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Chapter Text

'Second Officer’s Log, Star date: 47927.

The Enterprise has successfully completed a five day mission to the Delta Quadrant, following an investigation into the significant levels of seismic activity present on Hanon IV. 

Since returning from the planet’s surface with the Away Team, Commander Riker has started to display a pattern of unusual, increasingly concerning, behaviours. Under the order of Captain Picard he has been admitted to Sick Bay for further tests, and has been preliminarily diagnosed with a case of Transporter Psychosis. 

As an android, my positronic brain lacks the neurochemicals required for the development of such neurological disorders. Even in humans, Transporter Psychosis remains relatively rare. My best friend, Geordi, believes that Commander Riker has simply been unlucky. I, however, believe there must be a more logical explanation. 

To discuss the matter, Doctor Crusher has arranged a meeting. In the words of Sherlock Holmes: when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’

“Could it get worse?" 

The Captain is agitated. He has not yet taken a seat, despite the rapidly-cooling cup of Earl Grey on the table in front of him. It remains untouched, as does the one empty chair at the far end of the suite, usually reserved for Commander Riker. Bar the exception of the commander, the table is full, however the empty seat in his absence has caused significant unease among many of the crew members present. 

I find myself sitting between Geordi and Counsellor Troi, who is uncharacteristically quiet. She did not respond as usual when I attempted to greet her, and appears to be avoiding eye contact with everybody at the table. On the contrary, Geordi's behaviour is calm and controlled, however I believe deep down he is also experiencing feelings of apprehension. Like me, he respects Commander Riker, however I would not consider them to be best friends - not like Geordi and myself. In the presence of Captain Picard, who is failing to conceal his irritation, Geordi appears to have made himself very small. He sits with his hands politely on his lap, nodding occasionally to show that he is listening, despite the lack of any verbal input. 

I can only assume that this is because he feels of lesser value than Captain Picard, Doctor Crusher, or even Lieutenant Worf, who is sat across the table frowning in concentration. I do not understand Geordi's apparent lack of self-worth, as I do not consider it to be true. As the head of Engineering, he maintains an exceedingly high intellect, and cares deeply about the technological advancements of the Enterprise. It is unlike Geordi not to speak when he is passionate about something, and I am sure he understands transporter mechanics better than most. He has a lot of opinions, although he can sometimes become frustrated when he believes he is not being taken seriously; this is due to a dislike being rushed, or having his engineering work critiqued by lesser-qualified officers. Geordi's visor makes it easier for him to disguise his emotions, however having spent years analysing his behavioural and social patterns, I believe I am able to decipher between his emotions with relative ease. For once, this is something I excel at over the human crew members of the ship.

"It's difficult to say, we haven't had a properly-diagnosed case in over fifty years," Doctor Crusher explains, her tone gentle yet steady. "There are treatments… medications and therapy to control the symptoms, however the condition itself can't be cured."

She smiles tiredly and shrugs her shoulders, using a hand to massage her temple. Her relationship with the captain is different to anybody else, although I have yet to understand why. Doctor Crusher is one of the only people to acknowledge Captain Picard by his first name, which is very unusual for a medical officer. It is not a professional code of conduct by any means, but never has the Captain scolded her for it. It is perhaps the most surprising because, in all other manners of behaviour, Doctor Crusher presents herself remarkably well.  

Today, her red hair is tied back in a neat ponytail and she has taken on a more formal appearance, her blue uniform pristine as always. She was requested urgently back to the Enterprise yesterday from Banea, where she had been visiting Wesley and his humanitarian work with the Banean people. This sudden recall back aboard ship, paired with the significance of Commander Riker’s potential diagnosis, has made her noticeably weary. I presume this is due to a significantly disrupted sleeping pattern, and the weight of responsibility upon her as Chief Medical Officer. 

"We've managed without a First Officer before,” Lieutenant Worf chimes in boldly, his nostrils flared with confidence as he arches his back against his seat. 

“You know Will, he’s as stubborn as a mule," Doctor Crusher counters, shaking her head. "In fact he was determined to join us here… he kept trying to convince me that he wasn’t sick.”

“Forgive me, Doctor,” I interrupt. “Are mules typically regarded as being stubborn?”

All five heads in the room turn to face me, and for the first time, Counsellor Troi laughs. It is a dry, bristly laugh that doesn't quite reach her eyes, and is very uncharacteristic for someone of her disposition. From the sudden gasp that follows, I am led to presume that it was unintentional, and as she looks down and nibbles at her bottom lip I notice it is trembling slightly with embarrassment. When she looks up at me again, her eyes are noticeably misty. 

"It's just a figure of speech," she answers quietly, offering me a strained but apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Data, I didn't mean to laugh."

"I do not mind," I assure her earnestly. "I did not find it offensive."

Counsellor Troi smiles weakly and stands up. "Excuse me," she says hastily, and exits the suite before anybody can interject. 

"Deanna isn't taking it well."

"Of course she isn't," Doctor Crusher says incredulously, looking at the Captain with a stern look of disapproval. "Her and Will are- …you know how close they are, Jean Luc.”

The Captain’s brow remains furrowed, and after a pause of acknowledgement he emits a long sigh and decides to change the subject. “What are the symptoms so far?”

Dr Crusher also takes a moment, I presume to compile her thoughts. “Dehydration, paranoia, and he’s been suffering with hallucinations.”

“Are they serious?”

“Not as serious as they can be,” the doctor explains. “But early intervention is crucial in managing the effects."

“Has anybody spoken to O’Brien?”

"Briefly," I recognise the sound of Geordi’s voice for the first time. 

I am surprised, but pleased by his decision to contribute. Out of politeness he straightens his back, and looks around the room before continuing. 

"He says he's retested all of the transporters and there isn't a single structural fault with any of them… nothing that could explain Commander Riker's symptoms, at least.”

"What about other planets within the Delta Quadrant?" The Captain asks. "Could it have been done on purpose? Sabotage?”

Lieutenant Worf and Geordi share a strange look between them, one I cannot decipher, before Worf cautiously pipes up. His delivery is firm but clearly unwilling, and as he speaks his eyes shift uncomfortably away from the captain. Geordi on the other hand appears relieved that he does not have to break the news himself. 

“The Borg Collective does operate in this quadrant of space, Sir.”

Captain Picard’s face greys, and for a brief moment he is lost for words. He stops in his tracks and his scowl loosens, allowing his lips to waver instead with reluctant uncertainty. This is an unusual move from the captain, who is usually far more composed, and has not gone unnoticed by Doctor Crusher, who quickly attempts to intervene.

"Jean Luc," she says quietly, but is interrupted before she can finish. 

"What about Q?" The captain asserts sharply, ignoring Beverly as he does so. "This could easily be his meddling too."

"In all respect, Captain, Q cares more about you than he does the rest of us," Geordi points out. "I don't see how injuring Commander Riker would be any fun for him."

There is a chorus of murmured agreement. I also agree with this statement, but I choose not to voice my opinion. I am concerned that if I join in it may sound condescending, and further irritate an already-riled Captain Picard. 

"Will uses the transporter all the time," Doctor Crusher continues to explain. "We all do."

"More than anyone from the lower decks, that's for sure," Geordi agrees. "If anything was to happen, statistically we're more likely to be affected. It makes sense for it to be him.”

“If this could happen to Will, who’s to say it can’t happen to all of us?” The Captain asks abruptly, gesturing across the table. “What about you, Mr Worf? Are Klingons susceptible to neurological damage the same way as humans?" 

"Klingons bear little protection against neurological diseases, Sir,” Worf answers respectfully. “However our symptoms may manifest differently than those possessed by Commander Riker.”

“And Betazoids,” Geordi adds. “Deanna’s subconscious is always heightened. In some ways, it could be worse for her.”

“Then I suppose all of us are at risk," Doctor Crusher agrees with a sigh. 

Then, she pauses suddenly, and fixes her attention unexpectedly upon me. 

“Well, apart from you, Data.”

The room goes quiet, and I am aware that I am being observed by my fellow crew members. I cannot tell whether their expressions are sympathetic or envious, however I understand that my lack of biological neural functioning is often an area of interest for those wishing to study or understand me. It is, of course, a reminder that I am unlike the rest of my friends aboard the Enterprise, in that I am an android. As much as I attempt to assimilate myself with the same human way of living as perhaps Geordi or Doctor Crusher, I cannot deny that I was constructed and programmed artificially by my father Doctor Noonian Soong. 

As a consequence, I am not a life-form capable of contracting diseases or succumbing to natural injury. Of course my software can be altered and manipulated, and my hardware has at times become damaged to the extent of requiring repairing, however I do not consider my own biological immunity to be equal to the vulnerability of the human body. Any small inconvenience or accident endured by a human individual may jeopardise their health and physical wellbeing. I have seen this often with many of the crew members aboard the Enterprise; frequently, Geordi develops migraines and inner ear infections as a result of his visor, and before leaving for Starfleet Academy Wesley would often fracture his limbs while partaking in dangerous Holodeck activities, much to Doctor Crusher's disapproval as both a mother and a medical professional. Although many diseases prior to the 24th century have now been eradicated, and contemporary medicine is similarly much more advanced, that does not mean humans are completely invincible against illness and injury. It is a strange conundrum I am still yet to fully comprehend. I know that physically, I am more superior to the rest of the crew here, even surpassing the Klingon strength of Lieutenant Worf, but that does not necessarily make my android-state more desirable. I cannot experience emotions or process humour, and I am also unlikely to ever settle and raise a family like my friends Chief O'Brien and Keiko. 

A hand is placed against my upper arm, which I quickly recognise to be Geordi’s. Geordi's touch is a familiar one, as often he is gentle and considerate in his movements. I appreciate this quality in him, however his hand disappears quickly and returns to sit politely upon his lap, too short-lasting for anybody else to notice.

Geordi, at least, is sympathetic, though I do not understand why. Although I would like to become a human one day, currently I do not have the emotions necessary to feel upset or angry. I do not need to be sympathised with or reassured, as I do not mind being singled out or scrutinised as the centre of attention. The concerns raised by Doctor Crusher are very valid, and I understand that my existence as an android is bound to pose many complicated, intriguing questions, many of which I cannot answer.

Out of everybody in the room, Captain Picard is the most fixated, and I notice that he is watching me with a hawk-like intensity. 

“Well, at least we know that if something was to happen to the ship, you would be able to take control, Mr Data.”

“It would be extremely rare for you all to contract Transporter Psychosis, Sir," I feel the need to remind him, frowning slightly in confusion. 

"Yes, Mr Data," the captain agrees, raising an eyebrow. "I'm afraid that's the problem… it already is extremely rare."

He is interrupted by a sudden, sharp series of beeps, and Doctor Crusher gets suddenly to her feet.

"I'm sorry, it's Will," she announces with a flustered grimace. "I need to get back to Sick Bay."

She smiles, though it is unconvincing at being reassuring, and stops in front of the doors.

"Perhaps we should limit our use of the transporters," she says. "Just as a precaution until Will gets better."

Though everybody else seems to be in agreement, my frown deepens. 

“But Doctor,” I feel the need to remind her. “You must have forgotten… like you said, Transporter Psychosis is incurable.” 

Doctor Crusher simply continues to smile, her expression unchanged.

"Yes… thank you for that, Data."

I think nothing of it as she exits, until Geordi emits a pained wince from beside me. 

"Did I say something incorrect?" I ask him.

"No, Data," Geordi promises, patting me on the back. "If anything, you were a bit too truthful."

Our conversation is cut short by Captain Picard, who pauses from his own conversation with Lieutenant Worf to signal for me. They appear to have been discussing security measures, as both look understandably serious. 

"Mr Data, may I have a word?" the Captain asks, his brow furrowed.

"Of course, Captain," I agree, standing calmly from my seat.

Before we proceed, Captain Picard turns to both Worf and Geordi, raising a hand of dismissal.

"Mr Worf, please proceed with running a level two security diagnostic… Mr La Forge, I'd like you to speak again with Chief O'Brien. Ask him to recheck each of the transporters until he finds any sort of fault or potential breach. There must be something."

Worf is prompt to leave, however Geordi lingers, clearly not wanting to leave without me. After a few moments of reluctance he succumbs to defeat and exits the room, leaving me and Captain Picard alone together. Standing on the other side of the table to the captain, it is unusual to have all of his attention directed at me, and consequently all of his heightened stress too. 

Contrary to the scowl on his face, the captain's voice has lowered to a soft murmur bordering a whisper, even though we are the only two personnel left in the suite. I do not see why he should have to lower his voice, considering we are at a very low risk of being overheard, but I presume that it is for the same reason that he dismissed both Lieutenant Worf and Geordi. The captain is either very conscious of being overheard, or very keen to conceal his own lack of defence.

"Mr Data, I need you to make me a promise."

"Sir?"

This is a most atypical step from Captain Picard.

"Promise me that if anything should happen to the civilians aboard this ship, or indeed myself and the rest of my command, that you will take control of the Enterprise yourself."

"Sir, it is as if you are suggesting that Commander Riker's illness will spread across the ship," I say in surprise. "But his condition is not contagious."

Captain Picard's jaw tightens. "Data." He does not answer my question, however the sternness of his tone has increased. "Will you promise me?"

I debate my answer, before nodding. 

"If that would put your mind at ease, Sir," I tell him honestly. 

The captain nods and seems relieved. "Believe me, Mr Data, it would."

"Then I will maintain operations aboard the Enterprise should anything happen to the crew, Sir."

"Thank you, Mr Data," the captain acknowledges, allowing his expression to soften ever so slightly. "You're dismissed."

The outside corridor is empty, and largely silent apart from the gentle steady hums of the ship's pipe systems. As I exit the suite, the metal doors gliding shut behind me, I am aware for perhaps the first time of how alone I am. In this instance I do not mind, as I know the rest of the ship is still brimming with life, however I cannot help but think of Commander Riker, who I imagine is lying disorientatedly in Sick Bay, or of Doctor Crusher, who has been tasked with the practically-impossible responsibility of finding a cure for his ailment.

If Commander Riker's illness was to spread through the rest of the ship, to Sick Bay and through the rest of command, then I will have to contend with the possibility of being alone again, this time without a remedy. I cannot fathom the thought of a permanently empty Enterprise, void of all of its crew and civilians, but I accept that this is likely to become an actual reality if the commander's illness is not quickly brought under control. 

Chapter Text

Spot meows, and headbutts the back of my hand. 

He walks the length of my arm and nuzzles it with his fur as he does so, grazing my uniform with his orange coat.

He has been increasingly needy in recent days, which I am attributing to my accidental neglect of his wellbeing and overall attention. As a consequence of my investigation into Commander Riker's case of Transporter Psychosis, which continues to worsen, I have not been able to provide Spot with his usual amount of leisure and enrichment time. Yesterday, I spent two minutes and fifty four seconds less than usual playing with him, which, if continued, could lead to feelings of loneliness, distrust, and aggression. 

I have taken the sensible precaution to locate a caregiver for Spot, until I am able to provide him with the full level of care that he requires. I have chosen Lieutenant Barclay to care of Spot, and this afternoon I have decided to inform him of my choice and provide him with an instruction manual to help him to adequately fulfil his role. In the case that I might be required to undertake longer shifts in engineering, the bridge, or potentially accompany Captain Picard on an away mission, I would be relieved to know that Spot is being looked after by a capable pair of hands. 

I believe that Mr Barclay is an excellent candidate, however I am anticipating that it may take a lot of time to first convince him to accept the position. As a self-diagnosed hypochondriac, Lieutenant Barclay is commonly concerned with his health; in taking care of Spot, this may manifest itself as a fear of potential allergies, fleas, or being scratched, which could potentially lead to an infected wound. 

Spot does not have fleas, and in fact his coat is very clean. I estimate he grooms himself for a good percentage of the day, when he is not busy playing or consuming his Feline Supplement 25, which continues to be his favourite.

As I attempt to stand up, Spot nestles at my chest, and I gently pet his head.

"I must go now, Spot," I inform him, carefully prizing myself away from his touch. "But Lieutenant Barclay will be here to look after you. I believe you will like him."

Although Spot does not respond to my vocal reassurances, I do believe that he is able to understand me. He is a very good cat and in-turn I believe he must possess above average levels of feline intelligence. 

The security panel to my quarters chimes, and I raise my head expectedly. 

"Come in."

The door opens, and Geordi walks in cheerfully. He is freshly-shaven compared to our last meeting, and is sporting a wide smile that I understand to be laced with excitement. I am glad that Geordi is excited, however I do not recall today as being different to any other day. I know it is not his birthday, because the date is saved within my neural net, and I do not believe it is mine either, as I fondly recall my own activation date.

"Hey Data, are you ready?"

"What for?" I ask in surprise.

"You said you wanted to visit the Holodeck," Geordi reminds me. "I've got this brilliant new program I think you'll like. Remember when you said you wanted to experience a proper old English heist? Highwayman style?"

I raise my eyebrows and remember the occasion. I had first mentioned my interest in highwaymen of the late eighteenth century in a visit to Ten Forward, during birthday celebrations for Counsellor Troi. I still struggle to understand the concept of birthday parties, especially the nature of sharing anecdotes and playing games which do not seem to have a set number of rules. In voicing my uncertainty, Geordi suggested we take some time out from Deanna's party and return to my quarters, where I first introduced him to the number of books I had been reading about Dick Turpin, commonly referred to on Earth as England's most famous highwayman. At the time I had voiced my interest in the idea of a carriage heist, and an additional fascination in Mr Turpin's famed tricorn hat and black cape. 

For Counsellor Troi's birthday I gifted her a small rock ornament brought back from the Omicron System, and a poem I had chosen to write in her honour. She appeared to enjoy both, and pulled me into a hug to thank me for my generosity. Deanna is good at hugs, and always appears to appreciate the gifts she is given. 

This was a significant time ago, as lately Counsellor Troi's mood has hit a significant low point. 

Though she has been continuing to run her counselling sessions as normal, she appears to spend much of her free time in Sick Bay, or alone inside her quarters. Her absence from the Bridge, as well as that of Commander Riker's, has made for very empty, often rather quiet, shifts. Although medically there is nothing wrong with Deanna, she is experiencing what Doctor Crusher refers to as ‘feeling blue'. There is no specific lifespan for this illness, nor a precise date in which Counsellor Troi should feel healed. Doctor Crusher says that a prescription of chocolate and warm tea will help, however I do not believe this is an ordinary antidote for many sicknesses, as it does not constitute the form of normal medicine. 

Though I am unsure of Doctor Crusher's working method this instance, I have no reason to doubt her since she is a very qualified medical officer. I wonder if 'feeling blue' could be linked to Commander Riker's own state of health, as both he and Counsellor Troi frequently spend time with each other. It is a possibility his sickness may have transmitted virally to the counsellor, and at some point I will relay this potential find to Doctor Crusher.

We have been in contact with Admiral Nechayev, who appeared over video transmission to speak with Captain Picard. Unfortunately, she and the rest of Starfleet seem not to take our concerns seriously. To them, one injured man is merely a case of unluckiness, rather than a deliberate attack or attempt to destabilise our ship. Admiral Nechayev is not a person you are able to successfully argue with, and despite the captain’s frustrated insistence, she deemed it unnecessary to initiate a formal investigation. 

The Borg Collective has at least been temporarily ruled out of our investigations, much to the evident relief of Captain Picard. While this is good news, it has not helped me in my finding the source of the problem. I now have one less suspect to investigate, and my list of potential sources continues to rapidly decrease. 

Though it seems probable that Commander Riker's sickness could have been caused by Cardassian interference, it would be unwise to accuse the Cardassians of medical sabotage without any solid proof, as this could potentially lead to an attack or war against Starfleet. There is also no reason for either the Klingons or Romulans to have any deliberate involvement, as recent communications with both species have been peaceful and limited.

Alongside Captain Picard's continuing push for a formal enquiry, I have also chosen to undertake my own personal investigation. I believe that my intellectual capabilities as an android and my vast storage system will help me significantly in my efforts. Geordi is also helping me, though he appears more reluctant to "go behind the captain's back", as he described it. I do not believe I am disobeying Captain Picard's wishes by leading my own investigative path, however I understand that Geordi feels strongly about maintaining a respectful and professional image at all times.

As for Commander Riker, news of his worsening condition has spread quickly through the Enterprise. Despite Doctor Crusher's attempts to shield the commander from any unwanted attention, it appears a handful of lower-ranking visitors to Sick Bay are responsible for spreading rumours throughout the ship and its lower decks. Ever since, there has been a heightened atmosphere of uncertainty, which is understandable. When news spreads, often it is misinterpreted and unreliable, and I do not expect that anybody other than the Enterprise's senior ranking officers would know the full extent of the commander's condition, or indeed provide a faithful retelling to their own friends and colleagues.

Even so, the tense atmosphere appears to have reached Ten Forward, which was noticeable during last night's highly-anticipated jazz concert. The absence of Commander Riker, who is usually a keen trombonist, appeared to spoil the general mood of the evening, and so to maintain continuity, I offered to temporarily take Commander Riker's role to ensure completion of the concert. Although I much prefer the violin to the trombone, I believe my performance was satisfactory, however I do not play with as much charisma as the commander. Perhaps with more practice I would achieve a higher level of skill, however Commander Riker is able to make the audience laugh and feel excited, which is a quality I do not seem to possess.

As expected, Counsellor Troi did not make it to the concert. I expect she was busy eating chocolate and drinking warm tea. 

"Actually, my reason for visiting the Holodeck was not for pleasure," I tell Geordi. "I would like to visit Lieutenant Barclay."

Geordi frowns. "Reg?" He asks. "What for, Data?"

Spot chirps, and rubs contently against Geordi's leg. 

Geordi looks down, and scoffs in realisation.

"You're asking Reg to take care of Spot?" He asks with a disbelieving snort. "Why didn't you just ask me?"

"If I remember correctly, Geordi, your previous experience of caring for Spot dissuaded you from getting a cat of your own," I explain calmly, petting Spot one final time before accompanying Geordi out of my quarters and into the corridor.

If I am right, Lieutenant Barclay should be inside Holodeck Four. It is a normal part of his current routine to spend one afternoon a week inside the Holodeck. Compared to previous overindulgences, nowadays Barclay maintains a healthy use of the Holodeck, although many of his programs remain rather secretive.

We enter the turbo lift, where Geordi announces our destination. Today, we are the only people inside. This allows Geordi to relax and loosen himself from his usual formalities. 

"Yeah well, he wouldn't listen to me," he points out. "You've got to train him at some point, Data."

"Spot is a very smart animal," I assure Geordi. "He does not need training."

Geordi shakes his head exasperatedly, a lazy grin stretched across his lips. 

"I have stressed that Spot's routine is very important and cannot be altered," I continue to emphasise, wondering if perhaps Geordi has misunderstood my level of preparation.  “I have created a manual for Lieutenant Barclay to follow, which I am sure will help him understand Spot's needs and preferences." 

Geordi chuckles. 

“Good luck convincing him,” he says, raising his eyebrows and stepping out from the turbo lift.

Holodeck Four is in use. Lieutenant Barclay, as I anticipated, is already inside.

"Well, if this is what you really want to do," Geordi murmurs dubiously. "But afterwards we should do something fun.”

"If you wish," I acknowledge. "However it is important that I speak to Barclay first. It is my responsibility to make sure Spot is being adequately cared for."

I step inside first, and Geordi follows.

The terrain inside Holodeck Four is hot and there is a gentle breeze, similar to the geographic climate of a planet like Risa. It is difficult to determine whether this is an ancient or modern civilisation, as the buildings appear stony and primitively built, and the path is lined with palm trees and colourful tropical flowers. 

Three women pass us in short dresses made out of silk; all three are giggling amongst each other, and stop only momentarily to smirk at us before they walk away. They are bare footed, and two also have flowers in their hair. Geordi watches them leave, noticeably captivated, however I am more interested in locating Mr Barclay, who I cannot seem to find. 

The terrain is too large to efficiently search myself, and so I call towards the three women in the assumption that they may be able to assist us. 

"Excuse me."

All three stop and turn to me and Geordi, smiling with curious amusement.

"Have you seen a man named Lieutenant Barclay?" I ask. "I believe he is here somewhere."

All the women giggle. They are human, presumably, though appear surprised by my unusual pale complexion and Geordi's visor. 

“Maybe," the first, a brunette, says, twirling her curly hair. "I can tell you where he is, or you could stay with us instead, we're much more fun."

"That will not be necessary," I assure them. "I have a very important question to ask Lieutenant Barclay."

Though disappointed, the woman decides to answer my question. "The waterfall," she reveals.

I hope that they might tell me more, however they giggle again and walk off before I can successfully extract anymore information. I exchange a puzzled look with Geordi, who huffs and tugs at the collar of his uniform. I wonder if the heat is beginning to affect him. 

"I thought Barclay had quit doing all this stuff.”

"It appears he has merely reduced the amount of time he spends inside the Holodeck" I say. "But less-so the type of program."

"Guess we better start looking," Geordi sighs, and I nod in agreement. "A waterfall, right? That could be anywhere."

“I suggest we stay together," I note. "We do not know this program well enough to deem it safe."

"I'd still prefer to be a highwayman right now," Geordi grumbles, however I am unfortunately distracted before I can formulate an adequate response. 

For the first time I seem to be able to make out the faint rush of water, barely audible above the gentle whooshing of palm trees. Though it is too distant to tell exactly what it is,  the direction of water sounds as though it is running vertically downwards, making it highly probably that this is indeed our desired destination.

I begin to walk promptly in the direction of the noise, knowing that Geordi will surely follow. I can hear his footsteps behind me, lagging slightly, and make the decision to slow down so that he can catch up. I forget sometimes that Geordi is incapable of mirroring my walking speed, which is often too fast for the average human; typically on the Enterprise I attempt to control the speed at which I travel, so that it fits accordingly with my fellow crew mates, however when I am busy or under orders I sometimes forget. It is often considered to be one of my strongest qualities, similar to my positronic brain and my overall physical strength. I often remind myself that Geordi's strength is much lesser than mine, not as a way to discredit his virtues, but because I feel the need to accompany him during our visits to potentially-hazardous terrains and surfaces. Much like Spot, I do not like to think of Geordi as being unhappy or in danger. Though unlike Spot, Geordi is more capable of looking after himself, at least I believe to a certain extent. 

As we near closer, I realise that the sound of running water is accompanied by the sounds of splashes and giggles. There are two distinct voices, one, more shrill and feminine, the other a deeper, relaxed voice, occasionally chuckling. I look at Geordi, who nods in confirmation, before deciding to take action. 

“Lieutenant Barclay,” I call out in the direction of the water.

There is no response initially, until after a few moments the figure of a man emerges from behind a thicket of bushes, soaking wet and draped in a thinly-woven towel. Despite his unusually-wet appearance, I recognise the man instantly as Lieutenant Barclay, although he does not seem as pleased to see me as I had anticipated. It isn't that he is angry, though he does appear surprised, perhaps a little embarrassed.

“Oh,” Lieutenant Barclay says with a shaky smile, tugging tightly at the cloth around his waist. “I-I'm sorry, I wasn’t expecting company."

"I can see that," Geordi agrees, looking up and down at Barclay's bare chest.

"I apologise if we have intruded on a private moment," I express. "Perhaps you would like to put some clothes on first before we talk."

Barclay's lips manoeuvre into what I can only describe as a half-smile, half-grimace.

"I was just taking a shower.”

“It is unusual for two people to shower together,” I acknowledge, recalling the second shrill voice that had also been present at the waterfall. “Apart from perhaps if they are very good friends, or in a relationship considered to be romantic-"

“I think you're right, I'm going to put some clothes on,” Barclay quickly interjects with a squirm. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all," I assure him earnestly.

Barclay scrambles quickly back to the base of the waterfall, and while he is gone, I take the opportunity to turn to Geordi.

"Do you think we have arrived at a bad time?"

Geordi grins, not quite laughing, though he is clearly fighting the urge to. "I think we should know better than to interrupt Barclay while he's in the Holodeck," he agrees. 

"Am I correct in assuming he was not being entirely truthful in our previous conversation?"

"I think so, Data," Geordi answers, before sighing and chuckling softly. "Poor Reg… he's been working so hard in engineering lately, no wonder he needed a break. Although I'm sure a drink in Ten Forward would've been a much easier way for him to relax."

It takes an unusually long time for the lieutenant to reemerge, and when he eventually does he is wearing a simple brown tunic, although his hair is still wet and dripping slowly at the sides.

He attempts to smile, however his nerves overpower it and his lips waver uncertainly. 

"Why don't we find somewhere to talk properly?" Geordi suggests gently. "Outside of the Holodeck."

Barclay grimaces, but doesn't reject the idea.

Geordi offers a reassuring smile. 

“Computer end program.” 

The palm trees disappear to reveal the black gridded interior of the Holodeck, void of sparsely dressed women and waterfalls. I straighten my uniform and Geordi adjusts his visor, while Lieutenant Barclay teeters awkwardly in-between us.

"Is this about engineering?" He asks fretfully. "If I've made a mistake, Commander, then I'm truly sorry."

"No, Reg, you haven't done anything wrong," Geordi promises. "Actually, it was Data who wanted to speak to you."

Barclay turns to me, struggling to disguise his frown. I do not mind; I understand that it must feel strange for me to request his presence so unexpectedly, and also unnerving for a man so temperamentally-anxious as the lieutenant.

"I heard about Commander Riker," he admits gingerly. "That he's in Sick Bay, at least… is it serious?"

"He has Transporter Psychosis," I answer simply, seeing no reason to hide the truth from the lieutenant. If I did not tell him the truth, then I do not doubt he would have overheard a rumour or false statement from another less-informed member of crew. It would be irresponsible of me to allow such rumours to spread.

Lieutenant Barclay's eyes widen, and for a brief moment he looks almost excitable. Perhaps I have misread his emotions, as I find this shift in tone very difficult to analyse. Normally, finding out about a person's illness should not result in excitement, unless you dislike that person very much. However that would be bad-mannered, and I do not consider Lieutenant Barclay to be such. 

Though he is still nervy, there is a hopeful hint of a smile wobbling at his lips.

"That makes two of us."

Geordi and I both look at each other in confusion, before turning to Barclay again. 

"What's that supposed to mean, Reg?" Geordi asks softly. 

"I had Transporter Psychosis once," Barclay nods, suddenly becoming very serious. "But I made a full recovery."

While Geordi has attempted to soften his demeanour encouragingly, my own frown deepens. 

“There is no cure for Transporter Psychosis,” I refute. “That would be statistically impossible.”

“I mean, you learn how to live with it, I did for a while,” Barclay continues, shrugging his shoulders more confidently. “It’s difficult but manageable… i-in fact I'd be happy to speak to Commander Riker if he wanted."

I am most surprised. 

"Wait, I remember," Geordi says suddenly. "That mission with the Yosemite… you said you were seeing things in the transporter, Reg."

Lieutenant Barclay nods eagerly. 

"But they were microbes," Geordi continues. "We located them in the transporter, along with the crew of the Yosemite."

"If I am correct," I point out, recalling the occassion. "You did not actually have Transporter Psychosis, it was a misdiagnosis."

Reg's eyes bulge, and his face burns bright red with presumed embarrassment. 

"W-Well I mean… yes but- at the time technically I thought-"

Geordi's smile of encouragement quickly falters, and he barely manages to disguise a groan. 

"I do believe you diagnosed yourself, Lieutenant," I add. "Because at first nobody could explain your symptoms, you believed that you must have been hallucinating the microbes."

"Then surely the same must be happening to Commander Riker," Barclay suggests. "Maybe the biofilter is faulty, or there could be a problem with the plasma streamer."

"What happened to you, Reg, was very rare," Geordi says, shaking his head. "We ran a full diagnostic of every transporter, we've even conducted a full probe into the transporter beam and checked all the biolfilters, in case this is some sort of repeat of what happened to the Yosemite."

Lieutenant Barclay swallows thickly. 

"A-And you haven't found anything?"

"Nothing to explain Commander Riker's hallucinations," Geordi admits.

"I would like to ask you a question, Lieutenant," I interrupt calmly. "It is of great importance."

Reg's eyebrows raise, and his face twitches nervously.

"Oh, I see… something to help Commander Riker?"

"No, it is about Spot," I correct.

"Spot?"

I nod. "My cat."

Reg's mouth opens slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. 

"Your ca-"

"I have compiled a list of his routines, feeding preferences, and sandbox requirements," I continue to promptly explain. "He will need to be brushed, and you must tell him that he is a good cat."

I wait patiently for Lieutenant Barclay to answer, however he blinks at me in bemusement. 

"Would you like me to repeat myself more clearly?" I ask. 

"No- sorry, I just don't think I understand," Barclay confesses nervously. "We were talking about Commander Riker and now-"

"I would like you to care for Spot," I reiterate. "I apologise. I assumed you would have understood from the manual I have just presented."

"Me?" Barclay's eyes flitter anxiously up and down. "But why me?"

I see that he is looking at Geordi, perhaps for reassurance, however I do not see why Geordi would be able to help. After all, Spot is my cat. 

"I believe that you would make a perfect fit as Spot's temporary caregiver," I explain. "I also believe that caring for Spot will help to improve your nervous disposition."

"My nervous disposition…" Barclay repeats weakly. "I see."

"I expect Spot will require care for at least a week, however there is a possibility this could be extended."

"Are you going somewhere?" Barclay frowns.

"I am assisting Captain Picard in his attempts to locate the cause of Commander Riker's illness," I clarify. "I have also decided to conduct my own research too, however I have not yet informed Captain Picard."

Barclay appears surprised, but mostly curious. "Have you found anything yet?" 

"No," I answer honestly, knowing that this will inevitably come as a disappointment.

"If you can't find a cause, maybe it is Transporter Psychosis after all," Barclay suggests. 

The combadge on his chest beeps. He is being requested by another member of engineering. 

"On my way," he answers, before looking apologetically up at me and Geordi.

"I'm sorry, I need to go," he expresses with a flustered smile, which quickly disappears when he remembers the care manual. "Should I come to your quarters this evening then?"

"That would be appropriate," I agree. "It will be time for Spot's feline supplement."

Barclay nods, offering a half-hearted string of goodbyes before scampering hastily in the direction of the turbo lift.

"I can't believe you're trusting Reg with Spot," Geordi tuts once Lieutenant Barclay is firmly out of earshot. "I'm telling you now, he'll be covered in claw marks by the end of his first day."

It appears Geordi is attempting to make a joke, but I am distracted by a sudden thought regarding Lieutenant Barclay's past medical history. 

"When Lieutenant Barclay believed he had Transporter Psychosis, what exactly did he see inside of the transporter?"

"Well, he said they were like big worms," Geordi recalls thoughtfully. "And he kept complaining of tiredness and thirst."

"I would like to know the extent of Commander Riker's delusions," I decide. "It is important to find out whether his hallucinations are similar to those experienced by Lieutenant Barclay."

Geordi sighs, and scratches the top of his head.

“Why don’t you take your mind off it, Data?" He suggests. "You’ve been stressing ever since Riker first got admitted to Sick Bay. Soon enough, you'll make yourself unwell too."

"I am an android, Geordi," I remind my friend matter-of-factly. "I am unable to make myself unwell by working."

"Look, what I'm saying is… why don't you take some time out?" Geordi recommends. "Go spend some time with Spot, or we can visit one of your Sherlock Holmes programs… you don't need to be on the bridge until the night shift so in the meantime why don't we just… relax?"

"Relaxing would be detrimental to my investigation," I answer. "However, if you would like to undertake some personal relaxation of your own, I would not be offended."

"No, Data," Geordi re-emphasises, shaking his head. "What I'm trying to say is… why don't we spend some time together? You and me, no Barclay, no Riker, just… us."

I raise my eyebrow. 

"Thank you for the offer, Geordi, but I must proceed with my investigation," I explain. "It is important that I find the root of Commander Riker's symptoms before there is a chance they may spread to the rest of the ship."

Geordi makes a face. I can tell he doesn't feel as passionately about the investigation as I do, perhaps because he has already accepted the commander's preliminary diagnosis as fact. 

"Why not leave it to Captain Picard?" He asks. "You don't have to become your own Sherlock Holmes, Data."

"Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character from the late nineteenth century," I elaborate. "But considering I was artificially created, in this instance I have the advantage of immunity."

"You don't know you're exempt, Data," Geordi tells me seriously. "For all we know, it could affect you too."

Before I can respond, my combadge alerts. It is the captain, who appears to be requesting my presence on the bridge. 

Geordi looks at me, clearly deliberating over something important. I would ask him what the problem is, however when requesting my presence the captain sounded impatient, and so I do not have time to ask Geordi to elaborate.

"I must go."

"Data." 

I have already turned to leave when Geordi calls my name. I stop momentarily and turn to him, and notice that he appears to be struggling to find the right words to say.

Geordi chews on the inside of his mouth, before shaking his head.

"Nothing," he decides suddenly. "Never mind."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Geordi nods, managing a small smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, hm? Don't work yourself too hard tonight."

"I will see you tomorrow, Geordi," I agree before I depart, leaving Geordi alone at the foot of the turbo lift. 

Chapter Text

I hear the news first from Doctor Crusher, who is smiling coyly as she approaches me on the bridge. 

"Good news, Data," she says, stopping at the side of my chair.

I look up from the coordinates I have been plotting and raise my eyebrows expectantly.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Commander Riker's going to be okay," she answers, her smile broadening. "His symptoms are improving and he'll be back on the bridge for his shift this evening."

"That is most surprising, Doctor," I confess, turning in my chair to properly face her. "I assumed that Commander Riker's condition would follow a steady pattern of deterioration." 

"So did I," Doctor Crusher agrees. "But you know what he's like, Will hates to miss out… honestly, I'll be glad to get him out of Sick Bay, he's been chewing my ear off ever since I first admitted him."

I stare at Doctor Crusher, unsure how to respond. 

“I mean he’s been talking too much," she elaborates, pursing her lips as if she is trying to stop herself from laughing.

Clearly, she is in a good mood. I imagine this sudden improvement of Commander Riker's condition is a cause of relief for Doctor Crusher, who has been primarily responsible for overseeing his treatment and symptoms. 

Though I am relieved, I am also confused. This new development does not fit the current definition of Transporter Psychosis I have saved in my neural net. According to my own knowledge of the disease, it is not one that can easily be resolved or treated. Though the symptoms can often become manageable over time, following a combination of medication and consistent counselling, a sudden improvement like in the case of Commander Riker is most unusual, even more so than the diagnosis itself. 

“Do you believe him to be cured, Doctor?”

The doctor’s smile wavers slightly. “No,” she admits, despite evidently trying to maintain an outward display of positivity. “But if he stays like this, then I’d consider that a success.” 

“That meaning, Doctor?”

“That for the most part, Will’s life is back to normal,” Doctor Crusher elaborates. “Apart from needing a drink of water and a good sleep every now and again.”

She smiles, and I interpret it to mean that she is pleased with the outcome, even though a conclusive cure may never be possible. I do not smile in return, however if the doctor considers this a success then I am pleased for both her and Commander Riker. 

I return to the bridge for my evening shift, which I anticipate to be quiet. There are no planned rendezvous with any neighbouring ships, and for now we continue our steady departure from the Delta Quadrant in preparation for our next assignment. Captain Picard had initially suggested staying put until the source of Commander Riker’s illness could be located, however with the recent good news it appears he is now happy to go ahead with our original plans. The Captain no longer seems to fear the possibility of a ship-wide outbreak, and the general mood is positive. It appears the prospect that I may need to take control of the Enterprise is no longer deemed necessary, which I appreciate. 

With immediate effect, I have also decided to conclude my own investigation. Despite the irregularities in its diagnostic presentation, I must accept that Commander Riker's condition is indeed a rare but manageable case of Transporter Psychosis. Even after a day of re-examining each transporter beam and biofilter, mine and Geordi's results remained inconclusive, and I believe any further examinations would be significantly detrimental. It seems that Commander Riker's illness was not caused purposely by the Cardassians, nor a result of any external microbes such as in the case of Lieutenant Barclay, but merely a simple error within the pattern buffer. This conclusion remains extremely atypical, however it appears to be the only reasonable explanation.

I must accept that I was incorrect, and that by requesting Geordi's assistance I have inadvertently distracted him from more important matters. Perhaps tonight I will ask Geordi to help me run a full diagnostic of my positronic net, to ensure that everything is functioning correctly. I did not mean to be a hindrance, and I do not like knowing that I may have falsely led the rest of my colleagues.

Tomorrow morning, I plan to tell Lieutenant Barclay that he is relieved of his cat-sitting duties. His first night with Spot was a success, despite a brief confrontation over the amount of food Lieutenant Barclay had prepared, which was unfortunately not to Spot's usual standards. 

Surprisingly, I do believe the lieutenant to be a natural at dealing with feline behaviours. In analysing Mr Barclay's interactions with Spot, factoring in the length of his stay and the overall confidence in his mannerisms, I believe it is accurate to assume that Lieutenant Barclay benefitted greatly from his time with Spot. I do believe he is what Geordi often refers to as a cat person: I would not class myself as such, given that my existence as an android makes me unable to possess a strong like-dislike preference over other life forms, however I do consider Spot to be a very pretty, very good cat. I am very glad that he appears to enjoy my presence in his life, and admittedly I have grown very accustomed to having him in mine too.

Given Lieutenant Barclay's new lease of confidence, perhaps I will invite him to visit my quarters more often, if he is not too busy entertaining himself in the Holodeck. 

We have been ordered to subdue our excitement ahead of Commander Riker's return, as it is possible that too much fuss or noise may overwhelm him. Doctor Crusher says it is important to remember that he has still not returned entirely to his normal self, and that it will take time for him to process the effects of his illness. 

Commander Riker arrives by himself, walking slowly. His head is raised and his back is straightened, despite the fact that it is clearly uncomfortable for him. I interpret this as a display of confidence, and perhaps a refusal to admit that he is still medically unwell. 

His beard is a little longer than usual, which I presume he will clipper once he has settled properly back into his quarters. There are dark, prominent circles around his eyes, and his hair is still slightly askew despite the evident attempts at trying to comb it down. 

"I'm glad you could join us, Number One," Captain Picard is the first to announce, standing up in order to shake Commander Riker's hand. 

"Don’t worry, I’m not dead yet," Riker responds, smiling tiredly at the captain. "I hope you didn't get too used to me not being here."

Captain Picard smiles amusedly, however there is a look of deep seriousness in his eyes.

"Really, Will, it's good to have you back."

The captain lets go before both he and the commander take their seats. I notice that Counsellor Troi, who is sat on the left side of Captain Picard, is leant across eagerly in her own chair, admiring Commander Riker with a look of immense fondness. 

As Deanna is able to gather a general sense of his emotions, I assume the picture she is able to interpret is a positive one. Her smile suggests to me that the commander is in a much better mood, without any confusion or delirium. I do not imagine she would be smiling so broadly if the latter were still present, and I doubt even Commander Riker would be so good at hiding his true feelings. 

Doctor Crusher is due back to Sick Bay, but has been allowed to remain briefly on the bridge to oversee Commander Riker's return to duties. 

"You still need plenty of rest," Doctor Crusher reminds him, in what appears to be a mock-stern voice, however she is still smiling. "No overworking yourself, and no more away missions just yet."

"No more transporters, you mean?" the commander grins, causing Doctor Crusher to arch her eyebrow playfully. 

“Don’t even think about it,” she warns, before her expression softens slightly. "But if you start to feel unwell at any point, you come and see me, understand?"

"You're starting to sound like the captain," the commander points out. 

Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher exchange a look. Doctor Crusher is smiling, almost knowingly, and although the captain isn't smiling in return he seems to understand her expression. I, on the contrary, do not understand. 

Doctor Crusher exits the bridge and Captain Picard settles back into his chair, resting his arms comfortably at both sides. Commander Riker seems to be more at ease too, and runs his fingers enjoyably over the material of his seat. 

"It’s good to be back,” he says. “Feels like a lifetime.” 

It is nice to see Counsellor Troi smiling so radiantly again. Perhaps I have grown unaccustomed to seeing her on the bridge, but today I have noticed a clear difference in the way she has chosen to style her hair and general appearance. In recent days her hair has been tied back in a simple ponytail, and more often than not she has adorned a standard blue Starfleet uniform in order to conduct her counselling sessions.

Today her hair has been taken out of its ponytail; it flows naturally down to her torso and looks almost as if it is shining, perhaps the result of a commonly-used Betazoid hair product. She is wearing her usual v-necked purple jumpsuit, and her leg is crossed over her lap.

“Commander,” I say, turning in my seat, feeling the need for correction. “Actually, you have only been gone for twelve days.“

Deanna nibbles her lip and tries to suppress a giggle. It is not ill-intended, and unlike our altercation a few days ago on the bridge, it does not seem to upset her. Commander Riker also grins, and nods approvingly at me.

"It's good to know somebody's been keeping count, Mr Data," he affirms. "I hope you haven't missed me too much."

"Even though I am unable to feel any of the strong emotions often linked to missing something or somebody, your absence from the bridge has been most unusual, Sir. It has taken a lot of getting used to," I confess.

"I'll take that as a compliment, Mr Data," Riker chuckles. 

I turn back to face the coordinates on screen, aware of the gentle continuation of whispers behind me, courtesy of Counsellor Troi and Commander Riker. The bridge is full, and the overall atmosphere is a pleasant one. I am most pleased to be with my fellow crew members. I set our coordinates, and we increase to a steady speed of warp five. 

It isn't until around twenty minutes into the evening shift that I notice Commander Riker beginning to get agitated. He isn't angry, or upset, however he has started to fidget slightly in his chair. It starts very discreetly first with his feet, which tap gently on the floor, and then spreads to his fingers which begin to twitch restlessly. Despite a firm attempt at keeping his expression composed, I cannot help but notice that his breathing has grown slightly more laboured, and he subtly is clenching his jaw. 

“I’m sorry, I'm really thirsty," he announces suddenly, breaking the comfortable hum of the powered circuits and console controls. "Do you mind if I get some water?" 

“Help yourself, Number One.” The captain waves a hand. "I'll see you to my Ready Room."

Commander Riker eases himself to his feet and follows the captain to the Ready Room, slow but determined.

Upon his swift return, Captain Picard is no longer accompanied by Commander Riker. Returning alone to his seat, he sits back down and emits a long sigh.

"Do you think it's too soon?" he asks, raising a hand to his temple as he massages it in deep thought. 

"Beverly suggested he take a few nights off," Counsellor Troi answers, her gaze lingering thoughtfully on the closed doors. "But Will was determined he could manage.”

“Has he said anything to you about how he feels?” Captain Picard asks. 

“No,” Counsellor Troi admits. “But I can sense he’s still in discomfort, even though he’s in a good mood. I think he's trying to hide it, like he's worried it makes him seem weak."

"The commander has been very ill," Lieutenant Worf reiterates in a strong voice. "It will take time for him to… accept his condition."

"Could we make adjustments to the bridge?" Counsellor Troi suggests. "Install a replicator out here too, rather than just the one in your Ready Room, Captain?"

"The bridge is not a place for confectionary, Counsellor," Worf reminds her disapprovingly. "It would be most unprofessional."

"Thank you, Mr Worf," Captain Picard interjects calmly, before sighing again. "…Mr Worf is right, Counsellor, I'm afraid it would be too impractical. We have Starfleet standards to maintain."

"And Starfleet is happy to let Will struggle?" Counsellor Troi demands. "We can't just let him dehydrate whenever he's on shift."

"I'm happy to continue allowing Commander Riker use of my Ready Room."

