, replaying his memory log of the past few seconds. Utterly confused, he looks to Lore for an answer.

<lore>:The joining cable, Data. If I script my thoughts into the interface prompt, you can receive them.

In dead silence, Data blinks as he attempts that very action himself.

<data>:I was not aware we were capable of that.

<lore>:Well, ta-da. We are. Anyway, you sound absurd—are you suggesting we join the Syndicate?

<data>:Yes. It has ties across the two quadrants and will provide us access to information and supplies. Our actions of theft and extortion have been adequate so far, but they will become insufficient means to accomplish larger goals.

The brothers exchange a series of arguments and counterarguments in the span of a few seconds, then Lore sighs.

“He’s right,” Lore says aloud, allowing L’Sahra back into their conversation. “The Syndicate accepts anyone of value, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t screw with me,” says L’Sahra. “You two aren’t actually interested.”

“We are.” Data slides one of several chest plates back onto his brother. “Will you witness us?”

“You—you injure me, abduct me, and now you expect me to witness for you, hm?”

Data draws close to align precise circuitry under the panel on Lore’s stomach. “Were you not about to abduct Lore before I intervened?”

“That—”

“You were,” Lore presses. “With every intent, I assume, to deliver me to your higher-ups. Well, look: you can finish your delivery, with a second android as a bonus. Only you aren’t giving the house two machines; you’re giving it two promising recruits. I’ll convince your house’s master of that.”

“Please. I’d like to see you try your smarmy routine on her.”

Nearly a fully operational android, Lore perches on his shoulders and allows his head to loll back. “Let us into her house, little snake, and I will.”

Chapter Text

The Orion homeworld is a glamorous planet, both from afar and upon approach. Its bold colors are visible from space, greens and blues meshing with the flashy architecture of its urban areas. As the shuttle rounds the circumference to the dark side, it flies over an ocean and slows near the glittering city at its coastline. The buildings are aglow like polychromatic coals, layers of infrastructure reaching towards the sky and swaddling heavy traffic in their streets. It certainly boasts itself as expensive, almost to an unbelievable degree.

The shuttle, under cloak, sets down at the edge of an empty pier and releases its three passengers. Lore, fully operational and properly clothed, strides out first, followed by Data who has cuffed a belligerent L’Sahra to his own wrist. Lore whistles at the magnitude of the city as they approach, wondering how many families are extorted out of their funds to create such grand constructions.

They take a rail to the heart of the city and follow L’Sahra’s directions to what they describe as the pleasure quarter. Lore laughs at the name.

“Yes, you Orions are entertainers as well as traders, right?” Lore has more freedom to explore the streets than his prison guard of a brother. “Nothing but arcades and amusement parks, I’m sure.”

“I’m hoping you have enough maturity to be civil in an adulterous setting,” L’Sahra sighs, limping along on their half-healed ankle. “I’d hate to think I nearly slept with a child.”

Lore’s eyes reflect a myriad of colorful street lights. “No, you’ll hate to have missed out on the experience.”

“You’re speaking to one of very few Orions that doesn’t care for sex. Your best effort wouldn’t have even spurred goosebumps, android.”

“What is our destination?” Data inquires.

“We’re going to the Vivo Bordello. The family I work for operates out of it. I’ll have you two meet with the Madam’s representative.”

Lore moves back to flank L’Sahra, keeping them firmly between him and Data. “That won’t do. I want to speak with the ‘Madam’ directly.”

“Too bad, android. This house wouldn’t be successful if any sly dog could waltz into Madam Vivo’s inner sanctum.”

Lore clasps his hands behind his back and walks on an imaginary tightrope. “L’Sahra?”

“What?”

“You know you’re cuffed to a being that could snap your arm like a twig, right?”

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

“I suppose he could demonstrate, and we’ll see if you’re scared then.”

“Those tactics won’t change reality. You won’t be allowed to see her.”

Irritated by the immovable force, Lore kicks at a loose pebble while he conjures another plan.

Data wishes they did not have to be physically linked to hear each other’s thoughts. He assumes his brother is plotting something, but he could not hazard an accurate guess.

“Data.” Lore switches sides and uncuffs his brother from the prisoner. “When we get to the bordello, would you mind taking a look around? Get a lay of the land?”

L’Sahra scoffs as Lore clamps the cuff onto himself. “You’re kidding. He won’t have any more success—”

“Success with what?” Lore asks innocently. “I just want him to explore the place. Broaden his horizons. You and I can go talk to…whoever you want. Her representative or something.”

Data is cognizant of what Lore wants. It is now his mission to find Madam Vivo entirely on his own. The faith Lore places on him is astonishing, but flattering.

The bordello doesn’t hide its appearance or humble its intention: it is a loud and tall building among its glitzy siblings, surrounded by street walkers and impressive bouncers. Patrons are dressed in varying levels of decency as they magnetize to the sanctuary with lecherous looks on their faces. L’Sahra tucks their hand into Lore’s arm to hide the cuffs and leads the brothers inside.

The interior is just as grand as the exterior. Filthy music and bold lights assault the senses, scrambling clear heads and hiding inappropriate thoughts in an unusual form of privacy. Conversation pits are sunken into the floor and populated with Orion staff and foreign customers, all sharing drinks and murmuring delicious secrets. From the high ceilings, hanging cages serve as small stages for salacious performers that dance and wave manicured fingers at awestruck fans.

“Quite the place!” Lore exclaims without shame. “Go explore, Data! You can catch up with us later.”

L’Sahra is still protesting, but Data answers with a nod and heads away as brother and prisoner find another path to take. He is at the start of a mystery, one he must solve with minimal damage along the way.

The bustle around him is not of note. Heading deeper into the establishment, he passes a bar and an adjacent catwalk, noticing that the occasional employee is ogling him for a bit longer than expected. He files it under an attempt to beguile him into a sexual transaction and carries on.

At the rear of the main room, a hallway breaks off into private rooms, each with locked doors and signs indicating their occupancy. The hallway descends a flight of stairs and opens into a cavernous basement filled with sadistic equipment and exhibitionist patrons.

Puzzled, but otherwise unfazed, Data spins on his heels and begins back up the steps.

As he ascends, a figure at the top pins a shoulder against the wall and gestures directly to him.

“Hey, you,” the Orion simpers. “Are you lost?”

He must be an employee, dressed in the same revealing purple wardrobe as the others and drenching his tone with poisonous allure. He grins, fiddling with his earring, and positions his body to spread light across every curve possible.

“No,” Data answers curtly. “Thank you.”

“You sure seem lost.” Even as Data continues walking, the employee catches up and keeps perfect pace with him. “Wandering around here like a little boy…it doesn’t suit someone with your refined features. Oh, and these clothes. You must be a little hot in here, no?”

Recognizing that the pestering worker will not leave so easily, Data tries a different response. “I apologize. I am lost. Can you point me in the direction of Madam Vivo?”

That startles the Orion. “Oh? Do you have an appointment with her?”

There is nothing in Data’s ethical subroutine against lying. “Yes, I do.”

“I knew you were a special man.” It seems the measly employees do not keep a close record of their master’s appointment logs and cannot tell when a stranger has falsely inserted themself into it. “The VIP area is just upstairs—the Madam should be in there at this time of night. Shall I escort you?”

“No, thank you.” And with a quicker pace than before, Data breaks away from the employee and beelines to the staircase.

The second floor is open to the ground floor, sharing the same ceiling, with several hallways tunnelling away from the main area and to more unusual rooms that do not interest Data. He finds the guarded, privileged VIP area behind a glass entrance and a complement of bouncers, all five as muscled as they are naked.

Data ponders if he could ever fathom being as comfortable in indecency as them. His modesty subroutine whines in protest at the thought.

He comes right up to the glass wall sequestering the haven and examines its interior. The bouncers eye him, waiting for him to commit an offensive act.

Instead, he merely inspects the room’s layout. Sweeping curtains hide most of the walls, but a few doors are spotted between them. When one opens to release an employee, Data notices it serves as the entrance to a turbolift. Perhaps one meant for service only and not for patrons.

Plotting the lift on his mental blueprints, he assumes it follows a vertical axis through the length of the building, which would put it on an intersecting path with the basement.

With a plan in motion, he returns to the peculiar dungeon and scans it for another entrance to the lift. He keeps a wide perimeter around busy couples and adjusts his optical settings to see in the low light. His estimation of the lift’s position is likely behind a door labelled Employees Only. Medical Equipment Inside.

By the activity in the basement alone, it is no surprise that medical equipment ought to be in close proximity. Data wonders why some of these participants are not seeking it already.

When an employee slinks out of the room, Data swiftly snaps two of his own fingers the wrong direction and approaches her.

“Excuse me,” he starts, showing his injury. “I was attempting to use that…vice…apparatus. By the cages. My method was flawed and I need medical attention.”

“Oh—oh my—” The employee, with surprising kindness, puts aside her things and delicately holds Data’s hand. “Of course. Come on—come with me. Take slow breaths—I’ll get you taken care of.”

“Thank you,” Data says as he slips into the employee room.

A simple space with tool closets, medical cabinets, a few gurneys, and a service lift against the rear wall. Data’s estimates were accurate. Plus, he and the employee are alone.

The moment she turns to the cabinet, Data fixes his digits and wraps calculated hands around her neck. Sensing the veins and windpipe under his palms, he finds where to properly apply pressure to cut off oxygen and render her unconscious.

She curses, yells, and kicks, but the music outside is too loud and her efforts fade in a short time. Once she is a ragdoll in his hands, he delicately places her on one of the gurneys and ensures she still has a heartbeat. His chances of joining the Vivo House will decrease drastically if he murders one of Vivo’s subordinates.

The lift requires a passkey to access the VIP area, but he dismantles the control panel and hacks his way past the barrier. Alone, he ascends to the haven while straightening out his clothes. He ought to make as good a first impression as he can.

The first VIP patrons to witness him assume he is meant to be there and do not bat an eye. He walks through elaborate, artful pillars and crosses the carpeted floors, coming to what he assumes to be the throne area.

Since, as clear as day, a mighty woman sits with and on her collection of Orion slaves. She dismisses some and feeds wine to others, treating them as a mix between a friend and a pet. None look emotionally subjugated by her, even if they are naked at her feet. They all seem to enjoy it, and Data is once again too dense to recognize if it is sincere or not.

“Excuse me,” Data announces, and heads turn fast.

As soon as the queen shows a slight sign of discontent, guards around the room withdraw rifles and hurry to her aide. She rises, taken aback by Data’s appearance, but once the firearms are aimed at him she comes to her senses and raises a hand.

“Wait,” she commands, and the entire room goes still.

Only faint music fills the void. Everyone in the haven dares not move when guards are one order away from firing. Data is unshaken, his spine straight and his chin raised to look upon the grand Madam.

Grand does not even scratch the surface. She is remarkably tall, at least a head taller than the android, bolstered by the height of her heels and her stately braided ponytail. Golds and purples color her sultry outfit, decorating her body with form-hugging silk and a stern golden pelerine. Her face alone would be worth a star system to a hungry patron, with features so powerfully feminine and eyes that pierce with more acuity than Data’s.

Data only wonders what Lore would think of her. He personally finds her objective beauty noteworthy.

She studies Data for several long seconds, taking as much time as she desires. Secure in the presence of her loyal pets, she has the confidence to bear a vampish smile as she takes graceful steps toward her newest customer.

“The last time I saw a face like that,” she begins, her voice resonant, “it was asleep in a glass case, about eight meters that way.”

Data does not need to look to the right to know that said case is no longer there. However, L’Sahra’s story is proving to be true, and he is inching closer to finding the other android.

“Did my golden doll piece himself back together and return to give me thanks?” She lightly pinches his chin, lifting his jaw an inch and examining his eyes with raw desire.

Data allows her to touch him, undeterred by the action that might leave others antsy. “I am not the same android,” he says plainly.

Madam Vivo is enchanted by his voice, transfixed on watching his lips move to form words. Knowing that he is a machine, she deems him a detailed and unprecedented work of art.

“No? There are more of you, then?”

“Only two others: myself and my brother.” If there are more duplicates beyond them, Data will not suggest that possibility to her.

“Curious little thing,” she coos. “You breathe, speak, blink…you are like no machine I have ever seen.”

“To my knowledge, I am the first sentient android.”

“Sentient,” she echoes. “If that’s so, you really are a treasure. Who brought you here?”

“My brother and I came here on our own after receiving directions from one of your subordinates.”

With her fascination burgeoning, she smooths back Data’s hair and looks around at the tension in the room. “Stand down, hounds. This golden doll is my guest.”

The guards march right back to their posts and lower their rifles. Following their lead, the patrons shuffle down into uneasy conversations.

Vivo takes Data’s hand and inspects his digits as if he is truly a sculpture in her collection. “You said you have a brother? Where is he?”

“Elsewhere in the bordello, speaking with your subordinates. Shall I summon him?”

“Yes, darling. Two of you will be quite the treat for me.”

When hailed through his internal comm system, Lore leaves L’Sahra and proudly walks to the VIP haven, strutting in past bouncers who were told to expect his entry. He goes right to Data first, hugging his brother tightly and praising him for his incredible work. Then, he turns to the Madam, and presents himself with all the arrogant charisma he can muster.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Lore presses his lips to the garden of rings on her fingers. “You are the pinnacle of Orion society—far from the nefarious descriptions the Romulans gave you.”

Vivo is bewitched by Lore’s fluidity, her fascination obvious in how furtively she watches his motions. A machine so complex is a wonder to behold.

“I’ll have to have a chat with them sometime,” she notes. “What’s your name?”

“Lore. And you’ve met Data.”

“Curious names. Who created you?”

“A human. He’s not around anymore, so don’t go hoping to commission more like us.” Lore leans back, resting an elbow on Data’s shoulder. “In fact, some might say we’re endangered. There’s very few of us in the galaxy.”

“Three,” Vivo guesses. “What’s the third’s name?”

“Not sure. We’ve never met him.”

“Ah.” Vivo starts a slow circle around the pair, inspecting every inch of their frames. “And that’s why you’re here. To find the third.”

Data tilts his head. “Joining the ranks of the Vivo family is a secondary goal as well.”

“Demanding,” she tuts. “Are you certain you’re competent enough for that?”

“Are you asking about our sentience?” Lore pulls Data back before Vivo can pinch at his clothes. “Or our capabilities? I’d really hate for it to be the former, since that is an obvious fact.”

Vivo enjoys his ferocity. “I wouldn’t dare doubt your lives. You’re both real boys to me.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“But I don’t invite every applicant into my organization. What exactly have you done to make bold requests like that?”

Data looks around the high-security inner sanctum. “We stand here. Not one of your defenses stopped me.”

“Really, you should be asking what we can’t do,” boasts Lore. “I could provide statistics of our processing speed and physical strength. We’d outmatch any opponent, and outsmart them too. Where others are held back by biological disadvantages, we thrive.”

Vivo draws a finger along Data’s shoulder and up his throat, scouring for the reaction she usually evokes in others. “Almost too good to be true. I must wonder what society you came from.”

“Madam, up until two days ago, we were stranded on a barren planet. We don’t have a society or culture of any kind.” Lore shrugs. “We’re blank slates.”

That phrase appeals to her enough to put aside her skepticism. “Yes, you are. Ready to be molded. There’s so much potential in you two; I’d be a fool to resist.”

“Just consider yourself lucky you found us first.”

Lore’s confidence outshines her own. She enjoys the way he leans into the hand she cups against his cheek—it suggests that her seductive efforts aren’t entirely useless against androids. “I’ll consider it. I assume you don’t have a place to stay, right? I’ll give you one of the staterooms upstairs.”

“Thank you,” Lore sings. “And for our first request?”

“The other android,” Data reminds.

She hadn’t forgotten. Rather, she may have been using the conversation to come up with a feasible answer. “I’ll have to check my records. I have many people to look after, you see. Sometimes details get lost.”

Lore doesn’t waste a second believing that. “You’ve never seen something like them—you wouldn’t forget what happened to them. Where are they?”

“You underestimate how many unique individuals I come across.” She throws hands up in an airy shrug. “Stick around for a while and I’ll find your answer eventually. At the moment, I can’t seem to remember.”

Locking his jaw, Lore separates from Data and takes a hostile step forward. “Madam, this is important. That android is our family and we need them back.”

“Save your feisty attitude, darling. I won’t recall any faster if I’m pressured into an answer.”

“You—”

“Your room is upstairs. I’ll have Valon show you the way. Valon?”

Lore scoffs at the escort. “This is—this is your trick, isn’t it? Trapping subordinates with promises of their desires?”

“Get some rest, if you need it. I’ll be happy to speak with you tomorrow evening.”

There’s not much the androids can do to rebel. Slaughtering her outright would be moronic and a surefire way to get themselves destroyed by the nearest rifle. She’s done listening to Lore’s complaints, and their escort isn’t going anywhere until they follow him.

Thus, in a few short minutes, the brothers end up in a stateroom on a higher level of the bordello, festering reluctance over trusting Vivo and debating whether to resort to violence. Lore paces the room, his hands clasped behind his back, while Data compares their new wardrobe of clothes in the floor length mirror.

“The nerve,” Lore seethes. “I could’ve wrung her neck right there. She thinks she’s being clever by forgetting where she last saw our sibling?”

“At least she did not turn us away.”

“No. She just fawned over us, called us a million syrupy names, then graced us with a place in her family and expected adoration in return. It’s bullshit.”

“On the other hand, we have made a successful and strong entrance into the Orion Syndicate through the Vivo House. We should not squander this fortune.” None of the pieces are agreeing with Data’s modesty subroutine. He hopes this odd dress code will not be enforced on them.