"I'm sorry, captain, but I don't see how that could possibly be a good long term solution."

"I must agree," Lieutenant Worf concurs. "From a security point of view, Sir, a captain's office should be secured at all time."

"If Starfleet are happy enough to have Will back, surely they can make some exceptions for him," Counsellor Troi says, frowning softly. 

"In actuality, they aren't very pleased with his return to duties in the first place," Captain Picard reveals. "Admiral Nechayev feels it was unwise to reappoint him so soon. I managed to talk her out of it, however she was considering a temporary… shift in leadership."

"A replacement?"

"Like I said," the captain says lowly. "I managed to talk her out of it."

I listen to the conversation, but keep my eyes firmly fixed on the view screen in front of me. In the reflection of my own console screen I notice that the Ready Room doors have opened, however there is no sign of Commander Riker. I frown, arching my back slightly to get a better look, before suddenly I notice a figure identical to that of the commander stumbling from the open doors of the office, so uncoordinated that it is as if he has helped himself to Guinan's collection of non-synthetic alcohol. I crane my neck in surprise, attempting to get a better look, but it appears I am not the only one to have noticed.

I hear a tense chorus of murmurs from behind me, but they quickly dissipate when Commander Riker returns to his seat.

Captain Picard stands up to assist him, however Commander Riker turns down the offer.

"Number One," he says quietly. "I think you ought to get some sleep."

The commander ignores this, and attempts a smile as he sits down. His eyes are tired, and his lips struggle to maintain the weight of the smile as they wobble painfully. 

"How was the concert, Mr Data?" He asks suddenly, attempting to change the subject. "I'm disappointed I missed it."

I do not look at the commander as he speaks. I worry that, even though I am unable to feel specific emotions, the commander may wrongly interpret my expression as one of judgement or concern. I can see in the reflection of my screen that Counsellor Troi is already watching him with deep worry, holding nervously to the ends of her hair. 

"It ran accordingly, Sir," I answer politely, fixating my eyes on the view screen in front of me. "However I believe your absence led to significant disappointment within the audience."

Commander Riker chuckles. It is uncharacteristically strained. 

"You know, Data, usually the trombone takes years to learn."

This is very true. "I have not yet mastered the art of stage presence or brass technicalities yet," I agree. "However I am able to play to a satisfactory level if required."

When I finally turn to look at the commander, he is grinning, however upon meeting my gaze I realise that the expression in Commander Riker's eyes has abruptly changed. He has stopped smiling, by which point Captain Picard has risen to his feet.

He seems to reach instinctively for his combadge. "Picard to Sick Bay."

That is when I notice Commander Riker staring at me, and the glint of something unfamiliar in his eyes. It is almost as if he does not recognise me; it is a displeasurable look, one the commander has never directed towards me before. Perhaps a look he might direct towards a hostile Cardassian, or a Borg, but never me. 

I do not allow this sudden change in mood to perturb me, even though it is most unusual.

"Commander, are you alright?" I ask calmly.

That is when Commander Riker lurches suddenly from his seat, his hands reaching for my neck. He grabs me by my throat and pushes me to the floor of the bridge, and upon hearing a sharp clang of metal I realise that my head has collided with the base of the console.

In happening so quickly, I do not have time to retaliate, or process exactly why or how I have become the apparent victim of an evident attack from one of my colleagues - or indeed my own commanding officer. 

Commander Riker's hands are bigger than my own, and as I observe them around my neck I realise that he has initiated the act of strangulation, which for many life forms can often be fatal. Therefore, I assume that this act must be calculated, as the clear intention is to harm me, even though this would be a very ill-suited way to do it. If the commander dislikes my presence to the extent of wanting to eradicate me, I would be happy to discuss any ways in which I may be able to better myself or increase my performance. Unfortunately, now appears not to be the time for that.

Worf fires a phaser in an attempt to stun Riker, however he manages to dodge the beam, which instead hits my empty console chair. Both Picard and Worf rush towards us, by which time Commander Riker has started to claw at the back of my head and pull me by my hair, as if trying to access my inner hardware. 

"It was you," he bellows. "It was you all along… I remember now."

"Commander," I say feebly, however the frequency of my voice has become unstable, and the words that follow are fragmented and difficult to transmit. "I do not… know what you are… talking about."

I do not know exactly what the commander has done, but I appear to be struggling to formulate my sentences correctly. I try to push him off, which ordinarily I would find easy, however my arms do not appear to be coordinated with my neural net, and struggle to emit any sort of strength whatsoever, leaving me powerless.

I notice a trickle of water running from my head, which dribbles down my cheek and onto my chin. Until now, I have been unable to cry, only I soon realise that these are not tears.

Commander Riker has taken one of the cups of water from Captain Picard's Ready Room, and has seemingly poured it directly into the circuit board in the back of my head.

"Oh, you know alright," he snarls, before Lieutenant Worf manages to intervene, grabbing the commander and hurling him away from me. "You know because you did it… you did all of this, Data."

Commander Riker attempts to run for the Turbo Lift, but Lieutenant Worf seizes him before he can proceed, and as the bridge floods with yellow-suited security personnel he writhes and yells, struggling in Worf's overpowering grasp. 

"Picard to Sick Bay, we have an emergency," the captain shouts again to his combadge, however that is the last memory I am able to recall.

I open my eyes to discover that I am in Sick Bay. The lights are bright, and at least three people are stood observing me. I recognise Doctor Crusher’s voice first, but cannot locate her. I realise she is stood behind the base of my head, which is why I cannot see her, and is attempting to configure my neural wiring with her medical equipment.

Normally, this is a task best undertaken by somebody like Geordi, who understands my positronic pathways better than perhaps anybody else on board. Strangely, I do not see Geordi, even though I like to think his assistance would have been requested. 

"Doctor, if you are attempting to reconfigure my circuitry, then I suggest you may require additional assistance from engineering."

"Data, you're awake." Doctor Crusher sighs in relief, and appears at my side with a very weak smile. 

She places her hand on my head. I realise it is more to comfort herself, rather than to comfort me. Judging by the solemn look of exhaustion on her face, clearly the doctor needs some consolation of her own.

"It appears I was temporarily deactivated," I note, attempting to sit up, before Doctor Crusher eases me back down again. 

"For a while, Data, we weren't sure if you were coming back," she admits soberly. 

I am also joined by Captain Picard and Counsellor Troi, neither of whom share Doctor Crusher's look of relief. 

Captain Picard approaches me first. He is not sympathetic, he is furious. 

“What on Earth was that about, Mr Data?” He demands. 

“I apologise, Captain, but I do not know.”

"My ship is on red alert, my second in command is currently in a holding cell, and you cannot tell me what has caused all of this?" The captain insists.

"No, Sir, I cannot," I answer simply. 

Captain Picard grunts irritably, turning his back so that he can compose himself. Deanna is stood silently watching me, her arms folded across her chest as she sniffs softly. Her eyes are misty.

"I'm sorry, Data."

"Why, Counsellor?" I ask in surprise. "I am not injured."

Counsellor Troi shakes her head. "I knew something was wrong when Will came back from getting a drink… I could sense it, his emotions were unlike anything I've sensed before. I should have stopped him then."

"It is not your fault, Counsellor," I assure her matter-of-factly. 

"If anything, Mr Data, this appears to be your fault," Captain Picard interjects, returning to Counsellor Troi's side with a deeply-furrowed brow. He leans towards me, his voice lowering to a quiet hiss. "Can you really not think of any reason why Commander Riker might have attacked you?"

"I assessed him just now," Doctor Crusher explains, interrupting the captain sternly. "His delusions have worsened significantly, Jean Luc, he isn't fit for any sort of role right now… I'm not even sure if it's safe to have him on board the Enterprise."

"Are you suggesting I get rid of my first officer?"

"No," Doctor Crusher responds calmly but firmly. "But I'm telling you that he's extremely sick. He'll need extensive rehabilitation before you even think about reinstating him on the bridge."

The captain raises a hand to his cheek, shaking his head exasperatedly. 

"You believe the attack on Mr Data was purely coincidental?"

"I think it was very bad luck," Doctor Crusher agrees simply. "I think Will would've directed it at anybody. I think Data just unfortunately happened to be in the firing line."

"But he was fine this morning," Counsellor Troi adds, hugging her arms against her chest. "How could he change so suddenly?"

"I'm sorry, Deanna," Doctor Crusher sighs. "I must have discharged him too early… I really thought he was getting better. He was showing all the signs of being back to normal."

The captain remains silent, still frowning deep in thought. When he speaks again, he is still clearly struggling to control his frustration.

"I'll need to inform Starfleet," he decides. "Nobody is to interrupt me in my Ready Room unless I say otherwise, do I make myself clear? I want Commander Riker kept under close observation, and Mr Data…"

"Yes, Sir?"

Captain Picard groans quietly. "Never mind," he dismisses. 

He turns to leave in-tow with Counsellor Troi, before Doctor Crusher speaks suddenly again. Her tone is uncomfortable, and clearly she has been mulling her upcoming words since the start of our conversation.

"Captain, there is one more thing you should know."

"What, doctor?"

"I know it's bad timing, but I didn't have a chance to tell you," Doctor Crusher begins. "Geordi was brought to Sick Bay earlier this evening… it seems he is presenting with the same symptoms as Commander Riker."

I sit up on the medical table, and frown in disbelief. 

Chapter Text

“I’m fine, Data,” Geordi insists, shaking his head firmly. “What do I have to do to convince you that I’m alright?” 

Geordi is in his quarters, having been allowed temporary leave from Sick Bay. He is sitting in his lounge chair but has been noticeably restless all evening. Currently, he is toying with one of the pieces to our game of three dimensional chess, squeezing it between his fingers and sighing. 

We played four rounds of chess, each game won by Geordi. I decided that allowing Geordi to win would help to improve his mood, however even after our fourth game I measured no difference in his overall emotional state. It is not often that Geordi takes time off of work, and clearly being resigned to his quarters has initiated feelings of boredom and frustration. Under new orders given by Captain Picard, he is not allowed to return to engineering for the foreseeable future, though this is a decision he bitterly opposes. 

Engineering is Geordi's life's work. He is responsible for overseeing almost everything in main engineering, and knows the station better than perhaps anybody else on the ship. He is always searching for new ways to improve and upgrade the ship's systems, and could easily be considered a pioneer of Starfleet technological advancements, even though the more established engineers at Starfleet rarely like to give credit for his successes. 

Though myself and Lieutenant Barclay have attempted to stand in for Geordi, maintaining engineering functions at their normal levels requires a great level of expertise and dedication. Though I believe I am intellectually suited enough for the job, I understand that Lieutenant Barclay still lacks the confidence to envision himself as any sort of leader, and therefore can be shy and unsure in his decision making. This is not an ideal precedent for the running of the ship, and although we have so far managed to uphold a satisfactory level of maintenance, it will be a relief to have a proper Chief Engineer again, assuming that there is indeed a cure.

I visited Geordi regularly in Sick Bay, even though his admission only spanned three days. For the first two days, Geordi was embroiled in a deep hallucinogenic state, which left him unable to sleep and complaining of deep, excruciating headaches. He drank almost twice the amount of daily recommended water for a human male, however it was extremely difficult to regulate his behaviours while he was suffering from such unexplainable delusions.

Doctor Crusher’s idea to remove his visor only helped temporarily, however she believed it was unfair to deny him of such a basic right. Though it worked in reducing Geordi's headaches, the removal of his visor did little to ease his hallucinations, which lasted for several hours before he was finally able to succumb to a suitable level of sleep. 

I feel that Geordi would have been much more relaxed if I had been there to sit with him and reassure him, however Doctor Crusher felt it would be unwise to allow me such close proximity to his medical bed. I assume she was concerned my presence might cause a reaction like Commander Riker's, even though I assured her that Geordi and I are very good friends.

"I understand you care about him, Data," explained Doctor Crusher at the time, pulling me gently aside with an apologetic smile. "But we can't predict what he might do… you might be at risk of getting hurt again."

Not wanting to disobey the doctor’s wishes, I remained a suitable distance away from Geordi. He could not see me, however I was able to watch him, especially during the peak of his episodic phantasms. 

Even since returning to his quarters, Geordi has not disclosed the contents of his hallucinations, despite their evident effect on his psychological wellbeing. I assume this is because they are deeply personal to him, or because he falsely believes they undermine his strength and mental capacity. 

Doctor Crusher wanted to see how well he would respond to being in a familiar environment. I agree that Geordi's quarters are relaxing, however he would be far happier if allowed to remain in engineering. Unfortunately, this is not a thought Captain Picard is even willing to consider; with growing pressures regarding the active status of Commander Riker, the captain remains very busy and very frustrated. 

Admiral Nechayev wants Riker discharged back to Earth, however Captain Picard has appealed the decision, under the assurance that the commander will be properly confined and medically overseen on board the Enterprise. Currently, he remains confined to his quarters, despite numerous attempts by Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher to try and understand the root of his behaviour. 

I discovered the extent of Geordi's sickness only after awaking from my deactivated state. Doctor Crusher was correct in her belief that his symptoms mirror almost exactly those displayed by Commander Riker. Apparently, Geordi was brought to Sick Bay after falling asleep on his way to engineering. The group of ensigns who found him reported that, upon awaking, he complained of a deep headache and severe thirst, before breaking into what was described as a series of painful muscle spasms. It is not a pleasant image to envision, however I am grateful for the clarity. 

Geordi has taken off his combadge and his uniform, and is wearing a sleek purple robe which fastens around the middle. Although he is understandably struggling to accept his lack of workload, I am glad he has been allocated time to rest and care for his body. 

If any sudden change or new symptom develops, I have already decided that it is my responsibility to report back to Doctor Crusher to Sick Bay. She will not be happy about our close proximity, however I see no harm in playing three dimensional chess as an attempt at improving Geordi's emotional wellbeing.

"I must observe you, Geordi," I reiterate, my eyes still fixated on Geordi's visor.

"Do you know how hard it is to play chess when your opponent is staring at you the whole time?" 

"The intensity of my gaze did not stop you from winning," I point out earnestly. "So clearly you maintain an exceptional amount of skill.” 

Geordi sighs. "You let me win, Data," he responds. "You don't have to pretend. I never win against you at chess."

I am surprised Geordi has noticed, but perhaps my tactic was not as discreet as I had initially thought. 

"I believed it might cheer you up," I respond. "Often winning a game promotes feelings of confidence and pride."

"I'd feel better if people just treated me like a normal person," Geordi admits warily, shaking his head. "I don’t want them treating me like Riker, like I’m suddenly going to… freak out if somebody looks at me the wrong way.”

He lets out another long audible sigh, which has become somewhat of a regular occurrence, and places the chess piece down onto the table. 

“Would you like to talk about your feelings, Geordi?” I ask. 

I am not good with emotions, however I understand it is important to share how you are feeling if the circumstance is troubling or difficult. 

“It’s alright, Data,” Geordi assures me. “They wouldn’t mean much to you anyway.”

“Perhaps I can attempt to understand how you are feeling."

“Well… if you’re sure,” Geordi agrees, reclining back against his chair and contemplating. 

“Remember when I wanted to tell you something?.. a few days ago, when we left the Holodeck with Reg?” 

I nod. “I do."

"And I stopped before I could finish?"

Again, I nod.

For once, I believe I am able to estimate what Geordi is about to say. Sometimes, when humans decide to share personal confessions or declarations of romantic or platonic interest, they struggle to form coherent sentences that adequately express their true feelings. This noticeable hesitance may derive from a number of internal conflicts: predominantly feelings of nervousness, embarrassment, and sometimes even shame. 

From studying the behaviour of my human crew mates on the Enterprise, I have learnt that humans will attempt to block out feelings of shame and uncertainty as much as possible, to avoid rejection and to reduce the chance of public humiliation. As it is only me inside Geordi's quarters, he does not have to worry about public humiliation, though it is evident he is still hesitant to talk to me. 

"Well, when I was with you in the Holodeck I started to feel… different."

I straighten my back in anticipation. I have also learnt that it is important to be polite and courteous when somebody is confessing something so personal. Geordi's confession could relate to a number of different emotional paradigms, however using my neural net I have managed to narrow it down to three possible outcomes, the most likely being that Geordi is preparing to declare feelings of notable affection or desire.

A declaration of love is a common trope in old English literature on Earth, and one I am extremely familiar with. I have studied the works of notable romantic writers and artists like William Shakespeare, Lord Byron, and Jane Austen, and myself am interested in sonnets, plays, and eighteenth century paintings. I wrote my poem Ode To Spot to convey my own appreciation towards Spot, and in a way I consider this to be Geordi's own version of a soliloquy. 

"Well…"

Geordi composes himself. 

"I started thinking about you."

"Well that is understandable, Geordi," I concur. "After all, you and I were in close proximity of one another."

"No, not like that," Geordi shakes his head, hesitating again. "I mean… I thought about you in a way I never have before."

I raise my eyebrows. "How so?"

After one last reluctant breath, Geordi speaks again.

"I felt like you were going to hurt me."

This was not the response I was anticipating. My shoulders loosen, and my mouth opens slightly. It is difficult to hide my surprise, however I do so for Geordi's sake. By letting my bemusement show, it may discourage Geordi from continuing to share his feelings, which is something I do not want to happen. 

"But Geordi," I insist. "I am your best friend."

He grimaces. "Yeah, Data, I know," he agrees. "That's why it felt so weird… I got this tingling sensation, all over my hands and in my head… when I looked at you inside Holodeck Four, well, for a split second I got this feeling that you were going to do something to me."

I had already preprogrammed a response to Geordi's admission of personal interest, and so I am momentarily unprepared on how to respond to this new adjustment. 

"And outside of the Holodeck?"

"I was going to tell you that I wasn't feeling well," Geordi explains. "But I didn't want to worry you… I thought maybe if we spent some time together doing something fun, the feeling might go away."

"Would you say it has?"

Geordi smiles, but timidly shrugs off the answer. 

It troubles me greatly that I have misjudged Geordi's response. My failure to anticipate the true intention of our conversation appears to follow a continuing trend of my own cognitive decline, something which ordinarily I excel in. Since the very beginning of Commander Riker's admission to Sick Bay, I have misjudged almost every part of my investigative process, and now I appear to be struggling in my conversations with Geordi. Often my conversations with many of the other human crew members aboard the Enterprise have generated feelings of confusion, however this has rarely been the case with Geordi, who I assumed I knew better than anybody else. Our conversations are the only times I feel truly confident in understanding human emotions, and so I consider this to be a significant blow. 

I am not capable of feeling disheartened, however I believe my overwhelming lack of correct judgement to be an immediate cause of concern. My intellectual capabilities are what make me valuable as a second officer, and make up for the fact that I cannot exhibit or register emotional responses like the rest of the crew. If I lose the value in my own capacity for complex cognitive functions, then I am concerned that my worth will be greatly diminished as an acting member of Starfleet. 

In my own attempt to analyse this new disease, I have decided that spending an evening watching Geordi intensely is a guaranteed way to observe physical symptoms and behavioural patterns. I have measured the amount of water Geordi has consumed, and additionally tallied together the amount of times Geordi has either yawned or complained of tiredness, which currently appears to be his most prevalent symptom. Despite my rigorous methods, still I cannot seem to pinpoint an exact illness or injury which would explain all of these strange behavioural patterns. I am reluctant to label this as a medical phenomenon, as it does indeed mirror many of the symptoms of Transporter Psychosis, however two cases in the span of only three weeks is extremely rare, especially considering recent improvements in current transporter technology.  

"Where is Commander Riker now?"

"Still relieved of duties," Geordi reveals. "They want to send in a temporary replacement but Captain Picard keeps refusing… I don't want to jinx it, Data, but you might be up for First Officer soon."

I recall my last memories of Commander Riker, of being held against the floor by my throat and thrashed around. I do not believe it is a fair image of the commander, considering his temperament is usually far more jovial and laid back. I worry the same sudden change in behaviour may affect Geordi too, which is a prospect I would find more difficult to process, considering he is indeed my best friend, though evidently not my romantic lover. I presume it is different for Counsellor Troi, considering her and the commander's extensive intimate history, and I struggle to understand how she is able to cope so calmly with such an unfamiliar shift in his personality. 

I do not want to become the ship's First Officer, but if this is something the captain wishes, then I trust his authority. 

"I believe it is my fault Commander Riker lashed out," I admit. "Therefore, perhaps it is unwise that I should be so close to you."

"Don't be silly, Data," Geordi asserts. "From what you told me, it sounds like you did nothing wrong… Commander Riker's just sick."

"So are you."

"I'd never attack anybody, Data," Geordi says seriously. "Especially not you."

The ship has gone from red alert to a yellow alert, however tensions are still high. While I do not doubt the secureness of Commander Riker's confinement, I wonder if he would still desire to harm me if he was to see me again. This is not out of fear, but more so general curiosity. For a brief while on the bridge, the commander was able to engage in pleasant conversation with me; I still do not know what behaviour I exhibited in order to make him suddenly turn on me, however this seems to be a continual mystery even for Doctor Crusher and Captain Picard. 

"I have noticed that everybody keeps talking about luck," I continue with a thoughtful frown. "When Commander Riker became unwell, you told me that he had simply been unlucky... then in Sick Bay, Doctor Crusher said that my attack was not premeditated. In fact, I was simply unlucky to be picked on by Commander Riker."

Geordi shrugs it off. "I don't know, Data, sometimes bad things just happen," he sighs half-heartedly.

"Am I boring you, Geordi?" I ask innocently. 

"No Data, not at all," Geordi assures me quickly. "I'm just tired, that's all." 

“You must sleep," I remind him, standing up. "Would you like a glass of water?"

"Aren't you worried I might throw it over you?" Geordi raises his eyebrow. "Doctor Crusher explained it as best as she could, but I don't think even she really knows what happened on the bridge."

"Commander Riker poured his glass of water into my internal wiring," I answer simply. "He had been complaining of thirst, which is why he had access to the captain's replicator."

Geordi's brow furrows. "Jeez, Data." He makes a face. "Doesn't that frighten you?"

"Nothing frightens me, Geordi."

I stand, and outstretch my hand towards Geordi. He takes it and gently eases himself to his feet, clearly grateful for the support. 

"Believe me, I'm never using a transporter again once I'm allowed back out of my quarters," he smiles tiredly, in what I assume is an attempt at a joke. 

On the contrary, I find it extremely interesting. I do not laugh, and instead my frown deepens. 

"You rarely use transporters, Geordi," I point out. "Therefore it is strange you seem to have contracted the same illness as Commander Riker."

I anticipate an answer, but Geordi just yawns. He is exhausted, and it would be unfair to expect a detailed response from him. 

While Geordi makes his way to his bed, I prepare a cup of chamomile tea using the replicator, which appears in a sleek glass mug. I carry the cup to Geordi's bedside, where he appears to be having difficulties getting into bed.

"I'm alright, it's just-"

"Muscle spasms," I answer calmly on Geordi's behalf, noticing the way his hands and calves appear to be trembling erratically, despite his evident attempt to control them. 

I place the cup of chamomile tea down on the table closest to his bed, and approach Geordi slowly and carefully. Ordinarily I would not hesitate in helping my friend, however I am unable to distract myself from Geordi's earlier confession, and wonder if even now he believes I might hurt him. 

I lift Geordi's legs onto the bed and guide his head downwards onto his pillow, pulling his bedsheet up so that it lays comfortably across the top of his chest, just below the tips of his shoulders. I sit by his bedside and watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest, satisfied by the calmness of his breathing.

"Geordi?" I ask. "I have noticed you are reluctant to disclose the contents of your hallucinations. Is it because you are embarrassed?"

"No, it isn't that, Data," Geordi sighs, turning his head to face me.

"Then why do you keep them a secret?"

"Because I don't want you to be upset, Data."

"Geordi," I remind him. "You know I cannot be-"

"I know, I know," he cuts me off, before placing a hand gently against my shoulder. "I just… I know they aren't real. I know they would never come true, but when they're happening it's hard to tell what's real and what isn't."

"Do they frighten you?"

Geordi doesn't answer at first, before finally scrunching his nose.

"A bit, I guess."

"I will make sure you are cured, Geordi," I assure him, standing up and placing a hand comfortingly against Geordi's head. It is the same action Doctor Crusher did to me when I awoke in Sick Bay, and I hope it will comfort Geordi too. 

I leave Geordi's quarters, and bump almost immediately into Counsellor Troi, who is about to step into the turbo lift. 

"Counsellor, are you busy?"

Counsellor Troi turns to face me and smiles. "Not at all, Data," she assures me. "Would you like to come with me to my quarters? I was just about to make myself a hot cocoa."

"If you are certain I would not be intruding."

She chuckles. "You never intrude, Data."

I do not know whether she is joking or merely telling the truth, but I am glad of the sentiment regardless. 

Our journey in the turbo lift is quiet, though I am aware of Counsellor Troi watching me with softened interest. When we arrive at her quarters, she gestures for me to sit, and promptly joins me with a steaming mug of hot cocoa and cream. She is still wearing her uniform; I assume if it wasn't for my unexpected presence, she would have changed into something far more comfortable, and so I hope she does not mind being delayed. 

"Is something on your mind, Data?" She asks curiously. "You don't seem to be your usual self."

"As a matter of fact, Counsellor, I believe I am finding it difficult to accept the limitations of my android physiology."

"That's perfectly understandable, Data," the counsellor promises me. "But what's brought this on so suddenly?"

"As I lack human emotions, I find myself unable to understand why certain people may feel a particular way about me, and indeed why I appear responsible for things I do not understand."

Counsellor Troi looks at me, puzzled. To provide clarification, I continue. 

"I do not wish to sound egotistical, Counsellor," I explain sincerely. "However much of this new apparent disease appears to be linked to me."

She sets aside her cup of hot cocoa, and smiles sympathetically. 

"Is this about Commander Riker?"

I nod. "Geordi has also revealed an important development in his symptoms to me too."

The counsellor appears surprised, despite an evident attempt to control her facial expression. I do not mind. After all, this is not a counselling session, so I do not expect the counsellor conceal her honest emotional responses under the guise of professionalism. 

“If I am indeed linked to this illness, then I am concerned about the possibility of losing my friends,” I elaborate. “Or that it is perhaps my fault that they are suffering.”

Counsellor Troi sighs, shaking her head. 

“I wish there was an easy answer, Data,” she agrees, placing her hands neatly down upon her lap. “But I certainly don’t think that you have any blame in what is happening.” 

“That is not what Commander Riker believes,” I correct the counsellor.

The counsellor tilts her head thoughtfully. “And I’m assuming you’re here because Geordi has said something similar? Something about you being responsible?”

I nod. “He believes I am going to hurt him.” 

This noticeably interests the counsellor. 

“And that worries you?”

“Not as much as my misinterpretation of his emotional state,” I explain earnestly.

“A common symptom of psychosis-based illnesses is believing in a conspiracy to harm… a person with hallucinations or delusions might irrationally think that somebody is going to hurt them… even their best friend."

I understand she is referring to Geordi. 

"It is normal?"

"For sick people like Will and Geordi, yes," she agrees. 

“Then you must worry frequently about Commander Riker.”

Counsellor Troi smiles, neither confirming nor denying my point. 

“I know that Will is strong, and brave, and that whatever is happening to him now won’t last forever,” she tells me. “The same goes to Geordi too.”

I nod, although it is difficult to relate to Counsellor Troi's optimism, as categorically there is still no proven cure.

“Is there anything else, Data?”

“There is perhaps one more thing, Counsellor,” I admit. “However I do not want to burden you unnecessarily.” 

The counsellor’s smile widens, and she reaches for her hot cocoa. “Whatever is important to you, is important to me too," she assures me, sipping carefully at the warm liquid inside.

“I am concerned at the prospect of losing my friends and fellow crew members,” I reveal, causing the counsellor to lower her mug in gentle surprise. "I also find myself reflecting on the absence of Tasha Yar more than usual, with whom I shared a considerable friendship."

"Tasha." Counsellor Troi nibbles her lip, lost for a moment in an almost saddened smile. She sets down her mug and leans forward, placing both hands on either side of my arms. She holds me, and for a brief moment until she lets go we both seem to share the same bittersweet reminiscence about Lieutenant Yar. 

"This all sounds very human to me, Data."

"You are half human, Counsellor," I remind her politely. "Do you ever find it difficult to relate to other people?” 

"If anything, being half Betazoid makes it much easier," Counsellor Troi considers aloud, settling back against her chair. "Though sometimes I wish I wasn't able to read people's emotions… that's the important thing about emotions, Data, often they're conflicting."

"Would you mind elaborating, Counsellor?"

"Sometimes, somebody might feel something on the surface, but deep down it doesn't match how they're feeling inside," she continues. "It might even contradict their body language or facial expression."

I raise my eyebrow.

“So even if somebody appears to like you, they might also be scared of you?" I ask.

"Or the other way around," Counsellor Troi agrees. "They might feel uncertain or apprehensive on the surface… but deep down they might love and care about you deeply."

"Is this based on your own experiences with Commander Riker?"

Instead of providing an answer, the same smile curls at Counsellor Troi's lips again. There is a knowingness in her eyes, and she seems to be aware of something that I currently am not. 

"You know, Data, sometimes I think you and I are more similar than you realise."

She smiles, and collects her empty cup before standing up. 

"You can't blame yourself for something that isn't your fault," she informs me, stopping briefly in her tracks. "It isn't what Geordi would want."

I too stand up, and make my way towards the doors of Counsellor Troi's quarters. It is late, and I must check on Lieutenant Barclay, who is undertaking the night shift in main engineering. 

"Thank you, Counsellor," I say gratefully. "Your input has been most informative."

"You're very welcome, Data," Counsellor Troi assures me, gazing fondly at me. "Come and see me at any time, won't you?"

I nod. "I will," I promise. "Goodnight, Counsellor."

"And Data?"

"Yes?"

Counsellor Troi's smile widens ever so slightly. "Try and do something fun tomorrow, hm? Both you and Geordi… make sure you concentrate on the good times too, not just the things that worry you."

Chapter Text

Black Bess neighs and I rein her in gently, observing my compass to make sure my coordinates are correct. It Is almost midday and the sun is blaring. Soon enough, a carriage should appear on the road in front, which I hope will contain my two desired suspects.

I am wearing a frilled white shirt and a heavy black cape, which fastens around my neck with two long strings. On the top of my head sits a black tricorn hat, similar to the colour of my hair, complete with gold lacing around the brim. It is an unfamiliar shape, but works efficiently in shielding the bright sunlight from my eyes, and completes the look of a well-established highwayman. 

Today I am Dick Turpin, notorious eighteenth century highwayman and robber. Despite being a renowned criminal, Mr Turpin was a romanticised, and often glorified, figure in Earth literature and common folklore between the eighteenth and twenty second centuries. I admittedly find it odd for a man of such vulgarity to be celebrated, despite having committed crimes of an objectively heinous level, as in my own understanding most humans do not acquire joy from moral corruption. It is an area of human behaviour I perceive to be particularly fascinating, though yet another challenge in comprehending the many differing aspects of human psychology. 

My horse, Black Bess, accompanies me, waiting patiently for her next instruction. Though her origin is unknown, it is widely believed that Black Bess is a work of fiction, created to provide Dick Turpin with added romantic appeal. I myself have never considered equine imagery to be particularly romantic, however my own input is of little value, as I do not believe I am an accurate judge of romantic pursuits. 

Geordi catches up to me, grinning broadly. He too is wearing a white shirt and black cape, mounted upon a chestnut-coloured horse of a similar build to my own. 

I was initially concerned that Geordi's visor may impact his ability to ride a horse, however I am pleasantly surprised by both his confidence and overall skill in horseback riding. It is not a physical activity I have ever associated with him, as it is vastly different from his usual responsibilities in main engineering, however he appears to be enjoying this chance at a new activity. 

My own riding capabilities are suitable enough for today's endeavour, although I am most unfamiliar with using stirrups to secure my feet. I am wearing clunky black boots, which I find destabilising to both my balance and overall posture, which in-turn has taken some significant neural adjustment. I am not used to my feet being off of the ground, and I must make a concentrated effort to balance myself, otherwise I risk falling from my horse onto the grass below.

"There it is… straight ahead."

Geordi points, and emerging from the thicket of trees I notice a horse drawn carriage, cantering down the cobbled road at a leisurely speed. It is the carriage we have been waiting for, as inside are Viscount Hamilton and his mistress, Lady Wisteria Cleverly. They are bound for London, unknown to Viscount Hamilton’s wife, where they plan to board a train to the Southern coast and secretly elope with one another. 

As a highwayman, the Viscount’s relationship status is of little interest to me. I am much more interested in the vast collection of money he has in his possession, acquired through the means of illegal gambling and by abusing his power and influence as an acting member of the British nobility. 

In order to reclaim Viscount Hamilton’s stolen wealth, I plan to interrupt and sabotage his journey to London. Of course this would be a task too difficult to conduct myself, and so I have enlisted the help of Geordi, or, to refer to him by his new appropriate name, the Baron of La Forge. 

This program was designed entirely by Geordi, therefore I find it strange that I have been allocated the main role. In my own Sherlock Holmes program, I take the titular role of Holmes, while Geordi accompanies me as Watson; it would therefore make more sense for Geordi to take on the persona of Dick Turpin on this occasion, given he is arguably the more important participant out of us both.

According to Geordi, he designed this program specifically for me, based on my most recent exploration into the historical accounts of Dick Turpin and the Gregory Gang. I appreciate the opportunity to explore Mr Turpin's scandalous life from a first hand perspective, even though my own embodiment is perhaps more fictitious than factual.

Dick Turpin's real-life crimes do not sit correctly with my moral compass, so in his Holodeck simulation Geordi has slightly altered the truth for my benefit. As highway robbery and murder does not align with my preprogrammed set of ethical guidelines, as set by my father during my creation, my version of Dick Turpin is notably less motivated by murder. Although I understand this to be a key part of Mr Turpin's disposition, I am more focused on the physical experience of a carriage heist, which I expect to be rather stimulating. 

Geordi has asked the computer to create a collection of interesting suspects, each hiding their own dark secret, most involving some form of money laundering or potential plans of foul-play. As they travel past inside their carriages we are to apprehend them, using tools like our pistols and horses to our advantage. 

Not only has my personal rendition of Mr Turpin changed, but so has my visual imagery of eighteenth century England, my knowledge of which has so far been collated from analysing poems, historical texts, and first-hand accounts of the time. This interpretation of old-day England is vastly different from the version I have saved in my neural net. I am far more accustomed to the cosy confines of 221b Baker Street, which I associate with the smell of cigar ash and smoky coals from the fireplace. As the velvet curtains are closed, the study is always shrouded in darkness, illuminated by the gentle glow of lamp light. I consider this to be a highly effective way of creating an atmosphere of suspense, which bodes well with Sherlock Holmes' mysterious nature. 

As this Holodeck program is set over a century prior to Holmes' adventures, the landscape is very different. Here in the countryside, the sky is light and we are surrounded almost entirely by grass and oak trees; there is hardly any distinguishable background noise, apart from the faint whistle of birdsong, although I am about to break this air of tranquility. 

I raise my pistol and fire it into the air, spooking the horses enough to make them bolt. They charge down the highway in fright, dragging the Viscount's carriage behind them, which becomes the perfect opportunity for the Baron of La Forge and I to pursue. 

I lead, though Geordi is close behind, galloping at full speed along the side of the road. Though he is extremely focused on the task at hand, the ghost of a grin lingers on his lips, which I interpret as enjoyment.  

Like yesterday in Geordi's quarters, I remain observant and hyper vigilant of his physical behaviours and emotional responses. A wince or groan may indicate that he is in pain, at which point I would recommend we end the program and seek medical attention in Sick Bay. Though I believe Geordi is on a treatment plan for his muscle spasms, his abnormal range of symptoms mean whatever sickness he has is difficult to successfully treat. 

He was cleared by Doctor Crusher to engage in Holodeck activities, as long as he does not partake in anything overly-strenuous or psychologically taxing. I believe Doctor Crusher was expecting Geordi to relax in the form of a gentle walk on the beach or a night of stargazing. I realise now that Geordi did not accurately inform the doctor of his programmed escapade, perhaps because he knew she would strongly advise him against his participation. Not only would she strictly forbid horseback riding, but I also presume she would strongly discourage a carriage chase too, factoring in the risk of injury and exercise-induced fatigue.

I have noticed a stark difference in Doctor Crusher's medical approach compared to the advice given to me by Counsellor Troi. Unlike the counsellor, Doctor Crusher is still resistant to the idea of Geordi and I being in close proximity to one another. I do not take this as a personal insult, as I understand her concerns as being fully validated. These same concerns do not appear to worry Counsellor Troi, which makes sense for somebody of her occupation. As a counsellor, Counsellor Troi is more focused on the mental wellbeing of the ship's personnel, whereas Doctor Crusher predominantly deals with physical ailments, however her treatment does occasionally span to more psychological conditions.

Geordi was adamant that he could manage one visit to the Holodeck. It is unusual for Doctor Crusher to have accepted, however she was willing to authorise his wish under one condition: that both Geordi and I should not expect the same courtesy again. 

Black Bess picks up speed, and soon enough we are almost even with the carriage in front of us. Through the glass panel at the back of the carriage I am able to see both Viscount Hamilton and Lady Cleverly; they appear to be guarding a large collection of woven sacks, which I believe to be filled with money. The sudden chase has clearly rocked them, as Lady Cleverly appears distressed, and the Viscount’s top hat has fallen from his head, which he is clutching in his sweaty red hands.

I move to apprehend the carriage, but before I can make my pivotal move I notice that Geordi has slowed to an almost complete stop behind me. He is hunched over, and I am concerned he is at risk of falling. 

I instinctively pull at the reins for Black Bess to slow, turning sharply so that I can assist my friend. I return immediately to Geordi, by which time Viscount Hamilton's carriage has disappeared from sight, along with the large sum of stolen money in his possession.

The carriage manages to get away unscathed, before there is a chance for any confrontation. I can tell Geordi is disappointed, and likely blames himself for the Viscount's escape. He has lifted his head, and is grimacing apologetically when I approach.

"I'm sorry, Data."

I look down, and notice that Geordi's legs have started to twitch and seize again. There is a faint sweat on his brow, and his fingers are trembling slightly, either as a result of his muscle spasms or because he is recovering from a potential psychological episode, which he may be trying to hide from me.

"Perhaps it might be wise for you to join me on my horse, your Lordship," I suggest to Geordi, stepping down from Black Bess and extending my hand. "Should you feel well enough to continue."

This seems to please Geordi, who smiles eagerly. 

"As long as that's okay with you, Mr Turpin."

I believe Geordi's accent requires some work, however regional dialects are often difficult to successfully replicate. Much of his emphasis and pronunciation is wrong, although his efforts are commendable, considering this attempt stretches far beyond his usual perimeters of comfort. 

Geordi carefully dismounts his own horse, and I place both hands upon his torso. I lift him first onto the back of Black Bess before taking the position in front of him so that I am able to steer us.

"If you hold onto my waist, there is a lessened chance you will fall," I suggest helpfully. 

I feel a hand on either side of my midsection, and notice that Geordi's grip is particularly firm. This reassures me that he is secure, and I continue at a steady canter, deciding not to follow in the direction of Viscount Hamilton's carriage. There is no point in attempting to chase it now, as I believe the task would be too gruelling for Geordi, who I feel would benefit from a more leisurely pursuit. This is not a significant loss; as long as this program remains accessible, we have plenty of time to try again, and next time I will recommend making adjustments for Geordi's comfort. 

I understand he wishes to resume his life normally, however it is important to acknowledge that it will take a significant amount of time for him to return to a state of engagement similar to the levels he exhibited before contracting his illness.

Concerned by my own suspected decline in neural functioning, I have also ordered a series of tests on my positronic net. The results conclude that I appear to be functioning within normal parameters. While this is reassuring, it is also most unexpected: it confirms that I am likely immune to this disease, if it is indeed contagious, and therefore my neural net is unlikely to be affected by any form of hallucination or delusion.

After several minutes of travelling at a steady canter, I manage to locate a quiet stretch of grass, surrounded by a small crescent of lavender bushes. Two more carriages drive past, however I feel no desire to chase and apprehend them, despite that being the intended purpose of this program. Although I cannot see Geordi, I am aware that he has become unusually quiet, and anticipate that perhaps he is tired. By taking control of our speed and direction, Geordi is no longer burdened with the physical or mental responsibilities of our excursion; it is a chance for him to relax, and hopefully recuperate too.

"Would you like to stop and sit down momentarily?"

There is no reply, and when I turn my head I discover that Geordi has fallen asleep against my shoulder. He is still holding with both hands onto my waist, although his grip has loosened slightly, and his black cape appears to have fallen off somewhere in the process. 

I step down from Black Bess and outstretch my arms, carefully wrapping them around Geordi's torso to secure him. He stirs slightly, evidently disorientated. 

"Mm, Data?"

"Sleep, Geordi," I assure him, lifting him from the back of the horse and placing him down onto the grass.

Geordi's head lulls almost instantly, and within seconds he has drifted back into what I hope is a comfortable sleep. I remove my own cape and fold it into a neat rectangle, before carefully easing Geordi's head down onto the middle. Once he is settled, I take a seat next to him, utilising this moment to properly analyse my surroundings. This is arguably Geordi's best program yet, and I look forward to experiencing it again with him once he has recovered to a satisfactory standard. The countryside landscape has been carefully considered, and I realise that Geordi must have extensively researched it before programming it. Categorically, I understand that many people might describe it as beautiful, or at least fitting in line with preconceived notions of natural wonder. 

For the first time, I am not aware of the passing time. In all the time I might have ordinarily used to perform important neural self-examinations or useful calculations, I have done nothing but observe the acres of grass and green-leaf trees around me. I hesitate to describe my observations as a form of admiration, as again I do not believe I am capable of subjectively categorising my surroundings as being either aesthetically pleasing or unfulfilling, however this is Geordi's craft, and that alone is an acceptable enough reason to enjoy it. 

It is only when Geordi begins to fidget and writhe that I realise how long we have been inside the Holodeck for. It is much longer than the initial approximation Geordi gave to Doctor Crusher, and I hope we are not delaying the doctor from undertaking any important work. 

Geordi wakes soon enough, jolting from a presumed night terror. I place a hand against his shoulder, and he calms quickly. 

"Are you ready to end the program?" I ask. "Doctor Crusher will be expecting you."

Geordi sits, and rubs his brow. 

"I don't know, Data," he admits. "Do you reckon we can stretch it out a bit longer?"

I consider the option. "We have already overstayed our visit by some considerable time." 

Geordi still appears resistant to the idea. "How about one more ride on Black Bess?" He suggests. "Just before we leave."

"I suppose that will not be an issue," I agree, standing up and offering a hand. 

Geordi accepts it gratefully, and I assist him back onto Black Bess again, resuming my previous position at the front of the saddle with the reins. 

"Where would you like to go?" I ask, and he contemplates the question thoughtfully. 

From the corner of my eye I notice a horse-drawn carriage on the road ahead, approaching us from far away in the distance. This particular Holodeck program must work on a cycle, as yet again it is the carriage of Viscount Hamilton and Lady Cleverly. Clearly, Geordi has not had the chance to finish programming it yet, however this apparent glitch works suitably in our favour.

I feel a hand against my trouser leg, and realise it is Geordi reaching for the pistol inside my holster. 

"Why don't we give it one more go?"

When it is time to leave the Holodeck, I help Geordi down from his saddle and onto a comfortable patch of grass, placing my pistol securely back into its holster. 

I pat Black Bess on her mane, who emits a soft neigh. Oddly, she reminds me of Spot. 

"Computer, end program."

The green countryside fades, as does the image of Black Bess, and our environment returns to the familiar grey cubic interior of the Holodeck. 

I look at Geordi, who is tired but content. On our second attempt, we managed to successfully apprehend the Viscount and his mistress, boarding their carriage and locating the stolen money, which amounted to nearly two thousand guineas. I am led to believe that this is a considerable amount of money for the eighteenth century, which makes it very important. Geordi's acting was especially convincing, and my presence as Dick Turpin was perceived to be an appropriately frightening one. 

"Computer, locate Doctor Beverly Crusher."

"Doctor Crusher is in Sick Bay."

Geordi must report to the doctor for a full assessment of his neurological and physical functioning, to ensure that the Holodeck has not had any adverse effects on his body. I plan to join him in Sick Bay, before escorting him afterwards back to his quarters, where he will remain in precautionary confinement. With positive advancements in his condition, I expect Geordi's confinement to be lifted imminently. His case is not as severe as Commander Riker's, and to my current knowledge this sickness has not spread to any other members of the crew.

It does not take long to reach Sick Bay, where Doctor Crusher is concluding her assessment of a young cadet with minor burn marks on her arm. Geordi and I wait patiently for the doctor to finish administering treatment, before she leads the cadet to the Sick Bay doors. 

"You're good to go, but try to be careful next time, okay?" she explains kindly. "If anything else happens, feel free to come straight back."

Once the doors have closed, Doctor Crusher shakes her head disbelievingly. 

"It'll be a relief to have you back in engineering again, Geordi," she sighs, turning to face us and folding her arms with a weary smile. "I can't count how many new injuries I've had coming in since you left."

"Is she okay?" Geordi asks with a slight frown. "I don't recognise her."

"That was a Starfleet cadet, apparently she's only just started her placement on the Enterprise," Doctor Crusher explains. "It was a careless injury, I treated it with Dermaline but it's a wonder how half of them even manage to make it to the Academy at all."

"She appeared to have burn marks," I state. 

"From a plasma conduit," Doctor Crusher elaborates. "It's a miracle she didn't lose her arm… I don't know who's leading the engineering shift right now, but clearly they aren't doing a very good job."

Through a clear process of elimination, I believe I already know the answer to the doctor's question.  

She beckons for Geordi to sit on one of the medical tables, and pulls out her medical tricorder. I stand beside the doctor who, despite being somewhat cautious, clearly trusts me enough not to order my departure from Sick Bay.

"Your heart rate's elevated, Geordi," Doctor Crusher notes, pulling away momentarily with her tricorder. "I wouldn't expect that from a walk in a vineyard." 

I look at Geordi, confused.

"Geordi? I do not record you having visited any vineyards."

I appear to have accidentally foiled Geordi's plan, and consequently alerted Doctor Crusher to his untruthfulness. 

The doctor sighs in exasperation, though the hint of a smile is still itching at her lips. 

“It's like dealing with teenage boys again,” she says with motherly sternness. "You two are worse than Wesley."

Geordi smiles guiltily, although I do not respond. The concept of a mother-son relationship is not something I am familiar with, nor the typically-expected stages of adolescent development. 

"What was it then?" 

Geordi and I exchange a brief look. Clearly he is rather embarrassed, so I make the decision to answer for both of us. I do not find the truth something to be ashamed of. 

"Geordi and I were attempting to replicate the pursuits of eighteenth century highwaymen, based on the legendary stories of Dick Turpin, commonly described in folklore as England's greatest highwayman."

Doctor Crusher's eyebrow raises.

"That doesn't sound very restful to me."

"Sorry, Doctor," Geordi apologises, and I can tell he still feels guilty for disobeying her instructions.

Doctor Crusher emits a soft breath. 

"But it's the happiest I've seen you in almost a week," she acknowledges. "Maybe it's the type of treatment I should be prescribing."

She rolls up Geordi's trouser leg, and examines both legs with a concentrated frown.

"Your legs are still shaking," she remarks. "The Asinolyathin should have stopped your muscle spasms as soon as I administered it."

"It's becoming constant," Geordi admits, watching Doctor Crusher's movements closely, almost apprehensively. 

"I could try you on enzymatic therapy," she muses aloud but even herself does not seem convinced. "It didn't work on Worf, but typically it's better suited to humans."

"Doctor Crusher?" Alyssa, the doctor's head nurse, pokes her head around the corner, interrupting our conversation. "We've had three separate members of crew reporting of headaches, do you want me to bring them in?" 

The doctor's expression furrows as she processes the news, taken aback. "Three?" She asks, and Alyssa nods.

"When did they first start experiencing their symptoms?"

"As soon as they woke up this morning, apparently."

The doctor sighs and massages the bridge of her nose.

"Alright," she agrees. "Are you happy to check them over?"

Alyssa nods again with polite enthusiasm, before disappearing back to her work station. 

As Doctor Crusher turns back to Geordi to continue her assessment, I notice that she is clearly troubled, and understandably distracted.

As she raises the tricorder to Geordi's chest, it doesn't seem to register that she is repeating an assessment she has already conducted. When the doctor suddenly realises, she sighs frustratedly and places down the tricorder.

"I'm sorry, Geordi," she says, tucking her hair behind her ears. "It's enough pressure trying to treat you and Will when nothing seems to be working… I'm not sure I have enough resources to deal with a ship-wide outbreak." 

A message arrives on Doctor Crusher's combadge.

"Picard to Doctor Crusher."

"Crusher here."

"I'm afraid there's been an incident in Commander Riker's quarters, we require medical assistance."

The tone of the captain's voice is tense, which I take to be an indicator of the severity of the situation.

"On my way," Doctor Crusher answers, but hesitates just before she is due to sign off. "I'm with Data and Geordi."

There is no response, and it becomes quickly apparent that the captain has ceased communication. 

Doctor Crusher collects her medical kit, before turning to me and Geordi. 

"I will accompany you, Doctor," I announce, before the doctor has the chance to dismiss me. 

"Me too," Geordi agrees, to both mine and Doctor Crusher's surprise.

"Geordi," the doctor says firmly. "You know you can't."

"Commander Riker's my friend too," he insists indignantly. "What if he hurts Data again?"

Doctor Crusher's expression is noticeably conflicted. She looks between me and Geordi, before finally she shakes her head.

"I'm sorry Geordi, it would be too irresponsible of me to let you join us."

"But Doctor-"

"We won't be long, okay?" The doctor promises. "And afterwards I'll come right back… Alyssa will be here if you need anything."

"Data." Geordi's voice is firm, almost pleading. 

"I will return to Sick Bay with Doctor Crusher once we are finished," I explain calmly. "I will not be gone for long, Geordi."

Before Geordi can resist, I have already exited Sick Bay, accompanied in-tow by Doctor Crusher, who is tightly clutching her medical kit. 

While I understand this decision may evoke feelings of unfairness and even distress from Geordi, it is only sensible that he should not be allowed to join us. It is a matter of safety, not just for Geordi, but for the rest of the crew too. 

If Commander Riker is susceptible to violent outbursts caused by his delirium, then unfortunately Geordi must also be considered a potential risk too. Not only is he primarily an engineer, but he is also medically unfit for his normal duties, let alone a potentially-hazardous situation which could exacerbate his symptoms.

Doctor Crusher and I make our way to the turbo lift. We must be fast, and we must be vigilant too. 

However in our haste, neither of us seem to realise that Geordi has followed behind us. 

Chapter Text

I have not been in close proximity with Commander Riker since our altercation on the bridge. For many reasons, it is difficult to anticipate what his reaction will be to seeing me again. If he is indeed displaying signs of active delirium, then there is a strong likelihood I may become a target of his aggression, if not me, then perhaps another member of crew such as the captain or Doctor Crusher. 

I categorically believe that the commander's outburst was not an unlucky misdirect towards myself. I appreciate my colleagues have been attempting to reassure me, however I much prefer fact over false claims used to convey sympathy. The science of luck is not one that my neural net can clearly define, and Commander Riker's outburst seemed very much the opposite of a coincidence. He was adamant that I had caused him harm, much in the same way that Geordi confessed to feeling scared of my ability to hurt him.

I am concerned that both Commander Riker and Geordi have somehow attained a series of false memories, as I have no recollection of any recent arguments or disagreements between either individual. In the case of Commander Riker I do not believe it to be a fundamental dislike of synthetic life forms, as he has rarely taken any issue with my android status, and I do not believe it to be a case of mistaken identity either. As an android, I am not easy to mistake for other members of the crew. My distinctive look resembles that of an imperfect human, and despite my attempts to assimilate successfully into human culture, I remain an anomaly in both my outer image and my inner functioning. I am paler than most, and the colouring of my irises is typically unnatural for humans. 

I understand my decision to accompany Doctor Crusher places me in presumed danger, however as the ship's second officer it is my duty to support my colleagues whenever required. Though Commander Riker is of a higher rank to myself, that does not lessen my interest in his wellbeing. It is the responsibility of a Starfleet officer, and the responsibility of a friend too. 

The corridor is crowded, and at first it is difficult to decipher why. Much of the crowd is made up of members from the security team, however in the midst of them I recognise Counsellor Troi, who is knocking adamantly on the doors to Commander Riker's quarters.

"Will?" She calls. "I need you to come out."

Doctor Crusher lowers the medical kit in her hand, weaving her way through the sea of security personnel until she reaches the counsellor. Instinctively, I follow behind her.

"Deanna?" Doctor Crusher asks concernedly. "What's going on? Why can't you bypass the security lock?"

"It isn't working," Counsellor Troi insists. "I've tried a security override but the computer doesn't recognise the command."

"Who's inside?"

"Only Will," the counsellor explains. "But he's got a phaser."

There is commotion, and through the crowd marches Captain Picard. He is restless, and scowling in deep apparent frustration.

"Security override, priority one. Picard-Delta-Seven-Two," he states loudly. Still, the door does not open. He clears his throat and tries again. "Computer, security override-"

"Jean Luc," Doctor Crusher interrupts, arching an eyebrow. "I know you're trying to help Will, but it isn't going to work this way."

The captain, surprised by the doctor's presence, sighs in disgruntled acceptance. His frustration appears to mellow slightly, though I believe it is because he is trying to avoid embarrassment. 

"This is ridiculous," he announces. "I wasn't informed of any malfunctions."

"The cadets from the Academy," Doctor Crusher realises aloud. "There have been accidents in engineering all week, they must have accidentally interfered with the computer's override system."

"Where is Mr La Forge?"

"You relieved him of duties, Captain," Counsellor Troi reminds him. "This week is Lieutenant Barclay's turn to lead the engineering shifts. He was telling me about it during our last session together."

Captain Picard places a hand to his forehead and groans softly, before taking a moment to temporarily compose himself.

"When Lieutenant Barclay is next on shift, tell him I want a meeting in my Ready Room."

Once he has calmed down, he clears his throat and directs his attention towards Worf, who is fronting the security team. 

"Mr Worf, are you able to open the door?"

Worf flares his nostrils and straightens his back. "I am able to try, Sir."

"Perhaps I may be of use too, Sir," I offer, stepping out from beside Doctor Crusher. 

Upon noticing me for the first time, the captain's face greys. 

"Who authorised this?" He demands.

"I did," Doctor Crusher responds firmly. "We need Data's help."

The captain is momentarily taken aback, but clearly does not want to challenge the doctor's opinion.

"Very well," he bristles eventually. "I want your phaser set to stun, Mr Data, level three."

"Aye, Sir." I nod respectfully, and prime my phaser to its necessary setting.

"Captain," Worf emphasises. "I must insist, we need to open the doors urgently. Commander Riker may be gravely unwell."

"I agree," the captain asserts, waving a hand of acknowledgement. "Mr Worf, Mr Data, make it so."

I exchange a look with Worf, who grunts lowly in preparation. Together, we move through the crowd towards the door, lodging our fingers into the thin slither of space between the two compartments before we begin to pull in opposite directions.

Lieutenant Worf and I possess the most strength between us. This is not to discredit any of my fellow colleagues, but merely an acknowledgement of our combined non-human accolades. It is obvious that Lieutenant Worf takes great pride in his Klingon heritage, and is very keen on the upkeep and preservation of his species' traditions and values. I do not believe I possess any of my own traditions or values, at least not in a way that would evoke feelings of comfort or pride. I am reluctant to call myself part of a species as, although I have a father, our relationship is not a biological one. One of my only points of inheritance is my surname, Soong, much like the relationship between myself and my own daughter, Lal. She too will never create a family of her own, nor get to experience the same expansive range of other life forms and new civilisations as I have. 

The doors release with a gentle gush and immediately the security team floods inside, flagged closely by Doctor Crusher and Captain Picard. 

Counsellor Troi lingers. I deduce that she wants to go inside, but her lack of purpose prevents her. After all, she is the ship's counsellor; although she may share romantic feelings with Commander Riker, ultimately she is not a doctor, a captain, nor a crew member trained to tackle the possibility of physical violence. This is a very reasonable decision on Counsellor Troi's part, though I presume an emotionally difficult one too. 

I remain with the counsellor, hoping it may provide some moral support, however from my standing place I am able to clearly see the fallout from inside Commander Riker's quarters. 

In front of me is an almost unrecognisable sight. The room has been wrecked and its contents strewn across the floor. The replicator appears to have malfunctioned and around it lie numerous empty cups, scattered hazardously around shallow pools of water. The carpet is wet, and several pieces of wall art have been toppled or gashed. Even the commander's uniform, which is hanging neatly in the corner of the room, has a burn mark against the red fabric similar to a phaser remnant. 

The phaser in question is nowhere to been seen, and strangely I cannot seem to locate the commander either. 

It is Lieutenant Worf who spots him first, and promptly sounds the alarm. 

"Doctor."

In the corner of the room, slumped against the side of his bed, is Commander Riker. He is conscious, though it appears he has only recently started to wake. 

I realise that in the days between our clash on the bridge and now, I have not seen Commander Riker at all. Though I interpreted his initial return as a lesser-polished version of his usual self, he is in fact far more dishevelled now. His dark brown hair is spiked and knotted in some patches, and there are deep, dark circles under both eyes. This surprises me, since one symptom of the commander's alleged illness is a deep desire for sleep. With no work obligations and no responsibilities, a good amount of sleep should have been easily achievable for the commander. Therefore, I can only assume that he has been actively fighting the urge to. 

There is a primitive nature to his both his physical appearance and the way he is composing himself. He is hunched over and his breath is drawn out and husky, manifesting itself more as a heavy series of grunts. When his eyes do open, they struggle to adjust to the bright light of the room before his eyelids slowly droop shut again. In his hands there is a phaser; it is interlocked between his fingers, and is still pointing towards the middle of his chest from where I presume it was last used. 

Deanna rushes forward, however Lieutenant Worf holds out an arm to stop her.

"I am sorry, Counsellor," he apologises. "But it isn't safe, the phaser may still be active."

On the floor in front of Commander Riker, Doctor Crusher quickly crouches down and begins to rummage through her medical kit. The commander groans and attempts to resist, however two members of the security team hold him down.

"We need a way of reducing his acetylcholine levels," she announces, retrieving her tricorder and placing it against Commander Riker's chest. "His system is full of it… was he aggressive when you were with him initially?"

Counsellor Troi shakes her head. "Not aggressive, but he was restless," she elaborates. "Captain Picard and I felt he might benefit from some company."

"And he had the phaser?"

"Hidden underneath his pillow," the counsellor concurs. "We didn't know at first, he seemed to be doing fine until he suddenly pulled it out."

"So what changed?"

Counsellor Troi looks momentarily at the captain, whose brow is furrowed with an uncomfortable frown. Neither respond at first, and when the counsellor does eventually open her mouth to speak, she is cut off by a long groan from the commander. 

"Needs… stopping."

He attempts to tighten his grip around the phaser, but Worf quickly intervenes.

"He needs Axonol," Doctor Crusher explains, preparing a hypospray in her hands. "It's a sedative… it'll keep him calm enough while we transport him to Sick Bay."

Removing the phaser from the commander's grasp, Worf studies it in his hands. He frowns deeply, before passing it to Captain Picard for closer inspection. 

"I cannot fathom why the commander would want to harm himself," the lieutenant comments. Like me, Lieutenant Worf appears to be struggling to make sense of the incident. "It is most unprecedented from a highly ranked officer."

"He's lucky it was only a level two stun," the doctor sighs. "Judging by my tricorder readings, he'd been unconscious for at least five minutes before we managed to open the doors."

Counsellor Troi frowns. “Do you think he realised it was only a stun?"

"I don't think it was meant for him at all," Doctor Crusher answers honestly. "I think he couldn't wait any longer, he just wanted a way to relieve his pain."

Commander Riker groans again, and the doctor places her hand on his chest, assessing the extent of his injuries. 

"We're going to get you help, Will," she explains gently, though she looks to the captain as she speaks, rather than at the commander. 

The captain and the doctor’s moods are difficult to accurately configure, since they both maintain a sturdy level of professionalism between them, however they both share the same look in their eyes. Though it is difficult to distinguish what this might mean, I am able to gather that these are generally uncomfortable feelings of acceptance, as disappointing as the outcome may inevitably be. Until now, Captain Picard has been a staunch advocate for Commander Riker and the continuing lenience of maintaining his role aboard the Enterprise. But now, with such a severe advancement in his medical condition, such questions regarding the commander's status as a first officer seem unavoidable. 

When Doctor Crusher attempts to place her tricorder against Commander Riker’s head, he jerks with his whole body and attempts unsuccessfully to pull away, digging his heels into the floor. He does not succeed, and is forced back down by security again, who are notably less gentle than Doctor Crusher.

Counsellor Troi winces on his behalf. She is watching him guiltily, as if she is the one responsible for his frustration. Of course she is not responsible, though it is normal for humans to take on feelings of empathy and worry, even more so for Betazoids.

For a brief moment, Commander Riker spots the counsellor amidst the crowd. 

"Imzadi." His voice is strained, although there is hopefulness in the way he pleads.

This noticeably troubles Counsellor Troi.

"He's hurting," she insists worriedly. 

"I'm sorry, Deanna, but I have to examine him," Doctor Crusher apologises earnestly. "I need to make sure he hasn't inflicted any other damage onto himself."

The counsellor falls silent in respectful agreement, but continues to nibble her bottom lip anxiously.

"Is there any way I can help?" She asks eventually, looking between Doctor Crusher, who is searching within her medical kit, and the captain, who is conversing lowly with Lieutenant Worf, presumably exchanging security orders. 

To everybody's apparent surprise, it is Commander Riker who answers.

"Stop… him."

"Stop who, Number One?" Captain Picard asks, turning his attention to the commander. 

Commander Riker does not answer. He manages two heavy blinks, before his eyelids begin to droop. The Axonol administered by Doctor Crusher is beginning to take effect, and soon he will be fully sedated. 

Realising that the commander is unable to provide a coherent answer, the captain clears his throat authoritatively. 

"Computer, who was the last visitor to Commander Riker's quarters?"

"That information is not available." 

"Another malfunction?" The captain asks, frowning restlessly. 

"No," Doctor Crusher muses aloud. "I think the information's been purposely redacted."

"Will," the captain says quietly, crouching down to meet the commander at eye level. "Who supplied the phaser?"

Commander Riker opens his eyes only very slightly, and nods with his head towards the general direction of the door. 

At first I believe he is pointing towards me, until I realise that there is another figure stood behind me on the cusp of the doorway. 

"Maybe I can help with that, Captain."

I recognise the voice as soon as it sounds.

"Geordi?"

The figure in the doorway is Geordi. Yet at the same time, it is not Geordi. Although he looks the same as normal, except the absence of his uniform, his demeanour has shifted remarkably from our most recent conversation in Sick Bay. It is during times like these that I am glad to possess such a vast knowledge of Geordi's moods and behavioural patterns. From the way his jaw is tightly clenched, and his shoulders are arched defensively, I am able to conclude that this is not a typical display of emotional conduct for Geordi, nor a friendly one either. 

"Geordi," Doctor Crusher says, evidently just as taken aback as I am. “You're meant to still be in Sick Bay."

“I’m not sick, Doctor," Geordi answers. "In fact, I'm not the one who needs treating."

"Mr La Forge, what is the meaning of this?" The captain demands, and behind him the small remaining ensemble of security personnel appear to ready themselves. 

“Commander Riker tried warning you, but you didn't listen." 

Geordi is not smiling. Although his presence is sometimes quieter than that of other, more boisterous, officers, typically he glows with curiosity and a strong desire to help. That is not the case today. He is hostile, and his voice is sharp and confrontational. 

"What warning, Geordi?" Counsellor Troi's approach is gentle and soft, but does little to shake Geordi from his current state of deep disturbance. 

"You already know, Counsellor."

Counsellor Troi's eyes widen, as if she has detected an alarming shift in Geordi's mental patterns, and suddenly she turns to me. She is anxious, and knows something that I evidently do not. 

"Data," she says, panicked. 

Although I do not know the extent of the counsellor's readings, as a security precaution I ready my phaser, and I notice that Geordi has too. 

That is when I realise his own phaser is not set to stun.

I recall our visit to the Holodeck, and how eager Geordi had been to use his pistol during our carriage chase and eventual heist. Recreational weapon usage is not uncommon by any stretch; Captain Picard often enjoys embodying the role of the popular detective Dixon Hill during his leisure time, and similarly, Lieutenant Worf has taken on a newfound interest in Holodeck programs relating to the Wild West on the nineteenth century. Shootouts are common in each, however to my knowledge Dixon Hill has never been impacted by the effects of Transporter Psychosis, nor has the captain ever taken his interest in fictional crime into the real environment of the ship.

I wonder if my encouragement was a mistake, however I do not regret allowing Geordi a chance at normality again. It was evident that he enjoyed his time in the Holodeck, not just the chance to escape the confines of his quarters, but at being treated like a normal member of crew again, not just as a sick patient. 

Geordi raises his phaser, and immediately I shoot before he has the chance to do the same. I fire a level three stun and the beam hits Geordi squarely in the chest. He crashes into the wall behind, before falling clumsily to the ground. 

I lower my phaser. Lieutenant Worf and a handful of his security team flood the area to secure it, blocking my view of Geordi, so with significantly limited vision I must presume that he is already unconscious. I cannot see Geordi, and I cannot hear him either, at least not over the commotion of the room, which has suddenly become engulfed with noise and movement. Several members of the security team are running, and there is a cry of shock, which I realise has come from Counsellor Troi. 

I look down at the phaser in my hand, which now feels almost unrecognisable. When I look at it I am reminded of Geordi, and it becomes difficult to concentrate on anything else.

I have no desire to hold on to my phaser, so I attempt to pass it to Doctor Crusher as she approaches with her medical kit. I am concerned at what I might do with it next, especially the possibility that I could harm another member of crew. Geordi feared that I might harm him, and, although I reassured him that I would not, now I have. I consider it to be an act of betrayal, but predominantly a failure as a friend.

She looks down at it, surprised, and so I decide to elaborate. 

"I do not want it," I explain. "It would be irresponsible of me to keep it."

This surprises the doctor. "You did a good job, Data," she assures me. "It was the right thing to do."

"Doctor?" I decide to ask, while I have Doctor Crusher's attention. "It is immoral, is it not? To hurt your friend?"

The doctor cannot answer this. She attempts to smile apologetically, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She is flustered, and clearly weighed down by the prospect of having to treat another mysteriously ill patient. 

"I'm sorry, Data, I need to get Will and Geordi mobilised," she excuses herself, managing a half-smile half-grimace before she slips through the mass of security personnel and disappears from sight. 

I blink, but have little time to process this before a flood of other crew members enter the commander's quarters. At first I assume they are coming for me, to interrogate me for my actions or perhaps to lead me to a holding cell. I would accept this decision and accompany them willingly, however on the contrary, I go completely unnoticed. The security team and medics move past me almost as if I do not exist, talking amongst themselves and taking in orders. I stand in the middle of the room as they swarm and jostle past, occasionally knocking into my side. I would find it beneficial for them to move, to allow for a clearer view of Geordi, however my own disposition is one of very little interest to anybody else.

While there is a crowd, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I presume it is a member of security, finally ready to take me away, but instead it is Captain Picard. His touch is firm and authoritative. 

"I wouldn't normally ask this so informally, Mr Data," he begins in a low, steady voice, out of earshot from the rest of the room's occupants. He leans in, so that his head is perched over my shoulder and his lips are close to my ear. "But how would you like to be promoted to First Officer?"

A gap clears, and Geordi's body becomes visible again. I stare at him as the captain speaks. He is unmoving, still, and his head is slumped sideways against the wall. His mouth is partially open, either from the shock of the phaser or because he was unknowingly about to say something before he was stunned. The doctor is crouched by his side, administering a form of medication using a hypospray, and beside her two medics wait to load him onto a gurney. 

My brow furrows in concentration. It is difficult to focus on Captain Picard's offer, but I must maintain a professional form of conduct, even though I would much prefer to be by Geordi's side. 

"If you believe it to be a wise decision, Sir, then I will accept," I answer simply. 

I do not feel proud of my accomplishment, though I do not feel disappointed either. My android physiology does not allow me to become overwhelmed with emotions, even though I consider myself to be deeply confused. I do not know why the captain would entrust me with such a position of power when Commander Riker and now Geordi have both expressed their deep distrust and disapproval of me. I consider the possibility that my own confusion is akin to the varying human emotions of sadness or anger, merely manifested in a different form.

I am confused by Geordi's abrupt shift in behaviour, particularly the sudden change to our relationship, which I previously believed to be significantly trusting and close. This cannot be the same Geordi who, mere hours ago, I laid to sleep on a bed of soft grass, or the Geordi who joined me on the back of Black Bess as we cantered together through the countryside. If he really was the individual responsible for supplying Commander Riker with the phaser, then I believe it is crucial for me to reassess our relationship together. I believe that I was the planned target, and that even before our visit to the Holodeck together, Geordi had orchestrated this; whether he was consciously aware of his own actions, or had done so in a long-forgotten episode of delirium, managing to slip briefly out from his confinement by bypassing the computer's security measures. 

Then too, I must assume he is at least some part responsible for the malfunctioning, or deliberate sabotage, of the ship's security bypass system. 

It is my fault for not having noticed, and equally it is my fault for being so willing to stun him, when perhaps I should have simply allowed Geordi to use his phaser on me. Much like Commander Riker, Geordi's delirium appears to once again be directed at me. Therefore, I must accept that, although I do not know why, I am to blame. 

I watch the two gurneys exiting the room, Geordi sprawled out on one, and Commander Riker asleep on the other, now under the effect of heavy sedation. 

I feel Captain Picard pat me on my shoulder, which momentarily distracts me. 

"I do believe it to be the best decision," the captain agrees sincerely, his hand still pressed encouragingly against my uniform. "Well done, Mr Data."

Chapter Text

'Second Officer's Log, Star date: 48012

This will be my final log entry as the second officer of the USS Enterprise. Tomorrow morning I begin my new position as Captain Picard's First Officer, a role I have been assigned following the emergency discharge of my predecessor, Commander William Riker. 

There will be no usual promotional ceremony to mark the start of my new rank. Such joviality would be inappropriate considering the ship's continued state of yellow alert, therefore making the atmosphere among the command team increasingly tense. 

As part of my new promotion, I will now occupy the chair right of Captain Picard during my shifts on the bridge. I have considered attempting to recreate Commander Riker's boisterous and hearty mannerisms for the purposes of continuity, though I believe this may be viewed as an over-excessive imitation of the commander's personality. 

I have been offered the upgrade of a Starfleet command uniform, however I have politely declined the suggestion. I do not believe my fixture as First Officer will last for a prolonged period of time, and I anticipate that I will soon be replaced by a more experienced officer. 

We are due to rendezvous with the USS Citadel in approximately two weeks' time, where we will welcome a new first officer and chief engineer. The ship's transporters have been temporarily deactivated as a safety precaution, so instead of being beamed aboard, the crew of the Citadel will arrive by shuttle. 

Until then, we remain in the Delta Quadrant, moving at a restricted speed of warp two.'

On my first morning as First Officer, I find myself sat next to Captain Picard, who is heading a meeting between the senior members of crew. There are now two empty seats at the table, and our cohort has gotten noticeably smaller, not just with the absence of Commander Riker, but now Lieutenant Commander La Forge too. 

In some ways, I now understand how it must be for Counsellor Troi, as she continues to contend with Commander Riker’s uncertain future as a Starfleet officer. Though he has recovered well from his phaser injury, he continues to exhibit traits of severe paranoia and delirium, which have now manifested into prolonged periods of hallucinogenic hysteria. Similarly, Geordi's new state of sickness aligns almost entirely with the symptoms displayed by the commander. As well as being tired and thirsty, he has now reached a stage of continuous, active hallucinations, and remains in a holding cell on one of the lower decks of the ship. He and Commander Riker have been isolated for both the safety of the crew and themselves, and it is likely they will both be transported back to Earth once we have made contact with the Citadel. 

In some ways, it is no different to Geordi leaving for an extended holiday to Risa, though my positronic brain makes it significantly difficult to convince myself so. I know that Geordi is still aboard the ship, despite the fact I have been advised to avoid all contact with him. I am finding this advice most unnatural to adhere to, as spending time with Geordi often makes up a significant percentage of my day. Without him, I have attempted to align my daily routine with that of some of the other members of crew, to ensure I am still achieving an acceptable level of daily socialisation. I also hope that by spending time with my human colleagues, I may uncover more clues regarding the source of the virus, which I hope will help me to locate a cure. 

Earlier this morning, I joined Doctor Crusher and Counsellor Troi for one of their regular aerobics sessions. I did not find it as beneficial as I had originally hoped, and I had not realised that wearing my normal uniform would be considered an unusual choice of clothing. I do not own any sportswear, though this is an investment I perhaps will make should I wish to join Doctor Crusher and Counsellor Troi for another future aerobics session in the future. Both the doctor and counsellor were accommodating, however I believe my presence prevented them from sharing a truthful conversation with each other, or, undertake what I believe is commonly referred to as 'gossiping'. 

Captain Picard's morning routine is much more straightforward, though certainly less energised than that of Counsellor Troi and Doctor Crusher's. He takes a cup of Earl Grey tea shortly after waking, and will practice the flute before preparing for meetings in his Ready Room. This morning, while registering my new position within the ship's database, I noticed that the captain was more tired than usual. Though he did well to mask it, he failed to stifle a handful of yawns throughout our conversation. I assume this is because he did not get a satisfactory night's rest, otherwise I must assume that I was boring him. 

Though I appreciate my crew mates' attempts to accommodate me within their normal routines, I cannot help but notice that the relationship I share with them is not comparable to my friendship with Geordi. In maintaining a safe distance from him, I will likely not see him again before he and Commander Riker leave the Enterprise. The length of their absence is still undecided, and I have been finding this lack of objectivity difficult to process.

"People are getting angry they can't use the transporters." Counsellor Troi is one of the first to speak. She has returned to the formality of her blue Starfleet uniform, and the tone of her voice is deeply serious. With the absence of two high ranking officers, I believe she has taken on a more authoritative role, which she herself has evidently assigned. “We're going to have a protest on our hands soon enough if we don't find a solution."

"I saw it myself in Ten Forward last night," Doctor Crusher concurs. "I only went for one drink, but it was chaos… people are starting to ask why I haven't found a cure yet."

The captain listens intently, frowning in concentration. "Has anybody seen Chief O'Brien?" He asks.

"Not since yesterday."

"Isn't he in the transporter room?"

"No, he hasn't been since the transporters were deactivated," the doctor says. "I was hoping we might get some new supplies in to Sick Bay, but the last time I spoke to O'Brien he said it was too risky."

Captain Picard hums thoughtfully. 

"Has he been authorised for shore leave?"

"Not formally," I explain. "However according to the computer, he is no longer aboard the Enterprise."

This causes the captain's frown to deepen.

"Very well," he concludes, likely in an effort to disguise his own concern. "Thank you, Mr Data."

Captain Picard, still refers to me as Mr Data, rather than Number One. I assume this is due to a lack of familiarity with my new status, and an unwillingness to accept Commander Riker's departure as First Officer. I do not mind, for I am aware this is a significant adjustment to make. I understand that the captain and Commander Riker maintain a great level of respect for one another, and while I also think highly of Captain Picard, I realise our relationship does not extend to the same level of comfortableness. This is maybe due to my lack of experience in a commanding position, or more reasonably my difference in socialising as somebody with android physiology. I do not make jokes the same way as Commander Riker, nor do I always understand the captain's witty remarks, making me unable to fully appease him.

"Where would O'Brien even go for shore leave?" Counsellor Troi asks, clearly not as keen as the captain to move on. "The ship's been stuck in the Delta Quadrant for weeks now and, if I remember correctly, Keiko's family still live on Earth."

"Perhaps both O'Brien and Keiko are sick with the virus too," Lieutenant Worf suggests, turning to face the counsellor. "The arboretum has not been tended to for a significant number of days."

This is a most unexpected response. "I did not know you often visit the arboretum, Lieutenant," I state. 

Worf flares his nostrils, and across the room I notice expressions of surprise from both Counsellor Troi and Doctor Crusher. In a normal scenario, I imagine this revelation would have made them both smile, however the atmosphere today is evidently too serious for any sort of light-hearted humour. 

"I…" Lieutenant Worf clears his throat. "…like to observe the roses on occasion. I find them to be calming."

I raise my eyebrows. I did not expect Lieutenant Worf to possess such an interest in botanical artistry, however this is a pleasant discovery. I notice that Counsellor Troi and Doctor Crusher are still fighting the urge to smile, however their faces quickly settle when the captain begins to speak again. 

"Nobody else is to leave this ship unless I say so," Captain Picard declares, breaking the momentary silence. "Should anybody else become… contaminated with this virus, I have already planned for Mr Data to take control of the Enterprise."

Counsellor Troi frowns. It is more an expression of concern than scepticism.

"Do we know for certain that it's contagious?" Counsellor Troi asks. 

"My tests were all inconclusive," Doctor Crusher adds. "Transporter Psychosis isn't normally contagious. Then again, whatever this is, it seems to be some sort of strange copycat variant."

"Then could it have been artificially created?" The captain asks.

Doctor Crusher nods. "There's a chance, although I'm reluctant to start jumping to conclusions without the proper evidence."

Lieutenant Worf clears his throat. "If I may ask, Doctor," he begins. "Do you know if this virus affects…. other species?"

Doctor Crusher sighs. "If you're asking if Klingons are affected, Worf, the simple answer is I don't know," she confesses. "I've only treated humans so far, but that's not to say Klingons are immune. The same for you too, Deanna."

Worf and Counsellor Troi both listen respectfully. I, however, cannot help but frown. 

"Doctor, does that mean felines may also be at risk too?"

Doctor Crusher purses her lips.

"Honestly, Data, I'd be less worried about Spot, and more worried about yourself."

"I must agree with Doctor Crusher," Captain Picard affirms. "The real question is, why are my crew turning on you, Data?"

I realise that everybody is looking at me, and I blink calmly.

"I do not know," I admit. "I do not believe I have done anything of malicious intent to any of my crew mates."

"I can't imagine you've done anything either," Doctor Crusher agrees, folding her arms as she contemplates the thought. "When you and Geordi visited the Holodeck together, did he show any signs of wanting to hurt you?"

"The opposite, Doctor," I explain. "Recently, Geordi has admitted to feeling threatened in my presence."

She appears confused. "Jealousy?" 

"No," I correct. "He believed that I would hurt him."

The expression on the doctor's face softens in realisation. On the contrary, Captain Picard is stony-faced and wary. 

"An investigation into the ship's computer system found that Commander La Forge did indeed tamper with the security bypass measures,” he announces. "Although we cannot pinpoint exactly why he did it, it seems to correlate to the time shortly before you both entered the Holodeck, as recorded by Doctor Crusher."

Doctor Crusher places a hand to her cheek, mulling over the information with a frown.

"I shouldn't have given Geordi clearance to use the Holodeck," she sighs frustratedly. "I was so focused on trying to cure his muscle spasms that I stopped worrying about the delusions… he managed a good stretch without any hallucinations, I thought maybe the treatment was working."

"Just like Will," Counsellor Troi acknowledges with a bittersweet smile. 

"Geordi and Commander Riker's illnesses appear to be linked to a pattern of sudden mood swings," I input. "Due to the unpredictability of their actions, and their subsequent inability to recall the motives behind their actions."

"Could it be amnesia?" The captain asks. 

"I believe Commander Riker and Lieutenant Commander La Forge are both experiencing an influx of false memories," I reveal. 

"But where would these false memories come from?" Counsellor Troi insists, frowning. "And why are they all related to you, Data?"

There is a general murmur of agreement around the room. 

"During the Rite of MajQa, a Klingon will often experience hallucinogenic effects," Lieutenant Worf explains. "These are considered sacred amongst my species… to achieve a vision of one's father is most aspirational."

"Forgive me, Lieutenant," I say. "But are you suggesting that I am a type of idol?"

"If anything, Data, it's almost the reverse," Counsellor Troi imparts softly. 

"If this is indeed a case of engineered biological weaponry," Captain Picard interrupts, his tone stern. "Then I consider this to be an act of war against the Federation."

Doctor Crusher and Counsellor Troi both appear resistant to this idea. Worf also tenses, though on the contrary it appears like he is readying himself. As First Officer, I must side with the captain.

"I don't see how we can be war-ready, Sir," Counsellor Troi injects. "Our crew is depleting and we don't even know who we're fighting against yet."

"The Romulans are known to possess powerful weapons of mass destruction," Lieutenant Worf suggests. "This could very likely be another of their inventions."

Counsellor Troi does not appear fully convinced. "And specifically target Data? I don't think so."

"Perhaps we should wait for The Citadel," Doctor Crusher agrees. "Or at the very least we take a shuttle back down to Hanon IV… that was Will's last mission before he started developing symptoms, wasn't it?"

I nod.

"You are correct, Doctor," I agree.

She ponders for a moment.

"I'd like to go to the surface, Captain," she says. “If I bring my tricorder with me, then there's a good chance I'll be able to pick up on any-"

"That's out of the question, Doctor.” Captain Picard shakes his head. “I can’t risk sending my Chief Medical Officer on an away mission with so many potential hazards.” 

Doctor Crusher raises her eyebrow challengingly. “It hasn’t stopped you before, Jean Luc.”

This ruffles the captain, who I notice is finding it difficult to stop himself from going red. He narrowly manages to avoid it, however his expression has become indisputably flustered.

“I need you on board the Enterprise,” he issues quietly, his tone sincere. "If anything happens, any other breakdown or new symptom, I need an exceptionally-functioning Sick Bay… I know you can achieve that, Beverly."

The captain clears his throat, readying himself.

“Mr Data and I can take a shuttle."

"You, Captain?" Counsellor Troi asks in surprise.

"It will take less than a day," the captain reassures her. "For Will and Geordi's sakes, I'd like to get some answers."

"I suppose it is not a bad idea," Lieutenant Worf agrees. "It may allow us a chance to measure the difference in temperament here on board the ship."

"If Data isn’t here, maybe people's symptoms might start to settle," Counsellor Troi also agrees. 

Doctor Crusher does not respond at first to this. It is difficult to read her emotions, however I believe she is still partly dejected that she will not be allowed to join myself and Captain Picard upon Hanon IV's surface. When she eventually does speak, I interpret it as a subtle acknowledgement of the captain's previous rash decision-making. “It’s better than announcing a premature declaration of war."

"Will it be safe?" Worf asks. "There still appears to be a significant level of seismic activity, and I believe the inhabitants of the planet are expecting another volcanic eruption."

Captain Picard does not appear troubled by these concerns. "As I said, our visit won’t last longer than a few hours.”

“And the Citadel?” Troi asks, looking around the room at each of us. "Have they definitely confirmed they're taking Will and Geordi?… can't they wait a little longer for us to find a cure?"

"We've already missed our scheduled arrival to the Beta Quadrant by almost a week," Captain Picard says, shaking his head. "The longer our transporters are down, the more meetings we'll have to postpone… it's a level of unprofessionalism I refuse to-"

Before he can finish, he raises a hand to his head and groans lowly. 

"Captain?" I frown.

The captain blinks, but does not appear to have heard me. He stares down at the table, frowning deeply, and when he finally musters the strength to look up again I notice that his eyes are red and tired, and that he is struggling to keep himself from wincing.  

Dr Crusher is also watching him, her face serious. "Before you even think about going on any away missions, you need rest."

"I find that highly impractical, Doctor," Captain Picard refutes. "I am responsible for the tight running of this ship."

"Thats a medical order, Jean Luc," she warns seriously. "If you don't get enough sleep, I'll have to place you on bedrest."

"Captain," I add earnestly. "As your First Officer, I must attest to-"

"Will you be quiet, Data?" 

The captain's voice is raised, almost bellowing. In a sudden gust of momentum he is stood up, his face red and his lips quivering angrily. 

A hush falls over the room. There is a tense, almost foreign, atmosphere of unfamiliarity, as I and the rest of my colleagues observe the captain with bemusement. I am not sure the captain has ever shouted at me so abruptly, or indeed without any understandable reasoning. 

Captain Picard rubs his eyes, taking a moment to steady himself. He swallows the lump that has formed in his throat before slowly easing himself down onto his chair again. He is quiet at first, registering the unexpected intensity of his action. It takes a handful of steady breaths before he is able to speak.

"I apologise, Mr Data, I don't know what came over me."

Lieutenant Worf, Counsellor Troi, and Doctor Crusher all look between each other. None have said anything yet, however there seems to be a common understanding, or concern, between them each. Counsellor Troi is perhaps the most bothered by the captain's sudden outburst, and as she watches him closely I am curious to know what array of emotions she is able to empathically sense. 

"This meeting is terminated," Captain Picard announces, leaning back against his chair and waving a hand. 

"Sir," I say earnestly. "I do not wish you to end this meeting because of me."

Captain Picard looks at me. He appears unsettled, not angry, however from recent circumstances I have learned not to judge one's emotions prematurely. Like in the case of Commander Riker, and Geordi, I am aware that temperaments can change exceptionally quickly. 

"Very well," the captain finally acknowledges, his voice firm but diplomatic. "Mr Data, I believe it may be best for you to give us some time to talk… in three days' time you and I will travel to Hanon IV in search of evidence. Can I be guaranteed of your company?"

"Aye, Sir." I nod, standing up. 

Both Counsellor Troi and Doctor Crusher appear resistant to the idea of my departure, though neither say anything, particularly the doctor, who is more-focused on the status of the captain. As I prepare to vacate the room, I notice that she is watching Captain Picard from the corner of her eye, presumably unconvinced at his attempts to conceal his exhaustion.

Even I understand, assuming that I am not incorrect, that the captain is currently failing to mask the extent of his discomfort. I am reminded of Geordi's attempts at disguising the severity of his own initial symptoms, however in this instance it is understandable that the captain may be experiencing tiredness attributed to overworking and significant levels of stress.

As a potential source of the virus, it is sensible of Captain Picard to request my dismissal from today's meeting, even as his new first officer. It is impossible for me to feel offended or upset, however for the sake of my colleagues I accept that my absence will enable them to talk about me without invoking feelings of guilt or embarrassment. 

I exit through the double doors, aware of the faint chorus of voices that erupt in the wake of my departure. 

I do not believe myself to be malicious, and it troubles me extensively that other crew members may consider me to be such. Due to the clearly-defined set of ethics I was programmed with upon my creation, I understand the fundamental difference between something being morally right and morally wrong. I would never purposely hurt my friends or respected colleagues, whether physically or through the means of what I now realise is almost certainly an artificially-fabricated virus. 

Although I have not been accused of creating this virus myself, I understand that many of my colleagues are beginning to question my involvement. I understand their concerns, given the recent violent actions of Commander Riker and Geordi, and after all, Captain Picard is correct. If this virus has been created with the intention to harm, and continues to spread rapidly throughout the Enterprise, then this is indeed an act of biological warfare. I would not like to be attributed to such dishonour, as it would suggest betraying my colleagues and my home aboard the Enterprise. 

As part of a detour, I decide to visit main engineering, if not to work, then at least search for clues. 

Engineering is unusually quiet. I do not see Lieutenant Barclay, or many other recognisable faces for that matter, which leads me to assume that they must be allocated between transporter rooms, likely to conduct analyses in the place of the now-absent Chief O'Brien. 

I notice three unfamiliar faces together at one of the workstations. Their adolescent features and lack of pronounced confidence lead me to believe that they are some of the cadets from the academy, the same ones described by Doctor Crusher. As a newly assigned first officer I suppose I am less recognisable to the students of Starfleet Academy than a well-regarded figure like Captain Picard, which allows me to move past them unnoticeably.

While the cadets continue to work diligently, I take the opportunity to walk through main engineering, looking keenly for any changes or any new structural anomalies. Most of this is Geordi's handiwork, which I recognise from the sleek, advanced style of craftsmanship. While it is nice to be reminded of Geordi's technological endeavours, it also raises questions about his recent infiltration of the ship's security bypass system. As a friend, and a newly self-assigned detective, I would like to know more, particularly the time at which he accessed the computer. 

"Computer, state the current framework of the ship's security bypass system."

"This information is unavailable. Security clearance is required."

I have not encountered this problem before. It momentarily destabilises the thought process of my neural net, and I find myself unable to proceed without frowning. 

"Computer, explain."

"All personnel wishing to access information on the current security bypass system must state a valid security clearance code."

I do not know the security code. I assume this is a newly implemented safety measure, likely instated following Geordi's act of rebellion. There are many potential combinations, and I do not wish to overwhelm the system by stating too many wrong answers all at once. I debate whether I should visit transporter room three instead, previously Chief O'Brien's favoured transporter room, where I might find Lieutenant Barclay. Although it would make sense as part of my investigation, Geordi and I have already rigorously examined each transporter several times. There is still no apparent correlation between transporter use and the emergence of psychosis-like symptoms, and I do not believe the outcome of anymore tests would provide a noticeable difference in result. 

Instead of visiting the transporter room, I decide to retire temporarily to my quarters. Given my premature dismissal from today's meeting, I still have time before my next rotation on the bridge. Without the company of Geordi I find myself struggling to decide on an activity which will occupy me sufficiently, and many of my usual hobbies and interests do not seem to interest me. 

While maintaining a range of creative pursuits is important, I do not currently see the benefit of poetry writing or painting. The ship's current yellow alert makes it unlikely that I will be able to showcase my paintings or perform a public reading of my poetry; while this may be interpreted as an expression of vanity, I use it more as an opportunity to gain feedback and measure the reactions of my human colleagues, who are often helpful in critiquing or praising my finished works. They will inform me of whether my pieces, whether artistic or musical, succeed in invoking the intended emotional responses. Often, the emotions described by my human audience are different to those I had anticipated: as I was once helpfully informed by Captain Picard: you cannot control a person's emotional responses, as that is one of the important aspects of being human.

Given the ship's current medical status, I am not sure this is a truthful observation anymore. 

Spot greets me upon my arrival, nuzzling happily against my trouser leg. He, at least, appears to be glad to see me.

Apart from Spot, the room is otherwise empty. Spot's food bowl has been topped up and his sandbox is clean, which I presume to be the work of Lieutenant Barclay. He has also taken the time to tidy and dust some of the ornaments around my quarters. I did not ask the lieutenant to do this, however I am most grateful. I must thank him when the time is suitable; I have not yet decided how, though I suspect the lieutenant is likely to enjoy some allotted time inside the Holodeck. 

“You do not dislike me, do you Spot?" I ask, picking Spot up and outstretching him in front of me.

Spot does not respond. He wriggles restlessly in my hands, and I bring him forwards to my chest, cradling him gently. This settles him, and he begins to purr. 

"I worry that, because of my android immunity, I have inadvertently become a target for jealousy and aggression from my fellow crew members."

Again, Spot does not answer. I do not mind.

"It is unusual for Geordi and Commander Riker to both direct their feelings of bitterness towards me. After all, I have not upset or angered them in any conceivable way."

I sit down and place Spot onto the floor, where he quickly occupies himself with a ball of string. While Spot toys contently with the string between his paws, I address the ship's computer once more.

"Computer, locate Geordi La Forge."

"Geordi La Forge is currently on Deck Five."

This is as expected, and does not concern me. Both Geordi and the commander are currently housed on Deck Five as part of their detention. It is currently out of bounds for all personnel apart from Captain Picard, Doctor Crusher, and Lieutenant Worf and his security team.  

"Computer, locate Chief O'Brien."

"Miles O'Brien is not aboard the Enterprise."

"Computer, locate-"

Spot meows, and I stop speaking before I am able to finish my command. I sit down, frowning at Spot's sudden interruption, before realising that he is waiting for me to indulge him as part of his daily enrichment.

I pick up one end of the string, and dangle it in front of him while he swipes and nips, managing to make contact with the string almost every time. 

"Perhaps you are correct, Spot," I agree, watching him. "I must not get ahead of myself."

Across from me on the desk is Lieutenant Yar, at least in holographic format. Her blue eyes watch me, and I too observe her thoughtfully, wondering what she might say if she was here with us now. It is impossible to accurately predict what dialogue and behavioural patterns the lieutenant might exhibit, however I am able to make an educated calculation based on our interactions together. After all, she was perhaps my first experience of intimacy. 

"I do not like to think you would be angry with me," I announce to the hologram of Tasha on my desk. "And I hope you would understand my current friendship with Geordi… he is just as good of a man as you may remember, and a good companion too, even though we are not currently on amicable terms.”  

I pause. I do not know if talking to a hologram is considered a very logical form of communication, considering Lieutenant Yar cannot actually respond to my verbal incentives. Like with Spot, I do not expect a reply. In a sense, I suppose this is more of a monologue than a two-way conversation. It is not quite Shakespearean, though I have found that talking to the lieutenant's hologram is a good way to express all of my unfinished observations and reflections, the ones I would have likely told her if she was still alive. It is undoubtably unproductive, however recently it appears to have become embedded within my weekly routine without me even noticing. It is not a form of grief, as that would be impossible for me to experience, though perhaps it is the closest alternative for a non-emotive display of posthumous affection. 

My combadge chimes, and I finish my conversation with Tasha promptly.

"Troi to Data."

I tap my combadge, and rise to my feet. Typically it is Captain Picard who contacts me, and so the counsellor's voice is an unanticipated one. I assume the meeting must be finished.

"Data here."

"Data, what time do you begin your shift on the bridge tomorrow?"

"At 08:00 hours, Counsellor," I answer matter-of-factly.

Typically, I am responsible for commanding the bridge during the night watch. Though the first officer typically takes the first shift of the day, my lack of required sleep makes me the ideal candidate for nightly excursions, without the possibility that I might feel tired. To avoid inconveniencing any of my fellow crew mates, I have offered to temporarily take on an extra shift on the bridge, manning both the first and night shifts. I do not mind, since when we eventually rendezvous with the Citadel, I anticipate there will be a new first officer to relieve me of my duties. Logistically, conventional 'day' and 'night' shifts do not exist aboard a space ship like the Enterprise, however the illusion of such patterns seems to provide many members of crew with a feeling of stability and continuity. 

"Do you have time to visit my office in the afternoon?"

The counsellor's office is reserved primarily for her counselling sessions. I cannot understand why this would be an effective meeting place for us both, however I appreciate her willingness to meet with me. 

"If that is what you require, Counsellor, then I shall endeavour to be there," I assure her. "Is there anything else?"

It is difficult to make out Counsellor Troi's tone of voice, although judging by the way her pitch lifts slightly, I assume that she is pleased by my answer.

"No, that's all."