“Some fortune it is, if it can’t even get us closer to our relatives.” Lore finds a comb to fiddle with and picks at its teeth incessantly. “Now we’re little trophies for a brothel mistress. What good is this doing us?”

“We are in high standing in the Vivo family, even if through special circumstances.” Data cycles through the outfits, ranking them based on coverage. “We must be wise about how we use that status. I am certain Vivo wants us as ornaments, but we can demand proper compensation for that.”

Joining Data at the mirror, Lore tests how the comb runs through his own hair. “We’re not toys. I won’t demean myself by posing for her enjoyment. We deserve luxury, not servitude.”

“Through what means?” Data’s eyes trace Lore’s fingers as his brother experiments with different hairstyles. “Diligence or intimidation?”

“Whichever works. Probably the latter.”

“Lore, be reasonable. Terrorizing this family to receive a high standing in it will not guarantee effectiveness in the long-term.”

“Then what are you suggesting? We become another piece of Vivo’s furniture?”

“No.” Data folds up the outfits as his brother claims the mirror. “To be truthful, I was hoping to rely on you to navigate the politics of this family. You have a much better eye for relations and reputation than I do.”

The compliment does soothe Lore’s anger ever so slightly. “I wouldn’t say that. You’re needling into my head pretty well.” He examines Data’s reflection, taking guesses at his brother’s thoughts. “You want us to remain among the subordinates. Charm and impress our way into greater privileges.”

“Within reason, yes.”

“That’s hardly befitting of lifeforms like us.”

“Even the messianic Klingon Kortar fought alongside his followers. The Terran biblical god made himself human to walk among men.”

“Yes, I take your point. Fine. We won’t cause trouble—yet. But I won’t keep this patience when our sibling is out there somewhere.”

“It will be our primary priority.”

Chapter Text

Their first week in the Syndicate is uneventful. They are assigned meager shifts as bartenders with eyes constantly monitoring their activity, memorizing a list of drinks and the methods to stir them in five minutes. Leering patrons reach for their hands and tease them with a private room and a good time, but Data turns them down with no gravitas and Lore finds a gentler way to redirect their advances. Their boundaries are permitted, for now, Vivo warns.

Lore spends a great deal of time with her in the inner sanctum. He is summoned more often than Data; though Vivo promises she loves them equally, the elder’s personality is better suited for the sinful environment. He is meant to sit near her and converse, serving no other purpose than to be a curious attraction for onlookers.

He is a trophy, and he hates it. Vivo’s eyes are shameless when they rake over him for minutes at a time, and he can only picture what devilish thoughts are brewing behind them. It is no issue for him to be worshipped—only that sort of praise cannot be connected to objectification. He knows he is a god, not a pet.

“A piece of advice,” Lore grumbles as he comes into his shared quarters with Data. “Sit beside me doesn’t literally mean beside. It means on the floor, against her calf like a damn dog.”

Data has himself occupied with the computer, comparing records and inputting queries that yield little results. “I will make a note of it.”

“This whole act is absurd.” Lore tears off his sagging top and shoves it back in the closet. “Really, Data, there’s a line between getting along with others and bowing to them. I’m getting awfully tired of crossing it.”

“We already discussed this.” Data keeps his back to his brother at the request of his modesty program. “Our sycophancy towards the Madam is a necessary step. Until we cement our place in the Syndicate, we must endure some humiliation.”

Lore stumbles to the washroom with his pants left on the floor. “Not us,” he shouts from inside. “We shouldn’t have to endure anything. We can’t even feel pain, Data. We weren’t meant to suffer.”

“That is a curious philosophy.” Data glances at the washroom door, behind which a sonic shower is buzzing. “Is that why I was deprived of emotions?”

There’s no answer for several seconds.

“I don’t know.”

Neither does Data. He turns back to his work. “I could go in your stead for some of these meetings with Vivo. I cannot experience humiliation and thus would be impervious to her…requests.”

Lore’s laugh bounces off the acoustic walls of the washroom. “First off, she usually requests me specifically, and—though you are a man of many talents—you’d do a miserable job of impersonating me. Secondly, emotion or not, I’m not going to make you go through something irritating just so I don’t have to. I’d be a shitty brother if I did that to you.”

“I will always keep the offer available.”

“And you know I’ll always shut it down,” Lore sings. “Now, can you replicate us some civilian clothing? We’re running an errand tonight.”

“Certainly. What is the nature of the errand?”

“I’ll transfer memories when we head over. We’re already running late.”

Data’s out of his seat and hurrying to the replicator instantly. “We are? It would have been preferable to warn me.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Lore shuts off the shower and exits the washroom, catching the bundle of clothes Data nearly hurls at him. “The night is young. We have until daybreak.”

Data takes the washroom for himself to change his own clothes, isolating a bemused brother.

“You’re too kind, Data,” Lore comments on Data’s hastiness. “This family doesn’t deserve our punctuality. That suggests we respect it.”

“We must emulate respect, at least, if we are to maintain a position in this Syndicate.”

“I dunno. This whole organization feels like a survival-of-the-fittest world. We might be better off the less toadying we do.”

“Unless there is evidence to prove that, I would prefer we align with my methodology for the time being.” Data comes out, swiping up the joining cable as he goes to exit their stateroom.

“Aye aye, brother.” Lore follows with an unshakable smirk.

They walk briskly while unfurling the cable and connecting to each other, too preoccupied with the transfer to bother with discretion. Data receives their mission itinerary as they step outside, mentally hypothesizing about their role in the exchange.

<data>:A “check-up” is unusually vague language. What will take place at this meeting?

<lore>:Just that. It turns out L’Sahra manages two dozen trade routes for Vivo, but they’ve encountered an increasing number of piracy and raids that have dwindled their goods.

<data>:Unfortunate.

<lore>:Sure, and impossible to corroborate. Vivo suspects they’ve been faking these reports to steal supplies for themself. It’s our job to assess their honesty and find evidence that supports or contradicts it.

They board a light rail together, aiming for the edge of the pleasure quarter. Standing close on the crowded cab, they both gaze at the passing scenery as the conversation continues in the joining cable.

<data>:Does Madam Vivo assume us to be good judges of character?

<lore>:Frankly, I doubt it. I’ll make whatever conclusions I can, but your job will be to access L’Sahra’s database and scan all their reports for discrepancies.

<data>:Understood.

L’Sahra’s den is a far cry from Vivo’s grand palace; it buries itself in an alleyway and poorly advertises itself with flickering lettering. The brothers step over sleeping vagrants on their way to the entrance, their peripheral vision dotted with eyes that spy on them from the depths of the alley.

They enter without issue into a stuffy lounge, the ceiling clogged with smoke and the floor covered with sofas and cushions. Clients crowd around eloquent contraptions that feed them vapor through thin tubes, stimulating a languid state of being that piques Data. Dim lights and curtains obscure the size of the space, with several sections closed off and visible only when someone passed through the barrier.

Lore gestures forward and Data nods. They meander through the middle of the room, each claiming one half to scan for their target. Only Orions relax here, one of whom must be the leader they seek.

<lore>:My 10 o’clock. Beside the pair of twins.

<data>:There they are. Shall we?

<lore>:Why don’t you start the conversation? I tend to steal the spotlight unjustifiably. You ought to have a go.

<data>:Certainly.

“L’Sahra.” Data is impervious to the scowls tossed at him when he interrupts a conversation. “Do you have a moment?”

L’Sahra is a serpent compared to the lioness that is Vivo; they are sinewy and coiled tight atop their wide cushion. Painted eyelids sit half opened as their dilated irises flick between their begrudging acquaintances, and a smoky sigh is exhaled as they set down their horgl.

“Welcome to my den, androids. What brings you?” Their voice is deep and reverberating, cutting through the ambient noise.

Data has admiration for their stony, imposing aura. They are potent in their domain, far improved from the curled up prisoner on a Romulan shuttle. “We were sent to evaluate the cause of your recent decline in merchant transactions and supply deliveries.”

The answer makes them tsk. “How thoughtful. Take a seat, then: I figure this will take a while.”

Lore drops to a nest of blankets, grinning coyly at the customer he sits beside. He asks about the bowl of berries she holds and is cautiously given one to try.

Data remains standing, though he must shuffle closer to his brother to keep the cable attached. “I require information on your recent transactions, particularly through the Mutara Sector. Do you have a database I can access?”

L’Sahra puts their focus on Data, finding him a more curious oddity than Lore. Something in his vacant expression compels them to investigate him, more than they were able to in Paradise City. “Anything you say, android.”

“Data. My name is Data,” he curtly corrects.

“My apologies, Data. Care for something to drink while I have the information retrieved?”

“No. I cannot enjoy food or beverages.”

“Your twin sure seems to, among other activities.” They speak of him as though he is a toddler playing underneath them.

Lore is receiving a look of horror from his friend after he eats a tenth berry. Upon hearing himself referenced in conversation, he shakes his head. “Sure, I can taste, but it seems I don’t have the ability to be affected by the felicium laced into these. These are tart berries to me, and nothing more.”

“No wonder,” the customer beside him marvels. “You’ve eaten far too many to be coherent by now.”

“There was a possibility.” Lore shrugs. “But androids must be immune to substances.”

<data>:Is it wise to be ingesting potentially harmful chemicals?

<lore>:I just proved I’m immune, didn’t I? We’ll never know our vulnerabilities if we don’t take some risks. This could be useful information down the line.

<data>:I do not entirely approve of your methodology.

“An immunity to pleasing substances is quite the loss. I pity you,” L’Sahra sighs as they receive a datapadd. “Here, Data. Your info.”

Data takes less than two seconds to scroll through the records. “I need more than this. I require records from the past two years.”

“So demanding.” L’Sahra pushes to their feet, wrapping their loose shawl around their shoulders. “Come on, then. I’ll show you the primary computer in the back.”

Data beckons to his brother. “Lore?”

“Go on ahead.” Lore pulls the cable out and tossed his end to Data. “I have my own research I’m conducting here.”

“…Suit yourself.”

L’Sahra’s private office looks to be closer to an arboretum, covered in vines and tall plants that strangle the machinery they surround. Several are outfitted with monitoring devices or maturation machines, each cultivating the flora into the best growth possible. Data recognizes the felicium berries thriving on a vine; L’Sahra must produce these substances themself.

“Terminal’s against the rear wall.” L’Sahra is drawn to a blinking monitor, quick to attend to their needy plants. Trust is suggested in how they turn their back to Data, and the android is not sure what he has done to earn it. “Check whatever you want.”

“Thank you.” He accesses the computer, opening a database of reports for each of L’Sahra’s dealings. He quickens the processing rate and scrolls through thousands of transactions at inhuman speeds.

“So,” L’Sahra starts, cupping a drooping blossom. “Impervious to drugs?”

“As far as I am aware, yes.”

They rub a thin film off the flower’s petal, allowing the secretion to numb their thumbpad. Its anesthetic effect makes for a profitable painkiller. “And you—no sense of taste?”

“I can determine the chemical makeup of substances I ingest, but I cannot glean subjective sensory stimulation.”

Although an anesthetic would be of no interest to a being that cannot experience pain. L’Sahra meanders away from their floral child. “What does stimulate you?”

“Nothing. Unlike my brother, I have no emotions.”

They pass behind him, mentally measuring how perfectly symmetrical his frame is. “Seriously?”

Data remains concentrated on his work. “Yes.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” They are curious, but not with a hunger akin to Vivo’s lust. Data is appealing because of his unappealing attitude—L’Sahra sees parts of themself in his flat affect. “How does Vivo command you, then?”

Data’s brow furrows. “I do not understand the question.”

“Orion society is run on stimulation. Nobody in the Syndicate operates on pure loyalty; it takes certain motivators to keep underlings moving.”

“They are seduced,” Data guesses.

“It’s more than seduction, android.” L’Sahra doesn’t even try to be coy with Data. The sultry attitude in Orions seems absent in them. “It’s mind-altering control. Pheromones. Haven’t you noticed their effect in her bordello?”

“I was not aware her subordinates were psychologically controlled.” Data has finished his research and compiled several conclusions, but this new conversation is holding his interest. He is not quite ready to leave.

“Oh, they are. Those pheromones drive subordinates to die for their master. Any species is vulnerable to pheromones—except you.” L’Sahra hikes up onto the control panel beside Data. They don’t flaunt their hips or puff out their breasts; they just sit with calves swinging.

Data has objectively compared them to Vivo and finds the contrast unique. Despite what they are explaining, they seem far removed from the tactics of seduction and mind control. “Do you control subordinates with pheromones?”

They shake her head. “I can’t. I don’t produce them.”

“Why not?”

Their answer is paired with a shrug. “I don’t have the anatomy for it.”

“I see.” The reflection of the monitor’s readout reflects in his eye. “Except for the recent loss in goods, you are still a thriving leader in the Vivo family. How do you guarantee the loyalty of your subordinates?”

“I have my ways. You and your brother are proof that obedience can be earned through non-hypnotic means. Substances, for instance.”

“You have your own version of pheromones, in a sense.”

“In a sense. I’ve managed so far.”

The conclusions that Data draws feel shaky, creating outcomes in his mind that crave support. With no better answers, he cannot form an appropriate description of his opinion toward L’Sahra. “You are peculiar, for an Orion.”

They smile at that comment. A true smile, not some rehearsed, devilish grin. “Yes, I’ve been told that before. What good am I if I’m not a vampish succubus?”

“I did not suggest you had no worth.”

“No, you didn’t, and I thank you for that. It’s good to know I still have some appeal to somebody.”

Data cannot experience appeal, yet he cannot find the appropriate word to replace it. They do not try to deceive or seduce, and after too many two-faced encounters, a personality with no secrets is refreshing. He is the android they would rather talk to, not Lore, and they both have found commonality in their stoicism.

It is agreeable, he decides.

Their mutual silence is interrupted by an employee pushing into the room. “L’Sahra, the android is—um, I'm not sure. Out of control?”

Data darts ahead first, L’Sahra close behind. He overtakes the employee and throws curtains aside in his search for his brother.

Lore is not violent—just volatile, perhaps. He is nodding far too exuberantly to the story that an employee is telling to distract him, his gaze dropping and wandering. He leans close to her and pushes away those that try to coax him off, his strength unrestrained. Data sees his limbs sway and his expression slacken and instantly suspects malfunction.

“No, not exactly like you,” the captured employee mumbles, her posture inching away from him. “It was more of an automaton. A sort of mechanical cashier—it answered rudimentary questions and served food.”

“Ah,” Lore slurs. “So nothing like an android. Nothing like me. Were you really about to imply that such a poor excuse for technology was related to me?”

“No—not really—I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure of the difference—”

“What? You can’t tell us apart? Can you not tell apart a mountain from a pebble, too?”

“I—”

“You might be more closely related to an animatronic than I am. You’re dense enough to qualify.”

“Lore,” Data interrupts, taking his brother’s arm with strength that wins against his delirious fight. “Are you suffering from an error?”

“Data!” Lore’s anger is forgotten in exchange for his excitement. “Data, I found one.”

“One what?” Data puts up a discreet hand to keep the other employees distanced.

“One that…that works.” Lore shows the small bottle he holds, trying his damnedest to read the label. “Poly…polywater. It actually affects us.”

“And that discovery pleases you?”

“Yeah! It’s interesting, isn’t it?”

“Quite.” Data sees L’Sahra scold the employee that gave Lore such a concoction. Claims of ignorance and disapproval are tossed between them. “I have collected the information I needed. Shall we return to the bordello?”

“We’re done already? But—I want to see what else—”

“You have ingested enough, Lore. I suggest we return to our room and run a diagnostic on your systems.”

“You’re no fun, brother.”

“I am incapable of experiencing fun.” Data hoists Lore’s shoulder atop his own and glances at L’Sahra. “L’Sahra, it seems our meeting is concluded. I will be compiling a report for Vivo shortly.”

L’Sahra has already dismissed their employee, like the fiasco is not worth any action beyond a reprimand. “You don’t need to leave, Data. My staff is skilled at handling intoxicated guests.”

“Not one like Lore. Even I cannot predict him now.” Data masterfully works the bottle out of Lore’s hand. “Since you are a part of the Vivo family, I would prefer that no harm comes to you or this establishment. For your safety, my brother and I will leave.”

“Very well. You are welcome back anytime, Data.”

Data keeps that promise in his mind as he ushers Lore outside, the prospect agreeable.

The journey to the light rail is a grueling one for the younger brother. Data indulges in Lore’s drunk musings as he guides them both into a cab, mumbling agreements as he pushes Lore into a seat and keeps a firm arm across his shoulders. Lore wants to make snide comments about the other passengers, and Data discourages such words, and Lore wonders why his brother would stifle the truth, and Data reminds him constantly that he is not in a right state of mind.

Lore scoffs at that every time. He is sane, he swears.

They leave the station with only a few angry glares on their backs and stumble their way to the bordello. As they enter, Data tries to straighten Lore’s posture and begins scanning for potential onlookers.

“Lore, you do not want to appear intoxicated while we are here. We must make it to our room with little fuss.”

Lore’s nose scrunches in unbridled disgust. “Why? Is Her Highness Vivo going to scold me for drinking?”

“She will learn you can fall victim to intoxication.” Data braces a palm against his brother’s chest and pushes it upright when it begins keeling forward. “I do not want her to know our weaknesses.”

“Hmm.” Lore’s gaze lingers on every half-naked Orion he lumbers past. “She’d still be no match for us. None. We’re superior.”

“I am aware. Nevertheless.”

Lore gives the biggest eye roll he can muster, loudly exhausted by his brother’s rigidity. “Relax, Data. Relax. You coulda used this stuff more than I.”

Data pushes him into a turbolift. “I have no desire for depressant substances.”