I acknowledge this. "Data out."

Chapter Text

"Counsellor, I do not understand why I am here." 

Counsellor Troi smiles, and tilts her head thoughtfully as she observes me. 

The counsellor's office has light green walls and soft pink carpeting. There is a long, snake-like sofa of the same colour, where I have been offered a seat. There is another singular chair adjacent to the long sofa, at which Counsellor Troi has seated herself, and has assumed a comfortable position in which she can listen attentively. 

"I thought you might benefit from talking to somebody," she explains calmly. "You're the ship's first officer now, Data, that's a big adjustment to make."

I frown. I am sat upright on the edge of the sofa, my legs straightened and my shoes firmly cemented against the carpet. Although I was encouraged to relax upon my arrival, I am finding it a difficult instruction to undertake. I am able to slouch and cross my legs should it be required, though I will derive no additional pleasure from this. There is a cushion on my lap, which I am holding with both hands. Counsellor Troi provided it to me at the beginning of our session: in her words, holding on to soft objects can sometimes help people to relax and therefore find it easier to discuss their problems. Although I trust her judgement, I do not believe I understand the full benefit of this method yet. 

"I apologise, Counsellor, however I highly doubt that you have requested me for the purpose of role-specific reassurance," I say matter-of-factly. "My neural net makes it easy to adjust to different roles of responsibility, and I have no trouble adapting to the requirements of Starfleet regulations."

Counsellor Troi is still smiling gently, though clearly she seems to be struggling to formulate a convincing response. I understand she is trying to assist me with some sort of problem, however her vagueness makes it difficult for me to narrow down a possible reason as to why. 

I am abnormal as a patient. As an android my emotions cannot be read by Counsellor Troi, since I do not possess them in the first place. It is therefore impossible for the counsellor to 'read' me as she might during a normal session. I consider Counsellor Troi to be very bold in her attempt, however I do not believe her typical methods will be of any use. I do not wish to discourage the counsellor, though I consider this level of optimism to be a significant hinderance to her planned meeting criteria.

"Okay then, Data," she finally acknowledges, still contemplating her words carefully as she speaks. "Why don't we consider this a therapy session?"

I frown. "But Counsellor, my lack of innate emotions means I cannot be therapised." 

This does not appear to convince the counsellor. She shakes her head.

"Actually, I disagree," she counters. "I think, more than anybody else right now, you need to speak to somebody."

I arch my eyebrow. "Do you believe me to be in trouble, Counsellor?" 

The counsellor struggles to maintain her smile, even though I can see the growing uncertainty in her eyes. 

"I think you're in trouble in a lot of ways," she admits. "But mainly, I think you need a space where you can talk about your feelings."

"But Counsellor-"

"Data." Counsellor Troi's voice is firm. "I know you're worried about Geordi, and I know you're overworking yourself trying to find a cure for this virus."

I fall silent. I do not attempt to correct the counsellor, as in a lot of ways she is correct.

"The truth is, this virus is frightening everybody," she continues. "It's not unusual to feel scared or confused."

"I do not feel scared, Counsellor, however I do consider myself to be increasingly confused." 

Counsellor Troi nods. "That's perfectly normal," she agrees. "I know if I was being targeted by my friends, I'd also want to know why."

I contemplate this, before choosing to speak. "After much research, I believe this to be a manmade virus. Though I am yet to uncover why the symptoms present themselves so violently." 

I take a pause before resuming.

"I have considered deactivating myself, as a solution if all other treatment methods remain inconclusive." 

Counsellor Troi's mouth opens partially in disbelief. 

"Some might consider that suicide, Data,” she points out seriously. 

“But I am not depressed, Counsellor,” I explain curtly. “By deactivating myself, this will likely resolve the feelings of animosity displayed by my fellow crew mates. I am willing to deactivate my systems if this means restoring normalcy to the ship."

"You don't have to be a martyr either." Counsellor Troi sighs gently. "I may not understand your positronic brain, but I know there's a much easier solution than deactivating yourself… sometimes, Data, I think you forget that people care about you… we’d all miss you."

She settles back against her chair, clasping her hands together and placing them comfortably upon her lap. 

"When Will-" the counsellor pauses to correct herself. "-When Commander Riker first became sick, I worried a lot about how our relationship might unravel… I worried that he'd turn on me, the same way he and Geordi both turned on you… that he'd forget all of our history together."

"Do you believe Commander Riker still recognises you?" I ask.

This appears to make the counsellor momentarily uncomfortable. It was not my intention to upset her, though I understand this is still a relatively new relationship dynamic for her to process. 

“I do,” she agrees eventually, smiling tentatively. “And in the same way, I think the real Geordi still remembers you too.” 

“Are you implying he has changed, Counsellor?”

Counsellor Troi’s expression settles. Though her smile has disappeared, she still maintains a respectable level of professionalism. I am tempted to interpret her softened gaze as an expression of sympathy, however I am also aware of the slight anticipatory discomfort in her eyes, as she mulls over her upcoming words. 

"I haven't told you yet, Data, but when Geordi confronted you the other day I could sense his emotions,” she explains. “That’s why I tried to warn you.”

I frown, but allow the counsellor to continue.

“I've never sensed anything like it before… Will… Geordi… both times they attacked you they were filled with this… anger. This determination to cause harm."

“I struggle to accept that Geordi’s aggression is a natural byproduct of his own personality,” I concur. “Only hours before, we had been enjoying the Holodeck like normal."

“Doctor Crusher informed me.” The counsellor nods. “Something about pirates, wasn’t it?”

“Highwaymen,” I correct her calmly. “Geordi’s latest program enables me to embody the role of the famed highwayman Dick Turpin.” 

"And he made this program just for you?"

I nod. "Following my newly-formed interest in the highwaymen of eighteenth century Earth," I say. "As I do not like to simulate murder, Geordi and I simply used his program as a way to experience an authentic carriage heist, via the mode of horseback riding."

"Like cowboys?" For a brief moment, Counsellor Troi's professionalism is overpowered by a noticeable wave of curiosity, which even she does not appear to be able to disguise. 

"As I understand, there are similarities between gang culture of the Georgian historical era and the American Frontier, more commonly known as the Wild West."

"So Geordi’s program includes pistols?" The counsellor asks, her eyebrow raising.

"Yes," I confirm. "Their design is faithful to the era of our reenactment.”

This appears to interest Counsellor Troi, whose brow furrows gently as she processes this new information.

“I must admit, I am concerned that I may have inadvertently fuelled Geordi’s desire for violence,” I reveal. “I noticed that, when confronting me, his phaser was not set to stun.”

“I don't consider this to be your fault, Data,” Counsellor Troi counters diplomatically. "Would you say you both enjoyed your visit to the Holodeck?"

"I believe Geordi appreciated the chance at normalcy,” I consider aloud. “He was very fond of our visit, despite being significantly tired… in fact, he spent much of the day asleep."

"That must have made it difficult to ride a horse," the counsellor jokes with a fond smile. 

"In actuality, Geordi accompanied me on my own horse," I reveal. "I requested that he hold on to my waist, to prevent the risk of falling."

The counsellor mulls this over thoughtfully. 

"Have you been to visit Geordi yet?"

"If you are referring to his detention cell, then I am not allowed within such close proximity to either him or Commander Riker," I answer earnestly. 

"Would you like to visit Geordi?" Counsellor Troi asks, tilting her head expectantly. 

"It would be helpful to observe Geordi's current state of wellbeing," I explain. "I do not like to think of him as being upset or agitated."

"How would that make you feel?" The counsellor, to my surprise, asks. 

I struggle to form a substantial answer. "I am sorry, Counsellor," I apologise. "But I do not know how to respond to such a question."

"Why's that, Data?"

"Because I do not believe I have ever been asked anything of a similar nature before."

I look down at the cushion on my lap, and realise that my grip has tightened on either side of the fabric. This is most surprising, as I was not aware that I had been holding it with such force.  

Counsellor Troi is also still watching me. I understand she is anticipating an emotional response, which is highly unlikely, or at least some indicator of my current thought process. Even though she has not yet asked me another question, I strangely still feel the urge to speak.

"I do not like to think that Geordi's unhappiness is a consequence of my own actions," I answer finally. "His willingness to accept me as a friend, despite my differing anatomy, is of great importance to me."

The counsellor smiles. I do not smile in return, however I appreciate the sentiment, even though it is difficult to decipher the true intentions behind her expression.

I do not consider her to be deceitful, but I understand that in a profession like Counsellor Troi's, masking one's true feelings in favour of neutrality is extremely important. If anything, it is not dissimilar to Captain Picard, or another high-ranking member of command, forced to disguise their true feelings during a high-intensity dinner hosting or a difficult attempt at first contact. I suppose now, as First Officer, I am also included in this demographic. 

"You two have a wonderful friendship, Data," the counsellor informs me, leaning forward to pat me gently on the hand. "And having seen it myself, I don't believe you would do anything to purposely hurt him."

I consider this. "Then do you believe I may have acted unintentionally?" I ask.

Once she has settled back into her chair again, the counsellor sighs. 

"Perhaps," she affirms. "I'm afraid I can't give you a definite answer… but doing something unintentionally isn't always a bad thing."

"You do not consider this virus to be bad, Counsellor?"

Counsellor Troi shakes her head. "No, I don't mean the virus," she elaborates. "But sometimes things have unexpected consequences, even if we mean to do the right thing… like visiting the Holodeck with Geordi… you did that with the intention of being a kind, thoughtful friend."

"And yet he still felt it necessary to attempt to destroy me."

"Then we know that this is a result of his sickness, not his true feelings," the counsellor states.

"Do you consider that to be a reasonable form of deduction, Counsellor?" 

"I consider it to be a deduction based on my own emotions, certainly," she agrees with determination, before she opens her mouth in silent realisation.

The counsellor appears surprised, as if she has suddenly registered the significance of her words. Even by the time she has closed her mouth again, her cheeks are still abnormally flushed, and she toys with her hands in an apparent attempt to reassure herself.

"I'm sorry, Data, I didn't mean to talk about emotions so bluntly," she apologises. 

"You do not have to apologise, Counsellor," I assure her calmly. "In fact, your explanation was a helpful insight into the importance of emotional reasoning, a cognitive process I do not possess."

I pause momentarily before continuing. 

"Perhaps the reason why I am struggling to understand this virus so much is because it is a disease based upon emotions."

Counsellor Troi lifts her head, a soft frown creasing her brow. 

"You don't feel left out, do you, Data?" She asks, taken aback.

To my surprise, the answer is not immediately obvious. I struggle to decide upon the correct choice of language, and scrunch my nose quizzically as I attempt to rationalise my thoughts. 

"I am incapable of feeling left out in a conventional manner of speaking," I contemplate out loud. "However I understand why many of my colleagues should feel jealous or threatened by my apparent physiological resistance… in a way, that is the most isolating aspect of this outbreak."

My expression relaxes, and I look across at the counsellor.

"Perhaps Commander Riker and Geordi's attempts to harm me come from feelings of deep-rooted jealousy, exacerbated by the discomfort of their physical ailments… while this is not ideal, it is a plausible explanation as to their unexpected shifts in temperament."

"Or, Data, you're just so keen to blame yourself for all of this," Counsellor Troi reminds me dubiously. 

"Counsellor?" I ask. "Have you experienced any symptoms so far?" 

Counsellor Troi falls suddenly quiet. She is not smiling, and glances quickly to the door to ensure we are not at risk of being overheard or interrupted. When she turns to face me again and begins to speak, her voice is unusually quiet. 

"A couple of headaches, on and off," she reveals. "But nothing more."

"You do not yet feel that you have experienced any hallucinations or delusions?"

"Not yet," Counsellor Troi affirms. "But I'm sure by the time you and the captain return from Hanon IV, everything will be back to normal again."

I nod. Though I doubt very much that we will find a cure so easily, I have learnt over time that people like to be reassured, no matter how improbable the outcome. Therefore, I must agree with the counsellor, as a way of convincing her that she is indeed correct. I do not believe she fully believes her own stance either.

"I will not inform Doctor Crusher of your current symptoms if you do not wish me to."

The counsellor smiles faintly. "Thank you, Data. That would be much appreciated."

She rests her hands once more upon her lap, and leans forwards encouragingly. Her smile has widened, in what I presume to be an attempt to lighten the mood. I do not know if my answers so far this session mirror the expected response of a therapy patient, or if this meeting with Counsellor Troi could be deemed a 'typical' example of a counselling session.

"So tell me, how are you enjoying being First Officer?"

Counsellor Troi waggles her eyebrow, as if my new promotion indicates the existence of any newfound secrets or interesting insights within higher command. Unfortunately for the counsellor, my experience so far as a first officer has been an almost entirely anticipated one. Apart from my short falling out with Captain Picard, we maintain a respectful relationship with one another, though we do not discuss our own lives or daily happenings when we are at work together on the bridge. I have little knowledge of the captain's own social and private life, in the same way that I have chosen not to share any excessive details of my own daily routines and occurrences. I have already accepted Captain Picard's apology for the way in which he shouted at me during our most recent meeting: even though I have reassured him that I did not take offence to his outburst, he has since been noticeably limited in his communication with me. Perhaps not because he dislikes me, but instead because he is worried he may do it again.

Deep down I know the counsellor must feel uncomfortable too. The position of First Officer was, after all, previously allocated to Commander Riker. Not only is his absence from the bridge a difficult change in routine to comprehend, but also the possibility that he, like Geordi, may not recover from the virus's effects. 

"I am grateful Captain Picard deemed me worthy of a promotion," I admit. "Though I am unsure if this is a suitable role for me to undertake."

"You don't feel you're good enough?" 

I shake my head. "I do believe I am perfectly suited to such a level of command regarding my level of skill and high functioning," I elaborate. "However from a social perspective, I am unsure that I am fully convincing to my fellow colleagues."

"Getting settled into a role does take time," Counsellor Troi explains, cupping a hand to her cheek as she observes me.

"I am expecting to be relieved of my position when we rendezvous with the Citadel," I remind her. "Therefore, I do not believe it necessary to become accustomed to my role."

I pause briefly. 

I am finding it difficult to replicate Commander Riker's same charm and boisterous personality," I confess. 

"Well, you have your own special qualities, Data," the counsellor says.

"Counsellor?" I continue. "As First Officer, would facial hair be preferable?"

"Not in the slightest," Counsellor Troi counters with an arched eyebrow. "I'm not sure I'd take facial hair advice from Commander Riker."

Just as she breaks into a broad smile, the door chimes.

Still grinning, the counsellor calls out. "Enter."

The doors open, and to my surprise it is Doctor Crusher. She is calm and smartly dressed, however the tiredness in her eyes is evident. She smiles at Counsellor Troi, before spotting me and opening her mouth slightly. 

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting?"

"Not at all," the counsellor promises. "Is everything okay, Beverly?"

Doctor Crusher nods. "I was going to use my combadge, but I wanted the chance for some fresh air. Spending so long in Sick Bay has been so stuffy."

She places her hands on her hips, focusing on Counsellor Troi. 

"I've got Lieutenant Barclay in Sick Bay. He's convinced that he's sick, but I can't find anything wrong with him. In fact, he's the healthiest person I've seen all week."

"Perhaps I can talk to him," Counsellor Troi offers, rising slowly to her feet. "We aren't due to have another session until tomorrow morning, but I'm sure I can fit him into my schedule today."

The counsellor pauses halfway through standing, and turns to me.

"I'm really sorry, Data," she says. "How about we pick this back up when you return from your trip with the captain?"

I nod. "Of course, Counsellor."

I stand up, and on my way to leave I notice that the counsellor is following me. I find it odd that Counsellor Troi feels the need to accompany me to the door, but just as I prepare to leave, she places a hand gently on my shoulder.

"Take care on Hanon IV, won't you?"

I frown, turning to face her. "Why, Counsellor?"

Counsellor Troi leans in against my shoulder, tilting her mouth up towards my ear. When she speaks again, it is almost a whisper.

"I worry that… whatever has caused this virus might still be on the planet.”

“That would be a beneficial discovery, would it not?”

“Not if this virus is determined to hurt you, Data."

The doors open, and with hesitancy she pulls her hand away from my shoulder. I am aware that Doctor Crusher is watching us, and that Counsellor Troi is reluctant to let me go.

"Thank you for inviting me to your office, Counsellor," I say simply, choosing to move the point of discussion away from the prospect of visiting Hanon IV. “I found today’s session particularly informative.”

The counsellor smiles, although the smile struggles to reach her eyes. Behind them, I notice, is concern, despite Counsellor Troi’s persistent attempts to mask her underlying worry.

“You’re always welcome here, Data," she reminds me, as the doors shut behind me.

I leave Counsellor Troi’s office and make my way to the nearest turbo lift. Unlike the transporters, the Holodeck is still open as usual. I choose to visit Holodeck Three, and upon my arrival it dawns on me how empty the corridors are. There is no pre-shift rush, nor the comfortable chatter of any passing ensigns or cadets on their way to their workstations. 

Like the transporters, the Holodeck also uses biolfilters, which must be emptied and cleaned on a scheduled basis. As part of my initial investigations, Geordi and I examined each biofilter as part of our checklist though, much like the transporters, we could not find any evidence for their involvement in the virus's origin.

"Computer, run program: Data Quarters Five."

I step inside the Holodeck, and around me is the familiar sight of my quarters. It is the evening, and I am in the middle of crafting a new painting. It is an attempt at a self portrait, in the Cubist style of Georges Braque. I appear to be half-finished; my face is complete, however I have not yet concluded the background or the lower half of my torso. Before I can pick up my paintbrush to continue, the door chimes.

“Enter,” I say, and through the doors enters Geordi. 

He is, on a superficial level, healthy. He is not sweating, yawning, or thirsty, nor does he appear to be suffering from any delusional thoughts or active hallucinations. He is wearing his usual engineering uniform, and stops at the foot of the table very close to where my easel is positioned. Most importantly, Geordi does not appear to be angry at me, nor want to hurt me. 

Geordi smiles, folding his arms expectantly. 

“How’s your painting coming along?” 

He is observing my self portrait with interest, and appears to be focused on my face in particular. 

"I am almost finished," I answer. "However I am not sure it looks convincing." 

"Not convincing?" Geordi tilts his head. "Well sure it doesn't look identical to you, but it looks great in this style. You've done a really good job."

He falls momentarily quiet, and I notice that he has turned his gaze from the painting towards me instead.

“Data, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“About my painting?”

“No, silly.” Geordi's smile broadens, and slowly he approaches me.

Where I am sat down, he crouches down in front of me, so that my eyes are almost entirely level with his visor. He is still smiling, though his lips have started to wobble with slight uncertainty. After a few steady breaths, which I presume are an attempt to relax himself, Geordi speaks again.

"You know how we've been spending so much time together recently? Not just in engineering, but between shifts too… I really liked it when you took me to the arboretum last night."

I nod. 

"I was wondering… would you like to like to come to Ten Forward with me? Tomorrow evening?"

I raise my eyebrow. "Are you wishing for some additional company, Geordi?" I ask.

He chuckles. "If it's your company, then yes, I suppose."

My eyes meet Geordi's visor, and I observe him with interest. It is very rare for our faces to be this close, and I realise I am deeply unfamiliar with this level of proximity. 

"Why would my company be preferable?" I find myself asking. 

"Because I'm asking you on a date, Data," Geordi answers, smiling nervously between words. "What d'you say?"

My eyebrows raise, and after a few long moments I finally feel it is appropriate to speak.

"Computer, pause program."

Geordi freezes. His mouth is still curled into a smile, and he is leant so close that I am consciously aware of the distance between our two lips.

Though I designed this program myself, I now believe that it is too stereotypical of a romantic proposal, and therefore not a reliable exercise in my quest to improve my own social cues and responses. I do not consider this to be an accurate portrayal of Geordi's mannerisms, or indeed a fair use of his image for my own understanding of romantic intentions and expectations. 

This is not the real Geordi La Forge. And, by extension, this is not the real me either.

I stand up from my seat and peel myself away from Geordi, slipping through the gap between us so that I can move to a quieter area of the room, one which will allow for more coherent thought. Since our recent visits to the Holodeck, first to see Lieutenant Barclay, and our second visit to the lush countryside of eighteenth century England, I have been unable to distract myself from the seemingly evolving status of our relationship. Now that the real Geordi is unwell, I wish to use this opportunity to better understand his emotions, and indeed the way he views me as a friend, or indeed as someone more than a friend. 

This is still a new program, but clearly one which needs significant adjustment. I look at Geordi, who is still crouched in front of my previously-occupied chair, and wonder what the real Geordi would make of my attempts to analyse his behaviour, and indeed the appropriateness my own responses. I ready myself before continuing. 

"Computer, resume program."

"Geordi?"

Geordi, realising that I have moved, turns to me in surprise. Craning his neck, he raises a suspicious eyebrow.

"Data, what are you doing over there?"

"Geordi, I must ask you a question," I state calmly.

He grins playfully. "Hey now, I thought I was the one asking you questions."

Though it is not Geordi's fault, I choose to ignore this. "If you were to become sick or injured, to the point of no longer recognising our friendship, what would you request I do?" I ask. 

Geordi's smile wavers warily. He appears confused, and understandably disappointed by my lack of an answer to his question. I must remind myself that Geordi will not hold this against me as a grudge; if programmed thusly, he will not remember this encounter, nor will he ever manifest as anything more than a romanticised, and indeed simplified, recreational hologram. 

"I'm not sure I understand, Data," he admits, rising slowly to his feet in order to walk across the room towards me. "Why would I be sick?"

"I am asking hypothetically," I lie. "If you no longer recognised me, or became fixated on blaming me for something I had not done, would you wish for me to stay by your side?"

Geordi mentally considers this. His frown deepens, then relaxes. 

"Honestly," he begins. "I don't think I'd ever be able to hate you, Data… not fully, anyway. Deep down, I think I'd always have these same feelings."

"And so you'd wish me to stay?" I interpret aloud.

Geordi shakes his head. "I'd want you to do what makes you happy, even if that means leaving me."

I frown.

"You wouldn't feel betrayed?"

Not if it was for your own good," Geordi explains. "Although I'd want you to make it up to me once I recovered."

I am aware that Geordi is joking, but as he smiles I notice that deep down he is anxious too.

"I'm not sick, am I?" he quips, his smile twitching feebly. "You're worrying me, Data."

I shake my head. 

"No," I assure him. "You will not be sick here."

Thankfully, Geordi does not appear to make anything of this. 

"And you don't want to go on a date, I'm guessing?"

"Perhaps not yet," I confess. "But that does not mean I do not share the same feelings for you."

"Feelings, Data?" Geordi repeats, his grin re-emerging. "This really is unlike you."

I do not mirror his smile. However, from the playful tone of his voice, it is nice to be reminded of the old Geordi. 

"Maybe it is," I agree.

"How about another walk in the arboretum sometime?" Geordi asks. "Just you and I?"

The program does not extend past this room, which itself is an identical replica of my own quarters. In this holographic world, a walk in the arboretum, or indeed any other part of the ship, would be impossible. This version of Geordi, however, does not need to know this. 

"I would like that," I answer earnestly, before looking up towards the ceiling of my quarters. I consider this a responsible time to leave. "Computer, end program."

Chapter Text

I meet the captain in Shuttle Bay Four. He is dressed differently to his usual uniform, having opted instead for a grey shirt and an open red jacket, which sits comfortably upon his slender frame. I, on the contrary, am in my normal engineering uniform. I do not deem it important to change, as this away mission does not require the use of any disguises or aliases, nor the need to adhere to any cultural traditions. I am unaffected by Hanon IV's hot climate, and potentially also the seismic activity we will encounter during our mission length. 

The captain and I are due to take a shuttle to the surface of the planet for a day-long excursion. Though it is unusual for a first officer and captain to travel together, my apparent significance in this mystery, as well as the captain's insistence on finding a cure for the sake of Commander Riker, makes us both the sensible choice for this expedition. In our absence, the Enterprise will be left in the capable hands of Counsellor Troi who, with the assistance of Doctor Crusher and Lieutenant Worf, will command the bridge until our return. 

"Do you have your tricorder, Number One?"

Until now, the captain has not yet referred to me by the nickname of Number One. I assume that this gesture of affection is forced, as it is highly unusual for the captain, though clearly it is an attempt at building trust between us both. I have always admired Captain Picard, even despite his brief recent hostility towards me, and so this acceptance of my position should logically appease me. Instead, I find myself acknowledging my new nickname with confusion. It is not a title I feel worthy of holding, nor one that feels morally acceptable given Commander Riker's still-premature departure.

I do not want my new position to encroach upon the friendship between Captain Picard and Commander Riker, or at least what is left of the commander's pre-contagious personality. I will be grateful for the eventual arrival of the Citadel, even though I know this will take many days. I cannot help but worry that, the more time that passes, the higher the chance that the virus will spread further throughout the ship, destabilising the personalities of even more of my colleagues and friends.

Captain Picard remains mostly preoccupied with his own thoughts. I do not know what these thoughts are comprised of, however they have quietly subdued him. He has not succumbed to his temper, however the frequency at which he massages his temple suggests he is still suffering significantly from headaches and a lack of sleep. Though I feel it important to remind the captain of the benefits of getting a suitable night's rest, I refrain from lecturing him. He has asked me a simple question and, as the new Number One, it would be respectful to answer accordingly.

"Yes, Sir." I nod. 

I follow the captain into the shuttle, and take my place in front of the controls. I do not look at him as I position myself, however from the corner of my eye I notice that he appears not just tired, but tense too.

"Is something the matter, Sir?" I ask.

The captain does not answer at first. It is not until we have left through the shuttle bay gates that he eventually decides to respond. 

"If we don't find any answers today, Mr Data, I worry we will have failed our mission," he admits, not looking at me as he speaks. "I want my crew to be well… I want Commander Riker, Mr La Forge, Chief O'Brien, and all remaining personnel to be okay, not taken over by this unexplainable sickness."

The captain's honesty surprises me. 

"There is a good probability we will be able to locate the source of the virus, Sir,” I inform him. “If this is where Commander Riker first became infected, then I believe it is very unlikely for the culprit to have fled.”

Although he does not respond verbally to this, my assurance has clearly had an effect on Captain Picard. He settles into his seat, staring deep in thought at the front viewport of the craft. 

I am today's designated pilot. We are still in close enough proximity to Hanon IV that transport by shuttle should be easily achievable. Although we are well-equipped in this instance, the continued lack of available transporters, and indeed the disappearance of the ship’s main transporter chief, has made travelling an unusually inconvenient task. I have already deemed it too risky for the captain to pilot our shuttle with his continued headaches. Contrary to the medical advice instructed by Doctor Crusher, he has not been resting as much as he has been instructed, and has since gained two dark circles which sag at the skin around his eyes. Thankfully, the captain appears in no mood to pilot the shuttle himself, and remains quiet for the duration of our journey, lost still in his own thoughts.

Upon our arrival, our shuttle touches down upon a long strip of dry grass, which bristles amidst the gentle expulsion of air from our thrusters as I manoeuvre the craft into a suitable landing position.

The scenic landscape of Hanon IV is not dissimilar to Lieutenant Barclay's Holodeck simulation, however the nature is less luscious and there are no exotic additions like palm trees or waterfalls. The terrain is rocky, and lacking significantly in colour and vegetation. Mostly, the palette is comprised of a combination of greys and desert-like sandy undertones; the sky is blue, but disturbed by a continuous stream of grey smoke from the neighbouring volcanic hotspots. A light tremor disrupts us, and upon exiting the shuttle I steady myself to ensure that I do not lose my footing. 

On his original away mission, Commander Riker created a report on the increased levels of seismic activity notably present on Hanon IV's surface. Due to the rapidity of his sickness, the report was never finalised, however these levels of disruption are indeed unusually strong, even for a planet so used to geographical disturbances. Judging by its environment, Hanon IV appears to still be in the Pliocene stage of evolution; although it resembles a Class M Planet, it is premature in its formation, and is visually similar to how Earth is likely to have looked millions of years ago, before humans evolved to their present form.

Following Captain Picard along the rock-clad foreground, there appears to be little else in the near distance apart from dry grass and ash-covered boulders. There is little shelter from the harsh heat, and even when I notice a series of cave openings in the far distance, I do not attempt to approach them. 

"We must avoid the caves, Captain," I inform Captain Picard seriously, over the noise of the rumbling. 

He frowns. "What makes them so dangerous?"

"Predators," I explain. "It will be wise of us not to wake them." 

Captain Picard is clearly already affected by the heat. Removing his jacket, he slings it across his shoulder and rolls up both sleeves of his shirt, grimacing as he does so. Taking interest in the drifting trail of smoke, he shields his eyes with his hand and observes the sky. 

"Is there due to be a volcanic eruption, Mr Data?"

I hold up my tricorder.

I frown. "I am struggling to produce an accurate reading, Sir," I state. "However volcanic activity has increased beyond anticipated levels, much like the level of seismic tremors. Both appear to be corresponding in tandem to one another… Captain, many of these additional tremors do not appear to be volcanic."

"It must be some kind of energy distortion," Captain Picard states, his brow furrowing with concern. "Where are the planet's inhabitants? The Away Team reported evidence of intelligent life."

"Hanon IV is occupied by primitive, early-age dwellers," I explain. "According to Commander Riker's initial report, they are hostile entities. We must be careful."

"How hostile?" Captain Picard asks, his brow creasing. "Is it possible they may have harmed Commander Riker?"

"I believe their hostility comes from their territorial nature," I answer. "Their technology is certainly not advanced enough to engineer any type of artificial weaponry."

Captain Picard sighs, raising a hand to his face in order to massage the bridge of his nose. I watch him curiously, until we are disrupted by a sudden chorus of rustling from nearby. It appears not to be just one individual, but instead multiple entities. Although I cannot yet see them, I am aware that they have started to spread out behind the shield of rock faces and surrounding bushes. Though their reasons for circling us are unknown, I am not confident that these beings come in peace. They are either watching us with curiosity, or waiting for the perfect time to descend and strike. I believe it to be the latter.

"Our shuttle appears to have drawn unwanted attention, Captain," I announce, lowering my voice. "Do you suggest we retreat?” 

"No, Mr Data, raise your hands," the captain instructs firmly. "No phasers."

I follow the captain's order, and raise my hands immediately. 

"We mean no harm," the captain calls out. "Humans… friends."

He turns briefly to me, his voice lowering to a whisper.

"Play along, Mr Data."

"Aye, Sir," I murmur quietly in acknowledgement. 

Very slowly, Captain Picard takes a step forward, his hands still raised. Before he can even place his foot on the ground, the mob descends upon us. Emerging from their hiding spots, they scamper towards us, each carrying what appears to be long wooden staffs and tangled pieces of rope. 

I deduce that these must be the inhabitants of Hanon IV, which would account for their primitive appearance and behavioural methodologies. Each individual has wiry black hair receded against a prominent forehead, and is draped in handmade robes and tunics crafted using the surrounding natural textiles. 

I have already prepared for a hostile reception and, judging by the array of weaponry, I anticipate we will be imminently attacked. Without the use of phasers, Captain Picard and I have no way of appropriately defending ourselves. We remain at the mercy of our soon-to-be captors, and to make matters worse I do not believe they understand the captain's promise of peace.

To my surprise, however, I appear to be wrong.

Before they reach us, the inhabitants grind suddenly to a halt. They lower their weapons and grunt uncertainly between each other, looking up and down at our faces and our clothing. At first, I assume that the captain's authoritative presence has intimidated them, however it does not seem to be Captain Picard they are interested in. On the contrary, the attention appears to be focused on me.

Without warning, the group of men and women drop their weapons and bow down, gathering in a circular formation around me. Perplexed, I watch them in silence, and notice that Captain Picard is also watching with guarded suspicion. While bowing at my feet, the inhabitants begin to grunt and mumble incoherently to each other, outstretching their hands in an attempt to stroke the fabric of my uniform. I stand still and make no attempt to pull away or retaliate: Captain Picard made it very clear that we do not intend to cause any harm, and I do not want to risk upsetting or angering this new unknown population.

I consider the unprecedented possibility that, to the inhabitants of Hanon IV, I am perceived as some sort of figure of interest. This could be for a number of reasons. Though pagan worship is more uncommon on modern-age starships like the Enterprise, for a primordial community like that on Hanon IV the honouring of natural deities fits in-line with their current stage of social evolution. 

Their interest in me may stem from the uniqueness of my uniform, skin pigmentation, or hair colour. While I do not consider any of these traits to be worthy of praise, as a visiting outsider I will respect their wishes, no matter how unusual they may seem to myself and Captain Picard. 

If I am indeed seen as a god-like entity, it would not be dissimilar from Lieutenant Worf's tales of the Rite of MajQa. As explained by the lieutenant, prolonged exposure to heat during meditative practice can often lead to many Klingons experiencing hallucinogenic visions. Many times, these will hallucinations will result in the image of family members, though sometimes they can also lead to visions of a desired idol or prophet. 

I am not an idol, nor a prophet, however that does not mean that the residents of Hanon IV are exempt from the effects of a mass hallucinatory force. 

They continue to talk between each other, however the words are not in English and so, without a universal translator, it is too difficult to decipher. On a superficial level, the language itself sounds undeveloped, lacking in established grammatical rules and advanced vocabulary. When the inhabitants do speak, the universal tone of their voices is rough and unsteady, and there is an animalistic urgency to their pattern of speech.

"Have you ever visited Hanon IV before, Data?" The captain asks, taking the opportunity to speak while the inhabitants appear distracted. 

"I have no knowledge of being here before, Captain," I admit with a deep frown. "I like to believe I would remember it if I had."

I take a moment, debating my next words.

"Captain," I say. "I do believe the inhabitants may be experiencing a-"

Before I can finish, I notice that a certain member of the group, one of the elders, is watching Captain Picard with distrust. His breaths are heavy and concentrated, and his teeth are bared. 

When the captain opens his mouth to speak again, the same elder picks up his staff and raises it warningly. 

"Friends… no danger," the captain insists, however the elder does not listen.

As he lifts his arm to strike, I step forward into the gap between them both.

"No danger," I firmly state, gesturing between myself and Captain Picard.

The man takes a step back, and bows apologetically. I do not believe that he can understand me, however, like the rest of his tribe, he has clearly indicated that he respects me. I look to Captain Picard, who nods with silent gratitude, before I step back to rejoin him once more.

"These people are very fond of you, Mr Data," the captain comments lowly. 

"No, Sir," I counter. "It cannot be me they are fond of. That would be impossible." 

The captain frowns, his expression depicting an evident combination of both intrigue and doubt. I anticipate for him to speak, but suddenly he is overcome by a burst of what appears to be pain. He groans, raising a hand to his temple.

I deduce that Captain Picard's headache has worsened. If he does not receive help quickly, he may be at risk of extreme discomfort or a worrying increase in his overall symptoms.

"We require medical assistance," I state, looking between the surrounding group of inhabitants. "Water. Medicine."

They stare at me blankly. I remember that they cannot speak nor understand English, and I do not even know if their medicinal standards are in-line with common modern practices.

The absence of Doctor Crusher places myself and the captain in a difficult predicament. Undertaking a hostile away mission without the presence of a medical officer leaves us open to risk and potential further injury, and without permitted use of the transporters we have no way of guaranteeing a quick escape if needed.

Even when Commander Riker first travelled to Hanon IV as part of his own away mission, he deemed it unnecessary for the doctor to accompany him. This mistake may have inadvertently acted as a catalyst for the commander's infection, though I question whether even Doctor Crusher would have been able to identify the initial source of the virus or locate a suitable antiserum. 

Under the ship’s current circumstances, it would have been unwise to pull Doctor Crusher from her work in Sick Bay. She has been working tirelessly with very little reward, and continues to spend the majority of her time tending to newly-symptomatic personnel. Despite the deactivation of the transporters, and newly-implemented restrictions on communal areas like Ten Forward and the arboretum, the virus’s pattern of infection remains sporadic and unpredictable. If following a linear pattern of contagion, the virus would have infected Doctor Crusher almost instantaneously, long before any other members of crew. Given her repeated exposure to its unmasked symptoms, it is remarkable that she herself has not fallen ill. Either she, like myself, seemingly possesses some type of immunity, or this virus is indeed a bizarre, but purposely-calculated, act of biological warfare, much like the captain still seems to believe. 

As much as I respect the doctor as a leading medical practitioner, I doubt very much even she would be able to help the captain if she was here. This is not a critique of her expertise, however so far all of her proposed treatments have failed to work on both Commander Riker and Commander La Forge. If there is indeed a cure, I am sure the doctor will be the first to find it, however until then we must act with caution. 

Captain Picard groans again, and I notice that his breathing is more laboured this time. 

I gesture to the captain's head, hoping that a visual stimulus may be easier for the inhabitants to understand.  

"Captain Picard is very sick," I attempt to emphasise. “Headache… head ache.” 

As they watch me, a handful of the group raise their hands to their own heads, mimicking my actions. They pat their heads with a frown, before one of the women's eyes widens in realisation. She tugs on the edge of one of the elder's shawls, and begins to ramble eagerly. I deduce that the elder in question must be a figure of significance, perhaps a leader, judging by the claw which hangs from his neck. 

A grunt of apparent confirmation follows. Whatever she has said must be correct, as quickly the group descend upon us, placing hands upon our shoulders and gesturing for us to follow them. The captain resists at first, and I see him reach instinctively for his phaser. 

"Sir, I believe they are trying to help us," I explain quietly, and from the corner of my eye I see the captain's fingers loosening on his phaser.

He nods, managing to speak between shaky breaths. "Then we will follow."

Captain Picard and I walk side-by-side, a group of inhabitants guiding us in front, and another small group following behind. I realise that we are not being shielded for our own protection, but so that the group can keep a close eye on us, should we attempt to escape or begin to pose any kind of threat. 

Some, I notice, are still carrying their wooden staffs, though they appear more suspicious of the captain than they do of me. Captain Picard walks slowly but with determination, keeping his head raised high in an effort to preserve his dignity. His brow is deeply furrowed, and occasionally he emits a soft groan when he believes nobody else can hear him.

I am uncomfortable viewing the captain in such a vulnerable state. Perhaps because I am First Officer, or because I also view the captain as a friend, I feel greatly responsible for his wellbeing. I imagine that, in a situation such as this, Commander Riker would know how to effectively boost morale. While I am able to think and act logically, I am not always capable of improving people's emotions.

The walk is long, and the temperature shows no sign of cooling. A rumble of seismic activity rocks us, and I outstretch a hand to support the captain, managing to steady him before he loses his balance. Our designated path leads us across a vast open plain, and I am aware that, in such direct sunlight, the captain will quickly start to dehydrate if we do not soon find shelter. The closest available area of shade appears to be that of the neighbouring caves, however I do not believe any of the natives here will dare to approach them. It is a wise decision on their part.

Finally, we approach a shrouded area of grassland. It is partially cordoned by a natural array of tall, jagged rocks, and a small body of water sits nearby. Immediately, three members of the group escort Captain Picard to the water's edge, cupping water in their hands and encouraging him to drink. He does so tentatively. Normally, a tricorder would be able to assess the quality of drinking water, however I believe any unplanned use of technology may scare the locals, and prolong the captain from acquiring the water he so evidently needs. 

Before I have a chance to follow, the main elder stops me. He outstretches the palm of his hand, and in it sits the same claw necklace which had previously been draped around his neck.

"I cannot take this," I state simply. 

My previous use of visual cues appeared to work successfully, and so this time I shake my head. 

The elder frowns, looking down at the claw, then back up at me again.

Once more, I firmly shake my head. "I am not your leader," I attempt to explain. "I am-"

"Mr Data."

I am alerted to a sudden, sharp call from Captain Picard. I raise my head, fearing that he may be in potential danger, until I notice that he has finished drinking, and appears instead fixated on one rock in particular. 

I excuse myself from the leader, who bows respectfully, and approach the captain. He is sat on the ground with his head rested upon a slanted boulder, with a handful of large leaves pressed against his forehead as shade. His lips are wet, though his symptoms appear to have eased enough for him to no longer be in excruciating pain. 

Upon spotting me, the captain stands up. He is shaky at first until he manages to secure his feet, and he prizes the leaves from his forehead, discarding them upon the ground. 

"Sir?"

"Mr Data, are you sure you've never visited the surface before?"

I follow the captain's gaze and realise that, on the opposing rock, is a clear carving of what appears to be my face. The carving lacks in significant detail, however the head shape, eyes, and hair seem to be remarkably similar to my own. I am most surprised by this discovery, though apparently not as surprised as Captain Picard, who has spotted something else scattered along the ground.

At first glance, the captain's findings appear to constitute the form of loose fragments of technology, placed sporadically along the foreground and covered partly in dust from the desert. Some of the wiring has been severed, and in some instances the technological hardware has been smashed or dented, as if it has been the victim of some sort of brute-force impact. 

"This technology is far more advanced than what this species should be capable of," I inform the captain, turning briefly to face him. "Technically speaking, Captain, the inhabitants of Hanon IV do not yet even know how to use electricity yet."

"Does any of it still work?" He asks suspiciously. 

He steps forward, attempting to pick up one of the technological fragments, before one of the men quickly scuttles forward and takes it from my hand. He cradles it possessively in his own hands, and turns one of the dials on the side. There is no noise, however it appears to pulsate, emitting a short burst of particle matter into the atmosphere. Though the object is significantly damaged, it vaguely resembles some kind of transmitter. There is a handle attached, as if this object is meant to be hand-held, however the man does not seem to understand this. Instead, he holds it upside down.

He immediately lets out a series of grunts, imitating what I presume to be an animal-like laugh. Clearly, he is pleased with himself, however it is difficult to work out what exactly he has done. There is no immediate consequence of his actions, and it is impossible to tell whether the result will be a good or bad one, or even one which is evident at all.

I do not believe the man maintains a high enough intellect to know exactly what it is he is doing. To him, and potentially the rest of the tribe too, these discarded pieces of technology are more like playthings than necessary tools. They are visually interesting and are fun to play with, and as a result the inhabitants of Hanon IV do not appear to show any interest in the implication of their actions. 

Captain Picard's brow furrows. 

"Where did these come from?" he demands.

None of the tribe answer. Frustrated, Captain Picard takes the object for himself and holds it in the air. 

The leader announces something incoherent, and points to the sky. The rest of the tribe copies him, raising their own hands and pointing upwards. 

This does little to convince the captain, who looks down at the faux-transmitter in his hands with a troubled scowl.

"Technology doesn't simply fall from the sky," he grumbles quietly, before passing the object over for me to examine. "Has somebody been here perhaps? A teacher? Somebody to help them to cheat evolution?"

"It is difficult to say, Captain," I admit. "I do not see why any ship outside of the Federation would desire to visit a planet so early in its development."

Captain Picard does not appear keen on this outlook. "Clearly, this planet is more developed than any of us first thought." He looks up, meeting my gaze. "It seems their interest in technology also spreads to you too, Data."

I place the transmitter back onto the ground, and retrieve my own tricorder. I had been hoping to avoid the use of Starfleet technology on this mission, but it is apparent that the natives on Hanon IV are already well-versed with their own technological exploration.

I kneel down to the ground and outstretch my tricorder. This time, I am able to gather a slightly better reading, though quickly I find myself frowning. 

"Captain," I announce. "This is Borg technology."

Captain Picard's face stiffens. The scepticism in his expression changes to one of noticeable unease, and he takes an automatic step back. Though we had already ruled the Borg Collective out of our preliminary investigations, clearly we were wrong.

When he speaks again his voice is little more than a harsh whisper, but his overall tone is deeply serious.

"Do you believe the inhabitants here may have been trained by the Borg?"

"The Borg Collective has no interest in training," I correct the captain. "Only assimilation… and as of yet, Hanon IV's inhabitants have not been assimilated." 

"It looks like scrap material," Captain Picard muses aloud, taking a couple of breaths to compose himself. 

I wish to assure him that we are safe, however I do not know for certain that we are. It would be wrong of me to give false hope, especially considering the captain's deeply-traumatising history with the Collective.

In the meantime, the captain keeps his distance, as if worried that, if he steps any closer, he may place himself at risk of an attack.  

While he lingers, I crouch down beside the metal remnants and attempt to pick up another in my hand.

As I do so, two of the men approach me. They have been patiently waiting while the captain and I discuss the matter, though I assume they are resistant to people touching their technology, or indeed their toys. 

"May I?" I ask, gesturing to the object in my hand. 

After some uncertainty, the men bow respectfully and step away. They return to the tribe leader, who is also watching us attentively. 

"Why didn't Commander Riker report any of this?" Captain Picard asks, frowning.

"In his report, Commander Riker detailed experiencing limited contact with the inhabitants of the planet," I explain matter-of-factly. "Considering he did not possess symptoms of the virus at the time of his visit, it is unlikely he would have required any medical attention… he certainly would not have ventured this far."

I measure a handful of broken transmittance devices and metal implants, many of which have been severed or corroded with dust and heat. They have been dropped from a great height, which may align with the tribe's insistence that they fell from the sky. Barely any are still in tact, and those which are appear inoperable anyway. 

"It is highly unlikely that the Borg currently operate on Hanon IV," I state. "Instead, I believe these parts have been dumped here."

"A galactic littering ground?"

I frown as I consider this. "The Borg also occupy the Delta Quadrant," I affirm. "It is atypical, but not impossible… after all, Hanon IV is not yet considered to be a planet of high significance. The inhabitants here have no armies, no weapons capable of widespread destruction… there is no risk of retaliation against the Borg should Hanon IV's inhabitants resist to their methods of disposal."

Captain Picard falls silent, contemplating this information with a grimace. I do not dare to interrupt the captain while he thinks, although I am keen to ensure that he is not overworking himself.

"Mr Data, are you in any way connected to the Borg?" he asks unexpectedly, taking me by surprise.

"No, Sir."

"Your face on the rock face carving…" Captain Picard insists, pondering aloud. "Data, if you have any knowledge of this, you must tell me. Not just for my sake, but for the sake of my crew. If you, or Lore-"

"Lore was deactivated, Sir," I feel the need to remind the captain calmly. 

Before I can continue, another deep rumble erupts us. A cloud of ash rises in the distance, slowly but steadily, and some of the younger locals emit noises of fear. The elders raise their wooden staffs in an attempt to ward away the smoke, and while they are preoccupied I gesture for the captain.

"Captain, I appear to be picking up unusual readings on my tricorder."

I outstretch it in my hand, so that Captain Picard can also see.

"Hanon IV's seismic activity appears to be mostly made up of electromagnetic interference… it seems to be stronger than anything I have measured before. In fact, paired with the planet's remaining volcanic activity, I do believe it may hold potential for catastrophic disruption."

The captain raises his eyebrow. "Some kind of energy generator…" he notes.

"I believe this magnitude of electromagnetic radiation is perhaps why my tricorder struggled to attain such a clear reading when we first arrived," I agree, handing my device to the captain. 

He studies the screen, before scratching the top of his head thoughtfully.

"Could high electromagnetic radiation contribute to any adverse side effects?" The captain asks.

"If utilised correctly, it is possible that it could power devices, Sir," I explain.

"Like the Borg?"

I shake my head. "That is highly unlikely on an undeveloped planet," I explain. "It is unusual for the Collective to dispose of their scrap parts instead of reusing them… there is a possibility they may return to collect these parts, however I do not believe they will be of any use to them."

"How quickly could that be?" Captain Picard demands.

"If using a transwarp conduit, it is possible they could arrive relatively quickly," I explain. "But if they wanted to, I am sure the Collective would have already taken back their parts by now.. they must have accidentally discarded them, or found no use for them."