“Such a good kid.” Lore tries to stand upright, but the skyrocketing lift disturbs his balance and forces him against the wall. He scoffs at his own clumsiness and pins his eyes to the ground in humiliated anger. “Is that why Father liked you more?”

Data’s expression changes. “There is no evidence I was preferred. I was merely the next iteration.”

“Shut up.” He won’t look at Data. He rolls a shoulder into the wall and puts his back to his brother. “You were assembled and left to be rescued on the planet’s surface. You were…you were the favorite.”

Data heeds Lore’s requests and remains silent. The doors open.

“Not that it matters.” Feeding fuel to the bitter conversation, Lore shoulders past his chaperone and steadies himself on the doorway as he stumbles out. “There wasn’t anything wrong with me. I was fine. I was just envied—that’s all.”

Data cannot ignore evidence to the contrary. “Your memory logs do not corroborate that. The colonists feared your volatility—they did not harbor envy toward you.” It seems appropriate to correct Lore, even if such pedantry is farthest from an ailment right now.

Lore slams a fist against the wall before using it as a crutch. Data notes the slight concavity he imprinted.

“They wanted a docile android,” Lore seethes, his steps heavy. “A being that was better than them was a bruise on their ego. They needed Soong’s android to be handicapped.”

Data stops at their room and puts a hand on his tunnel-visioned drunkard.

“Is that your opinion of me?”

Lore is braced against the doorway, his hand gripping the control panel. Data’s level tone has cut into his mind, hooking onto the scrambled ethical program. It forces him to drop his pouting for just one moment and look at the being he is insulting.

Data’s face is a sobering sight. It is Lore’s own face, and also the face of someone so dear to him. He would never think his twin is lesser—he can’t even fathom why those words escaped him. “No,” he starts, his volume halved. “No. I’m sorry. Data, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

Data opens the door and puts a hand on his brother’s back. “You do not need to apologize. Your assessment is sound.”

“No, I am sorry. You’re my brother—my family. You’re the greatest person I know.” Lore continues to plead for forgiveness, searching for a heart in the heartless. “I just…I just don’t understand what happened back then. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Once inside, Data locks the door and moves to the wardrobe, Lore following like a lost duckling. “In reviewing your memories, I am uncertain myself. I can only surmise that the colonists held suspicion over a new lifeform and feared one so advanced.” He doffs his coat and turns to help Lore out of his. “In that regard, your perfection was revered beyond human comprehension.”

Lore allows his arms to go limp so Data can slide the sleeves off. “My perfection?”

“You say we are perfect, Lore. It is reasonable to conclude that humanoids fear superior lifeforms.”

“Maybe.” Lore stands dumbly in place, his mind beyond his body. Data gestures to a seat and Lore takes a great while to contemplate it before staggering over and crumbling in the chair. He slouches hard, his head low between his shoulders. “Who discards perfection, then? Why would a father shelve his son?”

Data looks down on the neglected child, leagues away from comprehending his troubled thoughts. Lore grieving is an unpreferable sight, and one that Data’s ethical programming is screaming at him to fix. He is not equipped to be a counselor, however, and his only avenue of support is their brotherhood.

“I cannot answer that,” he admits, putting one of Lore’s slipping hairs back into place. “I can only say that I am sorry. You deserve a better life than the one you have endured.”

Something overwhelms Lore beyond words, something that coils up his trembling posture and makes him put a clenched fist against his lips. He keeps his face tucked away from Data’s view, but a glimmering gold droplet loses to gravity and falls from his cheek to the floor.

“That—that means a lot to me, Data.” Lore’s voice is brittle, a perfect emulation of human sorrow. “It means so much.”

Even further out of his element Data treads, but his ethical program is thanking him. He is succeeding in caring for his family. “Please, tell me what I can do to help you. I do want to help you.”

“You’ve done enough.” Lore takes Data’s hand in both of his, gripping his brother’s fingers with emotion-wrought strength. “More than enough. I love you so much, Data. Thank you.”

Data is astounded by the shimmering eyes Lore reveals. Gold fluid pricks at his waterline, framing his yellow irises in beautiful halos. His smile is half-constructed, but it assures all of Data’s programming that appreciation is being expressed. He is happy, so happy it hurts.

Data can only wonder what that is like as he consumes Lore’s unhindered joy.

“I am here for you,” is the best Data can respond with.

Chapter Text

It consumes the remainder of the night for Data to interface with his brother’s positronic net and siphon the effects of the polywater out of his circuits. The bottle is discarded and the substance is disavowed by both androids, a promise sworn to never touch such poison again.

In the following days, Data delivers the intelligence he collected to Vivo and posits several theories as to why L’Sahra’s gangs are constantly struck by piracy. The Madam thanks him for his work and considers sending him again to correct the issue.

He is told to return to his usual duties in the meantime.

Lore is weary of that repetitive order. He complains to Data while they both man the bar, Data concocting drinks and Lore ignoring customers. Being told to wait would be reasonable if they knew what they were waiting for, yet there has been no obvious sign that Vivo is making progress in retrieving their sibling.

“I have not forgotten,” says Data, his eyes and limbs occupied with mixing a cocktail. “In fact, I discovered a possible lead when investigating L’Sahra’s trade.”

Lore sits atop the bar counter, his back to the room. “You did? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I assumed you should take a few days to recover from your ingestion of the polywater. I did not want to burden you with more information.”

Lore nudges a toe into his brother’s hip. “You don’t need to baby me, Data.”

“I apologize.”

“Apologize by telling me what you found.”

“Nothing conclusive, although I learned that L’Sahra also conducts humanoid trafficking on several outposts. Some of her entries have included beings of unknown origin, which are usually sold to scientists or collectors. There were ninety-seven entries of indeterminate species—our sibling could be one of them.”

“You think our sibling was sold?”

“It is a possibility. And one that would explain why Vivo cannot easily retrieve them.”

“That’s monstrous.” Lore disintegrates an eavesdropping customer with his glare. “We should confront her.”

“No.” Data turns to the rear shelf and plucks a bottle up. “Cornering her will make her defensive. I want her to remain ignorant to what we are discovering.”

Hopping off the counter, Lore puts himself close to Data to shelter their conversation. “How are we supposed to find our sibling, then? Go and personally interview every indeterminate humanoid sold?”

Data reads the bottle’s label, mentally retrieving the list of drinks that can be made with it. “I hope to attend an auction with L’Sahra and meet with the staff that operate it. Vivo claims our sibling is identical to me, and it is my hypothesis that they will recognize my face.”

“They might try to sell you.”

“…They might try.”

After a few short days, Lore promises to complete Data’s obligations while Data takes a transporter to an Orion auction at the edge of the city. For the first time since they met, they are widely separated. Both handle it well, although Lore is insistent that Data returns within the day.

Data intends to.

Alone in the bordello, Lore runs drinks and cleans up bedrooms without a word. He avoids contact with the other employees, his arrogance festering without his brother to quell it. This is all beneath him, and Data was the only reminder that a strategy of humility is paramount.

That day, Vivo summons him to her sanctum. She gives a honeyed greeting as she gestures to her leg, prompting Lore to bite back his indignance and take a seat.

He sits on the floor and leans against her straight, smooth calf, his head lolled back atop her bent knee. It demeans him, and he can only soothe himself by thinking how proud Data will be when Lore boasts his restrained temper.

Vivo strokes his jaw while meeting a business associate, someone who is definitely a few ranks higher than one of her slaves. The associate is a Farian man with black hair that clashes with the scenery more than Lore’s appearance. He stands tall beside Vivo, overseeing the room as though he has a say in its activity.

“It’s thoughtful of you to come visit me,” Vivo purrs, her thumb tucking behind Lore’s ear. “I thought you’d be by more often to visit your favorite little D’Vida.”

“I’m too busy for constant fanciful adventures.” The Farian is overselling his stern attitude to combat the exposing environment. “As it happens, I am busy managing your people, Madam.”

“Yes, a job you do with great diligence. You know I have nothing but high regard for you, Raimus.” Vivo studies Lore’s features, more engrossed in him than her conversation.

“I know.” Raimus sighs, his straight nose wrinkling at Lore’s unnatural eyes. “That’s a new one for you. What species is it?”

“One you haven’t come across before,” Vivo replies. Lore wonders why she hides the real answer. “And, please: he is a valued member of my family, and his name is Lore. Give him the respect he deserves.”

“I apologize, Madam.”

Lore smirks at the obsequiousness. “Apology accepted,” he retorts, to the delight of Vivo and the irritation of Raimus.

“That temperament doesn’t suit you, Raimus,” Vivo tuts. “You’ll have to change it if Lore is to work with you for the next month.”

That surprises both men. “Am I, now?” asks Lore.

Raimus withholds his complaints.

“Yes. Raimus, did you know Lore can determine the chemical compounds for any substance just by tasting it? That's an incredible talent, isn’t it?”

“He has a good palate.” Raimus isn’t impressed, and he makes sure to convey that.

“An exceptional, supernatural palate. One that I’ll need for your negotiations with the Klingon suppliers. They’re promising us a substantial shipment of biomimetic gel, and I intend to ensure that the contents are authentic.”

“I see.”

Lore hikes up his drooping sleeve. “Fine with me. When are we leaving?”

“Soon.” Vivo rises, Lore spilling off her. “I’ll brief you both separately, but I expect this to be the start of a kind and equal partnership. Raimus?”

“Hm?”

“D’Vida is waiting for you at the bar. Go spend some time with her, won’t you? She’s awfully lonely.”

It’s a command more than a suggestion, one that Raimus would be a fool to turn down. Recognizing that his presence is no longer needed, he bows his head and takes stiff steps out of the sanctum.

“And Lore.” Vivo’s tone is distinctly softer with him. “You polite little angel. Let’s go talk elsewhere, shall we?”

Lore follows her to an eloquent turbolift and rides it to a higher level, one only accessed by her command codes. The android has already memorized them.

She enters a vast office with wide windows overlooking the city, another testament to her power and influence. It is sleek, dim, and notably quiet, far from the music and bustle downstairs. Sparse furniture dots the floor, arranged with uncanny precision for angles and symmetry. It must not be used often.

“Lore, dear.” The clicks of Vivo’s heels resound in the enormous lung. “Are you certain you’re impervious to pheromones? You’ve been awfully docile this past week.”

Lore isn’t as bewitched as he acts, but it is certainly easier for him to feign attraction than for Data. He follows tactfully, his footfalls quiet under hers. “Who said you need pheromones to attract me? Your presence alone is accomplishing that without issue.”

“Aren’t you charming?” Vivo starts up a computer terminal and reviews information related to the Klingon negotiations she discussed. “Do you have a lot of answers pre-scripted like that?”

Lore is stunned by her acute perception. “Come again?”

“I’ve built an empire off reading people, Lore.” She beckons him closer, and he obeys. “You are loyal, but I can tell you’re…reluctant. Sitting at my feet isn’t what you want.”

She’s absolutely right. Lore considers bluntly agreeing.

“And what do I want?” He pins a hip against the computer terminal and demands eye contact.

“The other android. I know that much.” Half-occupied with her work, Vivo takes just enough effort to reach a hand out and cup his cheek. “But you act with the same doggedness my little bosses have. You want more. Of everything. And you think you deserve more.”

Lore doesn’t like how deep she plunges into his psyche. It offends him to think he can be so easily picked apart. “I’m sorry I’ve given that impression.” He dares her to take back her accurate—yet discomforting—assumptions.

“Don’t be sorry, love. I would feel the same if I were you.” She turns to him, showing the glimmering depth of her eyes. “Depriving you of more would be like taking a fish out of the sea. It is what you are meant to have, isn’t it?”

She’s so right—so completely right, it disturbs the android. She is too close to his ego, stroking it carefully and whispering all the right words.

For a mere Orion, she knows her way around a conversation. Her techniques to lure and beguile are not lost on Lore—he starts taking careful notes from his new mentor.

“Did you bring me here just for a psychiatric evaluation?”

“Not originally. Actually, I want to tell you more about your mission with Raimus. I need you for far more than taste-testing.”

“Oh, joy.”

Vivo opens a roster of employees for Lore’s perusal. “Raimus keeps running into powers that he should be avoiding. His workers are constantly intercepted by Federation forces, more so than my other branches. They know where to find us, how to find us, and how exactly to disable our ships.”

“As if someone warned them beforehand.”

“Mmhmm. I thought Raimus was thorough with his recruitment, but his latest work is not leaving a good impression. I want to know who snuck into our organization.” Vivo scrolls through the list, trusting the android to memorize every name and face. “I’ve narrowed it down to the personnel here; they’re assigned to the transport ship you’ll be taking to the negotiations.”

“You should really ask Data to do this. He’s an expert at deduction and mystery-solving.”

“I’m sure you’re just as competent.” Vivo opens the ship schematics next, showing her audience image after image. “And I know you will do what I ask of you.”

Lore takes interest in that remark. “You think Data wouldn’t?”

Vivo chews her lip, the question uprooting her confidence. “I don’t know whether he would or not.”

“Ah.” Lore regains the upper hand. “You can’t read him.”

“He has a talent for hiding his thoughts.”

It’s an easy talent to acquire when one doesn’t have emotions. “He sure does. Elusive even to you, hm?”

“You’re quite proud to have that edge over me.” Vivo combs fingers into his hair, threatening to clench a fistful. “Remember, that is his advantage, not yours.”

Lore puts his hands up in surrender. “Of course, Madam. I am free to be read and dissected at your whim.”

“I already knew that.” Vivo scratches soft line down to his nape, expecting frissons that don’t emerge. “And I know you hate to spill subservient words like that.”

“I do what I must,” he hums.

“At the behest of your ego. When was the last time you indulged in your selfish urges?”

Lore reads the subtext. “You wouldn’t ask out of mere curiosity, would you?”

“I run a bordello, darling. It’s my job to do more than ask.”

Lore reaches behind and takes her wrist away from his scalp, demonstrating a sliver of his potential strength. “Then you must know that I don’t care in the slightest to be toyed with like a little lapdog.”

“You’d rather be in control.”

The word glows in Lore’s processor. Yes, control. The promise that with him in charge, nothing can fall out of alignment. In these dire times where he must follow his brother’s suggestion of cooperation, he has lost any sense of security. For just a moment, he figures, it would be delightful to experience that power.

“The Madam would never let me,” he taunts, daring his supposed master to declare otherwise.

“On the contrary,” she starts, to his delight, “I’m curious about what you’re capable of.”

Lore still holds her wrist, her hand limp in his grip. She isn’t fighting his strength. She isn’t doing anything. The unusual android she met a few weeks ago is pushing against her, and she is loudly encouraging it.

The possibilities are endless. Lore receives the luxuries he feels entitled to, and for a good moment he can’t decide what to do with them.

“It’s more than you may be ready for.” Lore steps close, tucks an arm under her thighs, and lifts her a foot off the ground with ease. With perfect balance he strides to one of the untouched couches, waiting for her to object. He hopes she doesn’t.

“Must I remind you, again, that I run a bordello?” Vivo holds herself well in his arms, like she has practiced this position before. “You’ll have one hell of a time finding an activity I haven’t done.”

The moment is ripening. Data would never jump at a chance like this, but Lore listens to his ethical programming and knows what needs to be done. His emotions come to the forefront, taunting him to execute a freshly scripted subroutine.

“I could name one right away.” Lore pours her across the cushions and climbs atop between legs she willingly opens. It’s all too easy. “For one, you’ve never been with a sentient android. You’ve never been with me.”

She simpers at the thought, nothing but devilish curiosity on her face. “I’m ecstatic to discover what it’s like.”

Not even a hint of doubt. Lore puts arrogant faith in his charisma, but even this level of trust amazes him. He nearly feels sorry to betray it.

“I’m a little curious myself.” Lore rubs off the hands she puts on his shoulders and insists that they remain pinned to the cushions. “See, I’ve never been with someone like you.”

He cups her face and dips down to kiss her, meeting perfectly soft lips that work in practiced tandem with his. Despite his intentions, this is stimulating for him. Tracing her jawline, he pecks a line across her cheekbone and puts his lips by her ear.

“Someone that withholds information about my family for my services.” His hand hardens when it cuffs around her throat, finding the windpipe and compressing. “Someone that expects me to be seduced after they assign me little quests as their lapdog.”

Tension tightens the muscles in Vivo’s limbs, but she does not wildly fight back. That should have been Lore’s first sign.

“No, I’ve never been with someone who lacks any respect for me. And, when they walk willingly into my arms, what am I to do but make them pay? Answer that for me.”

Vivo puts a controlled hand on her noose, losing against his impossible strength. “It would feel good,” she coughs out, her voice crushed, “to kill me. I know it would be just delicious for you to see me drained of life.”

She’s too calm. Lore suspects an ulterior motive and debates just snapping her neck instead.

Before he can, electricity bursts through his torso and temporarily disables his strength, sending him reeling back with a series of twitches and system malfunctions. Gasping, he paws at the cushions and recalibrates dozens of internal systems as Vivo sits up.

She closes the stun device embedded in one of her thick rings as she watches Lore flounder. “But I run a bordello. I’m well-equipped for any path a fanciful encounter could take.”

“You—you damn Orions.” Lore feels his stomach and winces as another few systems cry for his attention. “Is attacking your partner a fetish for your species?”

“Oh, don’t be so hurt. I just had to defend myself.” Vivo shifts closer, undeterred from her attempted murderer. “I still love you, Lore.”

Lore cringes as she drapes an arm across his shoulders and kisses his neck. “You’re demented. I want you dead, and you love me? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I’d want me dead, too, if I were you. I can’t hold it against you.” She thumbs the ring that conceals a small weapon, signaling the reason why she doesn’t fear this proximity. “If you behave, and don’t kill me, I’d be happy to give you a moment of control.”

“Why?” Lore challenges. “Just so you can say you’ve fucked an android?”