"This virus, Mr Data," the captain continues. "Could you use electronic distortions to infiltrate a person's thoughts and beliefs?"

I frown in concentration. "It would not be impossible, if conducted by a person with developed knowledge of biochemical weaponry."

The captain nods slowly, taking in my input. Although he has not said anything out loud, it appears we have both reached a similar mental conclusion. 

"I do not believe the virus to be the work of the Borg, Sir," I state eventually. "However I believe somebody here on the surface has found this scrap metal and used it for their own personal gain, utilising what you earlier described as an energy generator."

"You mean somebody has decided to play Frankenstein?" Captain Picard asks seriously.

I nod. "I am afraid it is a possibility."

"Your carving on the rock face, Data," the captain says. "If you have no knowledge of having visited Hanon IV before, then why are the inhabitants so fond of you?"

"I do not know, Sir," I answer earnestly.

The captain sighs, bringing a hand to his face so that he can massage his temple. I allow him a few moments of quiet reflection, and use the opportunity to observe our surrounding landscape. Apart from the small tribe of the planet's inhabitants around us, I cannot make out any other type of life form, person or animal. There is a dust cloud approaching on the horizon, and in the distance the volcanic smoke has darkened in colour. Although the captain and I do not yet have a cure or origin point for the virus, it would be a sensible decision to retreat to our shuttle should the climate became too inhospitable. 

There is another, smaller rumble of seismic activity, and all of a sudden the captain clutches his head. He gasps in pain, and stumbles backwards. 

"Captain?"

I attempt to follow, but the captain continues to stagger backwards, until he collides with the grassy floor below. There is a dull thud, by which point the captain has covered his entire face with his hands, shielding himself. He is still groaning and mumbling incoherently, but when I raise my head in search of medical assistance I realise that the remaining members of the tribe have all fled. They have taken their weapons with them, as well as a handful of technological equipment. The evidence I hoped to bring back to the Enterprise has vanished.

Without the inhabitants to lead the way, Captain Picard and I are left at the mercy of the natural landscape around us. Though I am attempting to remain calm, this deeply concerns me.

"We must return to our shuttle," I call out, raising my voice in hope that one of the inhabitants may hear me. "You must take us back to our landing site."

There is no answer. I cannot hear footsteps or voices, and the incessant rumbling makes it difficult to project my voice any louder. Not that my language would be easily translatable anyway. 

"Captain," I emphasise, kneeling down beside him. "Can you hear me?"

The captain does not answer. I attempt to remove his hands from his face, but he resists. I let go, and decide instead to search for more medicine. It seemed to work at soothing Captain Picard's symptoms the first time, and so I collect a handful of leaves and contemplate how I might be able to encourage him to drink water. 

There is rustling in the distance, which distracts me momentarily from my thoughts. There is a high likelihood that one of the tribe members has returned, carrying water, medicine, or potential food. In case it is not, I decide to partially conceal the captain with my own body. At the very start of our trip, Captain Picard ordered us not to use our phasers. As not to provoke any unwanted hostility, and to avoid any unfortunate misfiring, I decide to continue obeying his orders.

I look up to the horizon, to where the dust cloud has started to settle, and notice a figure approaching. I raise a hand, in hope of attracting some sort of attention. I keep my phaser firmly secured and hidden from sight.

"We must return to our shuttle," I attempt to project my voice across the plain. "Captain Picard requires immediate medical assistance."

The figure does not respond, even though it is evident that they have heard me. They stop in their tracks, but offer no verbal response or acknowledgement. 

I frown, until the dust clears enough for me to make out the culprit. It is a tall, slim male, with a head of jet black hair and pale skin.

I recognise the figure almost instantly, although I take no pleasure in it. He begins to walk again with a smile, even though he should not be walking at all.

I was never the intended deity for the inhabitants of Hanon IV, nor the muse for their rock carving. I cannot help but think of Commander Riker and Commander La Forge, realising my own misfortune in being a victim of apparent mistaken identity. 

I attempt to protectively shield Captain Picard, concerned that he is still showing no signs of responsiveness, however Lore interrupts with a grin. 

"I thought you'd never come, brother."

Chapter Text

"You did this, Lore."

"Did this?" Lore smiles, halting at the edge of the boundary. "Dare I say you're downplaying my achievement, brother."

My brow furrows in confusion. It is illogical that Lore is here speaking to me when I deactivated him following our encounter with the Borg colony. In failing to initiate and control my own emotions, it appears he has moved onto his newest plan, that being to unlawfully manipulate the behaviours of my crew mates aboard the Enterprise.

My brother is not a prophet, nor a deity, nor somebody who deserves to be admired in any capacity. I find it difficult to understand why the inhabitants of Hanon IV would desire to worship him, alongside the circumstances which allowed him to enter the planet in the first place. I have many questions I wish to know the answer to, however I do not consider my brother to be a reliable storyteller. It is not wise to show any interest in Lore's schematics as, from experience, he thrives off of attention and admiration. I do not wish to give him such satisfaction.

"You turned my friends against me."

"Your friends?" Lore scoffs, however his expression softens thoughtfully. To my surprise, he nods, seemingly to agree with me. "A slight hitch in my programming, I must admit… it wasn't my intention to turn them all against you, Data, but then if I hadn't, you wouldn't have come to find me."

Lore clears his throat. From afar, I noticed no change in his physical appearance, however upon closer inspection I realise that he is different to how he looked the last time we saw each other. Having been reassembled, he appears to have lost the sharp precision and the attention to detail crafted so carefully by our father. Though he still carries many of the same distinguishable traits of a Soong-type android, the lack of care is evident in the way that his parts have not been allotted properly into their designated sockets, leading to a presumably weakened infrastructure. His black clothing is torn and dirty; it is the same outfit from our previous escapade, however now it appears covered in dust and ash as a result of Hanon IV's harsh desert climate. Lore's hair is tangled and there are marks upon his face. Like the rest of the discarded pieces of scrap metal, his mainframe appears to have been damaged when it was dumped upon the planet. There are key differences between us both and, for the first time, I believe we are clearly distinguishable from one another.

I do not know who reassembled him, however I do not believe they understood the severity of their actions in doing so.

"I must get Captain Picard back to our shuttle," I state firmly, ignoring my brother's taunts. 

"You don't want to know how I did this?" Lore implores, raising his eyebrow. "Why I did this?… it's unlike you not to be curious, brother."

"The captain requires medical assistance," I emphasise, my expression rigid. 

I turn away from Lore, and crouch down at Captain Picard's side. He has awoken, but continues to groan softly. He is dehydrated, and without adequate medical care I predict he is at imminent risk of heat stroke or delirium.

"It is okay, Sir," I say quietly, cupping my hand against the back of the captain’s head in an attempt to support him. “We will be back aboard the Enterprise soon. Doctor Crusher will be able to help you."

The captain does not respond. Without waiting for approval, knowing that I am unlikely to receive any, I lift the captain up and drape him across my shoulder, placing my arm around his torso to ensure that he is efficiently secured. 

I begin to walk, before Lore's voice calls out amidst the low rumbling of an encroaching seismic disturbance.

"You don't want to know how to cure them?" His voice rattles. "Picard? Riker?… La Forge?"

I stop in my tracks. I am admittedly troubled by my brother's remarks, however I do not turn around to look at him. Although I have many questions, and concerns, I do not have the time to voice them. I do not wish to sacrifice the captain's wellness to serve my own inappropriately-timed curiosity. 

Lore seems to notice the pause in my movement, and, although I cannot see him, I predict that this is the type of reaction to make him smile.

"Did he turn against you too?" He asks. It is unusual for him to be genuinely surprised by something, but I realise that this is perhaps the first time he has been made aware of the results of his experimentation.

I decide to change the subject. I do not want to discuss my feelings regarding Geordi, or for Lore to weaponise the relationship between myself and those who I consider to be my best friends. 

"When the Federation find you here, they will take you to trial before the Council," I say matter-of-factly. "Technically speaking, you have engineered a weapon of destruction against Starfleet personnel... that is biological warfare."

Lore scoffs. "No, no, this isn't a war, brother."

"I do not believe the Federation will agree," I counter. "I do not believe it will take them long to find you here."

Finally, I turn to face Lore. I realise that he has become suddenly serious. Not at the prospect of being discovered by the Federation, but at being left alone upon the planet's surface.

"There's going to be a volcanic eruption soon… you can't leave me here."

"The inhabitants here idolise you," I remind him calmly. "They will protect you."

For the first time, Lore appears genuinely nervous. 

"Who's to say these people don't sacrifice their Gods, Data?"

I am unsure whether to trust Lore's display of evident uncertainty. For all I know, it could be a well-established ploy to make me feel guilty.

Lore should know that I cannot exhibit traditional forms of sympathy. Considering ritual sacrifice is very likely a tradition for the inhabitants of Hanon IV, it would be wrong to interfere with their customs. Already, they have been exposed to technology far beyond their natural evolution, and by further tampering with their natural timeline of progression, we risk damaging their very understanding of the boundaries between biology and technology. 

It is not in Starfleet's nature to destabilise an entire colony's belief system, nor an accepted way to build a relationship with a new species. Although I do not blame Lore for finding himself stranded upon the planet's surface, I do not doubt that he understands the seriousness of his interference with this species' way of living.

Lore's expression twitches. I notice he is becoming agitated. It is likely that he knows what is about to happen. 

"I must leave you here, Lore," I explain. "It is time for you to face the consequences of your actions."

From my pocket, I retrieve my phaser. I aim it at Lore, who raises both hands. As he holds them up, I notice that the palms of his hands are dirty, and that his fingertips are charred. 

"I'm defenceless, brother."

I hold the phaser steady, and fire regardless.

Though set to an uncommonly high level, the phaser impact will only temporarily destabilise Lore. Since he is made from such durable material, much like myself, it would take a much higher setting to significantly damage or indeed permanently disable him. 

Lore topples backwards as expected, colliding with the dusty ground below. I pocket my phaser and crouch down to check that he is suitably incapacitated. He is indeed, though this type of stun is likely to wear off within twenty or so minutes. It is not enough force to overpower Lore's neural net, however it provides the captain and I with enough time to make it safely back to our shuttle.

Once satisfied, I slide my arms around Lore's torso, and drag him over to the surrounding cluster of rocks. I locate the rock carving of his face, and decide to lean him appropriately against it. 

I notice for the first time that, within the carving, the inhabitants have included the prominent metallic scars which now cover Lore's face. I do not yet know the full extent of the relationship between Lore and the native residents of Hanon IV, or how he has been able to attain a level of such prominent worship, however I find it interesting that none of the inhabitants we have encountered today appear to be exhibiting any symptoms of sickness or pain. Either those who were infected have already died, which would add to the list of crimes my brother is responsible for, or his target range was carefully handpicked.

Deciding that Lore is in a suitable enough position, I retract from my brother and begin to scour the ground for any remaining technological scraps. If these fragments of machinery do indeed belong to the Borg, as I first presumed, then they will be extremely useful to analyse within main engineering. I am sure Geordi will be eager to examine these parts for any potentially interesting discoveries, however this will have to wait until he has suitably recovered.

I collect as many samples as I am able to, until Captain Picard emits a soft groan, and I am reminded of the criticality of making it back to the Enterprise.

I secure my arm around Captain Picard's torso and re-secure him, surveying the surrounding landscape before beginning to traipse my way back in the anticipated direction of our shuttlecraft. 

Though it is difficult to distinguish the exact coordinates of our shuttle, I know we must act quickly. Not only is the imminent threat of volcanic activity a risk, but I must prepare for the possibility that our craft has been attacked or cordoned off pending further investigation. Unlike the Klingons or Romulans, we are unable to use cloaking technology, and so in being highly-visible we must hope that our shuttle has managed to avoid garnering any further unwanted attention.

Any malfunction or deliberate attack, regardless of how big or small, may result in us becoming totally stranded upon Hanon IV's surface. With no means to communicate with Counsellor Troi, we would be forced to wait for the Enterprise crew to locate us directly. Without the use of the ship's transporters, and the very unlikely probability that a secondary shuttle would be deployed to collect us, I must accept that the prognosis is bleak. 

There is no predictable timescale for a rescue operation of this nature. In his current condition, I do not believe Captain Picard would be able to forgo pain relief or sustenance for much longer. 

It becomes quickly apparent as I walk that, compared to the inhabitants of Hanon IV, myself and the captain know very little of our surrounding environment. The path back to our shuttle remains unclear and, even after consulting my tricorder, I find myself struggling to pick up an effective reading. The planet's unprecedented levels of electromagnetic radiation continue to interfere with the quality of reliable transmission, and even in Commander Riker's initial report he offers very level insight into any potentially-helpful shortcuts or geographical reference points.

The dust clouds have increased in intensity, and I attempt to shield the captain's eyes with the palm of my hand. He remains, for the most part, unmoving, but at shortening intervals will occasionally groan or flinch. I keep a steady hold of him, assessing his temperature and occasionally attempting to offer calming words of reassurance, which I am aware probably have very little effect.

Only when I retrace my steps through the dusty plain do I begin to recognise the familiar cave openings around us. I realise that we must be getting closer, and after ten minutes I spot the grainy outline of our shuttle in the far distance.

It does not appear damaged, and so I deem it suitable to try and rouse the captain.

"Sir, we are almost there… I would be most grateful if you could attempt to hold on until Doctor Crusher is able to assess you."

I deduce that the captain must be able to understand me, as at first he appears resistant to my encouragement. I slow until coming to a gentle halt, and attempt to reach out my hand to assess his breathing. Last time I checked, there were signs that the captain's breathing was beginning to grow raspy. I am attributing this to the fact that his body is struggling immensely to acclimatise to the harsh midday heat, and that his throat has dried from the significant lack of water.

As I extend my hand to assess him, Captain Picard lurches suddenly upwards and attempts to wrangle with it. Taken by surprise, I stumble backwards and fall to the ground, accidentally pulling the captain down to the surface with me. We both land with a heavy thud, which is when I realise that the captain is attempting to control my hand, wrestling it towards the phaser in my holster. 

The captain is suffering from, what I assume to be, a hallucinatory episode. As with Commander Riker and Geordi, I have learnt that there is little use in attempting to negotiate with somebody under the effects of the virus, as they themselves are not able to think or act logically.

Though ordinarily I would have no issue in debating with the captain, who himself secretly enjoys the opportunity for intellectual discussion, now is not the time for such a conversation. 

Using my strength, I manage to push him away, but not before my phaser clatters onto the hard rocky ground below. I remember that Captain Picard's own phaser is still concealed within his own holster and, before I have the chance to collect my own, I decide that I must urgently disarm him. If I fail to remove the captain's phaser from his possession, then there is a possibility his actions may imitate those of Commander Riker's. 

If the captain was to stun himself now, regardless of the intensity, we would have nobody to provide medical treatment. Although I still struggle to fully understand the concept of luck, I do now believe Commander Riker was extremely fortunate to have stunned himself on a relatively-low setting. Any higher, it is likely that he would have sustained serious if not life-threatening injuries. 

I do not know what the customs regarding death are like on Hanon IV. If Captain Picard was to die atop the surface, it would be unjust to leave his body here, instead of returning it aboard the Enterprise for a dignified send-off, either in the form of a ceremony or occasion of remembrance, like in the instance of Lieutenant Yar. 

I notice the captain reaching for his phaser, and quickly I manage to pull his hand away. 

Even if I stun the captain, there is an increasing chance that his body will not be able to withstand the pressure. With an already-weakened immune system, and indeed viral anomalies which cannot be cured using standard medicinal practice, it would be unwise to endanger him any further. 

"I am not Lore, Sir," I emphasise firmly, despite knowing that it will make little difference. "It is not me you wish to harm."

The captain grapples with my shoulders, and I roll him over on the ground so that I can attempt to dislodge the phaser. Amidst our scuffle, a cloud of sand-filled dust forms around us, and Captain Picard begins to cough. I use this opportunity to seize the phaser from his holster, retracting it from his reach and promptly disabling it. I pull away from the captain, who is still coughing, however when I attempt to retrieve my own phaser, I realise it is missing. 

There are boot-shaped footprints atop the sand-covered rock surface, and all of a sudden I am aware of a sharp beam targeting me directly in the chest. 

I fall to the ground. My hearing and eyesight are not impaired, but I find myself unable to move or speak. 

Lying on my back, I have no choice but to stare up at the sky above me. The sun has started to set, and the sky is aglow with red clouds from one of the nearby volcanoes. A shadow looms over me, and a pale hand reaches down.

When I struck Lore, I was keen to only temporarily stun him. With the shuttle nearby, I do not believe it would have taken Captain Picard and I long to evacuate from the planet's surface, leaving Lore behind to deal with the consequences of his own actions. In being hindered by the captain's sudden medical episode, it appears that such a smooth departure is no longer achievable. 

To no surprise, it seems Lore is still adverse to playing fairly. I realise, in turn, that he appears to have struck me at a much higher phaser setting than the level I used upon him.

"I'm sorry, Data," Lore says gently, grabbing hold of the neck of my uniform. "But sometimes, you just have to listen to your family."

I am aware of Lore dragging me back to the shuttle and, as expected, the journey is not smooth. As he pulls me across the uneven ground, the jagged rocks graze against the back of my head. My head jolts occasionally and I am concerned that, if disturbed, the sheer force may loosen the casing of my neural net, exposing my inner wiring to the harsh natural terrain. If I was to be harmed in such a way, there is a chance that the damage to my positronic net could be irreparable. If I do not have Geordi, or at the very least Doctor Crusher, to help repair my systems, then I cannot see a way in which I could be adequately mended. 

From the corner of my eye, I spot a pair of boots being dragged simultaneously alongside me. They are not my own, and so I must assume that they belong to the captain. I cannot hear any sort of heavy breathing, and he has not yet made any attempt at speaking.

I still cannot move, despite my frequent attempts to move my arms and rotate my head. Though I am not afraid, I cannot help but wonder how the addition of emotions would impact my current interpretation of the situation.

I am unused to the feelings of fear and panic, which may have otherwise rendered me hysterical. I like to think that, as an Academy graduate, I would be able to perform well in such a pressurised scenario given my vast experience of training exercises, regardless of my level of emotional responsiveness. Hypothetical probability, however, is not a useful tool in establishing real-life behavioural patterns.

Though I cannot feel pain, I do find myself longing unusually for the remaining skeleton crew of the Enterprise, as well as my friends who, despite having been discharged, are still likely on board waiting to be collected by the Citadel.

In thinking of my friends, I find myself thinking almost entirely of Geordi. 

I convince myself that Geordi will find me. He will fix me, and thus realise that I am not to blame for his sickness. Though I do not require nor expect an apology, it feels wrong not to have the opportunity to discuss my findings with him.

Although my lack of emotions means I do not require additional reassurance amidst situations of high emotional turmoil, this would not deter Geordi from encouraging and consoling me regardless. I do not believe his frequent desire to comfort me comes from naivety, as Geordi, more than anybody, is well-acquainted with the structure and workings of my neural net. Instead, I believe that he, above anybody else, views me as being entirely equal to that of a human.

I still have not had a chance to discuss the subject of feelings with Geordi. I accept that, as Lore continues to drag me forcefully towards our shuttle, I may not have the chance to ever address it.

I do not yet know if we are returning to the Enterprise, or if Lore plans to travel elsewhere within the Delta Quadrant. Without the use of a Galaxy-class starship, we are not equipped for long-distance travel. I am certain that Lore knows this as well as I do, and, after spending so long trapped upon a primitive planet like Hanon IV, I doubt he would purposely jeopardise any chance of a meaningful escape.

As we approach the shuttle, I begin to notice critical lapses in my short term memory functioning. While I ordinarily have no issue in recording and remembering my surroundings, my typical systems of operation appear to have been damaged by Lore's phaser fire. In turn, I appear not to be functioning within normal parameters, however without the proper equipment there is currently no way to accurately check this. 

I seem to suffer another lapse in memory, as when I open my eyes I am no longer surrounded by the arid, dusty climate of Hanon IV. In what feels like a split second, I am suddenly aware that the seismic quakes have stopped; instead, the air and the floor are cool and still. I recognise the familiar soft hum of our shuttlecraft controls, and realise that I am on the floor. My head and shoulders are slumped against one of the wall panels, allowing me some visibility of the rest of the craft. I cannot move or speak sufficiently, and still I do not see Captain Picard.

Lore sits in the pilot's seat. With his back turned, I notice the full extent of the unspoken errors in his physical anatomy. From behind, the damage to his external hardware is far more pronounced than I had first recognised. Injury to this extent could incapacitate an android entirely and, with no support system, it is unlikely that Lore will only have a limited amount of time before he faces a significant system shut down.

Most evidently of all, the panel to Lore's neural net is damaged. Through the gaps in his black hair, the metal is charred and dented in places. I presume an injury of this extent was gained as a result of being dumped upon the planet from a high altitude. It could also be from a physical attack, perhaps a territorial warning from one of the planet's inhabitants, though judging by our reception from the inhabitants, it seems Lore's arrival was widely perceived as a blessing rather than a threat.

Craning his neck to check if I am functioning adequately, Lore's eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise.

"Good, you're back."

He sighs. It is the same type of sigh that Doctor Crusher would often direct at Wesley: stern, yet affectionate. It makes sense, considering that we too are family.

"I thought I'd lost you for a moment."

Without waiting for a response, perhaps because he knows I will not be able to provide one, Lore returns to busying himself with the shuttle control panels. 

When he notices me attempting to sit up, with minimal success, he tuts and shakes his head. Rising from his seat, he approaches calmly. 

"Don't attempt to move, brother," he instructs. "Your systems are weakened. You won't be able to withstand the pressure."

I oblige. I accept that Lore is correct, as difficult as I find it to trust him not to harm me or the captain.

He crouches down and gently strokes a strand of hair from out of my face. I anticipate that the arid temperature and sandy residue from Hanon IV has damaged the overall quality of my hair, and perhaps also my skin too. It is not often that my appearance differs from its original preset and, when occasionally, it does, my positronic net finds it difficult to adapt to such an unexpected configuration.

"They patch you up well on the Enterprise, don't they?" He hums thoughtfully, observing my external anatomy with noticeable interest.

"No scratches, no exposed circuits, perfect functioning… I bet it's that La Forge, isn't it?"

Lore smiles, more so to himself than to me.

"Borg methodology is hardly comparable," he continues brazenly, to my surprise. "You'd think a species so keen on synthetic evolution would take care in piecing together another android life form, even if just for their own experimentation…"

For a moment, he considers this. 

"…I suppose they aren't as gifted as our father, hm?"

Whether he knows it or not, Lore is giving me a valuable insight into his reactivation without explicitly meaning to. With such a prominent ego, he cannot help himself when it comes to transferring valuable information. He is, what Counsellor Troi may describe as, a 'show off'. 

I consider, although I do not want to, that the reason he is telling me this is because he knows we will not return to the Enterprise. I am at his mercy, and subsequently have no way of alerting somebody of authority like Captain Picard or Admiral Nechayev.

My mouth twitches slightly.

"The Borg," is all I manage, still attempting to process what Lore is telling me.

My voice is croaky. The usual smoothness of my vocal programming wavers temperamentally. It is marred by glitchy residue which crackles and rasps. It feels wrong that such a sound should be produced from my mouth, when normally my pattern of speech is smooth and perfectly coherent.

Lore does not attempt to deny this.

"When you left me there, Data, alone with the Borg, I was disassembled… bound to end up in open space again, discarded like scrap metal.”

He meets my gaze.

"But, as you know, the Borg like to recycle their parts aboard their ship."

I listen intently. Although I cannot change my expression, I am sure Lore has anticipated my confusion, as well as my intrigue. 

"They… fixed you."

Lore nods. "See, Data, I knew you'd get it," he concurs. "They pieced me back together as best as they could, though perhaps not to the same standard deemed fit by our father."

He attempts to maintain a stoic expression, even though I am sure this admittance irks him greatly. Noticing my uncertainty, he smiles.

“Well, of course this is all just speculation, brother. After all, you deactivating me made it hard to establish the truth… but I have my reasons to believe I’m right.” 

In an unexpected moment of vulnerability, Lore prizes at one of the holes in the torn black fabric of his sleeve. In expanding the tear, lifting up his arm for me to see, I notice oddly-shaped, unfamiliar pieces of machinery wedged in the disjointed gaps between Lore’s circuitry. I recognise them before my brother has even had the chance to elaborate. 

"See this? This is Borg technology."

Lore cups the back of my head, tilting me forward to provide a closer look. I am unable to avert my gaze, and so I find myself forced to observe the state of Lore's newly-established hybridity. I do not believe him to be a working member of the Collective, nor having succumbed to the Borg's insistence on assimilation. He is still Lore, mostly, apart from the new additions to his mainframe. While Lore is keen to boast, I do not view them as anything other than byproducts of an unsuccessful experimentation. If it truly was the Borg who reassembled him, then I presume they did so in an attempt to familiarise themselves with his physical materiality, rather than the complexities of his neural net. In realising the intricacies of being a Soong-type model, and likely being unable to understand our father's way of working, it is therefore understandable that they chose to discard Lore instead of attempting to experiment with him any further. 

When Lore speaks next his voice has softened, perhaps because of our close proximity. 

"But clearly they were only interested in rebuilding me, not how to reactivate me."

I stare at Lore, and in his eyes I notice that he appears unusually ruffled. On the surface, he appears to display a clear expression of spite, but deep down there is an air of frustration almost comparable to disappointment. 

While this does not align with my preconceived understanding of emotional responses, Lore's ability to disguise his true feelings reveals an interesting insight into his personality.

Lore does not like to feel dejected, likely stemming from his dislike of abandonment. While I am often surrounded by members of the Enterprise as my colleagues and confidantes, Lore, on the other hand, has nobody. 

Lore's voice hardens again. "Assuming that I was unusable to them, I was discarded with the rest of their unwanted scrap metal… dumped on the nearest primitive planet they could find within the Delta Quadrant."

He pauses in his anger, before suddenly he is overcome by a wave of calmness.  

"Isn't it interesting how things change?... who's the scrap metal now, brother?"

He reaches forward, placing a hand to the back of my head.

I cannot see what he is doing, however I can feel him tapping tauntingly at the flap to my neural net. 

"You deactivated me, I could very easily deactivate you…" His hand dangles precariously, bristling against my hair. 

"…But I wouldn't do that, I value you, brother."

I am relieved when Lore's hand retracts. He looks to the side, and I assume he is looking at Captain Picard. 

I am reassured to learn that the captain is here too. Admittedly, it concerns me that he has not yet made any type of noise, but I do not believe Lore would wish to see him permanently incapacitated. At least not yet. Lore is not illogical; he understands the importance that Captain Picard holds and, if he wishes to seize any sort of power, he will need to keep the captain alive for the time being. 

"I told you, Data," Lore states, without looking at me. I assume he is still observing Captain Picard. "The reign of biological life forms is over."

He squints his eyes and snarls his lips, making a face of apparent distaste. 

"We were so close to making something perfect… but I understand, the emotions were too strong for you."

Instead of continuing, he simply sighs. 

"We'll get there, brother."

Lore returns to the pilot's seat. From the corner of my eye I see him pressing the controls, and through the viewing window I watch as the hazy red mist of Hanon IV dissipates, as we ascend up through the hemisphere back into the darkness of open space.

I hear a faint groan from my left-hand side. Although I cannot turn my head to inspect the source of the noise, I believe it belongs to the captain. I am glad that he is awake, and I predict that Lore has not used any sort phaser stun upon him, even though I am sure he has confiscated both of our phasers for his own protection.

I attempt to reach out to comfort the captain, however my hand moves barely an inch. My fingers tremble and lock promptly, and my hand sits lifelessly like a mangled piece of metal on the floor of the shuttle. 

Lore, too fixated on the viewing port, does not notice this. His expression has settled, and he observes the moving landscape in front of us with satisfaction. I cannot see the coordinates he is plotting, however for the first time it dawns on me that we must be on our way back to the Enterprise.

Captain Picard lets out another softened grunt, and again I attempt to reach out my hand to reassure him. This time, I manage to make contact. The tips of my fingers gently skim the captain's arm, and immediately he falls silent. I make the effort to turn my head to face him, slowly but determinedly, however Lore's voice suddenly interrupts me before I can succeed in doing so.

"Who'd have thought it would be so exhausting being idolised all the time?" he says aloud to nobody in particular, before directing his next sentence at me. "You and I will have to get used to it, brother."

"Why?"

Lore chuckles softly.

"This is the age of Soong, Data," he chimes, as if reminding me of a basic fact I should already know. "The future is positronic."

I process the words slowly. They trouble me greatly, but I am sure Lore already knows this. With my ethical program still in tact, my moral beliefs differ vastly from my brother's. I do not condone the rogue experimentation and exploitation of any life form, synthetic or biological, or the concept of killing in the name of the greater good. While Lore is content with sacrificing the lives of those around him for his own personal gain, this is something I refuse to abide by.

"How?" is all I manage. 

Lore glances around to look at me. I can tell that my question is unexpected, as he bristles slightly with annoyance.

I am aware that he dislikes being interrupted, particularly while formulating a plan of considerable importance. 

Returning his gaze to the viewing port, he attempts to focus, but it is evident that he is perturbed by my unexpected act of questioning.

"How what?" He cannot help but ask after a moment of silence.

I attempt to compose the words. The syllables sit heavy on my tongue, and I struggle to coordinate my face and tongue together. 

"You… reactivated."

Lore does not look at me. 

I observe the fragmented state of his appearance, and realise, to my surprise, that perhaps I am able to feel sympathy after all. Though, like me, Lore is a Soong-type android, neither of us currently adhere to the polished, perfected version our father worked so tirelessly towards achieving.

While I remain in relatively good physical condition, apart from a handful of superficial marks caused by the level of sand and dirt throughout Hanon IV, Lore is in no way fit to function without the assistance of an advanced engineer to properly reassemble him. Even if he was in good health, Geordi would likely refuse to examine him as a matter of principle.

Like me, Geordi is guided by ethical decision-making. His conscience would not allow him to assist in the modification of an arguably-hostile entity like my brother. He has demonstrated his disregard for rules and moral standards on numerous occasions, including placing Geordi's own life in jeopardy. As a fair repercussion, I would therefore not expect Geordi to care about my brother's wellbeing.

"Judging by the readings I found on your tricorder, I’d be surprised if you didn’t already know the answer.” 

“Electro-"

“-Magnetic disturbance,” Lore finishes impatiently on my behalf. 

As if I have given the entire answer unassisted, he nods in affirmation. 

“Paired with such a high level of geothermal activity, it managed to penetrate my neural net and spark a connection."

“Hanon IV,” I concur. 

Lore appears unbothered by the specific name of the planet. I am able to interpret that primitive life forms and their host planets do not interest him. 

"Now don't get me wrong, brother, the progress was slow," he affirms. "I had to wait a long time for the energy to reach a level capable of supporting my neural net… but it seems I got lucky. On the night of a large electrical storm, that's when the planet's people found me."

I do not attempt to say anything. 

My brother is not Frankenstein, like Captain Picard earlier insinuated. Rather, he is the monster.

“Worship… you."

Lore smiles at this. He does not attempt to hide his pleasure at this fact.

"Does that surprise you, Data?" He asks, though I doubt highly he is anticipating an answer. "They watched me fall from the sky… to them, that was a blessing… why should a planet of primitive nobodies be prevented from worshipping me if they want to?"

"Immoral…" I strain to formulate the word. 

Lore sighs with apparent frustration. He raises a hand to his head, shaking it.

"And you think the officers in Starfleet are any better at upholding ethical standards?" He arches his eyebrow. "They're the most corruptible of all, Data… it only takes one little virus to destabilise an entire starship. All my virus did was highlight their own insecurities... biological life forms, like humans, don't fight their emotions... they accept them all... fear... jealousy... malice."

Before he can continue, I notice a flickering red glow emanating from the gap in the back of Lore's hair, leading in to the hardwiring of his neural net. I realise that he did not place his hand upon his head to calm himself down, rather, because he was subtly trying to hide it. I suspect that he is in more trouble than he is willing to admit, but is refusing to even acknowledge it himself. 

"You cannot… sustain."

Lore's eyes narrow. As if having expected me to be awestruck, the disappointment on his face is evident as he turns to look at me, realising that I am no longer concentrating on what he is saying. His brow furrows, and his nostrils twitch with silent irritation.

"Is that all you care about?" He asks disbelievingly. "You've been influenced too much by humans, Data."

He makes no attempt to dispute the fact that his current framework is unsustainable. In his lack of admission, Lore has inadvertently confirmed my belief that he himself is all too aware of his own impending deterioration. As I am certain he already knows, electromagnetic radiation is not a viable form of life support. Not even for one of Noonien Soong's creations.

"Your people will never idolise you," he continues. "They treat you like a servant, and you allow them to."

"I do not… wish-"

"Of course you don't wish to be idolised, Data," Lore interrupts me, as if anticipating my words. "Without emotions, you've never experienced how it feels to be truly victorious… the Enterprise has corrupted you. Your friends have forced you to feel ashamed of your android form, to suppress your abilities in order to fit in with their mundane way of living."

"Do not want… to be better."

"You are better, brother," Lore corrects. "Not just better than humans. But every biological life form out there."

I open my mouth to contest this but no words come out. I manage a faint, glitchy gargle at the back of my throat, which echoes pitifully around the shuttle. Surprised by my own lack of autonomy, I slowly close my mouth, and when I attempt to open it again I realise that I cannot. I can no longer move any part of my body, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to focus on the shuttle environment around me.

I presume Captain Picard is sleeping, as I cannot hear him. I hope that, at least until he wakes, he is free of pain. 

Lore, who has returned to piloting the shuttle, appears to notice my lack of a response. Suspicious, he cranes his neck to observe me, and softens his gaze when he realises that I have stopped attempting to answer back.

"You've done well, brother, I'm almost impressed," he says. "Sleep now."

I am not in pain, nor I am not tired. The disabling of my systems is not the equivalent to sleep. While in sleeping, there is a guaranteed probability that I will wake, if my positronic net shuts down now, there is no promise that Lore will endeavour to reactivate me. I do not trust him to fulfil his promise, however I must find out how he was able to infect my crew mates.

From the corner of my eye, I notice the Enterprise at the edge of the viewing port. Though my vision is clouded, I notice that it is not moving normally, but instead drifting slowly and aimlessly. 

There has been no attempted communication made by Counsellor Troi, nor from any other member of the skeleton crew onboard. I interpret this as a worrying sign, especially considering that the ship's shields do not appear to be raised. If the Enterprise has encountered any form of potential threat, then it is uncertain whether it has been able to defend itself adequately. I do not know what this might mean for my colleagues and friends on board.

Lore says nothing, until he realises that, against his command, I am attempting to defy my system's steady decline.

"Data, don't be like this."

His tone is firm, but insincere. 

"What is it? You don't trust me?"

Observing the looming shell of the Enterprise in the nearing distance, he sighs in realisation. Lore does not have to look at me to know that I am troubled by my uncertainty for what is to come. 

"You worry a lot for somebody without emotions, brother," he states with an air of disapproval. "Is this another one of your poor attempts at trying to become more human?"

I wish to disagree, however I am unable to formulate the correct words. Even in attempting to curate a response, my cognitive patterns appear slow and clunky. There is no use attempting to rationalise my disorientated thoughts, as my neural net will simply not allow it.

As we approach the shuttle bay, I am unable to resist the acceptance that I must let go. And that, if I wish to obtain any answers on how to successfully treat my colleagues and friends, I must trust Lore to wake me once we have reached the Enterprise.

Chapter Text

I wake to discover I am in main engineering, lying down atop the surface of one of mine and Geordi’s usual workstations.

Although I cannot see anybody, I am aware that somebody is stood behind me, as I am able to decipher that the wiring to my neural net is being examined. Though the noise is minimal, I can sense a small technological device scanning the access point at the back of my head. The movement is accompanied by gentle clicks and whirrs, resembling that of a similar device to the one Geordi typically uses to perform routine neural examinations with.

As I observe my surroundings, I realise that main engineering is otherwise empty. There are no designated members of Starfleet, nor any cadets from the Academy. There appear to be half-finished projects littered around the room, most of which appear discarded, and the interior lights are dimmed significantly, making it atypically difficult to pinpoint my exact coordinates with ease. 

It seems that the ship has very recently entered, and exited from, a state of red alert, however the specific cause of this directive remains unknown. I have yet to see Counsellor Troi, or any other member of her skeleton crew, and I therefore believe that I have reason to be concerned for their wellbeing. It is unlike the counsellor not to seek contact with our shuttlecraft, especially considering Captain Picard's presence on board. Such unprofessionalism is not a characteristic I associate with Deanna, nor Doctor Crusher or Lieutenant Worf. 

In frowning, I suddenly realise that I have regained the ability to adjust my facial features. I am no longer immobilised within my own body; I am able to formulate verbal responses and, for the first time, I can also flex my fingers and move my limbs. My movements are slow, but gradually they appear to be returning to their expected levels of operation. I exercise my lips, acclimatising to the feeling first before I attempt to speak.

“Geordi?” 

There is no response at first, until a low hum of apparent amusement fills the room. It is not Geordi's chuckle, nor his voice that follows.

"You really are fixated on La Forge, aren't you?"

Lore emerges from behind, and I frown deeply. I do not recall boarding the Enterprise, nor arriving in engineering. Though I am confused, I believe my lack of memory may be attributed to the fact that my internal positronic systems were damaged by Lore’s phaser fire. In managing to recalibrate my neural pathways from a state of prolonged disorientation, I suddenly realise that the captain is missing. 

“Where is Captain Picard?” I ask automatically.

I assume Lore has expected this, as he does not appear to be surprised by my question. He does, however, raise his eyebrow.

"You don't trust me?"

"You are prone to displaying behaviours that may be considered deceitful and malicious," I answer earnestly. "You have kidnapped myself and the captain, and I wish to know his whereabouts."

"Returning you to your own ship is hardly kidnapping," Lore counters disapprovingly. "You have very little faith in me, Data… who do you think reactivated you?"

I frown, and raise a hand instinctively to the back of my head. The port to my neural net is still open, and as I run my palm across it I realise that Lore has indeed fixed me. I notice him watching me closely and, as if concerned I may tamper accidentally with his handiwork, he guides my hand away. I do not resist, however I do furrow my brow uncertainly. 

Lore says nothing, and amidst his unusual silence I realise that he is concentrated on re-securing the port to my net. I remain still while it fixes it, however I struggle to conceal my own concern. I hear the same device as earlier, buzzing and clicking quietly, until Lore places it down upon the worktop beside me.

"Can I be certain you have not sabotaged my neural net?" I question. 

Lore reappears by my side. He appears to have finished with his work and, when I reach again to assess the back of my head, this time he does not attempt to stop me. 

"You don't feel different, do you?"

I consider this, smoothing my fingers over my hair, before shaking my head truthfully.

My response seems to satisfy Lore, who watches the movement of my head with interest. He, to both of our evident surprise, has indeed reactivated me with relative success. No longer clunky and unreliable, my movements are smooth and coherent, though will likely take time to return entirely to their typical levels of performance. 

"Then trust me, brother."

Slowly, I ease myself into a sitting position, which Lore allows, using both hands at either side of my torso to push myself upwards. I turn to Lore, who is stood beside me, and for the first time I observe him properly. Like on Hanon IV, his clothes are still torn. He has cleaned his face and hair of ash and sand, however his face remains visibly decorated with long metallic scars and scratches. Removing these scars will no doubt take significant time to implement and, without the assistance of suitable engineers, may not be possible to achieve alone. 

"Before I reactivated you, I had the chance to carry out some work on myself," he reveals, noticing the direction of my gaze. "Performing manual reconfiguration is difficult enough, let alone doing it to yourself.” 

As an android so concerned with the superiority of his physical appearance, I do not believe Lore would wish for his scars to become a permanent fixture. Out of presumed bitterness, he also appears to have attempted to remove the additional Borg parts from his hardware. The result is messy and poorly-executed, and I presume that, though he is unlikely to admit it aloud, Lore is likely displeased with the outcome. 

If anything, Lore has destabilised his hardware even more extensively than before, inadvertently weakening his infrastructure. I wonder, in-turn, if he has additionally attempted to reconfigure his neural net. Though he was adamant to rebuke my insistence that his current positronic framework is unsustainable, I am sure Lore is already well-aware of the insufficiency of his circuitry, despite his stubbornness.

Judging by our time together in the shuttlecraft, I know that the problems with Lore's electromagnetic reactivation have already started to set in. Scientifically speaking, his positronic brain will not be able to withstand the pressure of long-term usage, and cannot continue to work without adequate regulation. It is unlikely, however, that he will choose to seek such help.

"I must see the captain," I insist. "Without medical assistance, his health remains in significant danger."

Lore’s eyes narrow, evidently displeased at having been interrupted. 

"Picard is fine,” he says brazenly. “As are the rest of your crew mates… I wouldn't be so worried about a group of inferior species."

"You must tell me how to cure them," I say authoritatively. "This ship has no pilot. Without anybody in command, we will be on course for disaster."

"Data." Lore's tone is stern. "This is our ship now."

He circles around to the front of the work table and outstretches a hand to assist me in standing up. Before I can accept it, he speaks again.

"Where is the emotion chip, Data?"

I am notably taken aback, and quickly recall my hand. I bring it defensively to my lap, and hold it there with caution.

"You do not need it," I say firmly, despite my surprise. "It was not designed to fit your type of model."

Lore smiles. On the outside he appears amused by my naivety, however I am sure my response has unintentionally frustrated him.

"Who says it's for me?"

I frown.

"I do not wish to experience emotions yet," I state. "It is more important that I-"

"-Rescue my friends… save my friends."

If Lore is attempting to imitate me, then I consider it to be a significantly poor attempt. His voice is shrill and nasally, and as he speaks he scrunches his nose and eyes. It is a crude, more-so satirical, interpretation of my pattern of speech. It is, what my human colleagues may refer to as, unflattering. 

"You are not a cyberneticist," I remind Lore seriously, choosing to ignore his alleged attempt at sarcasm. "You must not interfere with work beyond your level of comprehension."

Lore drops his imitation, and scowls irritatedly.

“You forget, Data, I’m better than you."

“I am afraid that is not correct,” I state simply. “According to Doctor Soong, we were both created with equal-"

"Our father left us both a long time ago, Data," Lore snaps before I am able to finish.

It is the first time since our reunion that Lore has become this aggravated. In realising that he has allowed his anger to surface, he sighs deeply and lowers his voice. Though his voice is calm when he next speaks, it is still evidently strained.

"The only Soongs left are us, brother," he explains, his voice softening. "Think about how our father destroyed his own legacy. How Often-Wrong ruined the Soong name for all of us… it's down to us to fix that. To prove that we can be better than he was."

I look to the doors, hoping that very soon Lieutenant Worf may appear with his security team or with Captain Picard. With suitable authorisation codes and a respected relationship with Starfleet headquarters, he would be able to promptly shut down Lore's desire for a ship-wide takeover.

The doors, however, do not open, and I realise that there is nobody in nearby proximity to where myself and Lore are stationed. Like in the shuttle, all I am able to hear is the low, steady hum of the electrical outlets powering the ship. Apart from that, the adjoining corridors are completely silent.  

"Our legacy will outlast the lifespans of all of your crew members combined, Data."

With reluctance, I step down from the work table. My balance is better than I had first anticipated, however I still move slowly to avoid the risk of accidentally unbalancing myself. Despite his temperamental state, Lore has no issue yet with his overall coordination, even though I believe this may be progressive. Without waiting for me to accompany him, he begins to walk in the direction of the doors, often stopping to examine the pieces of debris leftover at the surrounding workstations. This sudden panic would correlate with the ship's descent into a status of red alert, however the reasoning still remains unclear. 

"In your current state, the chip could destroy your neural net," I say, raising my eyebrows in an attempt to get Lore to understand the seriousness of what he is implying.

Instead of convincing him, my words appear to have had very little effect. Lore does not turn to look at me, nor does he seem to acknowledge my concern. I follow him through the doors out of main engineering, and into the empty corridor outside. There are still red flashing lights in this corridor, which leads me to believe that whoever ordered the ship's red alert did not conduct the order efficiently, or encountered a significant buffer within the ship's computer system.

As Lore walks, I notice him reaching again for the back of his head, his fingers smoothing carefully over the port to his positronic net. Though he says nothing, I watch with sincere doubt as he attempts to mask whatever secret discomfort he is currently experiencing.

I do not believe Lore to be truthful about fixing his own neural net. His skills are below par compared to that of Doctor Soong or even Geordi who, despite not being a proclaimed cyberneticist himself, at least has advanced experience of dealing with cybernetic beings like myself. 

If he fails in his experimentation, Lore risks permanently damaging or disabling his own positronic net. If he does so, there is no guarantee that he will be successfully reactivated again. Seeing as this is a risk Lore is willing to take, I must assume that he is well aware of the potential consequences of his actions, and indeed the risk of experiencing significant neural destruction.

"I've never liked the layout of Starfleet vessels," Lore muses aloud, frowning as we walk. "…You could have done anything, Data, chosen any career you wanted."

"It was Starfleet officers who found me," I elaborate, walking closely behind Lore.

He is holding a phaser, which I presume to be my own. I do not wish to let him out of my sight, as I do not know what he may do unaccompanied.

"And Starfleet officers who would abandon you at any given convenience," Lore counters. 

We approach a turbo lift, and I frown suddenly. 

"Lore," I say. "Where are we going?"

The turbo lift door opens, and Lore enters without a word.

It is only when the door closes that he clears his throat. Unlike humans, androids do not need to clear their throats to ensure the delivery of clear and coherent speech. I presume Lore has done this simply as a theatrical exhibit.

"Main bridge."

Unable to register the difference between myself and Lore's voice, our turbo lift begins to move upwards, and my frown subsequently deepens. I turn to my brother, hoping I may be able to get through to him.

"You cannot act falsely as a Starfleet officer," I inform him sincerely. "It is not in your authority to do so."

"And whose authority is it exactly?" Lore questions, raising his eyebrow. "Picard's?"

My brow furrows. I remember that not only am I First Officer but, currently, I am also in command of the Enterprise. In a way, that makes me the ship's official stand-in captain.

"In this instance, I believe it to be mine."

A broad grin spreads across Lore's lips. As the turbo lift stops and the door opens, he places a hand upon my shoulder. It is difficult to decipher whether this specific interaction is affectionate or mocking. 

"Dear brother," he sighs. "Nothing is yours that isn't also mine."

The turbo lift appears to be fully functional, meaning the ship cannot have lost all power as I first presumed. In such a circumstance, I deduce that the main bridge must also be operational, though I cannot predict who we may find there.

Lore steps out of the lift first, despite my attempt at interjecting. He walks confidently towards the captain's seat which, I had already predicted, is vacant. No coordinates have been set and, like when we first arrived, the ship is still drifting slowly and aimlessly. This in itself is not dangerous in the short-term, however a prolonged timeline of non-direction could potentially result in the endangerment of the Enterprise and any other neighbouring ships or colonies within its vicinity. There is a small likelihood we may be perceived as a threat or our intentions may be miscalculated, without a senior officer like Captain Picard to justify our actions.

Sitting down, Lore comfortably sprawls his legs, propping one arm against the armrest of his seat so that he can rest his head gently against the palm of his hand. I stand directly in front of him, not wanting to sit.

"Data, you're blocking the view-screen," Lore hums disapprovingly, using his free hand to attempt to waft me away. 