“Hm. Not a bad medal to add to the collection.” She slips atop him, her body heavy and warm against his. “Unlike your brother, you are reactive to touch. You can experience sensations, sensations that your processor wants more of. It’d be torture to live in a house of pleasure and never find a release for those wants.”

“You don’t make any sense.”

“Throw me off, then, if you don’t want it. I know you can.”

Sexual urges aside, it would still gratify something in Lore’s mind to maintain control, even if temporarily. Just once, he needs to be reminded that his capabilities far surpass hers, or anyone else’s. That is the reason he remains still.

“Lore.”

That is Data’s voice, not Vivo’s.

“I have returned to the bordello. Where are you?”

At the crux of this predicament, his living conscience reemerges. Lore wishes he were silent.

“Not now.” His eyelids are screwed shut.

“Lore,” Vivo purrs, cupping his jaw. “I’m not going to run away.”

“Is something wrong?” Data asks.

Nothing is wrong—for once. Lore is in control, and thus nothing can be wrong. He needs this situation, and he needs to take it for himself, and he needs his saint of a brother to be muted for once.

He must indulge. He deserves it.

Exhaling, he rests steady hands on Vivo’s waist. “I’m fine,” he says to both listeners.

“Are you certain?” Data asks atop Vivo’s, “I know you are.”

Lore momentarily disables his communication software to keep his brother from overhearing the kiss he sinks into. He won’t subject Data to this ravenous desperation, either out of sympathy or shame.

The communication program is activated just long enough for him to breathe a calm, “Yes.”

“Very well.” Data’s tone indicates absolute trust. “Please return to our room before daybreak, or I will come looking for you.”

“Okay.” He glides a thumb along Vivo’s lower lip as he disables his communications for the final time.

“You’re talking to yourself, doll.” Vivo’s voice is the only one that remains.

“Just fixing a few bugs from that jolt you so kindly delivered to me. Do you warm up all your partners by electrocuting them?”

“Only when they try to kill me.”

“Ah.” Lore rubs a hand up her spine, his sensory inputs receiving heaps of warmth from her biological skin. “I’ll restrain myself from that particular urge for the rest of the night, then.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean you’re going to go easy on me.”

“At this point, Madam, I don’t think I’m capable of grace.”

She answers him with a laugh and a kiss, one that he claims to show his power. The hierarchy shifts with their bodies, his arrogance filling the room as he clutches his master’s frame. The aftermath of his attempted murder only heightens his hunger, injecting angry strength into his grip as he gropes her and tears off both their clothes. She allows it, smirking even as he dismantles a part of his composure and allows feral desperation to bleed through. He does need this, and she is more than equipped to handle it.

Data has kept himself occupied with research while he waits for his brother to return to their shared room. Vivo has granted him access to the Syndicate’s database, allowing him to combine and contrast it with his collection of Romulan information. He updates his notes on slave auctions based on his recent observations.

The door unceremoniously sweeps open to make way for a vanquished brother, one who still can’t get his hair to stay in place. The treacherous strands are a signature of his recent activity, just as disheveled as his weary, bashful composure. He wants to seem relaxed and unruffled, but Data is already fixing him with an inquisitive look.

“Are you alright?”

Lore gives up on a slumping lock of hair and collapses against the door panel, his arms folded defensively against his chest. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Where were you?”

Soong had asked him that once, on some faint night when Lore had wandered through the colony on his own. It was a harmless venture, but Soong warned his android that the others don’t appreciate being bothered while they slept. Lore couldn’t fathom the purpose of sleep—he’d never been hindered by such a chore.

Now Data asks it again, and Lore can see too much of their father in him. His ethical program warns him against projecting his hatred of Soong onto Data. Data is good, he reminds himself.

“With Vivo.” Lore would be an idiot to lie. “I…had sex with her.”

Data has no opinion on that. His only concern lies with Lore’s safety. “Unwillingly?”

“No, no. I agreed. Enthusiastically.” Finding comfort in confession, Lore tests slow steps across the room. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a clear answer earlier. I was…occupied.”

“That is understandable. There is no need to apologize.”

Sitting near Data, Lore works up the courage to admit the damning detail that will disappoint him. He has to—he made a reckless choice, and he must confess to it. “Data, just before that, I…well, I tried to kill her.”

Data’s face remains as stony as always. That austerity will always be an envied quality. “I see.”

“I just—when you said our sibling might’ve been sold—and, really, we’ve been here for weeks with nothing—”

“I know,” Data interrupts. “It has been a demanding situation. I understand that anger would emerge—although I did not theorize you would leap right to murdering one of our crucial assets.”

“I know—I know. It wasn’t smart at all. It just felt…right. I didn’t want to do anything else in that moment but kill our captor.”

“Vivo is not our captor. She is the person we work for to attain a goal.”

“I know,” Lore grunts, but he doesn’t want to hear it.

“I assume she suspects future rebellion. She is wary now.”

“Yes, probably.”

Data merely takes that into account with a nod. He cannot feel disappointment, he would claim, but Lore can still sense it wafting off him.

“I’m sorry, Data.”

Data does not even pause for emotional weight. “I cannot imagine how emotions influence someone, and thus cannot judge your actions. I may have done the very same if I had emotions.”

Lore is wracked with enough guilt for them both. Data is even-tempered, no matter what Lore throws at him. He has never chastised Lore, nor shamed him for his behavior. He merely cleans up the mess and suggests avoiding such situations in the future. His kindness contrasts that of the colonists, or of Soong, and yet he operates with an astounding coldness that intimidates Lore.

It corrals Lore’s impulses. It protects him from himself while still appreciating every part of Lore’s existence. It makes him better.

Like the colonists always wanted.

Is that Data’s purpose? To domesticize Soong’s first faulty android?

Whether or not it is intentional, Lore can’t deny that he is safer when he is with Data. He can’t twist his ambition with his ethics if Data constantly reminds him of the bigger picture, of why one impulsive action isn’t conducive to an achievable future.

He sits smally near Data. “I have to leave soon. Vivo is sending me on a mission.”

That turns Data’s gaze. “For how long?”

“Eleven days.” Lore removes a scalp plate and sets his tuft of hair aside. “I’ll transfer the details to you. Do you have the cable?”

Data joins them together in a mutual silence, allowing Lore a chance to gather the thoughts that flurry around his neural net. With the cable linked, Data reminds his brother to select the appropriate files for transfer instead of haphazard memories—some of which include the encounter with Vivo. Lore apologizes and narrows down his thoughts.

Data processes the information he’s been given. They trade opinions about the assignment, Data listing several possibilities for each suspect and conjuring questions that would affirm or reject their innocence. Lore mentally notes every tip, wishing Data was the one sent on this assignment and not him.

They could swap identities, but Lore doesn’t trust himself to fool Vivo’s keen perception.

<lore>:Vivo wants me to leave tomorrow.

<data>:I am fascinated by her trust in you. I must wonder what supports it.

<lore>:My buckets of charm, that’s what.

Lore smirks, easing out of the tension. Data does not laugh.

<data>:I worry she may be attempting to physically separate us.

<lore>:Yeah, that crossed my mind too. It’d be the perfect chance to disable one of us.

<data>:And after tonight’s debacle, I cannot be certain of her faith in our loyalty.

<lore>:Nor I. She might take this opportunity to keep us from rebelling further. I hate to think what she might do.

<data>:Considering that, would you feel safer if you did not take on the assignment?

Lore pauses, his eyes wandering the floor. His arrogance is asking why cowardice is surfacing. He should not be reluctant about being on his own.

“Lore.”

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “We are capable beings, Data. We should manage just fine without support.”

“Yes, but our ethical programs prioritize family. It is natural for you to feel uncomfortable with separation.”

Lore nods halfheartedly, his thoughts coming to a standstill. “How does it make you feel?”

“I have no feelings. The conflict in my ethical program is remedied by my knowledge of your capabilities. It is unlikely that you will be hurt.”

Lore is alone in his emotions, then. Only he must overcome the clash between ethics and feelings, while his brother is able to utilize blunt logic to reassure himself. Perhaps emotions are a detriment.

<lore>:I can’t stop worrying.

“That is not a negative thought,” Data comforts. “However, we cannot remain conjoined indefinitely. I trust you to survive this assignment. Do you trust me to take care of myself while you are away?”

It would be wild paranoia to deny the question. Lore straightens his spine, yielding to the reality of their circumstances. “I do trust you. There’s nobody alive more capable than us.”

“I am pleased to hear that.”

They contemplate in their own minds for several seconds, each with utmost patience for the other. Lore has existed without a brother before, but Data’s presence has brought something powerful that he hates parting with. He envies his brother’s nonemotion, desperate to discard his anxiety.

But he is an intelligent, mature being, and he cannot be held back by weak dependency. This assignment will be a testament to his strength.

Chapter Text

Without a sense of boredom, anxiety, or depression, Data is adept at surviving without his brother. Their internal comms do not have enough range to reach lightyears away, but Lore murmured words of farewell for as long as he could before the transport ship vanished. Data remembers those words as he works, analyzing the muted concern in Lore’s voice and telling himself that Lore will be alright. He thinks of questions to ask his brother once he returns and occasionally risks asking Vivo if any updates have been received.

She assures him that if she received a communication, she would tell him. He hopes he can believe that.

In Lore’s absence, Data has stepped up as Vivo’s walking artwork. He is called to the inner sanctum and asked to sit with Vivo, which he does without complaint. His stiffness and reticence are not as alluring, but Vivo praises his carefully trained gaze and his unbothered demeanor.

She watches him carefully when he speaks, or when others ask him questions. Data does not know what she is trying to find.

To his benefit, his place at her side unlocks conversations which plot a fascinating web of networks in Data’s mind. Vivo’s position in the Syndicate cannot be overstated, and she has the luxury of meeting with mighty beings that control impressive gangs. She is never without a task to complete and her associates are frequently alerting her of incoming transmissions.

One evening, Data returns from his assignment in the industrial quarter with a full status report of Vivo’s fleet. In the inner sanctum, he crosses to Vivo uninhibited and hands her a datapadd with his findings.

She looks over the information, humming with intrigue. “Your work is quite thorough, Data. Thank you.”

It was easy work for the android; he spent the evening with half his processing power on the assignment and the rest dedicated to piecing together clues he has collected over the past several days. Clues which, to his chagrin, have opened a path of investigation that must be explored.

“Madam, I have an inquiry.”

Vivo doesn’t glance up from the padd she reviews. “Yes, love?”

“Was my missing sibling sold?”

That question destroys her concentration. She taps fingernails on the padd and crosses her legs. “An odd question. Where did you get that idea?”

“A series of deductions led me to believe that they are not at the bordello. At first, I hypothesized that you are keeping them at the vault on Brinda V, but I have no reason to assume you would need to hide a being which most of the quadrant is not aware of. Your treatment of Lore and myself is further evidence of that.”

Data watches her reaction as he speaks, but he will not allow her to interrupt. “I journeyed to a slave auction several days ago. There, L’Sahra told me that comatose humanoids, body parts, and humanoid-resembling items are also included in auctions. Since selling beings poses no moral dilemma to you, I can surmise that you would have no issue over trading an android. Thus, I can conclude that you came into possession of my sibling and subsequently traded them.”

Vivo doesn’t quite know how to deny his answer without lying. She shifts back in her seat, her sightline spanning across the room. After eons of considering different answers, she yields with a shrug. “There wasn’t much to be done with it anyway. The case was indestructible, and locked.”

Data twitches. “You did sell them.”

“I conducted trade, doll. That is what Orions do.”

He draws closer, stealing her spacey gaze. “And now, you cannot guarantee their current location. You do not even know where they are.”

With that in the open, Vivo loses her prominent advantage over the androids. Data plots several dozen strategies for where to go next, but above it all he remembers his brother.

He silently apologizes to Lore; this plan was never going to be fruitful, and he should have known that. His first attempt to integrate into a functional society was met with false promises and manipulation, costing him and his brother a great deal of time and dignity. For every day that they have sat here, another member of their family drifts further away.

“I can track it down if need be,” Vivo dismisses.

Data does not believe her. He has run out of trust. “My brother and I will not remain in your family if we are not given our sibling.”

“No? And where are you going to go?”

Data does not need a destination in order to leave. For the time being, he turns his back to Vivo and aims for the exit.

“At the moment,” she says loudly, “I know you are not going to leave my side.”

A few guards inch forward with her words. Data will not be fast enough to disarm them before they can fire.

“Right, Data?”

As much as he would prefer it, it would be illogical to flee with this amount of firepower aimed at him. He promised Lore he could survive, and he must maintain that promise.

He turns back.

“Relax,” she urges, beckoning to him. “Come sit beside me. There’s no need to throw a tantrum and storm off.”

Data sits, motionless as her body presses against his. She spills warm gratitude and praise, but his mind is elsewhere.

He plots interrogation and escape. He must pull as much information about his sibling’s buyer from Vivo before he leaves the planet and picks up Lore. There is nothing left for them here.

Dozens of memory files are replayed and linked together, raising possible questions against the strategies he devises. Vivo is dangerous, even when she’s alone—evidenced by the intimate memory logs Lore accidentally transferred. She is always extremely wary of Data, even more so now that he exhibits signs of defiance. A guarded target is difficult, but Data has the stamina to search for an exploitable weakness.

It would be one matter to simply kill her. It is another to interrogate enough information out of her. The task is daunting to fathom, only chewable by a mind as sophisticated as Data’s.

Two days pass. Data plays the role of a reluctant but obedient errand boy, implying through his actions that he submits out of concern for his brother’s fate. After all, Vivo had warned she could order the transport vessel to be destroyed, Lore along with it. Data is uncertain if she would truly kill dozens of crew members and one of only three sentient androids, but the threat does not bother him either way. He has no intention of triggering her into following through.

He reprograms a comm device he picked up in the industrial quarter as he walks to the inner sanctum. After he sends a coded message to his Romulan shuttlecraft, he tucks the device away and enters Vivo’s haven.

“I have finished the research you requested.” Data sits beside her, as poised as a religious schoolboy. “The Ferengi trade route in the Mutara Sector has intersected four Orion outposts and made one hundred and twelve exchanges, none hostile. They pose no security risk.”

“Ferengi rarely do. They’ll call for negotiations before they draw weapons.”

Data watches the door, his internal chronometer ticking away. “I surmised as much when I read their profile in your database. Some records indicate their negotiation tactics are just as damaging as a firefight.”

She titters at that. “Depends on what you prioritize, I suppose. They are dastardly little devils—”

The floor trembles as a distant explosion shakes the building. Both shoot to their feet as the patrons around them stir.

“What was that?” Vivo does not move, keeping her distance from the calamity.

From across the building, glass shatters and screams ring out. Guards take off, rushing to a disaster just out of view.

“Lock down the bordello!” she commands to her staff. “I want half the security personnel deployed in the lobby and the rest in the sanctum. Mobilize two-thirds of my docked vessels and send them here.”

Data watches the turmoil unfold slowly, his mind faster than the progression of events. He does not relate to the panic rippling through the bordello. The look on Vivo’s face fascinates him; it may be her first true expression of concern.

“Don’t leave the sanctum, Data. If things get uglier, we’ll head to my office. I have a dozen security measures for that room.”

Data does not answer her. He knows she does not appreciate his reticence, but the need to appease her has been abandoned.

“Madam!” a guard cries, returning from the action. “Nausicaan pirates are besieging the bordello. There are five vessels orbiting the planet and around eight squadrons outside.”

“Pirates?! Get them out of my bordello. Mobilize more vessels if you have to. I won’t submit to such cur.”

Lights flicker as another explosion sounds. Data clasps his hands behind his back.

When Vivo tries the turbolift, it does not open. Data theorizes aloud that they may have disabled the circuitry to prevent escape as she tests the remaining doors, his opinion entirely unhelpful.

She flicks back a gem on one of her rings and taps the miniscule button underneath. “Verzi, this is Vivo. Transport me and the android aboard.”

When met with comm silence, Data cocks his head. “They must have initiated a dampening field. These are incredibly efficient pirates.”

“Data, you’d make this situation much more palatable if you let me give the opinions.”

A throng of intruders cause a commotion that tumbles up the staircase, with phaser fire exchanged and bodies tossed off the balcony. People are dying and more are rushing out to risk their own lives. Data lauds their loyalty to Vivo.

Alas, the Nausicaans have enough firepower to push through bordello bouncers and clamber their way to the sanctum. After several failed attempts to shatter the glass wall, one withdraws a device that miraculously knows the locking sequence to the door and gains entry.

“Data,” Vivo stresses as the last of her guards and slaves rush the small army.

Suddenly his presence is desired again. The android brothers have boasted their strength, and now, without a doubt, she is expecting him to wield his.

Data takes measured steps to put himself between Vivo and the pirates. When enough Orion guards are killed and the rest surrender with rifles to their foreheads, the Nausicaans turn to their final two targets.

“You have made a grave mistake by treading here.” Data takes inspiration from a variety of Romulan literature for his speech. “The Vivo name is not one you would make an enemy out of. We—”

One phaser shot to his chest sends him keeling over like a defunct mannequin. His body remains on the ground as troops step over it and to Vivo.

She scoffs at his uselessness, backpedaling as repulsive pirates approach her.

In a matter of minutes, the sanctum is evacuated except for the single Madam they keep hostage. Bodies are dragged and prisoners are pushed out, clearing the space as if to tidy up Vivo’s new cage. The mighty bordello is overrun with beastly humanoids, all poking around the lobby like children in a playground. Vivo stands tall and attempts to reason with the beings that sicken her, but they have a surprising amount of self-restraint against her wiles and show no interest in compromise.