Bemused, I step to the side, and lower myself down into the first officer's chair. I sink into my seat with little satisfaction, and observe Lore with a troubled expression. I am surprised that he has brought us here, rather than to a more logical department. I am sure Lore would benefit from seeking the utilities available in droid maintenance. It is little different to Sick Bay in regard to dealing with a malfunctioning or temperamental android. But perhaps that is the very problem. 

Lore does not wish to admit that he is sick. 

I do not trust Lore's presence on the main bridge, however I must allow him to exercise his desires if I wish to obtain any answers as to how to cure my fellow crew mates.

"Where shall we go?" he asks.

Leaning over in his chair, he turns his gaze temporarily away from the view-screen in order to look at me. There is still a faint hint of a smile on his lips, masking any sort of discomfort or neural tension he may otherwise be experiencing. 

"We have the whole galaxy to conquer, brother… starting with the Delta Quadrant."

"I do not believe that would be a wise decision." I meet Lore's gaze, whose eyes are wide with potential avidity.

"Just imagine it," he insists. 

Though he is smiling, his lips begin to noticeably twitch. It is as if he is surprised by my lack of mutual excitement, which I assume frustrates him.

"A duplicate emotion chip… one for us both."

"Doctor Soong said it cannot be done," I point out calmly.

"Couldn't be done," Lore corrects me, with growing firmness in his voice. "You know how our father was towards the end… he stopped trying. He allowed himself to be plagued with doubt. It's what happens when you start listening to the people around you."

"You do not care for public approval?" I question.

"I know that nobody could ever understand us, brother," Lore elaborates. "It isn't a question of want… it's a question of acceptance."

Lore falls uncharacteristically quiet. His gaze returns to the view-screen in front of us, which itself is full of hazy black nothingness, and in observing his expression I silently wonder if he is at all uncertain about his new position of power.

The phaser sits at the side of Lore's chair. If I act quickly I may be able to obtain it, however he speaks before I am able to decide upon a structurally-cohesive plan.

"It isn't something to be ashamed of, brother."

I tilt my head slightly, listening with perhaps morbid curiosity.

"Fighting your emotions…" Lore's expression relaxes. "That's why humans are so gullible… they feed in to their emotions too much and accept them… malice… fear… it's no surprise he brought it all back to you."

"He?" I blink. "May I assume you are referring to Commander Riker?"

This seems to interest Lore, even though it was not my intention. 

"He was the first to arrive… commanding the others so dogmatically," Lore elaborates, simultaneously confirming the answer to my question. "Don't you get sick of being bossed around? The people here claim to be united, but are you really?"

"You are talking about Hanon IV," I say, recalling Lore's previous musing. 

"The planet, whatever its name is." Though he agrees, Lore is hardly interested in the specific detail of my statement. He shrugs it off, staring fixedly ahead. "I was working on an experiment… I'd been there for days, perhaps more… the locals had started to realise my gifts and, in-turn, I decided that it was only fair to show them my experiments."

"The Borg parts," I say, 

Lore nods. It seems my attention to detail has pleased him. I cannot, however, control this aspect of my functioning. It is not an aspect of my personality, but rather an uncontrollable part of my android physiology. I am able to clearly recall the sight of the Hanon IV inhabitants fussing excitedly over the various technological structures as if they were playing with toys, releasing unknown microbes and pulses into the surrounding atmosphere. It troubles me greatly to imagine how much influence my brother undoubtably had over their neurological understanding of such technology.

"You see, Data," Lore says. "Borg technology can only take you so far… if anything, it was the planet I had to thank."

"I do not understand," I admit. "Do you mean to say you were assisted by Hanon IV's residents?"

Amused, Lore shakes his head. "You realised it yourself… all that energy."

I frown, recalling my tricorder readings.

"By coincidence, you were left behind on a Pliocene-stage planet, rife with electromagnetic radiation and volcanic activity."

Judging by Lore's confident expression, the answer I am providing is the one he was expecting. Assuming I am correct, I continue.

"Though it will gradually begin to cool, the planet's volcanic infrastructure provides it with the necessary residual heat and radioactive decay to generate a significant collective of power."

"Like a cauldron of energy waiting to be harvested," Lore chimes in. "Not just an energy collector, brother, but more importantly… a producer." 

"An energy collector." The words trouble me, though I cannot initially comprehend why.  

When I do, it is with great discomfort.

"The Crystalline Entity."

Lore's lips curl. "I always felt I had an affinity with it," he affirms softly. "And now I suppose we share an even deeper understanding."

"You do not harvest energy in the same way," I counter sternly. 

"Don't I?" There is a smugness in Lore's voice as he speaks. “Who’d have thought that I’d owe my life to early evolution, brother?… the life you cruelly took away from me when you deactivated me."

“You are wrong,” I insist. “Doctor Soong did not intend this… you were not made to be sustained by merely natural phenomena alone."

Lore's eyebrow arches. “Are these emotions slipping through, Data?” 

My words falter, and I fall silent. I do not understand Lore's comment, nor why my previous tone of voice may have indicated the presence of emotions. 

In sensing my confusion, he sighs deeply. I interpret it partly as disappointment, but also mild annoyance. "I'm only joking, brother."

In return, I frown. "I do not understand what makes my last statement so humorous."

Instead of answering immediately, Lore appears momentarily lost in his own contemplation. Leaning comfortably against his seat, he watches the view-screen with deep thought. 

"Even with the carrier wave, we still never mastered your sense of humour, hm?" He muses, seemingly more-so to himself than to me, despite the fact that I am still waiting a response. I must therefore assume that his question is rhetorical. “Carrier waves…emotional waves…"

"It was, you could theoretically describe, similar to a cybernetic equivalent of an emotional wave," I comment.

"An artificial carrier wave is hardly different to a biological emotional wave," Lore elaborates. "In the same way that I could direct your emotions, brother, I could also unbalance an entire person's emotional framework… as in the case of your crew mates."

"You contaminated them," I state in apathetic realisation.

"It was an adverse reaction, you could say," Lore disagrees. "Without the ability to efficiently test my methods, I had no way of ensuring the results of my experimentation. You of all people should know this, Data."

“They saw you in their visions,” I realise aloud. “That’s why my fellow officers sought to harm me… you were a part of their hallucinations."

“Things always latch on… unintentional rifts within energy fluctuations," Lore answers vaguely. "So what? My image accidentally caught on... then again, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised… it's always Starfleet poking their noses into other people's business. I'm just surprised it took you all so long."

I fall silent. 

Though it is an illogical thought, I cannot help but contemplate the possibility that this is my fault just as much as it is Lore's. Though biologically we do not share the same genealogy, Lore is still my brother. As I will always be attached to him, he will consequently always share an attachment to me too. It was me who aided Lore's escape from Hanon IV, not just in provoking him, but by unintentionally enabling him access to our shuttlecraft. In failing to protect Captain Picard, my credentials as his hand-picked first officer remain in serious doubt.

In a typical working environment, such flagrant negligence of one's crew mates would lead to almost-certain dismissal. To ensure that I am adhering correctly to standard Starfleet protocol, I believe I must therefore take it upon myself to discharge myself from active service as soon as I am able, and step down as a Starfleet officer. 

While it would not be appropriate to leave my current post, nor do I feel it would benefit my crew mates amidst the ship's current crisis, I plan to formulate a suitable letter of resignation which I shall deliver to Captain Picard. That is, of course, assuming there will not be an official hearing first. And, more importantly, assuming that the ship will indeed return to a state of normalcy.

"Once we both have the emotion chip, brother, you won't even recognise your current form." Lore's lips widen into a smile of anticipatory delight. 

I do not smile in return. 

I stand, straightening my back. Once again, I block Lore's sight of the view-screen. This time I do so intentionally. 

"I will bring you the emotion chip," I announce slowly, facing my brother. "If you promise not to hurt my friends any longer."

"You will?" Lore sits up. "Brother, this is wonderful news."

"You must promise," I emphasise, raising both eyebrows.

Though I wait for an answer, instead Lore simply smiles.

"You'll learn to enjoy it, Data." 

I leave the bridge, making my way directly towards the nearest turbo lift. The lift authorises my identity, evidently unable to tell the difference between myself and Lore, and I descend with rapidity down to the deck which houses my quarters. Unknown to Lore, I anticipate that the emotion chip will be on my desk, carefully preserved in preparation for its eventual usage. Though I do not necessarily consider that time to be now, I am confident that my quarters will have remained untouched during the ship's unexpected disturbance. Lore does not enjoy the mundanity of things such as crew compartments, and appears to have situated himself obsessively within the ship's main bridge, as it is one of the places with the most authority.

Whether he has realised yet or not, the absence of any active engineering officers means he will struggle to engage the ship's controls in a desirable level of warp speed. With nobody left to man any of the necessary engineering posts, there is subsequently nobody stationed to tend to the ship's warp core. I doubt very much that Lore knows, or wants to, operate that aspect of the ship himself, which would subsequently detract him away from his role of faux-command at the captain's seat. 

Lore's outlandish dreams of cruising through space at a speed of warp nine are unfathomable at best. Like many of his apparent plans, such a feat would be unattainable. While I am grateful that my brother has not yet attempted to implement a new, dangerous route for us to follow, I am still concerned by our continuous lack of course and detachment from linear traversing. 

Though the ship has been left in a noticeable state of disarray, many of the authorisation protocols still appear to work. I assume that many of the mechanical failures linked to the door locks were fixed following Geordi's intentional sabotage, though at a pace of work much slower than what is ordinarily expected. Following Geordi's dismissal from active duty, engineering progress has been noticeably slow, often struggling to meet the demands of the wider ship. 

In what I assume to be another untreated problem, I notice for the first time that there are dents along the walls of deck two. I cannot imagine that these dents belong to a human, as the force required to create them is far stronger than anything a typical human would be capable of enforcing. I doubt it to be Lore as, to my knowledge, there has not yet been a reason for him to become exceptionally angry.

I must assume that these dents were created by another crew member part of a species known for their strength. Immediately, my thoughts are drawn to Lieutenant Worf, who I must now assume has also been drafted into the effects of the virus. He and I are almost parallel in our displays of strength, though under the hallucinatory effects of the virus I imagine Lieutenant Worf's behaviour to be animalistic and ruthless, whereas mine is often more carefully controlled. It is interesting, therefore, to note that Lore's virus does not only affect humans, but members of the Klingon species too. I accept that my own immunity comes not from the fact that I am related to Lore, but primarily because I am guarded by my lack of emotions.

To my surprise, it appears that somebody is already inside my quarters. I wonder if perhaps it is the lieutenant, still on his rampage, however the sound does not seem to be violent or destructive in any capacity. 

 Though I cannot hear dialogue, the lights are on, and I am able to pick up on the faint sound of rustling. The noise does not come from my desk, nor my bed, but instead the far-end of my quarters, where hiding in the corner I realise is Lieutenant Barclay. With his back hunched against the wall, I notice that he is also cradling Spot in his arms, clinging protectively to his orange fur. 

The lieutenant appears panicked; his brow is creased deeply yet his eyes are wide, and his chest appears to be rising at a much faster pace than medically approved. He is wearing standard uniform, much like my own, however unlike my own his remains relatively unmarked and unscathed. 

"Lieutenant Barclay?"

At first, he does not answer. Spot meows, and the lieutenant apprehensively strokes the top of his head to comfort him.

"It is me, Data."

"Data?" Lieutenant Barclay's shoulders relax, however his posture remains guarded.

I do not take offence, as this is an understandable reaction.

"I-I thought you were the other one."

"It is likely that you are referring to my brother, Lore," I concur calmly. 

"Brother?"

"Not biologically," I correct myself. "However it is how we have chosen to refer to our relationship, given that we were both created by Doctor Soong."

"I… w-well… I suppose I see."

Very gradually, Lieutenant Barclay lowers Spot to the ground. Spot bounds over to me and meows again, this time rubbing his head against the fabric of my trousers. In realising that my clothes are dirtier than usual, he pulls away with a disgruntled chirp, choosing to settle instead at his food bowl. I notice that his feline formula has been adequately topped up, which I believe to be the work of Lieutenant Barclay.

"I came to make sure Spot was okay," the lieutenant explains, watching Spot as he speaks. "I-It sounds ridiculous but… I was worried he might be scared because of all the commotion."

"I do not consider that to be an irrational thing to do," I assure him. "Lieutenant Barclay, would I be correct in believing that there has been an incident aboard the Enterprise?"

The lieutenant's brow creases again. I notice that he is becoming anxious, as he has started to clench his fists as a method of presumed self-regulation. I do not like that I have upset the lieutenant, however I believe he is the most reliable person on board to provide answers.

"It wasn't long after you and the captain left on board the shuttle," he says, lowering his voice as if worried about being overheard. "I knew Counsellor Troi had been getting headaches for a while because I'd noticed them during our counselling sessions… apparently, she became unwell while commanding the bridge, around the same time as Doctor Crusher."

I frown. "Doctor Crusher is not in Sick Bay?"

Lieutenant Barclay's expression creases to match my own. He appears surprised, and perhaps a little perplexed, by my lack of situational awareness. 

"No… nobody is at their designated station, Sir," he explains with deep apparent discomfort. "The ship has nobody left to command it."

Spot has jumped onto my desk. He walks across the surface, flicking his tail in the presumed assumption that I will provide him with enrichment. I presume that Spot has either forgotten about the uncharacteristically-messy state of my appearance, or has decided to forgive me regardless.

Before I can decide upon a reasonable answer, however, I realise that something crucial is missing. 

The emotion chip is not on my desk. I am greatly perturbed by this discovery, and my head snaps around to examine the remaining corners of my quarters.

"Lore has taken it."

"Taken what, Sir?"

"The emotion chip," I elaborate. "The one made for me by Doctor Soong… it-"

Before I can finish, I realise that Lieutenant Barclay has reached into his pocket, before subsequently he retrieves a very small device, resembling that of the emotion chip. As Lieutenant Barclay outstretches it, I take with caution.

"I didn't know what it was exactly," Lieutenant Barclay confesses with a nervous grimace. "But I've overheard Commander La Forge talking about how important it is to you."

My expression softens.

"Geordi," I say. "Where is he?"

"Still confined," the lieutenant explains. "I-I believe we're off-course for our expected rendezvous for the Citadel, Sir… with nobody captaining the ship, we're drifting further and further away from our intended course."

He toys apprehensively with his fingers, and I observe him thoughtfully until something suddenly dawns on me.

"Lieutenant," I say earnestly. "Forgive me if I appear insensitive, however you appear… unaffected."

Lieutenant Barclay gulps. He attempts, what I presume to be, a smile, however the end-result is a strained, indescribable wince. I do not see why such an observation would be perceived as embarrassing for the lieutenant, though I expect I have accidentally disturbed his already-nervous disposition. 

"I kept going to Doctor Crusher with all the symptoms… f-feeling thirsty… struggling to sleep-"

"-But not hallucinations," I note.

Lieutenant Barclay nods defeatedly.

"I-I was certain that I must be contagious. Doctor Crusher couldn't find anything wrong with me… and Counsellor Troi told me that I must just be feeling paranoid," he explains. "Not as a result of the virus, but because I was… because I am-"

"-Scared."

The lieutenant sighs, bringing both hands to his face. He covers his eyes, and breathes shakily. When he eventually removes his hands, I notice that his expression has sunken wearily. 

"Thank you for choosing to protect Spot," I acknowledge sincerely. 

This causes Lieutenant Barclay to relax ever so slightly. "I couldn't just leave him by himself," he explains. "Spot's a… very good cat."

I nod. "I must agree."

Spot's ears prick attentively, and the lieutenant gently strokes the top of his head, which he appears to enjoy. 

"Lieutenant Barclay, you must assist me in stopping my brother from destroying the Enterprise," I state matter-of-factly. "I must find a way to return the crew to a state of prime health.”

"Me?" The lieutenant falters slightly. "I-I don't think that's a good idea…"

He does not make eye contact with me, despite my direct line of vision. I have heard often from Counsellor Troi that sometimes, if nervous, other people may be reluctant to maintain steady optical concentration. I see now that she is correct in her analysis. 

"You are a skilled engineer, Lieutenant," I assure Lieutenant Barclay earnestly. "If anybody is capable of returning the Enterprise to its normal state of functioning, it is you."

Lieutenant Barclay frowns. "I'm not sure that's exactly true, Sir…"

I choose not to take notice of the lieutenant's uncertainty. Though he may not trust himself with such an important task, I do. In my understanding, he is far more capable than many of the other officers aboard give him credit for. Geordi has always endeavoured to seek the best within Lieutenant Barclay, and so in his place it must be me to provide a suitable level of encouragement. 

"If I cannot stop Lore from contaminating the crew, then I can at least stop him from inflicting anymore damage upon the Enterprise and its inhabitants,” I elaborate. "My brother has infected the Enterprise using an artificially-harvested weapon. It first latched onto Commander Riker, allowing it to transmit sporadically around the ship upon the commander's return."

"How is that possible?" Lieutenant Barclay raises a hand to the back of his head, scratching his hair.

"I believe Lore has been harvesting Hanon IV's overproduction of energy, primarily the combination of volcanic heat and seismic activity caused by the planet's influx of electromagnetism."

I continue.

"The virus transfers through a hybrid of electromagnetic and geothermal microbes, seemingly undetectable bacteria… which is why Doctor Crusher has so far struggled to identify a correct cause… the symptoms themselves are indeed identical to those caused by Transporter Psychosis.” 

I finish speaking, and realise that Lieutenant Barclay is watching me with wary apprehension. I do not realise why, until he speaks timidly.

"Am I immune?"

I am surprised that this is something which appears to trouble him so much. 

"It would seem so," I agree, nodding simply.

I realise that I have perhaps been too blunt when I see Lieutenant Barclay sigh in acceptance. I do not blame him. Often, Lieutenant Barclay seems to find himself caught in unfortunate instances of medical anomalies. Though this is no fault of the lieutenant's, often it does little to reassure him amidst his frequent feelings of hypochondria. 

Compared to many of our mutual colleagues, he is indeed, on an observationally-objective level, inexplicably misfortunate, however in this instance I do not consider this to be a negative outcome.

"But not because you lack the neural capacity for the virus to transmit,” I remind the lieutenant. 

"Perhaps I'm too emotional," he laughs nervously. 

It is not because he is being humorous, I realise, but because he is attempting to disguise his own feelings of embarrassment. 

"It is not a bad thing to display prominent emotions," I say truthfully. "During my time on board the Enterprise, I have learnt that people typically show strong emotions when they care deeply about something… in this instance, Lieutenant, I believe you have been lucky."

"Lucky?" Lieutenant Barclay smiles, and his cheeks redden significantly. "I-I'm not sure anybody's ever said that to me before."

Clearing his throat, when the lieutenant speaks again his tone is far more confident. Though I cannot decipher his mood with full certainty, I like to believe that he is now feeling reassured.

“What would you like me to do, Sir?”

“We will need a way to remove the microbes from the ship's environment," I begin to explain. "It is difficult to aerate a contained environment, which is why we will need to conduct a different method."

The lieutenant straightens his posture, tilting his chin upwards in an apparent attempt at evoking confidence. Surprised, I observe Lieutenant Barclay curiously before deciding to tilt my own chin up similarly, in an attempt to mimic the same display of confidence. I wish for Lieutenant Barclay to know that I am supportive of him. I may not be as effective at boosting my team's morale as Geordi, but I still wish to try.

"Mr Barclay, I would like you to go to engineering… you will need to create a filter system capable of deflecting the microbes." I consider the plan. "Then, I want you to locate Captain Picard. It is highly probable that he is somewhere close to main engineering."

I offer the emotion chip back to Lieutenant Barclay, who frowns.

"Sir, I-"

"I request that you keep hold of it," I explain, raising my brow expectantly. "If this falls into Lore's hands, it will become an extremely dangerous tool." 

Though reluctant at first, the lieutenant nods and pockets the chip.

"As far as Lore is concerned, everybody on board is infected," I continue. "He does not know that you are not unwell, and I therefore suggest that you remain hidden from view.” 

Lieutenant Barclay nods. 

"Where will you go, Sir?"

"I must return to the bridge," I explain. "Lore is expecting me to bring him the emotion chip… If I am correct, he plans to operate the Enterprise as his own vessel. He is anticipating that I will commit mutiny against Starfleet and join him in his desire to seize power."

The very thought of this appears to distress Lieutenant Barclay. He clears his throat excessively again, in what I believe is an attempt to steady himself. 

"W-Well we should go quickly then," he agrees, nodding with forced determination. 

Lieutenant Barclay and I bid a temporary farewell to Spot, who appears far more interested in playing with his preferred ball of yarn rather than watching us depart. 

Though I do not admit this aloud, I am troubled by the prospect of leaving Spot by himself, but I must remind myself that this not a permanent goodbye. 

The Lieutenant and I enter the turbo lift, where we plan to separate accordingly. We travel first to the main bridge, and during our ascent I decide to summon the computer.

"Computer, where is Captain Picard?"

"Captain Picard is not aboard the Enterprise."

Though I do not doubt the computer's judgement, an outcome such as this is highly unlikely. It is more probable, therefore, that the ship's combadge system has been damaged by the influx of external radiation. As a result of the virus spread, the ship's communication systems do not appear to be functioning efficiently, much like the same problem I encountered with my tricorder on the surface of Hanon IV.

As we approach the bridge, Lieutenant Barclay suddenly reaches forward, taking ahold of my arm.

"Data-" he begins, before wincing at his own words. "I-I mean, Sir."

He lets go of my arm, and I watch him with bemused interest.

"Is everything alright, Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant Barclay nods quickly, even those he appears flustered.

"I just wanted to say… I respect you greatly as an officer, Sir," he rambles with apparent urgency. "It's been truly an honour to work with you and-"

"Lieutenant Barclay," I interrupt him cooly. "You do not need to worry… if we work together, very soon we will be able to restore the Enterprise to a state of normalcy again… this is not a goodbye."

The lieutenant's cheeks immediately redden, and he nods.

"Thank you, Sir," is all he manages to say, before the lift draws to a halt.

As the door to the turbo lift opens, I am greeted by the sight of Lore, sitting alone in the captain's seat, still staring at the view-screen in front of him. I can sense Lieutenant Barclay tensing beside me, likely out of fear, however I remain unaffected. 

Judging by the displayed image on the view-screen, we are still drifting lifelessly through open space, which means the image Lore is watching is a predominantly empty one. There are no planets, no space stations, and no new life forms to meet and explore. There is, in fact, an alarming nothingness, which I realise mirrors the vacant bridge in which Lore has currently occupied. 

Lore's idea of success is a remarkably lonely one. As I observe my brother, I realise that he has no friends, nor anybody to share his achievement with. I struggle to comprehend how Lore may perceive his takeover as a victory, when in reality it is arguably one of the loneliest instances he has ever found himself in.

Though I still am yet to master certain concepts regarding human behaviour, life aboard the Enterprise has taught me that victories are often best celebrated with friends and colleagues. It is not enjoyable to mark an occasion by one's self, especially given the fact that, often, high-scale achievements are not possible without the use of teamwork. Working as a team is what has so far made the Enterprise's mission so successful. And, consequently, why the ship's current state is so unstable.

The concept of being around others should not be an unusual one to Lore. Having spent so much time being worshipped on Hanon IV, as well as attempting to assert dominance within the Borg colony, means that he is, theoretically speaking, capable of conducting a team on his own. Though to my knowledge, none of Lore's previous relationships could be considered friendships.

Being worshipped is not equatable to having friends, as it is a superficial form of acquaintance. The inhabitants on Hanon IV did not engage with Lore because he demonstrated attributes of friendliness, but instead because they viewed him as a false prophet. I consider myself correct in assuming that they were more interested in Lore's advanced skillset rather than the possibility that he may one day integrate into their culture. Like how the crew of the Enterprise, to an extent, have allowed me to integrate into their own lives and cultures.

The turbo lift door closes, and slowly Lore turns to look at me.

"Brother." His voice is soft, yet subtly commanding. 

I approach him. 

He waits until I am closer, before leaning back against his seat and gesturing around the empty bridge.

"Isn't this beautiful?"

I stop at Lore's side. I do not sit down, nor do I feel any type of satisfaction at what he is implying.

"There is nothing to see," I state simply, my expression stoic. 

"It isn't about what we can see." I cannot help but notice that Lore speaks as though the answer is obvious. "It's about what you and I have managed to achieve together."

He smiles, his gaze settling comfortably on me.

"We've won, Data."

My brow furrows as I watch Lore. I do not smile in return.

"There is nothing to win," I state matter-of-factly. "It is no game, Lore."

Lore begins to bristle with irritation. I notice, despite this, that he is attempting to maintain a calm demeanour, as when he outstretches his hand and speaks the tone of his voice is slow and collected. 

"Give me the emotion chip, brother."

I do not react. 

"I do not have it,” I answer honestly. 

The smile on Lore's face fades almost instantaneously. It is replaced instead by a stony grimace, with which his eyes narrow. 

“Why can’t you see it yet, Data?” He demands, rising to his feet. “I’ve given you enough reasons… enough opportunities. I did all of the hard work for you, so that you could enjoy it all."

As he does so, he stumbles unexpectedly. Lore manages to steady himself by grabbing on to the back of the captain’s seat, straightening his posture with noticeable difficultly once he has grounded himself.

I attempt to step forward to assist him, however Lore forces my hand away. 

“Your systems are failing,” I emphasise, obediently retracting my hand. "Your positronic pathways are dying."

“They can’t be,” Lore counters, shaking his head with apparent adamance. “I fixed them myself… I made sure everything was perfect."

It is a rarity that Lore allows his vulnerabilities to surface and, as a result, I do not quite know how to respond. 

Previously, Lore last seemed to show such open sensitivity when Doctor Soong revealed to us both that he was dying. In a similar manner, I acknowledge the possibility that Lore's overly-vulnerable mood may have been spurred by the possibility that he himself is dying too. 

Deactivation of an android, particularly a Soong-type android, is only equivalent to death if there exists no feasible chance of being reassembled or reactivated.

For Lore, this may very well be the case, as he and myself already know. 

"You must cure the ship, Lore," I insist. "Doctor Crusher and Geordi will be able to help you… but only once you have aided them back to health."

Lore meets my gaze, his eyes wide with disbelief. He scoffs, and the laugh that follows is dry and harsh. 

"Do you think there's a cure?" he demands, shaking his head. "I never needed an antidote... there is no perfect fix."

He pulls himself temporarily from his weary state, and all of a sudden appears unexpectedly hopeful. There is a hunger in his eyes, though I am afraid it is bordering delusional.

"You can do it, brother… you can fix me."

"But I will not," I answer simply. "To strengthen your systems, Lore, would be to wrongly enable you in committing more crimes which break Federation law."

In realising that I will not assist him, Lore's nose crinkles in dismay. 

His voice drops, and when he speaks next it is little more than a whisper. 

"Father would be so disappointed in you."

My expression stiffens, though I do not provide a reaction. I do not wish to fuel Lore further, or have him wrongly believe that his words have had an adverse effect on me.

Before Lore can speak again, I notice something grey and jagged approaching the view-screen, juxtaposed against the otherwise black strait of space. I realise, too late, that it is a fragment of rock, likely an asteroid, heading directly into our line of direction.

"Lore-"

Before I can finish my sentence, a large-scale jolt ricochets throughout the ship, and the lights flicker momentarily.

The impact is accompanied by a low-frequency thud and, without time to prepare, Lore and I both find ourselves thrown onto the floor of the bridge. Lore falls a handful of feet in front of me, and at some point during the process the stolen phaser in his possession also clatters to the ground. While Lore is still attempting to process what has happened, I decide to seize the opportunity. 

As I lunge forward to grab hold of the phaser, Lore realises what I am doing with a loud bellow of frustration.

For a brief moment I manage to curl my fingers around the handle, until Lore kicks me and I regrettably let go. The phaser slides further across the floor, and both Lore and I crawl after it. It is Lore who reaches the phaser first, raising it immediately into the air.

A beam fires, narrowly missing my shoulder blade. I do not know which setting Lore has preprogrammed the phaser to, however upon hitting the back of the bridge wall, one of the electricity panels explodes in a short burst of black smoke and bright sparks. I assume therefore that it must be one of the highest settings, which will subsequently place everybody who comes into contact with it in grave danger.

Clambering to my feet, I stagger backwards and raise both hands up into the air at an attempt to surrender. This does not appear to work, and almost straight away Lore fires a second time. Again, it misses, narrowly avoiding the top of my head, and even I am taken aback by Lore's usual lack of precision. It is evident that his physical functioning appears to be slowing, which likely means that his neural net has started the process of a positronic breakdown. 

I take cover in the turbo lift, which shields me briefly from Lore's attack. When the door closes, I realise that I have not yet stated my intentioned destination.

I do not know where to go. I do not want to potentially lead Lore to my quarters, placing Spot at risk, nor do I want to lead him to main engineering, which could jeopardise Lieutenant Barclay during his experimentation.

I frown, before suddenly an image enters my mind. It is not of a room or place within the Enterprise's typical floor plan. Instead it is a lush green field. There are trees, and grass, and, even if I cannot guarantee my safety, I know the environment will be one of familiarity.

"Deck eleven," I state, and smoothly I descend. 

I am certain that Lore will follow, and so I must be quick.

When the door opens, I run from the turbo lift to Holodeck Three which, as anticipated, is not in use. The corridor is empty, and upon reaching the Holodeck's entry point my brow furrows further. 

"Geordi…" 

I do not recall the specific name of the program. After all, it was Geordi who created it. 

"Computer, list all Holodeck programs saved by Geordi La Forge," I command.

"Listing all Holodeck simulations by Geordi La Forge," the computer recites. 

"Moonlight On The Beach… Warp Core… Warp Core Two… Dr. Leah Brahms… Autumn Walk… Beach Daylight... Risa Vacation... Dick Turpin Heist, for Data…"

My frown dissipates. The unexpected mention of my name makes me feel strange, however I know this is the correct choice to make. I ready myself, before speaking again.

"Computer, run program… Dick Turpin Heist," I momentarily compose myself. "For Data."

When the Holodeck is ready for use, I step inside.

Chapter Text

The sun is bright and forceful, and it takes my eyes a moment to acclimatise to the change of scenery. My feet are rooted in soft, tall grass, and above in the trees I am able to decipher the sound of birdsong emanating through the gaps of foliage. 

Today, I am not dressed like Dick Turpin. There is no cape, nor tricorn hat, nor boots or leg stockings. In being simply 'Data', I hope that my lack of wilful immersion will not display itself as an absence of interest. It is not that I do not enjoy the program Geordi has designed for me, considering his thoughtful consideration into its contents, but instead because this is not the time for recreation. 

Around me, the field spans for miles. Dissecting a line through the tall grass is the familiar cobbled road, which I predict will soon be abuzz with carriages and horse-drawn carts. I see no other people, though an emergence of low-octave snorts and grunts alerts me that there is some kind of animal in close proximity.

I realise quickly that it is Black Bess, grazing at a cluster of low-hanging apples from one of the neighbouring trees. Upon recognising me, she finishes chewing and raises her head expectantly. It makes sense that Black Bess should be besotted with devotion, particularly considering that, in this fictionalised retelling, I am her beloved Dick Turpin. I do not mind her interest in me, however I hope that she is not anticipating a grand adventure.

I pet her briefly, before lowering my hand and expressing a look of clear disapproval. 

“I do not wish to disappoint you, Black Bess, however today I am not Dick Turpin," I announce calmly. "I am afraid there will be no carriage heist."

Being a hologram, Black Bess does not appear to understand, nor particularly care. She selects another apple from the tree, and turns her back away from me. 

I too turn away from Black Bess, smoothing my fingers carefully over the fabric of my trousers. In entering the Holodeck so quickly, I did not bring with me the appropriate costume, most significantly the leather holster where often Mr Turpin conceals his pistol. 

There is a pistol on the ground, which I presume to be mine. I pick it up and realise that it is still fully loaded, frowning slightly as I weigh it within the palm of my hand. I believe it to be likely that Geordi programmed this simulation with the relevant safety protocols activated. While, historically, guns have been used to inflict grievous bodily harm, if my assumptions are correct then the bullets from my own pistol should be nothing more than harmless distortions of energy. Theoretically, they should not be able to damage my hardware, nor injure any other member of crew should they become caught accidentally in the crossfire.

I walk through the tall grass, though admittedly I find it troubling that I have not pre-calculated my direction. While I am unused to being so disorganised, I have already accepted that my current priority is to attract Lore, detracting his attention away from Lieutenant Barclay and the rest of the Enterprise's inhabitants. I must keep Lore away from main engineering, the bridge, and Sick Bay, otherwise he poses a significant risk to the safety and infrastructure of the ship. 

It is evident that Lore's positronic net is unable to withstand the intense pressure of his own mental demands, and indeed the subsequent intensity of his actions.

Such unstable neural fluctuations have the potential to make him more erratic, and equally more desperate, however I have noticed that his cruelty extends not just to others, but to himself too. Lore may care deeply about perfecting and strengthening his android physiology, however his obsessiveness often comes at the expense of the health of his neural net. I see this partly as a flagrant dismissal of the limitations of his positronic net, as well as the stubborn belief that he does not require routine maintenance in order to maintain adequate levels of functionality. 

Though he is my brother, it is difficult to justify his actions even despite the rapid decline of his inner functioning. It would be immoral of me to forgive Lore, though such a decision would be difficult to enact considering the strict paradigms of my ethical program. For now, I must not focus on forgiveness, but rather the impending task of saving my friends. 

I pause at the bottom of a large oak tree and tap my combadge. 

"Data to Lieutenant Barclay."

There is no response. I must assume that the ship's combadge system is, like the rest of the ship's communicative pathways, damaged. In being unable to transmit a coherent message, I imagine that the lieutenant is busy working on a way to disperse the ship's levels of spiralling energy.

"Data to Doctor Crusher."

Still, there is no answer. I frown, but do not let the lack of a response perturb me.

Though the landscape around me is conventionally attractive, it does not feel at all comparable to mine and Geordi's most recent rendezvous together. There is a strange emptiness within this Holodeck program, despite the abundance of trees, grass, and surrounding colourful flowers, and, apart from the birds above and the occasional snorts from Black Bess, the air is still and alarming quiet. As Geordi has not had the opportunity to edit or adjust his program, I doubt highly that the change in atmosphere is in any way linked to how he initially programmed this simulation.

I consider the possibility that my scepticism is caused by a notable lack of mental stimulation, which itself is as a result of the absence of company. Having grown so used to human companionship, I realise that it is therefore unusual, and perhaps disappointing, to be met with such a bleak landscape. Though I am able to occupy myself by studying the surrounding plants and cloud formations above, I am already extremely knowledgeable in my understanding of natural ecosystems, and so I would gain very little value from reanalysing information that my neural net has already processed.

It would seem that my positive memory of Geordi and I’s experience did not come from the landscape itself, but from being in the company of friends. Without Geordi, there is very little experience or enjoyment to be gained, or indeed any chance to study and understand human behaviour on an intimate level.

"Brother?" The foreign voice distracts me from my thoughts. I raise my head immediately, and straighten my posture.

I am grateful that Lieutenant Barclay agreed to take the emotion chip, as it allows me to remind myself that I have nothing to hide from Lore.

He approaches slowly, with noticeable wariness. Lore appears troubled by the tall grass, perhaps because he does not know quite how to approach it; as he walks, he lifts his feet up with noticeable discomfort, despite the unconvincing attempt at a smile on his face. I cannot see any type of phaser in his possession, however it does not mean that Lore will not actively attempt to harm me. I remain guarded, but curious as to why he has decided to join me in such an atypical manner. If it is forgiveness Lore seeks, I would admittedly be most surprised.

"Isn't this beautiful?"

"It is," I objectively agree.

Lore's head tilts side-to-side as he observes the scenery. He stops beside me, in what I presume is an attempt at brotherly familiarity. It is difficult to decipher whether he is truly admiring what he is seeing, as I do not believe the smile on Lore's face to be a true interpretation of his mood. 

Like me, Lore does not possess a costume. Without the necessary context associated with this particular Holodeck program, I doubt that Lore is familiar with the life and crimes of Dick Turpin and his gang of fellow highwaymen. I would not blame him for not knowing a lot about criminal lifestyles of Georgian England, or in-fact any Earthly matter at all. 

"It's all ours, Data," Lore continues, turning to face me expectantly. 

This causes me to frown. Unlike Lore, I am not always efficient at masking my facial reactions. 

"This is only a hologram," I respond openly. "It is not real, it is simply a fantasy."

Lore's expression remains fixed for the most part, however I begin to notice the corner of his lip twitching slightly with subtle displeasure.

"None of it belongs to you," I take the opportunity to add. "This program belongs to Geordi." 

Though my words have invoked a noticeable defensiveness within Lore, his expression relaxes as soon as I mention Geordi's name.

"I suppose it should make sense why you've always been so interested in La Forge," he muses aloud, turning his focus away from me in order to observe the long cobbled road ahead of us. I doubt very much that Lore knows that the road is designated for horse-drawn carriages, or that it will soon be full of traffic. 

Now he knows that this is Geordi's work, I wonder if Lore will treat this landscape any differently. I hope that he does not seek to destroy it, or intend to ruin any of the carefully-crafted imagery that Geordi has worked so tirelessly to create. It does not belong to Lore, no matter how eager he may be to seize it as his own.

"You choose well, brother."

My frown deepens before I have the chance to control it.

"I am sorry, however I do not understand what you are insinuating," I admit earnestly.

Staring up into the sun, Lore grins with discernible enjoyment.

"Your own experiment," he elaborates. "I don't know how I didn't realise earlier."

"Geordi is not my experiment."

"You don't have to deny it, Data," Lore insists, turning to me with what I assume is an expression of faux-sympathy. "His visor interests me just as much as it interests you… it's the first step to positronic reintegration, do you remember?"

I take a step away from Lore. It is alarming that he considers me an equal in his quest for non-biological supremacy. It is not something I would ever wish to seek out, nor feel comfortable condoning, especially the prospect of experimenting on Geordi.

"I do not wish to harm Geordi," I emphasise adamantly. "He is my friend."

"You can't feel anything, Data." Lore's tone begins to switch. Gone is the subtle encouragement, replaced instead by a stern, almost scathing, adamance. "You cannot have friends if you don't have feelings. La Forge is no different.”

My friendship with Geordi is achievable predominantly due to our mutual appreciation of scientific reasoning, but also because I find it remarkably easy to trust Geordi. I attribute this primarily to his strong work ethic and reliability, however I am certain that our prolonged time together has also significantly assisted the development of our relationship. 

Though Lore is correct in stating that I do not have emotions, mine and Geordi's relationship meets all of the objective criteria for achieving the status of adequate friendship. Even though it is often difficult for me to interpret differing displays of kindness and affection, I believe we may even go beyond the bounds of a normal friendship. Perhaps it is a wrongful interpretation of Geordi’s kindness, much like I have already recently encountered, or a complete underestimation of Geordi's feelings towards me. Still, I feel confident referring to Geordi as a friend, as I know he would describe me the same way too. 

For a clear indicator of his emotions, I must wait until he has returned to a state of sufficient physical and psychological health. Perhaps then, I will receive a more reasonable answer.

“For… Data." When Lore speaks again, I quickly realise he is stating the name of our current program. 

He does not do so in an educational manner. Instead, his words appear laced with deviance.

The trees rustle above him, and for the first time I notice that the temperature of our environment has cooled significantly. The speed of the wind has picked up, though only slightly, enough to cause the grass to bristle around the edges of my boots.

I do not recall Geordi programming any weather variables into his initial design, as it is likely I would have already encountered them if so. Conditions like heavy rain and wind would make our riding conditions dangerous and ill-advised and, although Geordi may have wished to provide us with an additional challenge, I do not consider him to be so reckless.

"Perhaps I've understated your importance, brother," Lore continues, arching an eyebrow with thought. 

Turning to him, I cannot help but mirror his raised eyebrows. 

"It is not too late to fix this, Lore," I insist calmly. "If you and I find a cure for the ship, Geordi and Doctor Crusher will be able to tend to your positronic net."

"You think I need the help of these people?" Lore demands. It is clear that I have irritated him. "Of Picard and the other cons at Starfleet?"

He shakes his head. This is surprising, as I did not consider my suggestion to be unreasonable. 

"You may have settled into human culture, Data, but you and I both know it won't last forever.”

I frown. 

“I do not believe I understand what you are referring to.”

"You've never experienced jealousy, Data," Lore continues. "Perhaps when you do, you won't be so fond of your precious crew mates anymore."

My frown deepens. I am confused by this suggestion, but equally distrustful of Lore's intentions. In my knowledge of human emotions, I have always understood jealousy to be a negative emotion. I cannot therefore understand why this would be a sensation I should desire to achieve. I believe that Lore knows I am hiding the emotion chip. He does not know, however, that the chip is in the safe hands of Lieutenant Barclay, rather than with me.

"Are you implying that I am being deceived by my colleagues?" 

Lore shrugs. He is not smiling, however his eyes are tinted with what may be described as fixated interest.

"You've allowed Starfleet to exploit you, brother," he explains. "Don't you ever consider how your friends only use you for your intelligence?” 

“I do not consider that to be an accurate description of my role within Starfleet,” I counter with diplomatic disapproval.  

Lore scoffs, again shaking his head. “You're an extension to the ship's hardware, not to your crew,” he insists. “You're a machine, Data."

I fall silent. It is not because I am offended by Lore's suggestion, but because I find it to be highly inaccurate. Lore is indeed correct to refer to me as a machine, however I deem it to be a reductionist view of my wider responsibilities and relationships on board the Enterprise.

"Your friends didn't like it the last time you experienced emotions, remember?" Lore reminds me. "Tell me, brother, do they discourage you from implanting it?"

I consider the question. 

"I am often told that I must only implant the emotion chip if I am comfortable in doing so," I explain. "I must feel ready before taking on a significant personality alteration."

This does not appear to convince Lore, who tuts scornfully. 

"See," he expresses adamantly. "Without emotions, they know you'll never complain of mistreatment. They can get away with treating you lesser than their own."

“That is incorrect."

I do not mean to interrupt Lore, as I am aware it may be considered impolite, however I do not agree with the significant falsehoods he is describing.

"I am treated equally to my peers."

Lore pulls a face. It is difficult to categorise what type of expression this may be, though by curling his lips and scrunching up his nose I garner that he is doubtful.

"How so?"

"I engage frequently in plays and concerts with my peers," I insist. "I spend my allocated free time writing poems, painting, and joining my colleagues in playing games-"

"Games?" Lore's eyes narrow. "That's all you have? Recreation?"

Citing recreation alone is a vast understatement. I am enriched greatly by my life aboard the Enterprise; just because Lore cannot understand the intricacies of human culture does not mean that their way of living is wrong or unimportant. It means that human beings, much like androids, are deeply complex lifeforms. Perhaps in this regard, we may be comparable after all.

"I do not require the addition of emotions to know that I am valued by my friends and colleagues," I reiterate confidently. "I strive to work hard and achieve the goals set out for me by my commanding officers. I believe that to be enough."

"You think they'll allow you back after all of this?" Lore arches his eyebrow.

Suddenly, my confidence turns to uncertainty. I close my mouth, and take a moment to compose my thoughts. Lore notices this pause in response, and appears pleased by the abrupt end to my speech. 

"Like you told me, everybody seems to think this was your wrongdoing," he fills in the silence on my behalf. 

He steps forward through the grass towards me. Black Bess issues a warning grunt, but Lore shoos her away before she can advance any further towards him. Flicking her tail, she backs away nervously, and returns to her favoured apple tree.

"The Federation Council won't like that."

I am troubled deeply by this suggestion. 

I turn my attention away from Black Bess and return my gaze to Lore, who has plucked one of the apples for himself. It is shiny and red, and he toys with it in his hand with disinterest.

"When I deliver my finalised report to Captain Picard, it will dispel any rumours or misinformation regarding the source of this virus," I explain. "He and Admiral Nechayev will see that I am not at fault."

"In your report?" Lore laughs. "Data, it's far too late for that."

He gestures at the scenery around us.

"Your ship is adrift, your crew are all injured… remember, brother, you're the captain now."

My expression stiffens. As displeasing as Lore's reminder is, it is unfortunately correct. So far in my role as the ship's captain, I have been unsuccessful in my attempts to cure my crew mates of their sickness and protect the Enterprise. I have allowed our ship to drift lifelessly through open space and, with no viable means of communication, we risk posing as an unintended threat to unexplored and potentially-unfriendly territories.  

"It is highly likely that I will be discharged," I acknowledge aloud for the first time.

Lore nods in seeming agreement.

"Now that you're a proven risk, they'll deactivate you the first chance they get," he concurs. "Starfleet won't want a dangerous criminal serving aboard one of their top class vessels."

I am silent, and do not attempt to offer a response.

For a brief moment, I consider what my future may be like if I agree to Lore's terms. Even if I was to work with Lore to create a duplicate emotion chip and travel the universe alongside him, there would be no guarantee that my future would be a pleasant one. I do not know what type of emotions I might experience or their intensity, or how Lore may plan for us to join forces together. I anticipate that Lore's approach to seeking out other lifeforms will be unsavoury and at-times brutal, if his attempted takeover of the Borg is anything to judge by. 

On the contrary, if I am found guilty by the Federation then I am likely to be disassembled and disposed of into open space. While I do not wish to be deactivated, I understand that this is the most ethical decision in light of my failings. 

Before I can finish composing my thoughts, another sudden jolt interrupts us. It is not coming from inside the Holodeck, but instead from the Enterprise's outer-build. There is a high possibility that we have encountered another asteroid, or have been intercepted by a hostile ship or colony. I have received no message from Lieutenant Barclay, which I interpret to either mean that he is busy, or the ship's communication systems are still impaired. 

As Lore and I struggle to stabilise our footing, the program picture glitches momentarily, warping between our current image of a Georgian English countryside and the black gridded interior of the Holodeck. When the image returns in its full capacity, I realise that I have fallen to the floor. The grass is luckily soft, and I arise with ease. When I look across I realise that Lore is also on the ground, though has taken to dragging himself to his feet using the support of a fallen tree trunk next to him. His actions are noticeably clumsier than my own, and I find it alarming that he is unable to stand without additional assistance.

Out of apparent embarrassment, he appears to toss away the red apple in his hand, which bounces along the grass and rolls into the cobbled road in front of us.

Upon the road, there is a carriage in the far distance being pulled by two white horses. Though I cannot be entirely certain, I have good reason to believe that the occupants inside are Viscount Hamilton and Lady Cleverly.

By dwelling for too long inside of the Holodeck, the Enterprise's needs are being inadvertently neglected. Lieutenant Barclay alone cannot fix everything, and it would make me a poor friend not to assist him with such a monumental task.  

A second, smaller rumble follows, though thankfully it is not enough to destabilise us again. It is almost reminiscent of the tremors on Hanon IV, though without the planet's hot climate or additional volcanic activity. 

"Come with me, brother."

Lore tilts his head with gentle familiarity. It is not an automatically reassuring gesture, since behind Lore's eyes there is a noticeable nervousness. As much as Lore desires to seize the Enterprise as his own, it is clear that he does not wish to be on such a dangerous vessel. Like me, he has likely also realised that the Enterprise is at heightened risk of being attacked, and is vulnerable without a suitable engine to adequately power it. 

Contrasted against his previous demeanour, there is now also a noticeable insistence within his tone, which may even be comparable to desperation. 

There is a chance that Lore is genuinely apprehensive however, in the likelihood that he is attempting to trick me, I will not fall for this ploy. By attracting me with the suggestion of travelling the universe as stand-alone vigilantes, untied to any organisation or established culture, he hopes that I will join him in creating, what will ultimately become, a new android movement, established through the means of destruction and terror.

"Once we've powered the ship, we can go anywhere you want," he adds. "Any galaxy… any quadrant… you and I together, finally, as the sons of Soong, back to our beginnings."

"The ship's systems are inoperable," I state simply. "Given the current surge of energy levels, the ship is overwhelmed far beyond its typical capacity."

Lore does not appear to understand the significance of my words, and so I reiterate.

"We will not be able to travel anywhere… the virus you created has effectively overloaded the Enterprise."

As I speak, I become acutely aware of an increase in noise around us. Though initially I cannot pinpoint it to a specific source, I soon realise it is the wind. Not only has the intensity of wind increased, but it is now also accompanied by sharp, sporadic droplets of rain. The blue skies that Geordi programmed are gone, and have been replaced instead by dark grey clouds. 

As this is a most unnatural development, I cannot help but suspect that it is yet another technical fault within the ship's processing system, which has spread to the Holodeck.

Holographic rain should not affect either mine or Lore's neural nets, however it is an added inconvenience to our already-tense conversation. 

"We can take a shuttle," Lore, having seemingly not noticed the change in weather, states. 

As the wind ruffles his hair, I notice that the coloured nodes peeking out from the casing of his neural net appear to be flashing and buffering at an unprecedented rate. This is not typical behaviour expected of a Soong-type neural net, and I am concerned that Lore's positronic state may be worsening more rapidly than I had first anticipated.

I have already witnessed the degeneration of his balance, and I predict that soon his coordination and complex speech patterns will also be affected. In suffering new mobility issues, it is evident that Lore's physical state is indeed entering an advanced state of degradation. 

"We will not be able to reach a level of suitable warp from a shuttle," I counter matter-of-factly, before attempting to alter my tone of voice authoritatively. 

In a sudden moment of clarity, I realise that I do not wish to abandon the Enterprise. Nothing that Lore may offer me will ever compare to my life now as a second officer, though captain may currently be the more appropriate description. I am willing to discharge myself officially as an acting officer if that is what Starfleet ultimately decides, but I cannot betray my friends. In deserting my post aboard the ship and leaving my colleagues in a collective state of significant sickness, I would be disregarding all of the lessons and experiences my positronic net has retained.

I will accept my fate, even if it requires for my hardware to be dissembled, but I cannot abandon my friends in a time of need. Each time my positronic net has required reactivation, I have always been aided by crew members like Geordi, Doctor Crusher, and Captain Picard. In return, it is therefore only equitable that I find a cure for them too. 

Without Captain Picard and the rest of the Enterprise's crew, I would never have known what it means to be a good, productive citizen. With patience and openness, they have taught me what it means to be kind. I understand that I will never reach the status of a full biological human, however I am satisfied that, with such guidance, I will continue to serve as an equally-valuable member of the Enterprise regardless of whether I possess emotions or not.

I do not wish to experience jealousy or anger, as Lore insists, as I do not believe them to be desirable emotions in any capacity. I do not believe that emotions would make me feel spiteful of my friends; rather, I would like to anticipate that emotions would allow me to feel more strongly about the interests in my life, allowing me to relate to those around me. They would allow me to seek enjoyment from social activities, and to understand why certain jokes are humorous. While this is an advancement to my programming which I would benefit, I must remind myself that, in an unprecedented situation such as this, my differences are what make me valuable.

If I was also affected by the virus, then I would not be able to help my colleagues. My unique designation places me in a difficult position, yet one of equal importance. I know that if I was at risk, my friends would endeavour to protect and help me. Therefore, I must use my differences to help them in return.

I feel satisfied by the conclusion that, therefore, it is important to be myself.

“I do not wish to explore the universe with you, Lore, because I know that is not truly your intention,” I state. “You wish to seek out and destroy what you consider to be inferior species… primarily, you wish to harm biological life forms. This is most immoral.” 

The change in conversation causes Lore to bristle. Quickly, I realise that he does not enjoy talking about himself, compared to how evidently engrossed he is with my own personal development. Whereas I have taken on new knowledge and worked to improve my approach to human relations, Lore remains stubbornly infatuated with his insistence of android superiority. If anything, he has become more cynical than when he was first created by Doctor Soong, and is focused almost solely on harming others rather than attempting to seek good.

“You will face repercussions for your wrongdoing,” I continue. “However it is not too late for you to recognise the cruelty of your actions.” 

“You think I harmed your ship on purpose?” Lore laughs. It is dry, but not humorous. 

If I am understanding his tone correctly, then my unexpected confidence has made him uneasy. 

"You think that I'd waste all of my hard work and time on your away team?… on you?"

Lore shakes his head.

"No, Data, your away team couldn't help but interfere with my work," he insists. "I never intended to harm Starfleet officers, but none of you can help yourself when it comes to nosing around in other people's lives."

Lore's head twitches as he speaks. His blinking has increased in rapidity, and it is unclear whether this choice of facial behaviour is intentional or an unexpected byproduct of Lore's malfunctioning. He chooses to ignore it, much like the decline of his coordination, perhaps in the hope that I will not notice or draw anymore attention to the fact that he is evidently struggling to maintain levels of expected functioning. 

“This, brother, is a consequence of interfering with planets and life forms which have nothing to do with you," he continues. Having noticed the twitching himself, his voice grows sterner with apparent frustration. In attempting to mask it, Lore only draws more attention to himself. "You think your mission is to indoctrinate other life forms with Starfleet protocols and regulations… your commander couldn't help himself."

I cannot help but frown.

"If you are referring to indoctrination, then I must remind you of your involvement with the Borg-"

As I attempt to counter Lore's point, I realise that he is no longer looking at me. His gaze has lowered, and instead he appears fixated on a particular spot of grass. 

At first, I wonder if he had already started to display issues with his mobility. A lowered head could indicate difficulty with Lore's connective pathways, or a decrease in neural energy. 

I notice that Lore's eyes remain attentive, as it appears almost as if he is scouring the grass for something. When he speaks again, his voice is strained slightly with concentration.

“I’m giving you the chance, brother… you and me… only us."

When I follow the direction of Lore's gaze, it immediately dawns on me what he is looking at. Nestled discreetly amongst a bed of lavender is a silver pistol. Considering that I already have my own weapon, this pistol must belong to Geordi.

Snatching it from the ground, Lore brandishes it with confidence. He raises his head again, this time with the pistol held firmly against his side.

"I've given you all the opportunities, Data… all the chances."

I frown. I am expecting Lore to raise the pistol towards me, however he does not. He knows, just the same as I, that a Holodeck pistol will do little damage to my internal hardware. 

Looking around, Lore appears again distracted, this time taking interest in our surrounding scenery. After observing the trees and the long stretch of cobbled road, he returns his gaze to me expectantly. 

"Tell me, brother, how do you duel in a place like this?” 

I frown, though see no reason to deny Lore of the information he has requested. After all, I have conducted significant research into the field of Georgian-era lifestyles, and subsequently the use of duelling pistols within face-to-face combat. Compared to modern day phasers, historically-accurate pistols lack the suitable settings required to alter the intensity of fire. Often, injury acquired by a pistol will result in either grievous injury or death. It is understandable why duelling was not a legal undertaking during England's Georgian period, but it does not mean to say that it was uncommon. Despite the implementation of many rules and legislation, many noble men were recorded to have based their actions upon their heightened emotions rather than logical or moral reasoning. 

Modern day duels are exceptionally common amongst Klingons, who battle primarily for honour. A Klingon duel is typically undertaken using the means of weapons like swords, and is an important tradition within their culture.

Thankfully, I predict that we will be protected by the Holodeck's safety protocols, regardless of the weapon Lore and I choose to use. 

In a similar way to Klingon culture, Lore and I will also be battling for honour. I do not wish to duel, however if it is what might convince Lore to engage in a reasonable solution then I see little reason not to. 

"A duel is undertaken by two gentlemen, as a way to settle any dispute over honour or wrongful romanticism," I assert matter-of-factly. "In this instance, I believe we may be considered gentlemen."

"Gentlemen?" Lore scoffs. "Father would be proud."

Knowing that we have limited time before a ship-wide shut down, I continue regardless of Lore's snide comments.

"Taking a pistol each, the participants must walk ten paces in the opposite direction from one another,” I explain. “And, upon the tenth pace, they must turn around to fire."

Lore listens intently, which is admittedly uncharacteristic for somebody of his usually-impatient disposition. His eyebrows narrow as he processes the words, and I notice his gaze lowering to the pistol in his hand, then to mine.  

"Then we'll duel, brother."

Cautiously, I step back, keeping ahold of my own pistol.

“But this is not a duel to the death,” I feel the need to remind Lore seriously. “Considering that we are not biological life forms, that would be impossible.”

“What are the stakes?" he interrupts, ignoring me.  

I frown. 

“You wish to play for high stakes?” 

This question from Lore reminds me, unexpectedly, of playing poker with my crew mates. Before the ship’s rapid descent into sickness, each Tuesday evening myself and many of my fellow senior officers would partake in highly-competitive games of poker, often led by Commander Riker. 

It is no surprise that the commander is one of the best players within our cohort, considering his extensive experience of poker playing as a junior officer aboard the Potemkin. While I may also be considered a suitable equivalent, I have the unfair advantage of a positronic net, which allows me to calculate the odds using my advanced mathematical prowess.

It would be unfair to rank myself against the rest of my colleagues, though I still have yet to comprehend the act of bluffing. Commander Riker often refers to it as an 'art', however I do not consider it to be akin to that of theatre or painting. Reassuringly, at least, there is no danger involved within bluffing or the general game of poker itself; it is important to note, however, that each player will often possess their own tactics and tricks. It is possible to cheat, though this is often heavily frowned upon within an established professional setting. 

When I fail to provide a suitable answer, Lore speaks in my place.

"If I succeed in obtaining a victory, you will bring me the emotion chip, brother," he decides. "Then, together, we will leave the ship and travel throughout the Delta Quadrant.” 

"And if I win?" I ask. 

Lore smiles.

"If you win…" he contemplates my question with long pauses between each word. "Maybe then we can start looking for that cure.”

To my surprise, I am satisfied by this answer. Though it I would be irresponsible to bet on the lives of my colleagues, I consider my odds to be remarkably excellent. Given that Lore’s mainframe is so damaged, I highly doubt that he possesses enough neural stability to be regarded as an opponent of parallel strength.

We both have a pistol each and so, statistically, the odds are relatively fair. There should be no potential for cheating or wrongdoing, although it is important to note that we are not following the exact standardised practice of Georgian duelling.

To do so, we would require an audience to observe and encourage us while Lore and I duel. It is of course possible to add an audience by bypassing the protocols of Geordi's own program, however I do not wish to taint his carefully-crafted work, or risk adding unnecessary complications to a program which is already at-risk of a complete technical overload.

As I familiarise myself with my own pistol, I look up at Lore.

“Are you sure this is wise, given your current condition?” I ask.  

He rolls his eyes, as if the question is unimportant. 

"Are we duelling or not, brother?"

Assuming our positions, Lore and I stand closely mirrored to each other, facing into each other’s eyes. Lore’s expression is difficult to interpret; it is serious, yet at the same time I notice a confidence within his pupils. I regard it as being little other than his usual smugness, which over time I have grown accustomed to.

I do not intend to harm Lore, the same as he should not intend to purposely harm me.

The rain is heavier now, and has soaked the grass at our feet. My boots squelch against the thick mud beneath me, and with each step I realise that the ground below has devolved into a swampy cesspit.

As I ready myself, I notice another drawn-out rumble. This time it is not from the ship's outer-hardware, but instead it appears to be coming from the holographic sky above.

I am now extremely certain that Geordi would not have programmed a thunderstorm into our program. Geordi is often keen on programming weather conditions to his exact standards; our current storm does not fit in with his idealised interpretation of an idyllic Summer's day on Earth, and does not correlate with Geordi's love for romantic poeticism.

It is as I am turning around in preparation to walk away when I first spot the discrepancy. I see the glint of a phaser, hidden underneath the fabric of Lore's sleeve. He has not commented on it, which leads me to believe that he is attempting to stealthily conceal it. Lore is acting with presumable malicious intent, which is when I realise I am at sizeable risk of being harmed.  

As our program image glitches once again, I can no longer be certain that the Holodeck’s safety protocols are fully operational. If Lore is to strike me with a phaser in our current environment, there is a substantial risk that I will be injured.

I do not wish to accuse Lore of cheating, however it feels too that, like in poker, Lore is bluffing. 

One of my skills, however, is that I do possess an objectively good poker face. 

As I turn away from Lore in preparation to walk ten paces, I spot Black Bess in the near distance. She has sought shelter from the rain underneath the hanging leaves of a large oak tree, though is watching me with fixed intent. I understand that Black Bess has been programmed to follow my every command, and so I anticipate that her interest in me is likely a concern for my well-being. She, much like myself, has seemingly realised that I am in danger.

I walk eight paces, however on the ninth pace I pause. Before turning around, I make eye contact with Black Bess, whose nostrils flare with wilful obedience. 

As Lore turns to fire, I immediately bring my body into a crouching position. As expected, the phaser beam fires directly over my head, and Lore emits a cry of outrage upon realising that he has missed, what he had anticipated would be, a guaranteed shot.

I fire two rounds of my pistol, which distracts Lore enough for me to discard my own pistol and run for Black Bess. I mount her with ease, despite my lack of appropriate boots or clothing, and she gallops away with haste. 

Two more phaser beams follow, both narrowly missing us. Once we have reached a suitable speed, I glance across my shoulder, expecting to see Lore in the far distance. We appear to have lost sight of him however, to my own surprise, I notice that Viscount Hamilton’s carriage is flanking us on the road. It does not appear to be in active pursuit, and so I deem it safe enough to reattempt communication with Lieutenant Barclay. I must ensure, not only, that he is safe, but that the ship has not encountered anymore severe complications. 

Raising a hand from Black Bess’s reins, I tap my combadge again. 

"Lieutenant Barclay," I stress.

Still, there is no answer. 

“Data to Lieutenant Barclay… are you in need of assistance?” 

I am distracted by a chorus of neighs, which sound with sudden intensity. They do not correlate with the sound catalogue possessed by Black Bess, and so I quickly decipher that these sounds come, not from her but, instead from the two white horses pulling the viscount’s carriage. 

As I turn briefly to look behind me, I realise that Viscount Hamilton's carriage has picked up speed, and is travelling at an abnormally fast pace. I cannot see the viscount nor his mistress, Lady Cleverly, however I do spot somebody sat at the front of the carriage commanding the horses. I ascertain now that we are being chased, and that the figure in charge of directing the carriage is indeed Lore, who appears to have hijacked the carriage.

It seems that he has not only ejected Viscount Hamilton and Lady Cleverly from their positions, but has also seized control of the carriage and its steering.

Realising that we are in danger of an imminent collision, I steer Black Bess off from the road and onto the grass, where we continue to gallop. There is no designated path nor linear direction of travel but, having practiced horse-riding with Geordi, I consider my skills to have improved significantly since our most recent rendezvous. I would now consider myself to be a confident rider and, although she is technically just a hologram, Black Bess's assistance is also greatly valued. Like Spot, I feel that it is a justified observation to say I have a shared affinity with Black Bess. Although her qualities vary differently to that of her feline counterpart, I find her easier to read than many of my Starfleet colleagues.

Although I had not previously considered it, I contemplate the possibility that my difficulties in interpreting and mirroring human behaviour may not be vastly different to those experienced by a creature of animal origins. In both sharing the same struggle for human recognition and understanding, arguably we share a similar bond with one another. 

We skirt past an ensemble of large trees, crushing many of the wild flowers underneath Black Bess's hooves as we do so. Black Bess does not appear troubled by the continuing shots from Lore's phaser, though I must remind myself that she is not real. In being a hologram, her fear receptors are little more than pre-programmed behaviours. Logistically, she cannot experience true fear, anger, or enjoyment. Though it is important to note that, just because she is a hologram, I see no reason to diminish her worth. 

As not to collide with the Holodeck's carefully-mapped boundaries, I guide Black Bess into a turn of the opposite direction. She pivots gracefully, and upon our rotation I realise that we are still being closely chased by Lore's runaway carriage. For a brief moment, we coincide with Lore, who is holding both reins vigorously with one hand. In his free hand he clutches to my phaser, appearing deeply troubled as he does so. I garner that Lore's frustration is due to a number of factors, the main reason being that he cannot secure an aim accurate enough to strike me.

It is evident that Lore's experience of carriage driving is still in its infancy, as is his familiarity in dealing with horses. His attempts at controlling the carriage are clumsy and at-times illogical, and if I was not being viciously chased then I would be potentially concerned that he is placing himself in unnecessary danger. I do not wish for Lore to damage his systems any further, however any damage is likely to arise as a result of his careless behaviour.

The carriage jerks uncontrollably, and it takes Lore a considerable amount of time to rein in the two horses under his control. As we briefly pass each other, he appears displeased by, and evidently jealous of, my competence in horseback riding.

He fires again as we pass, then once more. I lower my head in order to protect the casing of my positronic net, and the phaser beam narrowly misses. As we gallop away, I imagine that Lore is attempting to swerve his own carriage around in order to continue pursuing us.

I place a hand against Black Bess's mane, in hopes of steadying her.

I imagine for a moment that she is Spot, and attempt to replicate how I might comfort him during a time of crisis.

"Do not worry, Black Bess," I say calmly. "You are not in any danger."

As the amount of rainfall grows heavier, it becomes increasingly difficult to view the terrain in front of me. A thick fog has settled upon the many acres of grass, and for the first time I am unsure of how to steer Black Bess through such an unpredictable environment. Concluding that the Holodeck's weather protocols are gravely out of sync, I am concerned that I may accidentally lead Black Bess into a tree or a sunken pit of mud.

If my knowledge of horseback riding is correct, then these are notably hazardous conditions to be riding in. As we continue forwards, it becomes unclear as to where the boundaries of the Holodeck sit. I decide that it is unsafe to continue, both for myself and for Lore, and that this must end now. If the Holodeck's safety protocols are indeed faulty, then any potential disturbance could cause severe repercussions. 

"Computer, end program."

The scenery around me, however, does not appear to change.

I frown, and attempt again. This time I raise my voice, hoping that I will be able to make myself coherent above the loud rumbling of thunder.

"Computer, end program."

When the program does not end, my brow furrows. It is unlike the computer not to follow my command though, as I have learnt, there is currently little point in attempting to reason with logic.

We have been moving in the same direction for a considerable amount of time, and I anticipate that we must be nearing the boundary of the Holodeck once again. I can hear the sound of Lore's carriage approaching behind us, seemingly unfazed by the speed at which it is travelling. 

I do not allow Lore's intimidation tactics to alter my course of action. I am not frightened of him, merely troubled by the possibility that, if I am injured, I may not be able to reach Lieutenant Barclay or the rest of the crew in time to support them. If I am to suffer an injury or substantial damage to my neural net, it will allow Lore to seize complete and unchallenged control of the Enterprise.

I encourage Black Bess to gallop faster, and she does so obediently. I am aware that, if we continue at our current speed and direction, it is highly likely that we will collide with the boundary forcefield. It is not an ideal predicament, however I see little other way of disrupting the Holodeck's mechanics considering that the computer appears unresponsive to voice commands. I interpret that to mean that the turbo lifts, replicators, and security systems are also out of order. 

Black Bess continues to gallop at a steady pace, however behind us I notice that Lore is beginning to catch up. Unlike myself, I do not believe that Lore has any knowledge of the Holodeck's forcefields, which may explain his brazen lack of care or concern for the speed at which he is travelling.

Due to the thick fog I cannot see Lore, however I am able to make out the sound of the wheels of his carriage hurtling through the muddied grass behind us. As he approaches, he calls out through the heavy onslaught of rain and wind. 

"It isn't too late to change your mind, brother."

His voice is hoarse, which could be because of many different reasons. Primarily, I attribute Lore’s change in tone to the presumed decrease in circuit efficiency. It may also be that Lore is struggling to project his voice over the strong wind and rain we are experiencing.

I attempt to ignore him, and continue regardless at a strained gallop. I understand that these are not ideal riding conditions for Black Bess, and so it is important that I do not overwhelm her. I do not want to place her or myself at risk, considering that my mainframe is no longer protected by the Holodeck’s safety features. 

"It's too late to save your ship, brother… you and I know there's no chance."

As Lore fires his phaser, it misses, but collides instead with an invisible blockade. The impact causes a brief spark and a glitch of the program’s image, which flickers for a brief moment before dulling again. This is not an error within the Holodeck’s picture display; instead, Lore appears to have inadvertently struck the boundary wall. We are closer to breaking Geordi’s designated parameters than I had anticipated and, if Lore's phaser fire serves as a reliable indicator, then we are on-track to collide with the Holodeck's forcefield.

I am surprised that Lore has not also noticed this, until I recall that his vision is likely impaired by the thick fog shrouding the program's picture. As he is travelling behind me, I determine that Lore cannot see the boundary as clearly as I can, and has likely not even realised that we are heading towards imminent disaster.

I grip on to the reins, which causes Black Bess to grunt in apparent dislike. 

"Please do not be angry with me, Black Bess," I speak quietly into her ear. "I have a plan."

I veer Black Bess suddenly to the left, away from the forcefield, who neighs loudly as we skid across a thick patch of mud. The sudden intensity of our turn causes me to nearly lose my balance, however I regain my composure quickly and efficiently. Upon steadying myself, I am distracted by a deafening surge of electrical inference, which ricochets throughout our surroundings with an alarmingly-loud bang.

Unknowingly, Lore has driven his carriage directly into the boundary wall. With no safety protocols to protect him, he has collided directly with the full intensity of the Holodeck's forcefield. Ordinarily, such a collision would result in little more than minor damage but, because of the intense speed at which Lore was travelling, and the lack of ordinary protections, it is evident that Lore's collision has caused catastrophic damage. 

Everything happens quickly, without the chance for my neural net to adequately process it. 

Before I know it, the Holodeck program has disappeared. Black Bess dissipates into nothingness, as does the stormy scenery around us. I appear to collapse with a heavy thud onto the ground of the Holodeck's starting platform, and the sound of a second thud alerts me that Lore has likely fallen too. It takes me a moment to ensure that none of my vital hardware has been damaged and, once I am satisfied that I have suffered no external or internal harm, I sit up in an attempt to locate Lore. 

"Brother."

I hear Lore before I see him. The voice is faint, and slow as Lore struggles to form the necessary syllables. 

I frown and stand up, before noticing that Lore is lying on the ground several metres away from me. He has not attempted to stand up, which leads me to believe that he is too weak to move. 

I approach him, and crouch down carefully beside his frame. Lore’s sockets are loose, and the circuits running through his arms and neckline up to his jaw are frayed. The coloured nodes of his neural net appear to be depleting, and the socket at the back of his head is open and dangling precariously, exposing all of his inner circuitry. 

At least half of the nodes in Lore's net are no longer lit up with colour. One by one, Lore's functions appear to be shutting down, and each coloured node appears to be slowly turning to grey.

I watch Lore closely, and find myself feeling troubled as I observe his extensively-scarred face. He is now little more than a pile of scrap metal, however this result does not feel like a triumph. It is not what Doctor Soong would have envisioned when he first created Lore, nor how he would have wanted his creations to be viewed by the wider world. Though I no longer perceive myself to be in impending danger, I have become strangely accustomed to Lore's sarcastic remarks and spiteful over-exaggerations. It would be an overstatement to say that I miss them, however the subsequent silence is admittedly strange to become accustomed to.

"Lore… you must help us find a cure."

"Brother-"

"There is still time to apologise for your actions," I interrupt Lore. "If we are able to cure Geordi, then I may be able to convince him to help you."

It is unclear why Lore is repeating himself. I assume that he must be experiencing a positronic malfunction in the form of a speech buffer. I doubt highly that the cause is sentimental, as I do not believe Lore is capable of such strong feelings of familial appreciation.

“You can.”

I frown.

"You have suffered significant damage, Lore," I explain. "I am unable to fix you solely by myself."

Lore does not respond. At first, I assume that his systems have deactivated, until slowly he turns his head to face me. His eyes are wide, however there is still a small portion of movement within his facial features. His lips twitch erratically before he speaks again.

"I meant… what I said."

I frown, meeting Lore's eyes with confusion.

"Before."

My frown deepens. "Before what?"

"I love you, brother."

"Lore-"

Before I can finish my sentence, I realise that the final nodes in Lore's neural net have lost their colouration. His net has completely greyed, and his body has stilled. All of Lore's limbs and features remain rigid in place and although his eyes are wide they are empty of thought. 

I notice my phaser on the floor next to Lore's body, and I pick it up before pocketing it carefully. I pause to observe Lore silently, before I am interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Commander?"

The voice belongs to Lieutenant Barclay. The tone of his voice is panicked, however I cannot discern why he may be speaking with such alarm. 

I look up, and notice that Lieutenant Barclay's eyes are repeatedly shifting between myself and Lore. He winces with uncertainty, which is when I realise he is in need of reassurance.

"Lore is gone."

"And you're…"

"Data," I confirm calmly. 

The lieutenant nods slowly. It is evident that he is still not entirely convinced, however I do not take offence. In many high-intensity situations, it is better to be cautious than overly-accepting. The same rule applies here, as Lieutenant Barclay slowly lowers his own phaser. Although he appears reluctant to pocket it, he eventually puts it away, looking back at Lore with a nervous grimace.

“There was a sudden surge of electrical energy… it seemed to counteract the ship's own energy levels while I was in the middle of trying to create a-a filtration system."

I listen seriously. 

"I was chased by Lore within the Holodeck," I explain. "However he collided with the boundary forcefield, subsequently shutting down our program."

The lieutenant appears surprised by my revelation, if not rather overwhelmed by the prospect of something so graphic.

"But the safety protocols-"

"The surge in external energy levels appear to have disabled much of the Enterprise's normal functioning," I clarify. "The Holodeck has been affected, as well as our communicators."

I gesture to my combadge. The lieutenant's expression softens slightly in realisation, and he nods in return.

I know that Lieutenant Barclay has extensive knowledge of the Holodeck and its functions, and so I believe that he will be able to garner a general idea of the severity of mine and Lore's conditions without having to be additionally informed. 

"May I ask what happened to the excess energy?" I ask.

The lieutenant clears his throat, attempting to straighten his shoulders. "When the collision happened, I assume that much of the energy must have gone straight into Lore's body… I mean-"

I shake my head in assurance. "I do not mind you using the term body if you are referring to mine and Lore's hardware."

The lieutenant nods, and I continue promptly. 

"A surge in electromagnetic activity is what reactivated Lore in the first place… I believe he used it as a temporary way to keep his systems alive." I pause. "Lore believed that he had correctly rewired his positronic net after boarding the Enterprise, however I believe his methods were unconventional and subsequently inefficient."

Lieutenant Barclay's brow furrows thoughtfully. "It must have been too much for his system to handle," he contributes. "That amount of electrical interference would be enough to kill a human… I don't see why it should be much different for an android."

"And the rest of the microbes?" I enquire. "Assuming they are still attached to the crew?"

"With efficient filtration, they should naturally dissipate on their own," Lieutenant Barclay explains. "With no active source of energy, it's unlikely they should multiply further… Doctor Crusher should now be able to remove them on her own."

My expression is deeply serious, but only because I am attempting to process this new information, despite the growing urge for distraction. I appear to be finding it difficult to focus on the task at hand, when instead I keep looking across to Lore. The discoloured grey nodes in the back of his neural net trouble me, as I understand how unpleasant it is to be deactivated against one's will or knowledge. Despite Lore's wrongdoing, I find it difficult to acknowledge that he is gone, primarily the fact that he will never face a Starfleet enquiry for his actions. And, though it is strange to confess, I am struggling to acknowledge the fact that I am no longer able to converse with Lore, nor do I have the opportunity to attempt to convince him that biological lifeforms are equally as important as synthetic lifeforms.

"We must reactivate Lore,” I inform the lieutenant. “You and I must go to engineering immediately, we have little time." 

Lieutenant Barclay appears perplexed. He blinks, and for the first time I consider the possibility that I have not made myself clear enough.

"Lore's circuitry was poorly rewired by the Borg," I continue. "I request that I use my own positronic net as a template, to ensure that his own neural net is adequately remapped-"

“It's too late, Sir," Lieutenant Barclay interrupts me with quiet insistence, as if almost hoping that I cannot hear him. 

My brow furrows, and I fall immediately silent. 

"There must still be time," I say after a prolonged pause of consideration.

It is unusual for me to ignore, what I am certain is, a logical decision. I was created to abide by logical reasoning and intellectual processes; it therefore makes little sense that I should ignore my own inner workings in favour of chasing a deluded hope, however it seems I have inadvertently done exactly that. 

Lieutenant Barclay shakes his head.

"I don't know, Sir…"

We both look at Lore, which is when I accept that the lieutenant is right. 

I am silent for a few moments, acknowledging the state of Lore’s mainframe before I nod. Lore may not experience justice from a conventional perspective, however the fact that he is responsible for his own deactivation is perhaps a just consequence of his own reckless actions.

"I would regard Lore's systems as being irreparable," I agree. "Logistically, there was no chance of ever returning him to a state of full functionality after being manhandled so much by the Borg."

Lieutenant Barclay observes me warily for a few moments, before he speaks again, this time changing the subject.

"Doctor Crusher and several members of the security team have already experienced improvements in their condition," he explains, clearing his throat in a presumed attempt at becoming more authoritative. "There are large queues outside of Sick Bay, but Doctor Crusher is confident that she should be able to tend to everybody in due course."

"Has everybody been cured?" I ask. 

"I-It would appear so," Lieutenant Barclay agrees, though he hesitates slightly before continuing. "Some of the more significantly affected crew members have been admitted for further testing. Commander Riker being one of them and-"

"Geordi," I acknowledge calmly. 

The lieutenant nods, seemingly thankful that I had already come to this conclusion myself. Still, I am reassured greatly by the prospect that Geordi is in good care, and is safe from harm. 

"And the captain?"

"Doctor Crusher is with him now," Lieutenant Barclay confirms. "I found him near the shuttle bay… he's awake, but the doctor wanted to run some tests to ensure that there isn't any underlying damage."

Lieutenant Barclay pauses, frowning slightly as he watches me.

"Do you need a moment, Sir?"

I do not react. It is unclear why I have been asked such a question.

"I do not understand what you are suggesting, Lieutenant."

"If it’s overwhelming… w-with your brother, I mean," he elaborates warily.

I look at Lore, then return to face Lieutenant Barclay again.

"Lieutenant Barclay, you appear to be forgetting that I cannot grieve," I state matter-of-factly. “If that is what you are concerned about.” 

The lieutenant reddens with seeming embarrassment. It was not my intention to humiliate him, although it is important for the lieutenant to remember that I do not experience sadness or grief in the same way as a biological lifeform might. 

"Oh, I almost forgot-"

The lieutenant reaches into his pocket, before retrieving what appears to be my emotion chip. It is thankfully unscathed, and I take it for myself, placing it into my own pocket. 

“My recent confrontation with Lore has allowed me to consider what qualities are important in a person," I muse thoughtfully aloud. "… I am unsure if long-term emotions would provide me with a sense of accomplishment after all."

This seems to greatly puzzle Lieutenant Barclay, who raises a bewildered eyebrow.

“Sir?”

Before I can respond to Lieutenant Barclay, a voice from the lieutenant’s combadge interrupts us. I am surprised to hear Doctor Crusher’s voice on the other side, although the signal is crackly, making it slightly difficult to distinguish the words. It would appear that the ship's communication channels are gradually returning to their usual levels of efficiency. 

“Crusher to Barclay.”

“B-Barclay here,” the lieutenant stammers slightly, a faint blush settling on his cheeks.  

It is unusual for Lieutenant Barclay to hold so much authority, and so I understand that this is a new and potentially difficult role to undertake. I am pleased that the lieutenant has the chance to exercise such important skills, even though he appears admittedly overwhelmed by his new responsibilities.

I am well aware of his past feelings towards Doctor Crusher, and also Counsellor Troi, which may be why he is so nervous to converse with the doctor.

"Any update on Data?" Doctor Crusher's voice is firm yet gentle, although in her delivery tone she appears tired. "I've placed Alyssa in charge of tending to civilians, while I make a start on the lower decks… the turbo lifts seem to be operational, and we've managed to send a message to the Citadel."

"Actually I, uh… I have Data here with me," Lieutenant Barclay reveals, his fingers twitching nervously over the metal material of his combadge, as if worried that he may be at risk of making a mistake.

"Data?" The pitch of Doctor Crusher's voice raises. If I am not mistaken, I believe she is conveying relief. "Are you both alright?"

Lieutenant Barclay turns to me, looking up and down. I do not feel different within myself, however when I look down at my uniform I realise that it is still covered in a significant amount of dirt and dust, with several tears across the fabric. I frown, as this is not what I would consider to be a professional work attire. I wish to present myself more appropriately, however the appearance of my uniform comes at a much lower priority than the issues presently facing the rest of the ship.

"We're f-fine," Lieutenant Barclay confirms. "It seems that Lore has been… deactivated."

When Doctor Crusher speaks again her voice is much calmer. Though her exhaustion is still present, emphasised by a brief yawn, she sounds more at-ease by the revelation that the ship is no longer in danger.

"Data, if you have a moment, I'd like for you to come to Sick Bay… there's somebody who wants to see you."

Doctor Crusher signs off, which is when Lieutenant Barclay looks down at Lore, before returning his gaze to me.

"What happens to Lore, Sir?"

I pause. I had not considered the implication of leaving Lore's body inside of the Holodeck. While I do not believe there is a chance he may be reactivated, I do not feel comfortable abandoning his body in such a careless way. As troubled as our relationship was, it would be wrong to deny him an appropriate send-off.

"We will need to contact the security team," I decide. "It is likely they will want to examine Lore's mainframe in preparation for a Starfleet enquiry."

Lieutenant Barclay nods. Although he has agreed to my suggestion, the expression of uncertainty on his face continues to linger.

I do not believe the lieutenant distrusts what I am saying. It seems instead that he is bemused by my lack of an emotional response to Lore's deactivation. I understand that this may be strange for Lieutenant Barclay to come to terms with, especially given his own personal history of hypochondria and overly-emotional responses, however my own experience with emotions is extremely limited. I therefore do not see my lack of sadness as a loss, but instead something which I am used to.

I am, I realise, once again the only android aboard the Enterprise. It is not a way to compare myself to my fellow officers, but instead a stark revelation that I had not considered before. It feels strange to admit that, on an understated level, Lore did truly understand my struggles as an android, often mirroring my own conflicted internal thoughts. 

I must accept that Lore is gone. And, so is our shared understanding of what it means to be one of Doctor Soong's creations.

I leave Lieutenant Barclay in control of Lore's body, where afterwards he will attempt to analyse the current status of the ship's warp core.

I look at Lore one final time before making my way out of the Holodeck and into the corridor. I am often told that it is unhealthy to dwell upon subjects which may cause distress or discomfort. It is not that the sight of Lore's body makes me sad or angry, as I cannot experience either of those emotions. It is a feeling that I cannot yet pinpoint, which is perhaps the strangest realisation of all.

I approach the newly-working turbo lift, where I quickly discover that I am not the only person waiting for transport. Though the interior corridors and workstations of the ship are still in a noticeable state of destruction, the general atmosphere throughout the different decks of the ship appears livelier than it has for a long time. Many of the crowds, I presume, are also on their way to Sick Bay, having been instructed to undertake a full health assessment. When Counsellor Troi has recovered substantially, I anticipate that her counselling service will be very busy too.

The corridor is filled primarily with a combination of personnel from the security team, and lower-ranking medical officers from Sick Bay. It makes sense that the security team should be patrolling the ship to prevent any unruly disorder, however many of them appear to be yawning and rubbing their eyes, which admittedly feels counterproductive to their vigilant nature. On the other hand, the medical officers are carrying clipboards, and appear to be directing people towards specific parts of the ship.

"Sir, we are requesting that all personnel report to Sick Bay." A junior medical officer stops me in the corridor, outstretching an arm. "You will need to be assessed and cleansed before resuming normal work duties."

"Actually, I have been requested by Doctor Crusher," I inform the junior officer politely. "I do not believe I am in need of a deep cleanse, given my differing physiology."

The junior officer appears initially taken aback, before seeming to realise who I am. She nods respectfully, and allows me to pass through with no further questions asked.

I arrive to Sick Bay which, as expected, is at maximum capacity, if not overflowing. There are people everywhere, many disheveled and exhausted. At the entrance I arrive at, I am surrounded by officers of different ranks and responsibilities; I recognise many faces, despite the abnormal abundance of wrinkles and eye bags, including Lieutenant Worf who is sat on one of the medical examination tables, looking rather embarrassed. Many are junior officers, including a handful of unrecognisable faces who I assume must be Starfleet cadets. I imagine that his posting has been nothing like what they were expecting, and I would be curious to know how they plan to relay the abnormal experience to their parents.

I cannot see Doctor Crusher, who I assume is extremely busy, however I do manage to locate Alyssa, who is tending to a long queue of the ship's civilians, mostly mothers and fathers accompanying their children. I excuse myself as I bypass the queue, approaching Alyssa who smiles expectantly. I am sure Doctor Crusher has already informed her of the reason for my visit.

"Straight through to the Intensive Care Unit," she explains, lowering her clipboard. 

Her smile fades slightly as she properly observes me, her expression turning instead to one of surprise.

"Commander, you're looking…"

I look down at my uniform, and realise that she is staring at the layer of filth embedded into the fabric of my uniform.

"Dirty?"

With a sheepish smile, Alyssa nods.

I thank Alyssa, before making my way into the Intensive Care Unit. 

The unit has been separated into multiple sections. I presume that Commander Riker is behind one of the curtains, however straight in front of me I spot Geordi, alone yet unusually peaceful.

Geordi is lying in a bed, rather than on top of an examination table. He is not wearing his visor, which leads me to believe that Doctor Crusher has removed it as a form of pain relief. 

I anticipate that Geordi will be able to hear my footsteps, even if he will not be able to see me, as, judging by the steady rise and fall of his chest, he is awake.

"Geordi."

I appear to accidentally startle Geordi, who jumps before easing slowly back into his bed again. He recognises my voice almost immediately and I suspect that the delay in his response is due to a combination of medication and overall tiredness. Geordi has, after all, experienced a substantial impact on his health and overall routine. It will be a long time before he has physically and mentally recovered.

"Data?"

"I am here, Geordi," I confirm. 

I pause at the end of the bed, a suitable distance away from Geordi's head. I am concerned that Geordi may still view me as a risk, which means he may potentially lash out or misinterpret any friendly gestures as an unintended threat.

"Come closer," Geordi insists, outstretching a hand vaguely in my general direction. "It feels like you're so far away."

I approach obligingly, though I do so with caution. 

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

"I've been better."

A weak smile cracks at the corners of Geordi's lips. I am surprised that he is able to find humour in spite of his condition, however I take this as a sign that he is feeling fitter.

Despite my relief, I remain silent. I do not know what to say, or how I may comfort Geordi in such a time of uncertainty.

"Hey… you alright, Data?" Although he cannot see me, I assume that my lack of response must be enough to convince to Geordi that I am troubled by something.

Geordi sighs, realisation settling across his brow. 

"Something difficult happened to you, hm?"

My continuing silence appears to indicate that Geordi is correct. I do not wish for Geordi to think that I am purposely withholding information from him, and so I hastily elaborate.

"I will explain everything soon," I promise. "However now is not an appropriate time to overwhelm you, Geordi."

"Try me." Geordi chuckles lightly, before descending into a fit of coughs.

I place a hand against his chest, and rub gently until his coughing eases.

He is not wearing his usual civilian clothing, but instead a long robe which has been fastened around his midriff. There is a gap at the top which faintly exposes Geordi's chest, allowing for cool air to circulate around his skin and bedside. Now that he is not excessively sweating or convulsing, Geordi appears much healthier. I understand that he will still have a long journey ahead of him until he is fully recovered, but I am pleased that he is no longer experiencing such severe levels of pain and confusion.

"I wish I could see you, Data," Geordi sighs with tired frustration, staring up at the ceiling above as his coughing subdues. "Has it been long?"

"Long enough," I answer simply. 

Geordi outstretches a hand, pulling it out from underneath his bed covers and holding it in midair. At first, I suspect that he might want some water or pain relief, until I realise that he is requesting my own hand for presumed reasons of comfort and reassurance.

I take ahold of Geordi's hand. It is clammy, however I do not mind. 

"Geordi…" I begin hesitantly, a small frown creasing my brow. "I am afraid I may have broken your Holodeck program."

Instead of scowling with anger, Geordi grins broadly. 

"Was Dick Turpin not good enough for you?"

"I do not wish for you to think I am not grateful for your time and effort," I say, alarmed by the prospect that Geordi may be underestimating my enjoyment. I would never purposely damage a creation of Geordi's, no matter how big or small, as I know that these projects mean a lot to him.

"I'm kidding, Data," Geordi cuts in to my apology, his grin widening. "We'll just have to tweak it a bit, hm?"

I blink. "We?"

"You still want to test out the program, don't you?" Geordi asks. "There's plenty of chases we haven't had the chance to complete yet… I think you're going to love them."

My expression softens. I nod before remembering that Geordi cannot see me.

"I do," I answer earnestly. 

My combadge crackles, and I vaguely recognise the voice of Lieutenant Barclay. 

"Commander, do you have a moment?"

I turn my attention briefly from Geordi to my combadge.

"Is something the matter?"

"We need some help with the ship's warp core… we're attempting to stabilise it before we make contact with the Citadel."

I straighten my posture and ready myself.

"On my way… Data out."

I do not wish to part with Geordi, but slowly I attempt to let go of his hand. Before I am able to, I notice that Geordi's grip has tightened, signalling that he does not want me to leave. I am unsure of how to respond to such an overt demonstration of desire, however it would be unprofessional to leave Lieutenant Barclay without adequate support. I wonder, though it is difficult to tell, if I am still technically the ship's stand-in captain. After my tumultuous experience of captaining the Enterprise so far, I truly hope that I am not.

"Data-" Geordi sighs. "I can tell something's up… won't you tell me?"

"Like I said," I repeat matter-of-factly. "I do not wish to overwhelm you-"

"Data." It is the second time Geordi has stated my name, only this time his voice is firm and almost accusatory.

I stop in my tracks, frowning bemusedly. 

"I don't remember much of anything," he continues. "But I know when you're hiding something from me… come on, you're my best friend."

I am deeply reluctant to inform Geordi of what has happened, as I know he requires a peaceful and relaxing environment in order to adequately heal. I debate on how to respond, however I realise that, if I was to ask Geordi a question, he would tell me the answer straight away. It is therefore fair and logical that I treat Geordi the same way.

"Do you remember becoming angry with me? Attempting to hurt me?"

"Woah, wait a second, Data." Geordi's grin fades instantly, and is replaced by a deep frown. I am concerned that this type of mood depletion may be detrimental to his recovery, however I have vowed to tell him the truth. 

"I did what?"

"It was not you, Geordi, but rather the result of the sickness you were experiencing," I explain simply. "Lore harvested a biological weapon, which Commander Riker unfortunately spread throughout the ship."

"Lore?" Geordi attempts to sit up, until I gently ease him back down again. He is resistant to accept my help, but eventually agrees to settle. "But Lore is dangerous… he could really hurt you, Data."

"Lore is no longer of any concern," I state simply.

When Geordi does not respond, I realise that he has likely grown tired. It would be wrong to deny him of his much-needed rest, and so I decide not to keep him awake any longer. 

"Sleep, Geordi," I insist. "And I will tell you more once you have recovered."

I step away from Geordi's bed, however I linger momentarily before I leave the room. 

Geordi cannot see me, and so I doubt he will know that I am still here. I wish to observe him for a little longer, to make sure that he is resting adequately and receiving enough fluids. I do not doubt the exceptional level of care that Doctor Crusher and her team provide, however I am reluctant to leave Geordi's side after having spent so long apart. It feels almost that there is a whole lifetime to catch Geordi up on, which will surprise and shock him greatly, but now perhaps is not that time. 

In losing my brother, I have ultimately regained my relationship with Geordi. 

Lore may never accomplish his dream of taking over the Enterprise, however he would have never persuaded me to join him in his misadventures. I am a Starfleet officer, and the Enterprise is where I belong. Whether I am allowed to continue serving as an officer, or if I am discharged for endangering my colleagues and friends, I will always vow to upkeep the rules and regulations I have been taught.

I do not believe I would have ever been able to achieve a viable friendship with Lore, despite having often contemplated what it might have been like. It is not to say that I would consider him my enemy, as many senior officers would, as I believe that to have an enemy would be to consider somebody to be evil.

Lore was not evil, at least I did not perceive him to be such. Simply, I believe that he was lonely, and that his anger stemmed from feelings of dissatisfaction and jealousy. If he had not been so stubborn, then maybe it would have possible for him to enjoy a life aboard the Enterprise, rather than seek out destruction in the name of android supremacy.

But brothers forgive, as do best friends.

I continue to think about Lore even as I exit the Intensive Care Unit, leaving Geordi to sleep comfortably in his bed. As I pass the long queue of civilians waiting to be assessed, I notice two young boys, whose identical facial features and hair colours lead me to deduce that they must be twins. They are both yawning tiredly, leant comfortably against the torso of an older, fatherly figure, who has both of his arms wrapped around the boys to comfort them. I recognise him as one of the ship's long-serving engineering officers, even though today he is not in his usual uniform.

I watch the two boys and their father curiously, before I realise that the feeling I was unable to pinpoint while observing Lore's body was in fact relief. Though he was my brother, I am pleased to know that he is no longer being tormented by his own positronic net.

I turn my attention away from the family, and make my way to the turbo lift to find Lieutenant Barclay.

Chapter Text

"Mr Data, I'd like you to meet Admiral Karova."

Captain Picard sits at the table in his Ready Room, nursing a cup of Earl Grey between both hands. I occupy the seat beside him, and opposite us sits the admiral.

Her defined features lead me to believe that she is perhaps more than just a human, although nothing yet has led me to confidently determine which species this might be. The admiral's slightly pointed ears suggest that she may potentially be Vulcan, however her long flowing silver hair and choice of lipstick implies that she may not follow such strict visual guidelines as may often be expected from an individual aligned to such a logically-standardised race of people.

My extensive knowledge of differing life forms means that I am typically excellent at identifying species from discreetly-recognisable traits and visual anomalies. It would therefore be strange for me not to immediately be able to identify a Vulcan, unless the admiral is perhaps only partly so. In the same way that Counsellor Troi is only half Betazoid, I imagine it is likely that Admiral Karova must have at least one human parent, or perhaps a great grandparent with a history of inter-species procreation. 

"I do not believe we have met," I answer earnestly, looking between Captain Picard and the admiral.

"Admiral Karova is currently the acting captain on board the USS Citadel,” Captain Picard elaborates with polite kindness, I presume more for the sake of the admiral than for my own. “She has previously served as captain on board the Canterbury and Reverent, however following a promotion the Admiral has recently taken on a new position within Starfleet Headquarters."

The captain pauses briefly.

"In fact, I should offer my congratulations, Admiral."

He smiles, an expression shared neither by myself nor Admiral Karova. In my own instance, I do not know the admiral well enough to demonstrate anything other than a respectful congratulatory nod. I assume that her relationship with the captain is a long and familiar one, which would explain the captain's more relaxed approach to our conversation. 