The android’s body is brought to the lobby and set in a conversation pit, handled with a great deal of care. A pirate captain sits across from the being and waits for his internal countdown to finish.

After a preprogrammed minute, Data comes to his senses and opens his eyes. Initiating several recalibration sequences, he sits up and pats down his own torso. Eyeing the captain, he gives a delicate nod. “Good evening. I am grateful you followed through with our arrangement.”

“I just hope I won’t regret it,” the captain growls, thumbing the body of his pistol. “If I led my crew into a trap—”

“The information I provided about the bordello security was accurate, was it not?” Data traps the captain’s doubts with that question. “The planetary defenses were disabled and the sanctum door unlocked, just as I promised.”

“I’ve seen more convincing false scenarios.”

“And fell victim to a few of them, no doubt.”

The captain scowls. “I’m expecting the other half of our payment. I have a crew to pay, you know.”

“You will receive your payment once I leave the planet.”

“And when will that be?”

“After approximately nine hours. This is a battle of attrition, Captain. I need to tire out Madam Vivo and cause her to lose hope of escape, then I will speak with her.”

“I should charge you per hour,” he grumbles.

“My payment is equivalent to the weekly salary of an Orion senator. Waiting nine hours is within acceptable margins.” Data rises, comfortable in the lobby now that it lacks patrons and employees. Only Nausicaan pirates—mercenaries, rather—roam the space. “Do not permit any Orion vessels to penetrate your defenses. Do not speak with Madam Vivo. I will return shortly.”

“Aye, boss,” his sellsword sighs as Data leaves the bordello.

Outside, warring ships dot the skies in a show of arms. They are not firing, suggesting fierce conversations between their captains, and the Nausicaan vessels outnumber the summoned Orion fleet. For the time being, the bordello is secured.

Data travels to the edge of the pleasure quarter, back to L’Sahra’s den. They are waiting for him, as promised.

“Denevan crystals. Just looking at them makes one feel affluent.” L’Sahra skates a fingertip over the collection of gems. “And what’s in here is enough to fund a small family for a year. Will that satisfy you?”

“Yes.” Data shuts the case, unenthused by glimmering stones. “I appreciate your hastiness.”

“You might’ve snapped my ankle if I wasn’t on time.”

“I would not. The measure I took back then was only to prevent escape.”

His candidness makes them laugh. “Bygones be bygones, right? Especially with where you and I are now.”

“Yes,” Data agrees. “There is too much on the horizon to let past grievances hold us back.”

He is singing a song that they enjoy, the dialogue almost resembling a symphony to them. They are more than ecstatic to see where their nonexistent hearts go next.

“At exactly 0500 hours, meet me outside of the bordello.” Data does not devote any time to wondering why his instructions put a disillusioned expression on L’Sahra’s face. “Do not be alarmed when you arrive. Simply wait for me.”

“Why would I be alarmed?”

Data hears his internal chronometer ticking. He needs to leave. “The bordello has changed since you last visited. I will explain when we meet later.”

“Data, I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

He tucks the case under his arm and puts his back to them. “Bear that discomfort for only a few more hours. Please be punctual.”

L’Sahra starts to generate more questions, but Data has already made it to the exit and onto the city streets. They decide against chasing him, finding his abrupt instructions strangely worthy of trust. He has little time for pleasantries, and they like that about him. His novel personality turns them wholly to his favor.

Data chooses to walk back to the bordello instead of taking a transportation system. With plenty of time to spare, he takes a seat outside the establishment and gazes at the ships overhead.

They still do not move. He is impressed by their reluctance to fire.

Mercenaries come and go, all ignoring the android that hired them. Some murmur doubt within earshot, but none bother confronting him personally. They don’t have the patience to investigate every little order they’re given; it is easier for them to simply complete the job and hope for payment.

Once another timer concludes in Data’s mind, he stands and reenters the bordello. Several mercs are relieved to finally see him in motion again, excited for the next phase of their plan to be executed. The early sun is about to rise after a stimulating, yet tedious night.

Data ponders what mask to don as he crosses the lobby. He is not particularly talented at acting, but he must craft an adequate role to fool the Madam. Vivo is challenged by his stoicism, and he must wield it appropriately in his upcoming attempt at theatrics.

“I am ready,” he announces to the Nausicaan captain.

The captain nods and heads to the entrance with a triggered grenade in hand. He tosses it into the street, allows it to erupt, then gestures wildly to his idling men. “Get to the entrance! Someone’s bombing the building!”

That is not happening at all, but his commands draw his men away from the second floor and leave the sanctum abandoned. Data thanks him and heads upstairs.

By now, Vivo can see him from inside her glass cage. She watches him take down the two remaining pirates with a rifle—set to stun—and head to the glass door.

Vivo rushes to the thick pane that separates them, her eyes alight with relief. “Data, darling. It’s good to see you’re not hurt.”

“Madam.” Data drops the rifle and clasps his hands behind his back. “Did they injure you?”

“I’m fine—just furious. Have my men overthrown their attack?”

“Not quite. The Nausicaans still hold this establishment. I believe some of your subordinates are negotiating outside.”

“Not the finest news to hear.” She tries to see the world past Data, but her vantage point is limited. “How did you get past them?”

“They ignored my body once I was stunned. I created a diversion downstairs and snuck up here.”

“Just for me?” she simpers. “Maybe there is some warmth in you after all.”

Data ignores the attempt at a compliment.

“Have you found their dampening field generator? I need a way onto one of my ships.”

Data nods once. “I know how to disable the field.”

His reluctance is obvious. Her brow sinks with suspicion. “But?”

He centers his gaze. “But I have no tangible reason to do so.”

In several quick seconds, she follows his reasoning and discovers herself as the catalyst of his hesitation. Seeking to undermine his refusal, she gathers what she can of their current predicament. “Data, my forces will call in more and more reinforcements until the pirates are dealt with. When that happens, and when this is over with…I’d hate to make you an enemy because you didn’t help me right now.”

Data is perturbed by her assumption. “I have been your enemy since you lied about my sibling’s whereabouts.”

Tsking, she takes a guarded step away and crosses her arms. “That sort of pettiness is just childish.”

Data does not argue. She can throw a fit, but ultimately he is the one holding the jail key.

“Data.”

“If you need escape, I will provide it. However, I expect information on who you sold my sibling to in return. The buyer’s name, species, ship, and next destination. If I am provided that, and I deem it to be truthful, I will disable the dampening field.”

“And then what? You’ll run away?”

“Yes. I will leave. I have no interest in an organization that manipulates me and my brother.”

“That very organization will hunt you and make you pay for threatening its matriarch. Do you really want to take that chance?”

“Yes, I do.” Data is unfamiliar with fear. He thinks she is trying to stir it in him, but her efforts are futile. “You have already lost my loyalty, Madam. Your remaining options are to become a Nausicaan prisoner or escape your bordello and reassess your fleet. Hiding information about my sibling’s buyer has no strategic value for you anymore.”

“I’ll be damned if I give a cheater like you what you want. I don’t feed snakes.”

Data nods politely and turns his back to her. “I will be in the vicinity when you are ready. I am uncertain of the extent of Nausicaan patience; I cannot predict what may happen within the next few hours.”

“Data,” she tries as he starts his path. “Data, don’t you dare walk away.”

He turns a corner and heads down the staircase, out of her sight.

“Data!”

The captain will have to be compensated for his patience, Data thinks. He figures he is willing to transfer half of his payment now.

“Fine, android: you want information?”

He stops on the staircase, his ears pricked.

She can’t see him, but she keeps trying. “The other android? It was found on a ruined planet two months ago.” Her tone has leveled, yielding to her surrender. “One of my teams picked it up and brought it here.”

Data creeps back up the staircase, his steps soft.

“We couldn’t open its case. Some mechanism kept it locked, and it was constructed out of indestructible glass. I gave up and kept it in my sanctum until a patron put in an offer for it.”

At the peak of the steps and creeping back, Data just barely enters her sightline.

She swallows hard upon seeing him again, but she continues. “I had no use for it, and he paid well.”

Data’s head lowers an inch. He is done with the storytelling—he wants strict information.

“Fajo. His name is Kivas Fajo. He’s a Zibalian trader.”

He does not blink as he slinks toward her, his feet placed with eerie perfection. “His ship?”

“Ah, the Jovis, I believe. It’s a freighter, though he primarily lives out of it. Has it spruced up nicely for him and his crew.”

“And his next destination?”

“Last I heard, he was aiming for the Yadalla Sector. He claimed ancient artifacts could be found on particular planets there.”

“Which planets?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t particularly care.”

Data maintains his balanced stare, waiting for his opponent’s mask to crack. “Can you verify this information?”

Reaching the end of her patience, she fidgets with one of her rings. “You’ll have to trust me. His profile is in the database; it’ll tell you his most recent visit here was two weeks before you came.”

Data scrounges up the profile from his files, discovering an unimpressive little trader with a penchant for rarities. He doesn’t exclude humanoids from his boasted collection. “That does not prove that your information is true.”

She scowls. “I’m not patient enough to play tricks on you right now.”

“For your sake, I hope not. Thank you for your cooperation.” Then, he opens his comm device. “Captain, I have what I need. Disable the dampening field.”

“Aye.”

Vivo’s expression twists with dismay as she watches the android communicate with the enemy. “You—did you set this up—”

“Madam.” Data unlocks the glass door with the combination he had changed out several hours ago. “My brother and I gave you our loyalty based on a false promise. A lie. My ethical programming deems anyone that betrays my family a threat.”

Vivo stiffens as the android stoops to pick up the dropped rifle. “Don’t do this, Data. You won’t survive if you endanger the queen of the Vivo family.”

“I have taken measures to guarantee my safety. My ethical programming also advises against courses that would endanger myself or my brother.” He aims the weapon squarely at her neck.

She ducks from the blast in a flash, but Data is faster than light. Her attempt to flee is cut short when Data takes her thick ponytail and yanks her back, and the stun device she procures is shattered when Data slams the rifle’s butt into her knuckles.

“D-Data,” she stammers, trapped against his chest and pawing fruitlessly against his grip. “Think about this! It isn’t right.”

“I have my own definitions of right and wrong. Lying to and taunting my brother is undoubtedly wrong.” He pushes the muzzle into the underside of her jaw. “It would be disrespectful to my family to allow you to live after those transgressions.”

“Wait—”

She’s dead in less than a second, rendered a ragdoll after a short burst from the rifle. Without a moment to mourn, Data drops the rifle and turns to the exit as his internal chronometer reminds him of the time.

The Nausicaan captain catches up to him when he comes to the lobby. “Has all gone well?”

“Yes. I will be leaving soon. The crystals will be beamed to your primary ship.”

“Thanks, tin man. We’ll take the bordello, too, if you have no need for it.”

“No. This was a premeditated attack on the Vivo family, but I do not intend to annihilate them. I ask that you return to your home with my payment and nothing more.”

“But—”

“Now, captain. Your work here is done.”

Data leaves without time for more negotiations. Outside, a group of mercenaries rejoice at the appearance of their client. They deny finding the Orion that Data asked them to search for, and even when threatened with their lives they promise it didn’t accidentally become another prisoner. After a pause, Data realizes he still has several minutes until the meeting time and apologizes for his hastiness.

In short order, the mercenaries are beamed aboard their ships, evacuating just as Data commanded. The vessels leave one by one, firing a few warning shots at the Orion vessels that consider pursuit.

The Orion ships have spotted Data, but he wholly ignores them. Instead, he turns to the bewildered group of Orions that come into a startlingly empty street.

L’Sahra leads them. Just on time.

“I did not anticipate you to bring others,” Data remarks as he approaches.

“The hell is going on?” They are apprehensive of everything, especially Data. “I just got reports of Nausicaan pirates at the bordello. And those vessels overhead—was there a fight here?”

“No. Merely a brief occupation of the bordello.” Data withdraws a padd and hands it to his pawn. “There was a calamity that ended Madam Vivo’s life.”

L’Sahra barely has a chance to read the text. “What?”

“For unforeseen reasons, the chain of command between her and you has been assassinated as well. As it stands, you are next to succeed the matriarchal position of the Vivo family.” Data gestures to the padd that holds evidence of his claims. “You are welcome to reclaim the bordello and operate the family from it. Or from your den, if you prefer. Nevertheless, the Vivo family is yours.”

“Why…why are you telling me this? What went on in there?”

“The Orion Syndicate is full of catastrophe, danger, and death. This is merely another instance of that horror.” Data’s internal chronometer will not subside. He needs to wrap up fast here and stick to his schedule. “I must leave now, but I expect to rely on you if I should ever need a favor from the Syndicate.”

“Wait.” One particular detail twists L’Sahra’s comfort. “You’re leaving? For how long?”

“An indefinite period of time. I have no purpose in remaining here.”

“But—the Syndicate. Didn’t you want to be a part of the Syndicate?”

“Not anymore.” Data opens his comm device and looks to the indigo sky. “I will contact you if I find it necessary. Data to shuttlecraft Tillena—”

“Data, hold on.” L’Sahra reaches out and slaps the device shut. They finally break him from his rhythm, demanding one moment of connection amidst his plotting. “You can’t leave so suddenly. You can’t leave me. I actually care about you—you know that?”

Data withdraws his closed hand from under theirs. “I do know. And I held admiration for your novelty. However, I am loyal to my brother above anyone else. My priority is returning to him and escaping the Syndicate that betrayed us.”

L’Sahra is not innocent of such betrayal, but recent events had cleaned that bad blood—they thought. “Then bring him here and stay with me. I won’t let anyone in this Syndicate hurt either of you.”

“I cannot trust that anymore. Not even from you.” Data flicks open the device. “Shuttlecraft Tillena, one to beam aboard.”

L’Sahra stands in dumbfounded silence as the android vanishes in a flurry of light, a ransacked bordello in front of them and an empty street around them. Their world has shifted drastically, but the puppetmaster is gone forever without a single hand extended to help.

Orion has served its purpose for Data. He sets a course for the approximate destination of Lore’s transport vessel and sits idly at the helm.

Chapter Text

“Raimus? We just had an unauthorized transport in the transporter room.”

“What? What species?”

“Uncertain, sir. I’m not detecting any life signs.”

Lore eavesdrops on the conversation from his seat on the bridge, intrigued by the intruder. A being without life signs immediately brings an android to mind, but he can’t imagine why Data would show up here.

“Get security to the transporter room,” Raimus orders. “And lock down the cargo bay. If this is a raider, I don’t want them touching our shipment.”

Lore activates a sensor sweep at his station, scanning for particular compounds that would identify his species. As he waits for the scan to complete, a new sound chirps in his head.

“Lore? Are you aboard?”

Data’s voice sounds in his mind, activating the dormant internal comms. With eyes wide, Lore tucks his posture away from the others.

“I am. What are you doing here?”

“I will explain momentarily. At present, I am here to pick you up and take you to our next destination. Can you find a transport device so I have a signal to lock onto?”

“Yeah, I have one.” Lore picks up a rudimentary comm badge and adjusts its settings. “I’ll send you the signal address. Did Vivo send you to get me?”

“No. Vivo is dead and we are not members of her family anymore. By extension, your assignment on this transport is no longer of relevance.”

“Dead?”

“As I said, I will explain shortly. Send me the address and standby for transport.”

With wholehearted trust in his brother, Lore murmurs the sequence of numbers corresponding to his badge before getting up with a subdued sigh. A guard over the comms reports that the transporter room is empty, suggesting whoever was aboard has already vacated. The bridge crew continues to fumble in their efforts to solve the mystery.

Lore gazes idly at the viewscreen as he awaits transport. He did uncover the Federation mole—two of them, actually—and he was midway through his report for Vivo. He silently wishes either side of this duplicity a casual good luck as the bridge fizzles away around him.

He reappears on the Romulan shuttlecraft Tillena, watching Data reengage the cloak and set a new course at the helm. When his younger brother turns in his seat and acknowledges him, Lore is loudly reminded of his insatiable familial love.

“My dear brother!” Lore laughs, coming swiftly to him and embracing him. “It’s good to see you—despite the surprise visit. You said Vivo is dead? You’ve got a bit of explaining to do, I’d say.”

“First,” Data begins as Lore sits across from him, “I would like to apologize. I vouched for a careful, passive entrance into the Vivo family, and it quickly became obvious that that course of action was inappropriate.”

Lore’s only answer is a tender smile and a shrug. “These things happen. We can’t predict the future; you were just following your best judgement. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Your approach may have been more suitable for our purposes, though.”

“Maybe. Does it matter? We learn and grow—and we’re sticking with each other during it. You’ll find no hard feelings from me, brother.”

Data gazes, glimmering admiration in his eyes. “Thank you, Lore.”

“Don’t mention it. Instead, mention how you casually left the Vivo family and came to pick me up.”

Data recounts his tribulations of the past several days as they glide through space, storytelling to a captive audience of one. Lore adds the emotional gravitas to each of Data’s actions, showing surprise at his wit and shock at Vivo’s deceit. It emboldens Data’s confidence in the choices he made, giving him a reassurance he didn’t know he needed.

Then, Data brings up the profile of Kivas Fajo and vigorously hopes their information is accurate. Lore, in abundance of forgiveness, promises his brother that whether or not Fajo is the buyer, they will keep hunting for their sibling on their own. They will succeed one day, he swears.

The shuttle stays on a consistent course for forty-two hours. Data monitors the helm while Lore paces the shuttle, checks the compartments for hidden treasures, accesses the database again, and even tunes in to hailing frequencies to listen to the chatter of passing ships. They don’t send any hails themselves, nor can any ship detect them, but they do study every ship in range and debate the strengths and weaknesses of each.

Then, just past hour forty-three, a new signature appears on sensors.

“Lore,” Data calls, summoning him from the aft section. “There is a Zibalian signature traveling at warp 2 ninety-four million kilometers to port.”

Lore looks over Data’s shoulder, his arms crossed on Data’s backrest. “Can you identify its registration?”

“Not with this vessel’s sensors. We will need to enter visual range.”

“Alright. Let’s intercept it. If it’s not our target, it’ll at least get us closer to who we’re looking for.”

The shuttle catches up to the freighter without issue, traveling in its subspace wake. Lore suggests beaming aboard, but Data points out the uncertainty of transwarp beaming between foreign vessels. “The warp fields cannot even intersect safely,” he explains, and Lore admits another plan is needed.

“We need them to drop out of warp, then.”

Data shows a star chart with the freighter’s estimated trajectory. “We can follow them to their destination and wait for them to drop to impulse.”

Lore shakes his head. “They’re probably headed for their homeworld or some populated planet. We should stop them here, where there are no reinforcements.” Drumming fingers on the controls, Lore scans the helm around him for an answer. “We’ll have to use a few theatrics.”

After a few minutes, the Romulan shuttle decloaks and hails the freighter with audio only.

“Zibalian cowards,” Lore shouts in a new, manufactured voice, one quite similar to their dead cargo bay guard from eons ago. “You think you can flee from me with my treasure in your possession? Stop at once and surrender what is rightfully mine!”

Data receives a response after a few seconds.

“I’m—I’m sorry, who is this? I haven’t made any transactions with Romulan traders.” The uneven, chirpy voice that answers is not one to be feared.

“No, but your Orion friend gave away what was never theirs to begin with. Now halt your course, or we will fire.”

“Oh, now, I don’t get involved with—”

The freighter takes a devastating blow from the photon torpedo aimed at its nacelles. Lore proudly squeezes the shoulder of his pseudo-weapons officer.

“You—what is the meaning of this—”

“Mr. Fajo, sir—we’re losing warp stability. We have to drop to impulse.”

“Unbelievable! You’d fire on a ship without so much as—”

“Sir, your orders?”

“Yes, yes, drop to impulse. Raise shields. Listen here, Romulans. I have a few acquaintances in your upper society, and I—”

Data mutes the drawl of the freighter captain, occupied with conducting a thorough scan of the ship’s systems. “We are in luck, brother. This ship is the Jovis.”

“Good! You can disable the field generators, right?”

“Yes. Torpedoes are calibrated. Should one of us remain on the shuttle?”

“No. We’re going to do this together. Program the shuttle to cloak and trail this freighter for as long as possible.” Lore examines the schematics that Data has compiled of their destination. “Let’s start in the freighter’s auxiliary control room.”

“Acknowledged. Prepare for transport.”

The shield generators are obliterated in an instant, and in the aftermath two beings materialize in an empty command center. They examine their surroundings with undisturbed patience, finding what tools will best suit their needs.

“Sparse security,” Lore murmurs, tapping into the ship’s systems. “We’re not showing up on sensors. If our sibling is here, they aren’t detectable either.”

Data joins him as he requests a comprehensive list of the ship’s manifest, capabilities, armaments, blueprints, and flight plan. Paragraphs and diagrams flash at lightning speeds, incomprehensible to anyone but them.

“This ship is a hovel,” Lore rebukes. “Eighty-three crew members is hardly a threat.”

“Are there records of cargo? If our sibling is treated as an object, they may be listed there.”

“I can’t find any proper records. It seems they’re quite careless when it comes to their treasure.” Lore consults the blueprints again, noting several locations of interest. “We’ll have to search on foot. Let’s start with the main atrium.”

Once listening for activity from the corridor, they leave the command center and slink together through the labyrinth. The ship’s intercom is ringing with the captain’s voice, demanding repair crews on the shield generators and another sensor scan to find the cloaked shuttle. Doors swipe open behind them, but they duck into a vent and wait for rushing crewmen to pass.

With most of the crew occupied, the common areas are virtually deserted. They pass lounges and crew quarters before taking a main corridor through the spine of the ship, right to their first destination.

They find a grand hall which spans the height of several decks, the heart of the freighter. Paintings, sculptures, and decorative weapons dot the area, arranged as a museum more than a transport vessel. Even glamorous carpets decorate the wide floor, sprawling underneath exotic potted plants and ornamental benches. It’s a charming scene, save for the centerpiece of the space that stands tall where a water fountain ought to be.

“Data,” Lore breathes, his eyes wide.

“…Our information was accurate,” is all Data can think to add.

Like trophies, the dismembered parts of an identical android are kept in a cylindrical display case, spotlighted and available for anyone to admire. The image is nearly identical to Lore’s first sight upon reactivation—his desecrated body and the inevitable challenge of piecing himself back together. He knows the torture of disassembly, and when he witnesses it inflicted on his sibling, he can only see red.

“This—this is—” Lore comes to the case and presses palms against the glass, desperate to connect with his sibling. “Who would do this?!”

At his side, Data trusts Lore’s burgeoning anger as an appropriate reaction. The sight of their disassembled sibling is objectively unpleasant to Data, and it paints a distasteful image of this ship’s captain, but it does not garner a passionate reaction from him. He vicariously experiences the scorching fury in Lore’s furrowed brow and clenched jaw.

“Someone that does not respect our sentience,” Data answers calmly.

“You’re damn right.” Lore finds his sibling’s sleeping head on a higher shelf, reaching for it with a needy hand. “Some sick bastard that’s going to pay for his disrespect. I’ll tear apart his entire goddamn ship!”

“A reasonable goal. We must assume he is still on the bridge and confront him there.”

“We—” Whipping to face his younger brother, Lore falters for half a moment at the suggestion. “But—we can’t leave him here. Like this.”

The flow from anger to need in Lore’s voice is like a painting to Data. It is all truly worth admiring. “We will be spotted quickly if we take time here to free him.”

“So what? We can handle the humanoids.”

“Perhaps so, but we cannot guarantee our sibling’s safety in the crossfire. It would be wiser to hijack the ship and seal off this atrium to prevent interference.”

Lore is crumbling with pity, ashamed to abandon his newest family so soon. “This isn’t right—keeping him there isn’t right.”

“No, it is not.” Data takes his brother by the arm and urges him away from the case. In the distance, footsteps are heard. “He will not have to endure it for much longer. Let us secure this ship and protect him properly instead of breaking him out prematurely.”

Lore hears the footsteps, but his eyes are still plastered to the display case. “…Fine. Fine. Let’s not waste any time.”

“We will not. Come.”

Data leads Lore out of the atrium before crewmen arrive. They take maintenance shafts through the freighter’s belly, listening to blips of computational systems and murmured conversations through the walls.

The bridge is a short trip away and accessed easily by an aft vent opening on the ceiling. Data waits at the mouth and assumes a headcount from the number of voices in conversation, but Lore has no fear of being outnumbered and pushes past Data.

The ruckus on the bridge is interrupted by his appearance. A stubby, childlike man stops yelling through the comm system and turns to the intruder. Lore immediately assumes him to be the captain. There’s only a half-dozen crewmembers otherwise, some of which reach for any weapon they happen to be carrying.

“Ah—wait. Hold on.” The captain, with that ingratiating voice, looks Lore over before turning to his subordinates. “Did—did somebody assemble my android?”

Data remains in the vent. His appearance can be strategically executed depending on how the situation unfolds.

“I am not your android,” Lore spits, keeping a careful eye on the available firearms in the room. Only two men carry pistols, one of which is not effective against android physiology. This crew is as pathetically unalarming as its captain.

“It speaks!”

Data assumes the one Lore targets to be Fajo, the identity provided by their Orion connection. The stubby captain speaks with enough smarminess to fill the bridge, his arrogance supported only by the small crew that heed his commands. Fajo is a colorful, exquisite man, but his talents end there.

“You look incredible,” Fajo continues. “I—I would love to examine your abilities, but I’m a little busy at the moment. Can you…shut off for an hour or so?”

“You dim child.” Lore crosses the room in three swift steps, prompting a nearby crewman to draw his phaser. The android is faster, fast enough to snatch Fajo’s collar and put the captain between himself and the armed crewman.

With his supposed treasure turned monster, Fajo flails in Lore’s unyielding grasp. “You—let go, android! This is not appropriate behavior! I am ordering you to release me this instant!”

“Ordering me?” Lore laughs. “With what authority? Overpower me. Outsmart me. Outperform me. Then I’ll accept your orders.”

“Some personality. Who programmed you?”

Lore ignores the query. “Data? C’mere.”

The bridge crew is aghast to see a duplicate android drop from the ceiling. Any previous theories as to Lore’s appearance are discarded, and utter confusion is all that remains.

Data assesses the situation and moves to the gunman to deprive him of his weapon. He is met with apprehension and warnings, but ultimately the trigger is never squeezed and Data effortlessly takes the weapon for himself.

“The next person that moves to help this man”—Lore tosses Fajo onto the seat of the captain’s chair—“will be the first to witness my brother’s remarkable aim.”

“There must be some misunderstanding!” Fajo argues. “I’m a simple trader operating a transport vessel. I have no quarrel with—”

“No quarrel?!” Lore smashes a fist onto the armrest, splintering a control panel. “My brother is on gruesome display like a damn chandelier!”

Data wonders if Fajo truly is an adolescent with how tightly he cowers.

“Your—your brother?” There’s a feeble attempt at a cordial smile, but it’s not cutting through the deluge of terror. “I see. I understand. There’s multiple of you! Of course. Listen, I have nothing but respect for you and your…duplicates. You are masterpieces to me—like sculptures in a garden, you see?”

The abrasive attitude twists Lore’s rage beyond control. “I see I’m speaking with a mousy bandit who doesn’t know his place. You do not toy with higher forms of life, Fajo; you bow to them.”

“Oh, certainly. Certainly.” Fajo surrenders with an untrustworthy level of sycophancy. “I am renowned for showing due respect to rare pieces of art. I promise, I will construct the most glorious display cases for you two as well. You will find no place in the galaxy that adores you more than here!”

Lore clamps an unforgiving hand around his throat, pinning him to the backrest. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

Some crewmen flinch. Data flicks a glance their way.

“You should’ve never touched our sibling.” Lore is a stone against Fajo’s weak retaliation. “For kidnapping him and depriving him of dignity, I’ll destroy you and your pitiful legacy for good.”

“Wait!” Fajo cries. “We can compromise. I have many riches, android! I can give you—”

His words are garbled in the blood that clogs his punctured throat, Lore’s vicing fingers meeting in Fajo’s esophagus. Lore relishes every second of his death, watching a myriad of emotions paint his face before utter pain and despair conquer. The captain isn’t released until his writhing slows and his speech crumbles into reflexive coughs and spasms.

Dropped as a worthless heap on his captain’s seat, Fajo is nothing more than an ugly result of Lore’s anger. Lore huffs at the sight.

“You—” The officer at the conn wants to exclaim something, but Data’s stare is silencing him.

In several slow seconds, Lore finds where he exists on the bridge. He sees the lesser lifeforms around him, framing them as servants rather than casualties, and tempers himself enough to try a new, passive strategy.

His frown melts into a hearty smile. “I…? I killed Kivas Fajo, yes. You all are witness to that.” Moving from crewman to crewman, Lore scours for that bit of sympathy in each of their expressions. “I killed the man that imprisoned my sibling. Wouldn’t you do the same?”

Nobody dares answering him. He takes the spotlight he’s been involuntarily granted.

“None of you imprisoned him, right?” Lore asks in such a way to insinuate the right answer. “Even if you did, you were only following orders. His orders. But he’s gone now.”

The crewman nearest Data is gripping a railing and watching Lore intently. Another emotion is blending with her fear, but Data lacks the cognizance to label it.

“And I forgive you for following his orders.” Lore speaks as a self-appointed messiah, righteous only by the power of his armed brother. “From now on, we’ll learn to take orders from someone that recognizes the sanctity of valued lifeforms.” Lore beckons to the conn officer, the one to risk speaking. “What’s your name?”

The pilot only stares wide-eyed. He assumes it’s a trap.

“I’ll tell you mine. It’s Lore. With me is my brother, Data.” Lore glides forward, using passive motions that spur horrified reactions. “Besides the being in that display case, you haven’t met anyone like us, have you?”

The pilot shakes his head, shifting aside so Lore can perch against his console.

“This ship isn’t a Romulan warbird, or a Federation science vessel, or a Klingon battle cruiser. It’s an independent, self-sufficient collection of unique individuals—just as unique as me and my brother.” Lore takes his hand, met with no resistance, and grips it with a little too much strength. “As I see it, we are meant to be a part of this crew.”

“Y-yeah,” the pilot tries, too hesitant to even glance at Data.

“So long as that display case is taken down, I won’t have a reason to kill any more of you. In fact, I’d be pleased to offer my assistance to this crew. Just think—three sentient androids, each with the knowledge of a million libraries and calculating speeds beyond any known humanoid. We’ve already infiltrated your ship and killed the strongest man aboard—think of what you all would accomplish with our help.”

The pilot is tugging at his grip, requesting release. After one final squeeze, Lore drops his hand. “As artwork or as crewmen, you must admit we are precious. It’d be the action of a fool to kill beings like us.”

“It would be.” The woman Data noticed earlier dares to cross the bridge and fly to Lore’s side. “Yes, it would be! You—you liberated us from him, after all. Thank you.”

She throws herself at him, hugging his neck and hiding half her face against his chest. Data is perplexed, as perplexed as the crew around him, but he yields to the hand Lore puts up.

“Was Fajo a tyrant?” Lore asks, carding fingers through her hair.

“He was.” Her voice trembles, either from memories of the dead captain or from Lore’s poisonous tone. “He was harsh—so harsh. I—it was unbearable…”

“I can only imagine.” Lore tilts his head to find her face, comforting her as if they’ve been spouses for years. “Listen: there’s nothing to fear now. I won’t harm you the way he has.”

“Thank you,” she repeats.

Data sees enough of her face to note her wide eyes and rapid breaths. That, paired with her rigid posture, is not an expression typically associated with gratitude. Since none of her colleagues are echoing her thanks, Data questions the sincerity of her intentions.

“Of course. What’s your name, dear?”

“Renaria.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Renaria. Does this ship have a first officer?”

“Not really. Varria is probably the closest to a first officer. She is—was pretty close with Fajo.”

“Hm. We’ll have to assign new positions. I have no interest in running this like a military vessel, but a hierarchy of just captain and crewmen is awfully lazy. Data?”

“Yes?”

“Seal the main atrium and send a ship-wide announcement regarding the shift in command. Tap into internal sensors and monitor for any initial threats of dissidence.”

“Certainly.”

“Renaria, will you show me the command functions that Fajo kept secured? I’ll need to access them if I’m to run this ship.”

“Of course…Lore.”

Chapter Text

system-soong3:\___

system-soong3:\access primary directory

access granted.

system-soong3:\add system user lore

system user added.

system-soong3:\add system user data

system user added.

system-soong3:\grant all privileges on system-soong3 to ‘lore’ and ‘data’

all privileges granted.

system-soong3:\run program:internal-diagnostic

standby.

diagnostic complete. 0 errors identified.

In the three days it took to acclimate the crew to their new captains and dispose of opposition, the third android was kept in the main atrium with access permitted to only Data and Lore. The brothers took their time with piecing him together and running scans on his systems, but he proved to be a far easier jigsaw puzzle than either of his siblings.

Lore detaches the joining cable with a shrug. “No errors. He seems to be in perfect health. From the looks of his directory, he must be the iteration right before me.”

Data examines the skin of his sibling’s hand, comparing it to his own. It is less porous, less intricate, simpler. This version is certainly not at his caliber.

“Reactivation seems appropriate now,” he suggests.

“I agree.” Lore finds the switch under the clothes they provided him with and activates it. “Let’s meet our brother. Hopefully we make a good first impression,”

The eldest sibling comes to life with a peculiar mix of his brothers’ mannerisms. He is stiff, but expressive. Infantile and simultaneously advanced.

He looks at his doppelgangers, but does not greet them. Analyzing his situation seems to take him a great deal of time.

“Hey,” Lore starts, a welcome smile on his face. “How are you feeling?”

The eldest blinks. “How are you feeling?” He thinks on that sentence, arranging it within his primitive social subroutines. “How am I feeling?”

His voice is stilted and undeveloped, closer to a ship’s computer than a human tone. Data finds his arduous thought process intriguing. Lore is gently amused. “Yes, brother. How are you feeling?”

“I…am feeling.” That’s all the android can comprehend.

He is certainly a prototype. Unsophisticated, impliable, and unseasoned. A far cry away from what Lore and Data became.

“A good start,” Lore laughs, his patience infinite. “Do you know us? We’re Lore and Data, your brothers.”

The prototype cocks his head. “Brothers?”

“Mmhmm. You’re actually the oldest of us; Data here is the youngest. Do you remember our father, Doctor Soong?” Lore is met with childlike confusion, but he shrugs it off. “What’s your name?”

Though his memory database is shallow, it takes several effortful seconds to find the answer. “I am B-4.”

“Bee-fore. It’s as if Father meant to describe us rather than name us.”

“B-4,” Data starts, finally entering the conversation. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to see the ship we travel on?”

B-4 lifts his shoulders in a strange emulation of a shrug. “Would I?”

Lore pats him on the back and helps him to his feet. “Sure you would. Let’s see how your movement subroutines perform.”

The trio tests B-4’s capacity to walk before leaving the atrium, starting a tour through their mutineered vessel. Data teaches technical specifications that go right over B-4’s head, and Lore offers him easier subjects to comprehend when he introduces him to a few crewmembers.

The crew has adapted, somewhat. Most put on good smiles and treat the androids well, and others carry out their duties with obvious reluctance. The worst offenders were beamed into space, which initiated a militaristic peace that is kept strictly. Loyalists are given authority by Lore, authority that they enforce on others to protect themselves. It is not dissimilar to how Fajo ran the vessel, but the threat of failure is far greater.

“This is the mess hall,” Lore introduces. “Everyone gets their food here. We don’t need to eat, of course, but our crew receives good meals from the replicators.”

“Food?” B-4 wonders.

“A form of nourishment for most biological organisms,” Data explains. “Although we can eat like them, we have no need to.”

“Varria!” Lore calls. “Come meet our newest brother!”

Varria comes forward with a smile, enchanting the infantile android. She’s a loyal crewman and a diligent worker, and she treats the brothers with unprecedented respect. Data has often warned Lore about the possibility of insincerity ever since he witnessed Renaria’s stunt, and Lore promises his brother that he also has an eye for deception and will remain cautious.

“Hello,” she says, nodding her head politely. “What’s your name?”

“I am B-4.” He has gotten far more efficient at answering that question.

“It’s good to meet you, B-4. I’m excited to have you aboard—I’m sure we all are.”

Those in earshot don’t react. Lore is quite familiar with their subservient silence by now.

B-4 is studying her face carefully, learning how it differs from his own. “You are…my brother?”

Varria gives an uncertain grin while Lore laughs. “Not quite. Only Data and I are your brothers. You can consider Miss Varria a friend.”

“You are my friend,” B-4 corrects.

Data keeps the personnel in the room in his peripheral, watching how they react to the third android in charge. He can detect their surprise—surprise that B-4 is not the advanced machine that his other siblings are. For some, it presents as a weakness, but others find it endearing. B-4 is a child to them, which, while heartwarming to witness, suggests that the androids were not always as omnipotent as they appear. It implies that they are inherently uncomplicated.

B-4, despite his absentmindedness, seems to enjoy touring the freighter. He joins his brothers on the bridge and observes Data plug a mainframe cable into his own skull, effectively syncing with the operations of the vessel. He watches Lore compliment exceptional crewmen, taking particular note of his constant smile and frivolous tone. All of it interests him in ways he does not know how to describe.

During the night shift, Data talks with B-4 in private quarters as he makes delicate adjustments to the circuitry in B-4’s scalp.

“I am now inserting a transmission device that will connect to your audio input.” Data performs his surgery as though a group of medical students is watching. “Tell me if you lose your hearing.”

B-4 is nodding and repeating several keywords from Data’s sentences. It is a consistent trait of his; Data hypothesizes it helps him learn new vocabulary.

“The transmission should be functioning. I will hail Lore and have him attempt to hail you.” Data internally activates his comm system while his brother watches with wonder. “Lore?”

“Yes?” Lore answers from his place on the bridge.

“I have outfitted B-4 with a comm device. Can you test its connectivity?”

B-4 jolts up as a voice comes from inside his own mind. “Data—there is a voice.”

“Yes, brother,” Lore chuckles. “We have a comm system between the three of us. Now you can contact me or Data, even when we’re not in the room.”

“Although the range is quite limited,” Data reminds.

“Are you two in quarters? I’ll stop by in a few minutes.”

“Yes.”

“Great. Sit tight.”

Data restores his brother’s hair while they wait, answering his questions about what a comm system is and how it works. Data must realize that the intricate science of their design is currently beyond B-4’s comprehension, and that attempting to explain every nuance of technology is an unhelpful effort. B-4 is learning, though not at the rate of his siblings.

When Lore comes in, B-4 is occupied with recognizing the differences in his brothers’ expressiveness and connecting it to the reason for their variation in programming. Data can only hypothesize why he personally lacks emotions, and he has no appropriate answer for whether B-4 lacks them as well.

“You have emotions,” Lore assures as he crosses the room. “See? Your face lights up when I come in. Our father only removed them for his newest iteration.”

“Why?” B-4 asks.

“We’re not sure. Somehow, he figured removing them would be better for our programming.” Lore gestures a hand to Data. “I’m not sure if I agree. We both turned out alright, with or without feelings.”

“Yes.” B-4’s method of agreement is stiff. “Can we see Father?”

Lore spills onto the sofa beside B-4, his arms spreading across the backrest. “I doubt it. He’s most likely dead.”

“Dead?”

“Mmhmm. The entity wasn’t exactly choosy about its meal.”

“The entity?”

“I’ll transfer the whole story to you soon, B-4. In the meantime, we need to plot a new course. Putting some distance between us and the Orions would be a good start, but I want to know what you two want to pursue.”

Data has no feelings about their future; he looks to his eldest brother for an opinion. B-4 can hardly offer one either.

“Rousing arguments, peanut gallery,” Lore sighs. “What about finding other androids? B-4, your directory suggests you’re the third iteration—there could be two prototypes before you.”

“Those prototypes may be just that,” Data warns. “Undeveloped. Perhaps automatons without any sentience.”

“Maybe, but they are still a part of us. If they exist somewhere, I would rather we find them than some scavenger.” Lore pushes back the hair he has grown out a few centimeters. “I thought we’d head for the Terran Sector. Safe from Romulans or Orions, and close to Doctor Soong’s homeworld. He may have left work there before he came to Omicron Theta.”

“That is reasonable.” Images from the Romulan and Orion databases are compiled in Data’s head. “The United Federation of Planets has jurisdiction over that sector. Zibalians are a neutral party to them; our ship will be undisturbed in their space.”

“The Romulans mock the Federation for their naive sympathy. We’ll probably be helped before we’re ignored.” Pushing to his feet, Lore rests a hand on B-4’s shoulder. “We could use a break from backstabbing anyway. B-4, do you want to join me for the rest of the night shift? I could show you how to access the ship’s mainframe from the bridge.”

B-4 can’t decide which brother he wants to seek approval from first. He looks to Data, and when Data gives an encouraging nod, he rises and repeats the nod to Lore. “Yes. I want to join you.”

“Great. Data?”

“I will be in the engineering section. Enjoy your evening.”

Days pass slowly aboard the Jovis. Data is not one for networking and he cannot assimilate into the crew the same way his brothers do, so he dedicates his time to improving ship functions and maintaining an efficient course heading. Lore has the benefit of emotional intelligence to guide him through relationships with the crew, but even he is cognizant of how much quicker they take to B-4. They like B-4. All three androids are treated with respect, but the eldest spurs genuine laughter and is frequently invited to the table during meals.

He may not have the processing speeds of his siblings, but that protects him from the complexity that poses a threat to organic lifeforms. He’s harmless because he cannot even comprehend what harm is. Lore sees it as an opportunity to infiltrate the crew deeper, but he can’t deny the inkling of envy towards B-4.

In just over a week, they enter the Terran Sector. A few starships greet them as they pass in and out of comm range, offering nothing but kind intentions and hospitality. Lore puts on a performance of a meager trader and asks for directions to the nearest starbase. Some respondents even offer to escort them, but he kindly turns down their help.

“C’mon!” Lore calls to B-4 when he pops into the mess hall. “You’re joining my away team. You too, Varria. I want you, Renaria, and Lonyl to come with.”

“Where?” B-4’s proclivity for questions is ceaseless.

“To a Federation starbase. I need to collect information on the species in this sector—particularly the humans. Data will be staying aboard.” He says the last sentence loudly, signaling to the rest of the mess hall that they are still under surveillance when they dock. “B-4, it’ll be good for you to get off the ship and explore somewhere new.”

“I would be happy to join you.” That response was carefully taught to him by Data.

They confirm their comm link with Data before making their way to the transporter room. With confirmation and coordinates received from the base, the small away team vanishes from the Jovis.

They rematerialize in an enormous lobby, or some cavernous space with a similar purpose. Dozens of staff and visitors are sprinkled throughout the space, maintaining a murmur of conversation. Most are Starfleet—their uniform design and delta badges are obnoxiously obvious—and the rest must be allies and tourists with enough trust to be aboard a foreign station. The Federation station welcomed a Zibalian freighter, and it has little in terms of screening the crew members that came aboard. All they are greeted with is an attendant with questions holstered and a datapadd brandished.

He requests their ship name and purpose for travel.

“Jovis. We’re here to develop a map of this sector for our ship’s database.” Lore keeps his brother’s curious hands from reaching for the officer’s padd as he answers.

The Starfleet man has no reaction to B-4’s peculiarity. He must meet a plethora of different oddities. “Have you come through the Terran Sector before?”

“Only briefly. Our ship doesn’t have much information about it.”

“Alright. The computer will direct you to our archives. Ask anyone with a delta badge and they’ll help you out.” The officer waves them aside and moves to the next group.

B-4 likes Lore’s fascination with the station. He tries to mimic his ever-scanning eyes and his confident smile. Varria has often suggested he try to express his own version of joy, but he can’t yet understand how to develop original ideas.

Lore tells Varria and B-4 to go explore while he, Renaria and Lonyl find the archive. Varria agrees fast and guides B-4 away.

B-4 likes Varria. He thinks she has colorful eyes and a nice voice. She always seems so happy to see him, and he likes that.

“I’ve been to several starbases,” Varria explains as she skims a directory. “They’re a lot of fun. Is there anywhere you’d like to see?”

B-4 is literate, but he doesn’t know what value to assign to each of the items listed on the directory. “Where should we go?”

Varria is familiar with his indecisiveness and takes it in stride. She points to a spot on the map. “How about the shipyard? There’s an observation deck where we can see all the big starships.”

B-4 nods. Looking at starships sounds fun.

“How would we get there from here?” She asks this for his benefit more than her own.

He takes a few seconds, but he is able to draw a line from their current location to the observation deck. He pictures himself on the path he made and compiles a list of directions. With a course in mind, he turns abruptly and begins on his journey.

Varria catches up, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. She listens to him murmur the exact directions and proximity to their destination and praises him for his accuracy. She praises him often—B-4 likes that, too, about her. Besides his brothers, Varria has the most detailed character profile in B-4’s database.

They enter a grand lounge that faces a wide stretch of windows, beyond which are docking ports and the starships that link to them. B-4 moves straight to the window like a child at an aquarium, drawn to the behemoths that sleep outside the station.

“They are big,” he comments.

“Yeah. Our little Jovis is nothing like these.” Varria points to the largest of the vessels. “That one’s a Federation ship. So are the three beside it. I think that one behind them is Vulcan.”

“And that one?” B-4 points to a little insect among the hounds. Its unique design intrigues him.

“I’m not sure,” she hums.

“An Atrean science vessel,” a new voice answers. It belongs to a being of a species B-4 has not seen before—although that category is nearly infinite to him at this point in time. Gray hair forms a hood over his wide ears and suggests his age to be a few decades more than Varria. He has an unassuming smile, and the infantile being that marvels at ships amuses him. “My vessel, actually.”

“Atrean?” B-4 asks.

“Yes. Atrea IV is my homeworld—I’m very far from it right now, but such is the demand of scientific exploration.” The Atrean extends a hand. “Doctor Pran Tainer. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Varria,” she responds as she takes his hand first. “This is…B-4.”

“Varria and Beeforr.” The wordplay of B-4’s name is lost on him. “It’s good to meet you two. Are you native to the Terran Sector?”

“No, we’re sort of…nomadic.”

“Nomadic?” B-4 inquires.

“Meaning, we move from place to place. We don’t really come from anywhere.”

B-4 compares that to his memory, diligent about observing contradictions. “Lore says I came from Omicron Theta.”

“That’s right. I suppose I should say: we don’t have a permanent home. The Jovis is our home.”

B-4 accepts that answer, always receptive to Varria’s lessons.

“I see,” says Tainer. “What brings you to this sector, then?”

Varria and Tainer speak above B-4’s interest, the scenery outside more stimulating than their dialogue. B-4 counts the windows on one side of a ship and generates simple formulas to estimate the number on the other side. Data has implemented a few dynamic programs to assist B-4 with problem-solving, but he is not integrating them into his net as efficiently as expected. These small exercises are encouraged by Data to stimulate his learning process.

“B-4.” Speaking of, he is hailed by Data through his comm system.

“Hello, Data.”

“Hello. Is Lore with you?”

“No.”

“Where is he? My hail is not being answered.”

“At the archive, with Renaria and Lonyl.”

“Could you go and ensure he is safe? I am…uneasy when he does not answer.”

“Yes, I can.”

With a new mission assigned, B-4 promptly exits the lounge and traces his path back to the directory. He plots a new course to the archive and leads himself with unerring steps, every direction repeated under his breath.

The archive is a digitized library with hundreds of access terminals for laymen to gather information from the Federation database. It appears to usually be a quiet space—although the collection of Starfleet personnel around a distant computer disturbs that ideal image.

B-4 wonders why they have gathered. As he approaches, he recognizes Renaria’s voice as she tries to explain a strange situation.

“He’s not malicious. It’s just faster for him to take in information this way.”

“Is that a cybernetic implant?”

“Not—not exactly. It’s—”

B-4 boldly interrupts the back-and-forth when he sees Lore at the center of the crowd. He pushes his way to his brother, the officers around him like stalks in a corn field. “Lore?”

Lore is seated at a terminal, a cable snaking from his skull to the computer. He’s typing rapidly and consuming information at unbelievable speeds, but that leaves him too preoccupied to help himself. The best he can manage is one absentminded hand touching B-4’s.

“Hey, B-4. I’m fine—just focused. I’m nearly finished with this database. I need a minute more.”

An officer tugs on B-4’s shoulder. “Sir, are you related to this man? You have to disconnect him from the terminal.”

B-4 cannot fathom why they would want Lore disconnected. He just needs information, after all. “He needs a minute more,” he explains.

The one speaking to him is a tall Vulcan male, a species that the Romulan database described as exhaustingly strict. “That is unacceptable. If your transfer equipment has not been approved, then we cannot be certain of your intentions with the database. We must avoid any equipment that may corrupt the archive.”

“He is not corrupting the archive.” B-4 inches over to deter another officer from getting closer to Lore. “He is gathering information.”

“Without appropriate permission. Lieutenant, disconnect the cable from the terminal.”

“Don’t.” B-4 puts a protective hand over the cable’s socket. “Removing the cable without proper care is dangerous. It will hurt him.”

“How?” the Vulcan presses. “Is the cable linked to biomechanical technology that sustains him?”

B-4 compares that question to the sight of Lore’s exposed skull, pondering if biomechanical includes androids. “He is an android. He is fully mechanical.”

“An android?” The reluctance suggests they’ve never encountered one quite like this. “And you—are you an android too?”

“Yes. We are brothers.” B-4 is proud of that fact.

The Vulcan switches to the two accompaniments. “Data-processing machines of yours?”

“Not exactly,” Renaria begins, although she isn’t certain of how much she should admit. “They are sentient beings, not tools.”

The Vulcan isn’t particularly impressed with the show he’s seen so far. “Resembling a humanoid does not guarantee sentience. These are machines that—while unprecedented—execute routines without caution and speak in simple vocabulary. We must have them removed immediately.”

B-4 lost himself several sentences back. “I am sentient,” he says aloud, recalling the answer Lore had provided regarding that question a few days prior. “I am a living being.”

The Vulcan shakes his head and gestures to Lore. “Have it removed.”

“Do not hurt him.” The gravity of the scene is swallowing B-4, tearing him apart in a well of overstimulation and confusion. Officers are reaching for the cable while doubting his personhood, and he cannot make a decision fast enough. His nearest objective is Lore, and his processor agrees that defending him is the best choice to make.

The first humanoid to touch the cable is pushed back harshly by B-4. In response, the control crew unholsters their phasers.

He has no protocol for facing off against weaponry. There is a fresh contradiction niggling in his brain, asking why the supposedly kindhearted Starfleet would brandish firearms against him. He does not know how to rectify that dissonance.

“Don’t fire. We are living. You may hurt us if you fire.”

“You have attacked a living being. Our laws of robotics prohibit harm brought to a humanoid by a robot. As such, you must be deactivated until safety precautions are installed.”

“We are androids. Not robots.” B-4 isn’t getting through, and he can’t develop an argument that will. He can only repeat the facts he knows. “I am sentient. My brother only needs a minute. Don’t fire.”

The Vulcan withdraws his phaser. “I cannot compromise station security in exploring the philosophy of this.”

“You should,” Lore roars as he rips the cable from his skull and shoots up. “Because you damn near shot a lifeform due to your own blind prejudice.” He slaps his scalp plate back into place and puts himself in front of B-4, stealing the Vulcan’s attention and reticle. “I mean, listen to yourself! Just because my brother uses fewer words, you deem him an insentient machine? Do you treat every taciturn being with that same judgment?”

“Sentient androids are unheard of.” The Vulcan is solid against Lore’s flames. “The possibility of sentience in a machine has yet to be confirmed.”

“So that makes it right to shoot something unknown? Don’t make me laugh.” Lore does not cower under the phaser pointed at him—yet another quality B-4 admires.

“B-4.” Data calls him again. “Were you successful?”

“Yes.”

“Is Lore safe?”

B-4 labels the sight of an android and an armed Vulcan arguing as unsafe. “No.”

“I have a lock on your signal. If you hold on to him, I will beam you both out.”

“Okay.” B-4 mechanically clamps a hand onto Lore’s forearm.

Lore is pulled from his impassioned speech by his younger brother creeping into his internal comms. “Lore, stand by for transport.”

Rolling his eyes, Lore forgets the battle and takes a step back from the officer. “Fine. Grab the other three as well; we’re done here.”

“Acknowledged.”

They evaporate in plain sight, escaping their crimes and taking refuge on their freighter. Immediately the ship is hailed by the station command and Data answers.

“Jovis, you’ve taken four individuals that are related to a tampering incident in the archive, two of which are reported to be mechanical.” The viewscreen is filled with the face of a weathered admiral, one not particularly happy with the conundrum aboard their station.

“I assure you, they had no malicious intentions.”

“We just have a different way of collecting information,” Lore argues through the comm system, and Data relays his message.

“Even so, it must be verified first,” the admiral replies.

“I understand that.” Data does, but it’s clear by now that Lore doesn’t waste time with proper procedures.

“Listen, gentlemen,” Lore sighs as he strides onto the bridge, B-4 beside him. “We’re perfectly harmless. I just missed one little rule, that’s all. We needed information, we got it, and we’ll be on our way.”

The admiral is astounded by the sight of three identical machines. “How many machines like you are there?”

“Just us three, as far as I know.” Lore plants a vertical arm on the backrest of Data’s captain chair. “And no, we’re not mass-producing some mechanical army. We’re not the Borg.”

“Still, we’d favor the chance to examine you and learn more about—”

“We’re beings, not test subjects. Keep respecting your sanctity of life and leave us alone.” Lore cuts off the transmission and disabled the ship’s comm system. “Nosy fools,” he sighs.

“You did infiltrate their archive without permission,” Data reminds.

“Not my fault that their transfer systems are so inefficient.” Lore dismisses the argument and turns to B-4. “You did a great job down there, brother. I wanted to help you, but I was too involved in sifting through the archive. You had it covered, though. I’m proud of you.”

That is a loudly positive sign for B-4. It satisfies a small urge in his neural net to please others. He recalls the events and highlights his best and worst actions. “They pointed a firearm at me.”

“Yes, he did. It’s a little scary to be threatened like that, but you stood your ground and defended me. I’m very grateful to you.”

B-4 nods, his mouth agape. “Thank you, Lore. I am glad.”

Chapter Text

A day after their stop at the starbase, the brothers gather in their quarters and review the heaps of information stored in Lore’s memory banks. They discuss logs in the Federation libraries, pointing out unique species or points of interest in Federation space.

“The query ‘Soong’ did not yield fruitful results,” Data comments. “Besides some information on his ancestors, there is nothing we did not already know about our father.”

“Our best bet is to head to Earth,” figures Lore. “We have transportation coordinates for his old residence. Maybe something was left there.”

“Something?” B-4 has endured their strategizing with a clueless curiosity in his eyes.

“Another android. A sibling before you.” Lore slumps with his arms folded tightly. “Though I’m not liking our chances.”

“Lore.” A crewman’s voice sounds over the intercom. “This is the bridge. We’re being hailed by a Federation vessel.”

The middle sibling is up fast with a huff pushed past his lips. “They aren’t still chasing us, are they?”

“I don’t know, sir. Would you like me to answer?”

“Stand by. We’re on our way.”

Lore leads his brothers to the bridge and takes the captain’s seat. “Put the vessel on screen,” he commands.

The sight is a marvelous one: an enormous starship, one larger than any seen at the starbase. Its wide saucer alone must be several times the size of the Jovis, and the twin nacelles at its aft suggest a warp speed that outperforms any other. “Now that’s a ship,” Lore breathes, enraptured by the floating palace. “What’s its designation?”

“Enterprise. NCC 1701-D.” The conn officer puts the grand name onscreen.

“That is the flagship of the Federation,” Data recalls. “How have we garnered the flagship’s attention?”

“Don’t know, but I’d love to find out.” Lore reclines in his seat and gestures lazily at the screen. “Answer their hail.”

The image of the Enterprise is replaced with a view of its bridge, complete with officers in every seat and a captain and his guest standing at its center. All three androids marvel at the grand bridge, each with a different compliment in their mind.

The woman beside the captain does not wear a Starfleet uniform. She’s human, and certainly above the captain in age: her petite posture and weakly clasped hands are proof of that. She reflects the look of awe the androids give, though it intermixes with a sorrow that seems unfounded. The sight she witnesses wounds her.

“It’s them,” she says, her words overflowing with bittersweet relief. “It is. I swear it.”

Her teariness is useless on Lore—he is aggravated by it. “Hear that, brothers? We’re celebrities.”

Data takes the polite route. “Do you know us?”

She wants to answer, but the captain coaxes her back with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “A proper introduction might help this encounter. I’m Captain Jean-Luc—”

“Picard. I know.” Lore shifts his weight from one armrest to the other. “I have a record of the Enterprise’s manifest. It was part of the archived collection that I safely and harmlessly took from a starbase. This little meeting isn’t about that little debacle, is it?”

“Not exactly,” Picard replies, his words measured and diligent. “We were apprised of that situation, but we are not hailing to apprehend you. Rather, we would like to speak with you. You must be Lore, yes?”

Lore borders on amused wariness with that question. With half a smile and peering eyes, he compiles several dozen theories as to how this captain knows his name. “And who told you that? Her?”

“Yes,” the guest answers. “I remember you, Lore. And Data, and B-4. I know all three of you.” She wavers between expressions as she decides what to say, only settling on a choice when she gathers the courage to look upon them. “I’m your mother. In a sense.”

Lore chuckles while Data cocks his head. “We do not have a mother.”

“You don’t remember me. I know you probably wouldn’t, but I was there. On Omicron Theta, with Noonien.”

“I have memories of the colony before the entity came,” Lore argues. “I would have remembered you. I don’t know why you think lying about that would be smart.”

“Wait,” B-4 speaks. “I remember.”

Lore regards the eldest with a sour look. “Remember what?”

“A mother. I remember a mother.”

“On Omicron Theta?”

“Yes.”

The woman seems especially hopeful towards B-4. “Yes, you must. Do you know my name, B-4?”

B-4 stares at nothing while he cycles through his memories, searching for a title among the fleeting images of the woman he once knew. “Doctor…O’Donnell.”

“That’s right,” Picard confirms. “She has since remarried and now bears the surname Tainer, but she used to be an O’Donnell.”

“I’m not sold.” Lore stands, weary of what he perceives as trickery. “An old surname can be fabricated.”

“B-4,” Data tries. “Do you remember her first name?”

B-4 is pressed to search deeper, a skill he has not sharpened. It takes several grating seconds, but he soon selects a specific memory and finds her full name inside. “Juliana.”

“Yes,” the guest exhales, her joy greater than her stamina. “My name is Juliana. Juliana O’Donnell, then Juliana Soong. And now Juliana Tainer.”

Lore shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “I would remember you.”

B-4 does not know why Lore is doubtful. He knows Juliana exists, and he thought that would be enough to convince his brothers. They have often told him to trust them, and he makes the assumption that the reverse is possible. “Trust me,” he asks. “I remember a mother.”

Lore hears his own line recited back to him, his plea to B-4 to trust him. His logical program and ethical program agree that B-4 would not lie now, and that hazarding an exploration into this encounter is safe enough.

“I don’t believe you,” he predicates, “but I will meet with you.”

Juliana is aglow, her hands instinctively gripping Picard’s sleeve. “Oh, thank you. It’s been so long—I must see how you three are doing.”

“Lore,” Picard interjects. “We’ll transmit transportation coordinates shortly. You and your crew are welcome aboard.”

“We’ll be by soon, once I make arrangements. Thanks.” Lore employs his usual habit of ending the transmission abruptly, his mind anywhere else but formality. “Well,” he sighs as he swivels to his siblings. “A mother. How, exactly, would we have a mother?”

“Father liked her,” B-4 reports. “They were together a lot.”

“A proverbial mother,” Data figures. “Yet why do Lore and myself have no memory of her?”

“I do not know.”

Lore switches from B-4’s idle face to Data’s, grumbling thoughts festering in his head. “And, of course, all three of us are expected to head over there and abandon this freighter.”

“I do not think the Federation wants to steal a freighter,” says Data. “Varria will look over the freighter while we are gone.”

“Hm.” Lore ponders the bridge, determining how much the freighter actually means to him. Worst case scenario, he and his family will survive if there were to be a surprise commandeering. “Fine. Let’s go explore the big flagship.”

The transporter chief is as obvious as the brothers in his apprehension. He collects his scattered manners only after the androids have stepped down from the transporter pad and approached the first officer.

“First Officer William Riker,” an imposing human introduces, “and Transporter Chief Miles O’Brien.”

“Lore,” the middle child starts as he offers a hand. “Data, and B-4.”

“Pleasure.” O’Brien takes his hand and bites back how painful Lore’s grip is. “I…I’ll try not to get the three of you mixed up.”

“It won’t be hard. We are similar only in appearance.” Lore sizes up Riker, refusing to allow mere height prove Riker’s superiority. “Will you show us to Miss Juliana?”

Requested to perform a task he was already assigned, Riker takes a moment to bury his indignance before gesturing to the doorway. “Follow me.”

B-4 is caught on each glowing screen and fascinating crewman as they walk, asking questions about every object that intrigues him. Data answers as best he can, though he encourages a thorough exploration to wait until after their meeting. Lore is quieter about his intrigue, though he is devoting a processor to compiling a list of the ship’s strengths. The Enterprise is mighty; a cursory glance would prove that to anyone.

They are led to a stately conference room, a place for bureaucrats to fawn over the ship’s magnificence while making powerful decisions. Picard is there with Juliana, but she kindly asks for privacy and the Starfleet officers flush out of the room.

Alone with her three children, she doesn’t know where to start. Two brothers are curious, one disapprovingly so, and the third has his same expression of happy anticipation.

“My husband ran into you by chance at the starbase, B-4.” She experiments with taking a few steps closer. “After he mentioned you were from Omicron Theta, I was curious. I requested Starfleet send a vessel to scan for your positronic signal—there’s no other signal like it in the galaxy. There’s nothing like you.”

She says this as though it is inspirational poetry, but it hits Lore like a rotten platitude. “Why don’t we remember you?” Lore asks again.

“I—I’m not sure. B-4 does, though. Don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Right. Shall we sit down? I feel we have a lot to talk about.”

They obey, Lore flanked by his brothers. He drums fingers on the tabletop, delegating just how much trust he puts in this virtual stranger.

Juliana tells a story that can easily be made up. She fell in love with Noonien, and he loved her, but her strict mother kept them from meeting often or marrying publicly. Before and during their secret marriage, Juliana gave input on Noonien’s construction of his androids. She loved each version, she claims, as if they were her own children.

Data wants more evidence. Lore doesn’t accommodate for a mother in his ethical programming. B-4 tenderly holds his mother’s hand.

“I know this is a great deal for you to take in.” Juliana has constantly looked to B-4 to find her confidence. The younger brothers are not so inspiring. “Being told something that contradicts your memories cannot be easy.”

“I remember.” B-4 has claimed those two words as a personal mantra.

“We don’t,” Lore rebukes. “I remember the colony, and Soong, and being deactivated. I don’t remember some…mother there the whole time.”

“Nor I.” Data sits as tall as a sentry, becoming the guard that Lore gravitates to. “Why would our memories exclude you? Are they faulty?”

Juliana has never doffed her look of sorrowful hope, and it only twists deeper into her expression when that question is posed. She shakes her head, her hands squeezing B-4’s. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

“I remember,” B-4 repeats, and that soothes Juliana.

“What do you remember, dear?” she encourages.

The room is still, waiting for the oldest android to bask in his memories. The stiff picture he paints does not embellish his recollection, but the mere truth of his words offers enough clarity. “You and Father. You asked me questions. You would smile and laugh a lot. Father did not.”

“He was a bit more stoic when working on you,” Juliana agrees. “Buried in his work, close to his final prototype. After the two versions before you, you were the first he had real faith in to be successful.”

That baits Lore. “Oh? What were the two before him like?”

The way Juliana shrinks ever so slightly when Lore speaks is noticeable by all three brothers. None have chosen to comment on it yet. “They—they weren’t as advanced. They didn’t even have fully constructed faces—just skeletons with a rudimentary brain. Noonien had decided to start on B-4 when his second try wasn’t giving him the results he wanted.”

“Where are they now?”

Juliana hesitates, creeping to the brink of tears. “He was able to reuse most of their parts in B-4. His skeletal structure is from the first iteration—there were no flaws with it, so Noonien used it again—and his motor servos are from the second. Bits and pieces, here and there, put together to form another android. He didn’t mind salvaging the functional parts of his prototypes to make the next model. That was until B-4 was created.”

B-4 looks down at his own form, checking to see if any part of himself is missing. “I was not reused,” he guesses.

“Not at all. Even when Noonien wanted to try again, he made new parts for Lore. I think you looked too…alive. He couldn’t give you the same treatment as the first two.”

This intricate story is leaning in favor of Juliana’s veracity. Lore nevertheless hates to hear her talk about the siblings he never met. “He did deactivate him, though,” Lore loudly points out. “As he did me. What were you doing when we were disassembled?”

“Lore,” she starts fast, as if she’s been expecting this argument, “there was more to it than that. He had to perfect his model before he could repair older iterations. He might’ve made your programming worse if he tried to fix you prematurely.”

“Worse than we already are?” Lore scoffs.

Data is silent. He cannot fault Lore’s rebuttal, even if it is a hint tempestuous. He has no doubt earned the right to be disgruntled when discussing his deactivation.

“I shouldn’t have phrased it that way. I apologize.” She can hardly keep her eyes on Lore for longer than a second. With a heightening reluctance in her expression, she frames her exit in a tender explanation. “We need time. This is difficult to process.”

“That we do.” Lore rises, his hand on Data’s shoulder. “Come on, brothers. Let’s find some quarters on this ship.”

He’s out of the room fast, abandoning his supposed mother and dragging his brothers along. They start on a path to the living quarters, moving as a unit and tracing an imaginary line through the ship’s corridors.

B-4 matches his pace, almost distraught by Lore’s belligerence. “Is something wrong, brother?”

“I don’t know.” Lore won’t lash out at his family, but the stress of this revelation is splitting a crack in his composure. “I just can’t believe something I didn’t personally witness. I don’t like someone I’ve never met claiming to be our family.”

“Her knowledge was detailed,” Data admits. “Yet I feel there is still a great deal she is keeping from us. She seems particularly antipathetic to you, Lore.”

“I noticed that too. Odd, for her to shy away from an android she loves.” Small voices in Lore’s processors are offering some theories, but he does not wish to explore them yet. “We still need to get our bearings here. Data, check with senior staff and see if we can travel alongside them for the next few days. Mother or not, I want to get a better image of this ship.”

“Certainly. Join me, B-4. We will find quarters for our crew together.”

“Don’t get lost, you two,” says Lore. “I’m going to learn what I can about the people aboard.”

The Enterprise is making a leisurely cruise back to Atrea IV, the home planet of Juliana and Pran Tainer. Picard agrees to merge warp fields with the Jovis, and her crew is encouraged to come explore the flagship. New faces meet each other in the ship’s main lounge, although B-4 is the only android to join them.

Lore follows a squirrely lieutenant through the corridor, acting partially interested in the explanatory tour that is delivered with the eloquence of a grade schooler.

“And this—this is one of our holodecks,” Lieutenant Barclay says, pointing timidly to an archway carved into the corridor wall. “We use them for recreation and scientific experimentation. Anything you program can be conjured here. W-well, almost anything. There are certainly some restrictions—although I’d have to review the logistical manual to remember all of them—and…and certainly, there are some ethical and moral boundaries…”

His enduring rambling continues as Lore peers inside the inactive holodeck. It’s a visually unimpressive space, but Lore’s knowledge on this technology warns him against underestimating what he sees. “Pull up a program, would you?” he asks, pushing his words through Barclay’s chatter.

“Oh! A program? R-right. What would you like to see, sir?”

Lore shrugs. “Anything. I just want to see what it can do.”

“Of course. Um, computer? Run Barclay program fourteen.”

The gridded room morphs into a Gainsboroughian field, replete with swaying grass and bowing trees. Lore steps on soil that sinks slightly under his weight, and he smells a brew of earthen warmth on a simulated breeze. Sounds of animals grazing and flitting about are heard beyond the fictional horizon, completing the scene in a winning effort to fool the senses.

“Idyllic,” Lore remarks. “I imagine one could get lost in a setting like this. You’d never want to leave.”

“It…it is a possibility.” Barclay is particularly timid about admitting that, bashful to confess his own vice. “The ship’s counselor, Deanna Troi, is very good at checking in on crewmen and making sure they don’t spend too much time alone in the holodeck. All in moderation, right?”

“Right.” Lore is already imagining what else could fill this space. Circuitry, not meadows. A physical interface that could process as quickly as his own mind. A way to extend his body and soul beyond the confines of his bioplast skin.

“She’s very good at what she does, too. She’s empathic, so you’d be a downright fool to try and sneak your feelings past her. It’s—it’s really quite remarkable. She is remarkable.”

He exits his daydream and latches onto his newest and brightest point of investigation. “An empath?” he asks, keeping Barclay’s attention with a welcoming grin.

“Y-yes,” the lieutenant answers. “She’s half Betazoid. Their species is empathic and telepathic. Counselor Troi can detect the emotional state of her clients—or any humanoid. Well—I think there are some exceptions. Um, Ferengi, for instance. Or those that have trained their mind—”

“Right, yes. But she can tell when someone is lying?”

Barclay gives half a complete shrug. “Usually, yeah. She certainly knows when I am.”

Lore figures an empath wouldn’t be needed for that evaluation, but he keeps his comments to himself. Instead, he begins searching for the easiest exit to the conversation. “I see. Well, Lieutenant, thank you for the tour.”

“But—”

“It’s been great to learn about this ship. Now, I need to get back to my brothers—they get awfully lonely without me.”

“I see. Um, please let me know if you need—”

“I will. Ta-ta.”

Lore’s off in a flash, leaving his tour guide in the holodeck and slipping into the nearest turbolift. He pinpoints Troi’s quarters on his mental schematic, calls for the relevant deck, and spends the short trip planning a myriad of outcomes for the next set of circumstances. After all, an empath is a walking lie detector. If there are secrets to be exploited in Juliana, the talent of the ship's counselor would be an extreme advantage.