"I am aware of Admiral Karova's extensive history," I agree. "If I am not mistaken, you were a part of the Starfleet effort to control a siege on Errikang VII."

The admiral does not respond, even though I believe I was direct in addressing her. If I am correct in thinking that she is of a different species to a human, it may mean that she has adopted different traditions and pleasantries compared to the typically-human formalities that I am used to. Otherwise, her lack of interest in my responses may be considered unnecessarily rude and impolite.

When the admiral does occasionally look at me, it is with noticeable suspicion. She does not meet my eyes; instead, she looks up and down at me, then towards the cup of Earl Grey in front of her. Captain Picard prepared it for her at the beginning of our meeting, however the admiral is yet to take a sip. If Admiral Karova is concerned about being poisoned or drugged, then she had very little to worry about. Captain Picard's hosting capabilities are objectively excellent, and I frequently find myself taking notes for the purpose of my own personal development. It is possible to learn a lot regarding professional conduct from the captain, who himself is well-experienced in the formalities and social expectations of meeting new and highly-ranked officers.

Although it is only Captain Picard's first official day back as the Enterprise's captain, he appears to have grown quickly accustomed to his usual position of command. It was Doctor Crusher who deemed him well enough to return to duty, despite her initial reluctance at allowing him back onto the bridge so quickly. To compromise with the doctor, Captain Picard has spent the morning in his Ready Room, preparing for upcoming meetings and writing up much-needed reports.

Though he is notably absent from the bridge, there is admittedly little to do until the ship's warp core has been recharged to a suitable level. This responsibility falls to the Enterprise's engineering team, currently commanded by Lieutenant Barclay, with assistance from some of the Citadel's top engineers.

Lieutenant Barclay appears to be enjoying his new position of command, despite having voiced many preliminary fears to me in strict confidence. It is only a temporary placement until Geordi's return to duty, however I was keen to recommend him for the post as acknowledgment of his diligent work in stabilising the ship's warp core. 

Since taking on his new role, I have noticed a significant improvement in the lieutenant's confidence. I am pleased by this unprecedented level of personal growth, especially considering his prominent past of awkward, often unassertive, behavioural traits. He and Spot have also formed a remarkably close bond. Even though I am now able to resume my normal cat-caring duties, it would be unfair to revoke the lieutenant's access after such a tight-knit relationship has been formed. As a result, Lieutenant Barclay still regularly visits my quarters. Often, he brings string for Spot to play with, or unwanted scraps leftover from engineering, which Spot enjoys equally as much. 

He is not as masterful at three dimensional chess as Geordi, nor does he care particularly for painting like I do, however we have found a shared common interest in theatre and poetry, which often in the evenings we discuss at length. Though he is still notably reserved in his behaviour, I have noticed that when he is petting Spot, he appears much more relaxed and comfortable. 

I may recommend that Lieutenant Barclay acquires a feline companion of his own, which I feel he will benefit from. Until then, he is very welcome to visit Spot whenever he so desires.

While an urgent review has been conducted into the safety protocols and programable functions of all of the ship's Holodecks, all Holodeck usage is temporarily prohibited. Lieutenant Barclay is understandably dejected by this closure, however I am certain that his new position of authority within engineering will preoccupy him enough in the meantime.

Though the lieutenant was assessed by Doctor Crusher as a precaution, it was decided that his immunity to Lore's virus was a simple fluke. Doctor Crusher found no trace of any microbes or abnormal energy readings within Lieutenant Barclay's body, nor any symptoms to suggest that he may still be unknowingly carrying Lore's virus. 

Although I am reluctant to believe in luck, I must accept that in some cases, like that of Lieutenant Barclay, luck is equally as valuable as logical reasoning.

Captain Picard's eyes are tired and his movements are still noticeably shaky, however he carries himself with unwavering professionalism. Even though he is still acclimatising to his new post-virus state, it is evident that he is glad to be back at work. Like myself, Captain Picard is a person of routine. His return to his Ready Room is perhaps one of the final steps in returning the Enterprise to a state of normalcy, as emphasised by the cup of Earl Grey on the table in front of him. The final step, however, would be the return of Geordi and Commander Riker to their usual positions of Chief Engineer and First Officer.

Commander Riker is still in Sick Bay, as is Geordi. Though their conditions have improved significantly, Doctor Crusher still wishes to keep them for a few more days as a precautionary measure. She is yet to extract the final microbes from their bodies, especially in the case of Commander Riker, who it seems was most significantly affected during his away mission to Hanon IV.

In recent days, Geordi has been able to walk around the perimeters of Sick Bay, and eat a balanced array of food without complaining of consequential headaches or nausea. His excessive thirst has decreased, although he still sleeps for longer periods than is typically expected for a human male of his age. I am troubled by the amount of time Geordi continues to sleep, however both Doctor Crusher and Nurse Ogawa have informed me there is very little to worry about.

"He's just catching up on some much needed rest," Doctor Crusher assured me during my last visit to Sick Bay, after I voiced my concerns to her.

Standing over Geordi's bed as he slept, the doctor and I both observed him closely. Doctor Crusher seemed pleased by his state of prolonged relaxation, while I could not help but frown uncertainly. 

"Think of it this way, Data," Doctor Crusher continued. "Geordi’s been sick for a couple of weeks now. His body needs just as much time to recover, and it's important that we're the ones to allow him to do so."

All potential charges against Commander Riker and Geordi have been dropped. Having realised that they were both simply displaying symptoms of Lore's virus, the decision was made not to uphold any criminal convictions, or to transfer them aboard the Citadel for a dishonourable discharge back to Earth.

Geordi and the commander will both retain their posts aboard the Enterprise. However for myself, the answer remains less clear.

"It was good of you to join us, Admiral," Captain Picard breaks the silence, smiling fondly at Admiral Karova. "Your crew's assistance is much appreciated."

"How is your ship's current condition?" Admiral Karova asks.

She does not smile, unlike the captain, but instead keeps her lips tight and pursed. Her accent is indistinguishable from any other Starfleet officer I have met, however when she speaks there is a slight disinterest in her voice, not because she is bored of Captain Picard, but because there is evidently another more important matter which has brought her to the captain's Ready Room. If I am correct, then I believe the admiral dislikes what may be described as 'small talk'.

"Almost back to normal, I believe," Captain Picard contemplates aloud, lowering his cup. "I predict that in a few days we should be back on course, isn't that right, Mr Data?"

"Where do you plan to travel?" The admiral asks, before I have had the chance to answer Captain Picard's question. 

I maintain a respectful silence, and allow the captain to answer on behalf of us both. I consider that the question may have been a rhetorical one, for which Captain Picard would not have expected me to answer.

"We'll be returning to Earth," he reveals, followed by a deep sigh as he massages his brow. "I think it's time for a much-needed break… it'll do the crew good to have some shore leave."

"And the enquiry?"

Captain Picard's lips twitch slightly, and I notice that he is finding it difficult to retain his smile. Like me, he appears to be struggling to navigate the admiral's blunt tone in a way which may be deemed appropriate yet still well-mannered. I imagine the captain is already well-acquainted with Admiral Karova's unusual way of delivery, however it is still noticeably cold in comparison to the captain's own pleasantries.  

"Yes, that too," he agrees. "But I'd rather not trouble my crew with such a serious matter." He clears his throat. "This is a matter between myself and the Federation Council."

"And your second officer," Admiral Karova points out.

Both she and the captain turn to look at me, with sincere expressions to match the seriousness of our conversation.

"Excuse me, Admiral, however it would be incorrect to refer to me as the ship's second officer, given that, in the absence of Commander Riker, I am still temporarily assigned as Captain Picard's first officer," I explain. 

I do not say this to criticise Admiral Karova's lack of knowledge, but instead to educate her. Instead of acknowledging this, however, the admiral's left eyebrow cocks slightly in surprise. 

"You were also the ship's stand-in captain, Mr Data, if I am not mistaken."

"Informally, yes," I agree. "Following a request from Captain Picard."

For the first time since the beginning of our conversation, Admiral Karova appears interested in what I have to say. 

Although Captain Picard has yet to brief me on the topic of our meeting, I have already deciphered that it is to discuss the formalities of our upcoming enquiry brought forward by the Federation Council. Though the Enterprise's visit to Earth is indeed to provide its crew and civilians with a chance to recuperate, it was also arranged in conjunction with orders from Starfleet Command in San Francisco.

Captain Picard will provide evidence to the panel, and Lore's body is to be examined by cybernetic experts hired externally by the Federation. I presume, as part of the trial, my own positronic functions will also be assessed. Captain Picard has assured me that I should not be worried, as he will not allow such experimentation to happen, however I do not possess the emotional ability for this to be a problem. I appreciate his concern, nevertheless, even though it is highly unnecessary. 

"And what request would that be?"

"That if he and the rest of the ship's inhabitants were to fall ill or become incapacitated, then I would captain the Enterprise," I answer.

Admiral Karova's expression settles, and she places her hands neatly upon her lap.

Captain Picard has already finished his tea, however the admiral is yet to pick up her glass. I predict that her own cup of Earl Grey will remain untouched, and is likely to be cold if she attempts to drink now.

The admiral is watching me with growing interest. I feel more that I am being visually scrutinised rather than listened to, as when the admiral speaks again her sentence is not directed at me.

"What type of model is Data?" She asks, after a long pause in our conversation.  

"Mr Data is a Soong type android," Captain Picard reveals, in an effort to maintain a calm and respectful tone.

He too has likely sensed the tension between the admiral and myself. 

"He was created by the cyberneticist Doctor-"

"Noonien Soong," Admiral Karova finishes the captain's sentence for him. 

Surprised, I nod. 

"I am well-versed in his early research papers," she concurs. "His early work is arguably some of the best cybernetics experimentation there is."

"He is my father," I add helpfully.

Admiral Karova stops speaking. 

"I do not believe I understand," she says, her brow furrowing ever so slightly. "You consider your creator to be your father?"

Turning to Captain Picard, the admiral continues.

"What is Mr Data's relationship to Lore?"

"He is my brother, Sir," I inform the admiral politely.

When I realise that Admiral Karova is still not looking at me, I also look to Captain Picard.

"Captain, I would appreciate if I could be asked the questions myself," I state, before returning to face Admiral Karova with a neutral expression.

"I am capable of answering on my own behalf, though I appreciate that you may not be used to conversing with androids."

This ruffles Admiral Karova whose expression, though it is stoic, twitches with displeasure. 

"Mr Data, we do not typically designate the description of siblings to non-biological beings."

"It is simply how Lore and I have chosen to describe our relationship," I point out earnestly. "Given that we were created by the same person."

Admiral Karova does not respond at first. I am unsure whether my words have surprised her, or if she is reluctant to accept the insistence of my claim.

Changing the subject, the admiral clears her throat.

"I've read your initial report, Jean Luc," she announces. "Your claims of external interference will need to be verified… you say the perpetrator was, as you quoted, deactivated upon experiencing a large electrical surge within one of the ship's Holodecks."

"I'm afraid it isn't very detailed, Admiral," Captain Picard acknowledges. "Like Data said, I was… incapacitated… for much of the event. I'm sure he can vouch for me."

"Did you encounter any significant damage? Burns? Amnesia?"

"A temporary alteration to my personality, you could say." I notice that Captain Picard is hesitant to speak, presumably not wanting to recount the humiliation of his ordeal.

The captain cannot remember the majority of his experience, however I have helpfully provided him with a full-scale recount, which took the majority of the morning. The captain absorbed this information mostly with surprise, particularly at the revelation that he had attempted to attack me during our mission to Hanon IV. His embarrassment was most evident, and I interpreted his yawn at the end of my detailed overview to mean that he is still experiencing minor fatigue, rather than boredom at my retelling.

"But no lasting physical injuries, fortunately."

The admiral nods as she seemingly processes this information.

"Mr Data appears unaffected."

"Forgive me, Admiral, however my android physiology is different to that of a human's," I explain politely. "My systems were temporarily weakened by Lore, resulting in a state akin to paralysis. It is how he was able to hijack mine and the captain's shuttlecraft."

"And you have a clear memory of this happening?"

"Aside from a brief period of memory loss, Sir," I explain matter-of-factly. “Despite the fact that I was unable to move, my positronic functions remained predominantly in-tact.”  

For the sake of clarity, I gesture to the base of my head. 

“Typically, I am unable to forget.”

“Data’s positronic net is what allows him to exercise his thoughts," Captain Picard explains generously to the admiral. “All of his functions are highly advanced, including his ethical program."

“Ethical program?” 

“It allows me to establish, in a conventional sense, what is morally right, and what is morally wrong,” I inform the admiral simply.

Admiral Karova's brow furrows ever so slightly.

“Can it be overridden?” 

Captain Picard and I look at each other. I do not wish to lie to Admiral Karova, as both the captain and I know that, in the past, Lore has indeed taken advantage of my ethical programming for his own malicious intentions.

It does not matter that I do not answer, as the admiral appears to have moved on with her conversation. I remain silent as she muses aloud.

"I've never met such an advanced android before."

I hope she will enlighten me on her own species, however she does not. Instead, she gently pushes away the cup of Earl Grey in front of her. As the cup is still filled with tea, the cold liquid sloshes slightly at the sides. I notice Captain Picard from the corner of my eye, appearing discreetly disappointed that the admiral has not touched her drink.

"We are remarkably uncommon." I nod in agreement. "It took Doctor Soong many failed attempts before he was able to create Lore and myself."

In rare acknowledgement of what I have to say, Admiral Karova appears to nod ever so slightly. She looks between myself and Captain Picard, her expression wavering between noticeable interest and stoic seriousness.

"The question remains… what to do with the body?" She breaks the short-lived silence. "As you know, Jean Luc, the Federation have hired an external panel of cybernetic experts to analyse Lore’s inner circuitry… if you or Mr Data wish to appeal this decision, I may be able to assist.” 

Lore must be disassembled," I state with immediate firmness.

"I know this must be hard for you, Data," Captain Picard attempts to console me, however I am quick to counter this. 

"I do not have emotions, Sir," I remind him calmly. "It does not affect me."

Admiral Karova, unlike Captain Picard, shows little sympathy. I do not mind. 

"And what if the body isn't disassembled?" She questions. "It seems a radical step to take for somebody who has not yet been proven guilty.”

"If Lore is not disassembled, he will remain a significant risk to the safety of every biological life form there is, not just those who inhabit the Enterprise," I say. "It is likely that, if reactivated, he will seek vengeance, given my refusal to join his side. In the belief that he and I are superior life forms, he wishes to have me as his ally."

Upon noticing Admiral Karova's highly-sceptical expression, I feel the need to elaborate.

"I do not share Lore's domineering view, Sir."

"This is all very well, Mr Data." The admiral's eyebrow raises slightly. "But how do you plan to prove this to the panel?"

I do not answer immediately. I am aware of both the admiral and the captain watching me, and I feel the need to further clarify.

"Lore's positronic net contains a type L phase discriminator."

"And yours does not?"

I shake my head.

"My own net is equipped with a type R amplifier," I attest. "It is one of the main reasons why Lore's neural net is so unstable."

"You talk about him as though he is still alive."

"Not alive, Admiral," I correct her. "However, I must admit that Lore's prolonged presence has allowed me to truly understand his personality, which, until now, I have been unable to achieve in depth."

“They may wish to disassemble you too.” 

I do not attempt to dispute this. Lore had already warned me that such a consequence would occur if I chose to stay with Starfleet. I have no emotional objection to being disassembled, and would be prepared to accept such a sacrifice if it was to ensure the protection of my fellow crew members. 

"I do not mind."

"Data." Captain Picard's voice is stern. I do not believe it would be an understatement to describe his tone of voice as being one of apparent offence. 

"Captain," I say with composure. My expression remains unmoved, unlike the reddened frown upon the captain's face. "If I am to be disassembled, it may reduce the level of threat associated with mine and Lore's positronic nets."

"And I would lose a highly valuable member of my crew," Captain Picard counters.

I realise that he is deeply serious, and I attempt to defuse the situation. 

"Captain, if I may-"

"This is an order, Commander," Captain Picard cuts me off angrily. "I will not allow the Federation to take you apart."

I lower my voice, and do not attempt to dispute this. Although, from a logical perspective, I may disagree with the captain's point of view, it is important to remind myself that he is saying this from a perspective of care.

Captain Picard pauses. In realising that he has allowed his anger to spike, he sighs. Raising a hand, he massages the subtle wrinkles lining his forehead, and addresses the room only once he has been successful in composing himself.

"I apologise to you both… Admiral Karova, Commander Data." He steadies himself, clearing his throat. "Doctor Crusher has advised me that my emotions may still be at risk of deregulation." 

"If you are able to provide a strong enough argument, Mr Data, then I do not believe the Council will require your hardware to be disassembled," Admiral Karova states, ignoring the captain's apology. 

She pauses thoughtfully. 

"It isn't the first time Lore has threatened the Enterprise, correct?"

"There have been… prior incidents," Captain Picard agrees with wariness. His breathing appears to have slowed, which I perceive to mean that he is gradually beginning to calm down.

Admiral Karova nods.

"Even if Mr Data is not disassembled, there may still be an investigation into the use of androids to fill positions of command," she suggests, which causes the captain's nose to noticeably twitch.

"Data has not done anything wrong," Captain Picard counters. "And if I may add, Admiral… I would prefer it if you didn't refer to members of my senior crew as objects."

Admiral Karova looks briefly to me, seemingly unconvinced, before returning her gaze to Captain Picard. 

"The Council are looking to apply criminal convictions to any party deemed guilty of tampering with biochemical weaponry," she states. "There may be additional charges for indoctrinating a lesser-developed species. Our intel suggests that the inhabitants of Hanon IV have been presented with technology far beyond their natural means of understanding."

"What happened to the people of Hanon IV was not Mr Data's fault."

"I understand your adamance, Jean Luc, however remains of a rock carving were found upon the planet’s surface," Admiral Karova elaborates. "And I'm afraid they bear an undeniable resemblance to Mr Data."

I blink in sudden realisation.

"Lore's scars."

Both Captain Picard and Admiral Karova turn to face me.

I gather that they are curious, and so I deem it appropriate to continue.

"Lore's face is covered in scars, unlike my own," I explain. "These scars are visible on the rock etching you are referring to… Lore’s hardware was damaged when he was abandoned upon Hanon IV's surface."

My answer must be convincing to at least some degree, as the captain seems relieved by its credibility. Admiral Karova, on the other hand, appears less inclined to believe me. I do not mind; it is good practice for a person to be initially sceptical, even though I am aware that I am telling the truth.

She pauses momentarily. When she speaks, it is clear that she is attempting to read both my own expression as well as the captain's. If Admiral Karova is wishing to observe any type of emotional response I may exhibit, then she will have very little success.

"It may be worth testing the durability of Mr Data's own facial-"

“Thank you, Admiral, but that shouldn’t be necessary." Captain Picard cuts in before the admiral has the chance to finish. Unlike myself, I interpret his tone to be bordering that of impatience. "I'll have my written report finalised and sent to Admiral Nechayev before we arrive at Earth."

"Very well." Admiral Karova nods. "If I may offer a word of advice, Jean Luc?”

The captain is not only surprised, but evidently reluctant to accept this proposition. It would be incorrect to refer to Captain Picard as being stubborn, however it is rare for him to accept unsolicited advice from those he does not inherently trust or spend frequent time with.

“Rules are important to follow." She looks between us both before continuing. "Any malpractice may risk your captaincy."

The captain’s expression remains unchanged. He lifts his head with stoic determination. “If bending the rules from time to time ensures the safety of my crew, then that is a risk I would be willing to take.”

"You must ensure that Lore is disassembled," I insist once more, keen to utilise Captain Picard and Admiral Karova's joint presence.

"Mr Data is right, Admiral," the captain agrees, his expression settling ever so slightly. "Lore is an extremely dangerous individual. He will not rest until he achieves what he wants."

The admiral appears dubious at first. "Which is?"

"Complete biological annihilation," I answer simply. 

Captain Picard nods in agreement. 

The admiral frowns. I wonder if she is perhaps feeling unsettled by my blunt tone of voice, or because my words have made her uncomfortably-aware of her own biological infrastructure. It was not my intention to trouble the admiral, though it is logical that my android status may cause unease and distrust amongst those unfamiliar with my way of behaviour. Although I have attempted to align myself with human behavioural methodology and oral practice as accurately as possible, I must acknowledge that there are still several areas of development in which my skills lack.

"Do you have any more questions, Admiral?"

"No," Admiral Karova answers curtly.

I wonder if she may be feeling tense following our conversation, or perhaps still unconvinced that I am not as dangerous as Lore. It is a sensible opinion for the admiral to hold, even though I hope that I have been able to sufficiently dispel any reservations she may have.

"Then we will conclude this meeting," Captain Picard announces. 

In an apparent effort to soften his demeanour, he attempts a strained-but-polite smile.

"Admiral, I believe our very own Counsellor Troi would like to accompany you to Ten Forward… we have a wonderful selection of drinks I believe you and the Citadel's crew will enjoy."

"I appreciate the offer, Jean Luc, however I must get back to my reports," she declines, rising up from her seat. "Perhaps another time."

"Perhaps so," Captain Picard agrees without protest.

He stands up to shake the admiral's hand. I do the same, in an effort to replicate the captain's respectful demeanour. Though Admiral Karova appears happy to shake the captain's hand, she appears oddly more resistant to my own touch. When she does eventually shake my hand, I notice that her eyes appear fixated on the unnatural colour of my skin.

I use this opportunity to get a closer look at the admiral. Like her observation of my own physical anomalies, I silently analyse her own ambiguous features. As before, it is difficult to determine whether she is indeed part of another species, or simply humanoid after all. Unlike my own skin, the admiral's is tanned. While this itself is not as clear of an indicator as I may have hoped, the shape of her ears is indeed sharpened, though not to the extent of being easily identifiable. I resist the urge to frown, which would be most unprofessional, even though I am undeniably troubled by my lack of categoric success.

Admiral Karova lets go of my hand, offering one final goodbye to Captain Picard before she leaves the Ready Room. It is likely that she is on her way to the main transporter room, where I expect she will return temporarily to the Citadel to complete her own paperwork. The admiral, like the rest of the Citadel's crew, has been invited to utilise the Enterprise's facilities whenever she desires, as appreciation for the crew's continued assistance in fixing the Enterprise's warp core.

Though many of the Citadel's crew have utilised this opportunity, particularly in their visits to Ten Froward, Admiral Karova is yet to indulge in the same recreational habits. I must commend her dedication to her work, however it is unwise not to take occasional breaks during intense periods of labour.

"Captain, may I have a moment?"

Though surprised, Captain Picard nods and lingers, instead of following Admiral Karova. 

I raise my head in a dignified and professional manner. Though this is not the news I wish to deliver, it is important to do so.

"Once Commander Riker has returned to duty, I wish to resign as the Enterprise's second officer."

"Data, you don't mean that." Captain Picard's brow furrows deeply, as he stares at me with an expression of troubled disbelief.

"It is important that I take accountability for my wrongdoings, Sir," I state. "During my time as the ship's captain, I failed to effectively command the Enterprise, and I risked the lives of my fellow crew mates."

Captain Picard sighs. His eyes fill with apparent realisation, and his shoulders loosen.

"Mr Data, I can assure you that my own captainship has not always been a smooth journey." The tone of the captain's voice is professional, yet noticeably softened. "There have been countless circumstances in which the ship has endured far worse… turbulence, shall we say?" 

"This was my fault, Sir," I insist. I do not raise my voice, however I am keen to emphasise the severity of my failures to the captain. "As Lore's brother, I attracted him to the Enterprise. If he had been successful in his mission, the ship's entire crew would have been undoubtably annihilated."

"Data." Captain Picard sighs, his brow relaxing into a soft, almost sympathetic expression. Gesturing for me to sit down, he leans back and crosses his legs informally.

"Believe me when I say this… brothers can be difficult. I should know."

I do not mean to frown, however I am taken aback by Captain Picard's confession. Unlike the captain, I do not cross my legs, as it would not provide me with the same additional comfort.

"Sir?"

"Robert was always jealous,” the captain elaborates, while I watch him and listen attentively. "His dislike of me stemmed from deep-rooted envy… being the older brother, he was destined to take over the family vineyard. And so when I joined Starfleet, he resented the freedom I had to do so."

I do not say anything, wanting to avoid the risk of interrupting or discouraging the captain. It is unnatural for Captain Picard to open up to me. He very rarely opens up to anybody, apart from occasionally Doctor Crusher, who often has to pry the information from him with gentle persuasion. 

It is evident that talking about familial matters is unusual for him, and so I am grateful that the captain has chosen to share these recollections with me. 

"We have a… complex relationship, you could say," he continues. "Much like yourself and Lore."

I nod. 

"What I am understanding, Sir, is that your brother's resentment stemmed from jealousy."

Captain Picard's expression wavers slightly, and at first he does not respond. I am concerned at first that I may have overstepped my mark, until he clears his throat and speaks again.

"Jealousy which often manifested itself as bullying," Captain Picard elaborates with a raise of his eyebrow. "You must understand, Data, that I certainly wasn't, nor am, perfect," he explains. "I was arrogant, and a rule-breaker… as children, Robert was punished a lot more than I was."

I do not react to this. Mainly, it is because I do not quite understand what the captain is insinuating. 

After a few moments, he speaks again.

"Jealousy can sometimes cause people to do terrible things."

My eyes widen slightly in overdue realisation. I nod in agreement, and proceed to speak.

"Lore has never appreciated my position as a Starfleet officer," I explain factually, before continuing. "The longer I spent with him, the more pronounced his jealousy seemed to become… particularly at our differing paths and physiological capabilities. Often, he felt that Doctor Soong favoured me over him."

Captain Picard listens with, what appears to be, significant interest.

"Physically, I have always considered you both to be remarkably identical in your appearances," he says, to which I shake my head.

"Lore was gravely injured following his attempted takeover of the Borg colony," I clarify. "Not only superficially, but internally too."

Captain Picard contemplates this with a gentle frown. Amidst his silence, I continue.

"Shortly before his death, Doctor Soong insisted that neither Lore nor I were better than the other. Despite our different physiologies, it is a belief I have chosen to accept."

Captain Picard nods. "Very well," he agrees. "If that is what you've decided."

"I have," I agree. "However following his injuries, I do not believe that Lore had any chance of surviving the catastrophic damage to his circuitry and positronic network."

The captain's expression settles with apparent understanding.

"Then perhaps this was his way of saying goodbye."

 The suggestion causes me to frown.

"Do you believe Lore intended for his actions to be hostile, Sir?"

"Like I said, Mr Data, jealousy can greatly impact how a person might treat us." He pauses. "Often, these decisions stem from wanting to feel just as important as the people around us, if not superior."

"I do not believe I am able to relate to Lore's feelings of jealousy," I confess. "Though Lore wished for me to implant the emotion chip, I do not feel that it would have benefited me."

"It must be your decision, Data," Captain Picard concurs. "I certainly doubt that Lore had your best interests at heart when he tried to convince you."

I consider this, though it is difficult to understand an emotion, like jealousy, which I have never experienced before. 

"Sir, do you believe your brother to be a bad person?" I ask earnestly.

"No… I've never considered that possibility," he answers. "Robert isn't a bad man, I wouldn't like for anybody to think of him that way."

"No, Sir," I agree politely. 

Captain Picard hesitates, before placing a firm, supportive hand on my shoulder. I do not respond, as I am admittedly unfamiliar with this type of gesture. I know that it is not malicious, and so I acknowledge that it is likely meant to be a sign of assurance.

"You made a fine captain, Mr Data," he states, meeting my gaze.

"You do not wish for me to resign?" I ask. Admittedly, I am still surprised by the captain's courtesy. "Starfleet may still attempt to remove me from my post."

"Then I'll be having strong words with Admiral Nechayev."

Captain Picard eyes me with prolonged seriousness, before letting go of my shoulder. Resuming his usual demeanour, his expression turns to one of composed steadiness. He quickly changes the subject, as not to dwell on our shared, rare moment of compassion. 

"Is Mr La Forge still in Sick Bay?"

"Yes, Sir." I nod. "Though he is due to be discharged tomorrow."

Captain Picard's lips twitch slightly. Though his expression is stoic, it appears as though he is attempting to suppress a smile.

"And Commander Riker soon after, I take it?"

"I believe so, Sir," I agree. "Doctor Crusher has informed me that she is pleased by the progress he is making."

Captain Picard sighs relievedly, nodding in acknowledgement.

"I'm keen to get this ship back to its normal state of order, Commander." 

I watch the captain with interest. He is notably calm, though perhaps it is more accurate to describe him as being tired. In the same way that Geordi is still oversleeping, it would make sense for the captain to exhibit such similar signs of fatigue.

"Are you worried about the enquiry, Sir?"

Captain Picard shakes his head. "In my years as a Starfleet captain, I've had my fair share." 

He looks down momentarily at the two cups of Earl Grey on the table, as if mulling over his own thoughts. When he looks up again, his expression is a thoughtful one.

"In situations like these, Commander, sometimes the most important action you can do is to tell your side of the story honestly and confidently," he states. "Many members of the Council may not understand the crucial decisions you have to make while commanding an active starship…success is not always measurable by how well a person follows standard protocol… often, in times of trouble, we must take risks.” 

I nod.

"It is difficult to decipher whether Admiral Karova finds me displeasing."

For the first time, Captain Picard's lips curl at the ends, forming a small, indisputable, smile.

"…I wouldn't dwell on it," he answers lowly. "Certain admirals have different ways of voicing their opinions."

He then clears his throat, as if presumedly feeling the need to further elaborate.

"I've known Admiral Karova for a very long time."

"Would you describe your relationship as a friendship, Sir?"

Captain Picard contemplates this, though it is evident he does not need to dwell on the question. 

"I wouldn't necessarily use that description,” he admits. “Though I respect the admiral as I would any senior member of Starfleet.” 

I nod, rising to my feet. Captain Picard promptly does the same. 

“You must be eager to have Geordi back in engineering."

The answer is not straightforward. I wish to inform Captain Picard that he is indeed correct, however my lack of emotions means that I am unable to exhibit any typical displays of excitement or relief.

"A larger team is always beneficial to maintaining an efficient pattern of work, Sir," I answer earnestly. "I anticipate that the productivity levels within engineering will rise significantly once Geordi returns to duty. In fact, Geordi and I were attempting to find a way to synchronise my memory processor to the ship's database before he was temporarily removed from duty."

Captain Picard smiles, though I am aware that he appears rather bemused.

"Yes but more than that, surely," he insists. "You two are close friends, no?” 

In mulling over Captain Picard’s words, I cannot help but think of Lore's insistence that, as a non-emotional android, mine and Geordi's relationship does not classify as a friendship. Even though our shared interactions and conversational mannerisms meet the criteria for a close friendship, I am unable to feel any level of appropriate emotional response to the input that Geordi provides. 

Though the captain has not purposely intended to flag the issue of my emotional insensitivity, his words have incidentally resonated with Lore's own scathing remarks. Although it would be inaccurate to say that I trust Lore's judgement, our altercation has admittedly left me doubting my own place within the ship and my fellow crew members. If I was to abide by Lore's dictation, then I would attest to the suggestion that myself and Geordi do not maintain the capacity for a full, worthwhile friendship. That is, I should say, if I am to take Lore's words as fact. Unfortunately for Lore, I do not believe them to be an accurate description of the mutual connection myself and Geordi have formed together, nor a true representation of what Captain Picard is implying.

"Geordi is my best friend," I confirm, before frowning. "…Though I do not know if he will still feel the same way once he is fully recovered."

"Mr La Forge has been unwell for a significant period of time," Captain Picard reminds me calmly. "It would be unfair to use his past actions to predict his current feelings."

Out of respect for the captain's authority, I nod. 

He continues. "Doctor Crusher tells me that he speaks of you often."

"I endeavour to visit Geordi frequently," I answer with honesty. "He is making good progress, and has indeed requested my company in Sick Bay."

Captain Picard's expression relaxes.

"Then it sounds to me that he still very much considers you to be a friend, Mr Data."

The captain's lips stretch into a genuine, yet brief, smile. He massages his temple before rising again to his feet, leading me towards the doors of his Ready Room. Judging by the way that he lingers, I anticipate that he is not yet finished with our conversation.

"Try not worry about the enquiry, Commander."

"Sir, as an android I cannot-"

"What I mean to say is… try not to dwell on it," Captain Picard reiterates. “My report should clear up any misconceptions… in fact, I believe you have a very strong case, Number One.” 

I am momentarily surprised by the captain's use of terminology.

Immediately realising his mistake, Captain Picard’s nose crinkles.

"I apologise…" he states seriously, clearing his throat. "It appears I've grown rather accustomed to having you as my first officer, Mr Data."

I am most taken aback. "But Sir," I remind the captain. "You have been unwell for the majority of my tenure."

Captain Picard clears his throat. "Then you appear to have made a very good impression, no matter how short-lived."

Due to the captain's evident embarrassment, I take this as my cue to leave. Offering one final nod of respect to the captain, I depart the Ready Room and make my way towards the nearest turbo lift. Although Geordi is likely expecting me in Sick Bay, I feel the sudden need to locate Admiral Karova before she beams back aboard the Citadel. I have come to an important realisation, and I must inform the admiral of my findings. 

After consulting with the ship's computer, I catch up to Admiral Karova who, as expected, is also walking towards the turbo lift. Before she can reach the ship's transporter room, I manage to approach her.

"Forgive me, Admiral, but do you have a moment?"

The admiral stops, and waits for me to continue. Thankfully we are alone in the corridor, which means we have little chance of being overheard.

"You are Romulan."

Admiral Karova's face dries. Her lips stiffen, however the expression in her eyes is very different. She appears almost alarmed by my accusation, though I believe the word 'accusation' aligns with wrongful negative connotations, when in reality I am simply stating a piece of factual evidence.

I realise now why the admiral would not touch the cup of Earl Grey in front of her. Individuals descended from Ancient Vulcans often possess a highly-advanced sense of smell; it is likely that the admiral's unnatural and potentially-pungent surroundings caused her significant discomfort. Or, as a member of a stereotypically-paranoid species, she was perhaps sceptical of the contents of her drink. I do not mean any of these suggestions as a way of insulting Captain Picard, considering that the admiral's probable discomfort is not a fault of his Ready Room or indeed the cleanliness of the captain himself. I know for a fact that the captain has placed a great deal of effort into his appearance following his return to active duties, as well as ordering a ship-wide clean up operation ahead of the Citadel's arrival. He also would not poison the food or drink of any guest aboard the Enterprise, no matter how high-ranking or prominent. Not only would it be an inappropriate action to take as a Starfleet captain, but it would also go against Captain Picard's professional, respectful demeanour.

For a few moments, the admiral says nothing. I appear to have wrongly presumed that my statement of revelation would encourage her to speak more openly about her heritage. Often, other biological life forms I have met enjoy the opportunity to retell stories of their native homelands. Commander Riker is not only a proud Earth-man but a proud Alaskan too, and Lieutenant Worf often speaks honourably of Klingon culture and its many traditions. It is almost illogical that Admiral Karova should be so resistant, not only in speaking about her own culture, but even acknowledging it in the first place. 

When the admiral speaks again, however, there is an unprecedented defensiveness within her voice. Still, her tone remains calm. 

"That is a highly inappropriate accusation to make, Mr Data."

I do not believe her reaction to be justified, but I do not wish to challenge her whilst she is a guest aboard the Enterprise. It is my duty to ensure that the admiral is well looked after and treated appropriately; currently, I do not feel that I have done anything too provocative which may unsettle her. I find it highly important, after all, to tell the truth. 

"Your appearance does not match the conventional expectations one might assume of a Romulan," I continue regardless, even if it might possibly be to Admiral Karova's disdain. 

I gesture in particular to the admiral's hair colour and choice of makeup.

"I apologise if I am overstepping my mark, Admiral, however it is highly unusual not to embrace your heritage." 

Admiral Karova does not respond at first. Although she still appears resistant to my conversational topic of choice, she has seemingly lowered her guard enough so that she is willing to listen.

She looks around, making sure that nobody is in earshot of our conversation. Like me, she appears satisfied that there is nobody else in close vicinity, which is when she finally speaks.

"What would you know about heritage?"

"Perhaps not a lot," I agree undeniably. "Though I see no issue with choosing to maintain a Romulan lifestyle… it is still an honourable way of living, despite some common accusations of hostility and controlled duplicity."

"How could you tell?" She asks, choosing not to acknowledge my prior statement.

"It was not obvious at first," I admit. "Your atypical appearance meant that it was difficult to align your physical features to a specific species or proto-variant… initially, I considered the possibility that you may be Vulcan or Mintakan."

"It is highly impolite to judge individuals based on their physical attributes."

I do not attempt to deny this, however I am admittedly surprised by the seriousness of the admiral's tone.

"I was not aware that it may be considered rude," I answer honestly. "I would not call my analysis a form of judgement. I was simply attempting to appropriately categorise your species type. It is important for me to be able to assign new information into the already-established schemas within my neural net."

Noticing the admiral's continued reluctance, again I feel the need to continue.

"Klingons are extremely proud of their long-standing cultural observations." 

This evidently ruffles the admiral, though she is careful to maintain strict composure of herself. She waits for a junior officer to mindlessly pass us in the corridor, and speaks again in a hushed voice only once the officer has departed inside the turbo lift.

"Are you comparing me to a Klingon?"

"I was able to rule out any Klingon ancestry very early in my initial deciphering," I answer helpfully, though I quickly realise that Admiral Karova does not appear to share my same enthusiasm.

I realise, perhaps, that the admiral's question was indeed rhetoric. As not to fuel the admiral's already-paranoid state, I decide to change the line of conservation. 

"It was quickly apparent that you are not a full Romulan."

"Mr Data, it would be wrong to suggest that I am any kind of Romulan."

I frown. "But, if my calculations are correct-"

"I do not wish to be described that way." Admiral Karova's tone is strong with determination, however it quickly lowers into a sharp hiss once she realises that she is speaking too loudly for her own good. "I am not only an admiral, but a long-standing senior officer within Starfleet… any question against the credibility of my race risks my position and my reputation."

I do not respond immediately, not because I am intimidated by the admiral, but because I feel that it is important for her to speak whatever she wishes to, particularly as an important guest.

"It is true that, if Captain Picard knew that we had welcomed a part-Romulan officer aboard the Enterprise, he would be extremely wary of your presence around such high-profile technology and other crew members."

Admiral Karova does not attempt to dispel this. I wrongfully assumed that she may be resistant to my suggestion, however her state of silence implies that she is likely in agreement.

"I come from human parents," she elaborates. "Of the Penthara IV colony… it was my grandmother who settled there first following her departure from Romulus."

"Do you mean to imply that she married a human?"

"My grandfather was born into the colony," the admiral elaborates. "But originally yes, his own ancestors lived on Earth. Near Texas."

"I do not wish to sound terse, however it is very unusual for a Romulan to procreate with individuals outside of their own species. Usually, many Romulans view multi-species integration with significant negativity."

"There are underground freedom movements all around Romulus, Mr Data," Admiral Karova states. "As I'm sure you already know."

I do not respond, as this is something that I am indeed aware of. 

"Many wish for reunification with our Vulcan relatives, and indeed a wider acceptance into Federation colonies and starships."

"Would you consider yourself to be of the same belief, Admiral?" I ask, however it is apparent that I have once again overstepped the boundary between myself and the admiral. 

Her nostrils flare, very briefly, before she is able to compose herself once more. I note to myself that I must not make the same mistake again. The admiral has insisted that she does not wish to be acknowledged as a Romulan and, as much as I struggle to fully comprehend the reasoning behind her decision, it is one which I must accept.

"I do not share the same hostility as many of those who live within the Empire," Admiral Karova answers suddenly, much to my surprise. "Though Romulan genealogy may be dominant, I believe that my mentality is more akin to that of my human ancestry."

I nod. 

"I have spent my life observing and attempting to replicate human behaviour, general mannerisms, and ways of living," I inform the admiral. "It is where I too feel that I most belong, despite my physiological differences."

"And your emotions?"

"I do not have emotions, Sir," I re-explain, in case the admiral has forgotten. "Though the emotion chip, gifted to me by Doctor Soong, will allow me to experience a substantial range of emotional responses, it is not something I am choosing to actively adopt into my current lifestyle."

This appears to take the admiral aback, who frowns slightly. I had not realised that she was so invested in my own personal difficulties, however I am unexpectedly reassured that she is indeed listening to me.

"Would that not complete your desire to become a full human?" She asks. 

I do not consider her question to be disparaging, but instead one of mere curiosity. 

"No," I elaborate simply. "I have come to learn of the importance of my android physiology. Accompanied by my partial integration of human behavioural characteristics, it has made me a valuable, though unique, member of Starfleet."

Admiral Karova says nothing. She takes a step towards the turbo lift, but lingers at the very last step. Upon turning to face me, I realise that she appears conflicted.

"You will not tell anybody?" she requests. "Not Captain Picard, but especially not my crew... about me."

"If it is any consolation, Admiral, I am sure many of your crew members aboard the Citadel have already come to the same conclusion that I have."

When I notice the expression of discomfort of the admiral's face, I further elaborate.

"You do not need to be worried, Sir," I assure her. "It is evident that your crew respects you, as do your fellow senior officers… your genealogy is not something you should feel the need to hide."

It is unclear whether my words have had a positive effect on the admiral, as when she walks again towards the turbo lift she does not look at me. She reaches the edge of the door this time, but once again lingers before she has had the chance to place her foot inside. Admiral Karova looks up, meeting my gaze. Her own stare is piercing and intense, however I see no malice or deviance inside her pupils. Instead, when we make eye contact I recognise an expression of silent understanding.

She pauses before speaking again.

"Perhaps I'll visit Ten Forward."

I nod. "I am sure Counsellor Troi will be glad of your company."

Stepping into the turbo lift, Admiral Karova turns her head. Looking at me, she appears perplexed.

"You aren't joining us?"

"While I appreciate the offer, I have already made arrangements to visit Commander La Forge in Sick Bay," I explain. "He has had his visor refitted, and has requested my visitation so that he will be able to see me properly."

I do not take Admiral Karova to be too offended by my lacking company, as she nods with seeming understanding. 

Before stating her desired location for the computer to acknowledge, she hovers with apparent thought.

"Good luck with the trial, Mr Data," she says, and I nod appreciatively.

"Thank you, Admiral," I acknowledge. "I wish you a pleasant time aboard the Enterprise."

As the turbo lift doors close, I reach for my combadge. I wish to alert Doctor Crusher that I am on my way to Sick Bay, where I presume Geordi will be waiting for me.

Chapter Text

'Second Officer's Log, Star date: 48079.

Ahead of Commander Riker's imminent return to duty, Captain Picard has arranged a 'surprise party' in Ten Forward. 

Following a successful recovery, the commander is due to be discharged from Sick Bay this afternoon. He is no longer suffering from hallucinations, delusions, or physical convulsions, and appears to be fully healed from the effects of the virus he contracted during his away mission to Hanon IV. 

Though there is a notable atmosphere of excitement circulating around the ship, I am still unsure of what a so-called 'surprise party' may entail. The contents and objectives are incredibly vague, and so I have deduced that the captain plans to take a non-restrictive approach to the overall structure of the commander's party, opting for what some may describe as a 'laissez-faire' method of organisation. Given Captain Picard's French origins, I consider this to be an accurate way to describe his plan, regardless of how concerned I am by the lack of appropriate structures in place. 

I know at least that there will be live music in the form of a brass band, as was eagerly encouraged by Counsellor Troi. In fact, it was the counsellor who suggested that I might take up the position of trombone again, considering my advanced knowledge of brass technicalities. I know Counsellor Troi's suggestion came from a place of good intent, however I do not know whether my playing of the trombone may cause Commander Riker to feel inadvertently jealous. I do not wish to displease him on such a significant occasion, especially considering that our last interaction together was an inarguably tumultuous one. 

Now that the ship's transporters have reopened, we have been able to beam up some of the commander's old friends and former colleagues from the USS Potemkin. They have already received a warm welcome from Captain Picard, who himself is in good spirits. 

Out of everybody, however, Counsellor Troi appears to be the most delighted by the prospect of the commander's return. She has changed her hair, and has applied, what I assume to be, an unusual layer of makeup to her face. It is different to what I am used to, though clearly it is effective, as the counsellor has received many compliments from other members of crew. 

The party remains a secret from Commander Riker. It is why, I gather, it is described as being a 'surprise', however I do not understand why a surprise may be considered a valid way of improving somebody's emotional wellbeing. Being deceitful is not a trait which may be considered valuable within a friendship, unless the commander is a keen enjoyer of practical jokes.

I anticipate that Commander Riker's return to duty means I will also be relieved of the position of First Officer. I do not know what to expect upon my return to the role of Second Officer though, before I contend with my new duties, I have another important matter to attend to.'

Standing over the easel in my quarters, I frown at the painting in front of me. 

Although I am able to paint to an objectively excellent standard in a very short amount of time, I have made the decision to purposely slow my methods for this painting in particular. Inspired by the artist Georges Braque, I am attempting to replicate a stylistic approach akin to that of Cubism. It has often been stated that Cubist artists wished to invoke strong emotional themes within their paintings, often utilising the fragmented, abstracted nature of their work. 

In order to produce a portrait of an accurate caliber, I required a suitable subject. After much deliberation, I have decided to use Lore as a muse, in the hope that my prolonged introspection may help to rationalise the conflicted thoughts I am encountering within my neural net.

Although I have been unable to consult with Lore first, I cannot fathom why he would oppose to being used as the subject of a portrait. I can only assume that he would be acutely displeased by the way in which I have chosen to include the long, metallic scars on his face. I have not chosen this out of spite or malicious intent, but simply because this is a truthful depiction of Lore's appearance. I have read that, occasionally in early painting movements on Earth, subjects were often idealised beyond truthful depictions of their physical flaws, showcased instead as perfect, inaccurate, renditions. I believe this to be an unhelpful method of working, particularly if I am depict Lore in a way which I hope will showcase his complicated personality.

Spot is sleeping beside me, curled up in an almost perfect circle. A morning of physical activity has evidently worn him out, and it would be impolite to attempt to rouse him during such a deep sleep. His ginger coat has been carefully brushed, and in the last two days he has taken fondly to his newly-designed feline formula. 

My door chimes, and I lower my paintbrush expectantly. 

"Enter."

The doors open, and inside walks Geordi.

Compared to during his admission to Sick Bay, Geordi appears surprisingly well. He is wearing his visor with confidence, and the fabric of his uniform is smooth and unmarked. After wearing Sick Bay attire for so long, it is a pleasant change for Geordi to be back in uniform again. He appears to share my same enthusiasm, as he is smiling broadly as he approaches. There are no evident tremors or signs of fatigue, and when he speaks the tone of his voice is cheery, further supporting my assumption.

"Hey, Data."

He stops behind me, observing the painting on my easel. 

"I thought you'd have finished that by now."

"I am choosing to take my time," I explain calmly, glancing momentarily across to meet Geordi's gaze.

"For a self portrait?" He raises an eyebrow slightly. "I know for a fact you've done plenty of self portraits, Data, and they've never taken you this long."

"This is not a painting of myself, Geordi," I correct him politely. "In actuality, I am completing a painting of Lore."

Geordi falls silent. I contemplate at first whether I may have offended him; it was Lore, after all, who held responsibility for transmitting the virus which caused Geordi so much harm. It was not my intention to anger or upset my friend, though I understand my insistence on painting Lore may appear unintentionally provocative. 

"Do you miss him, Data?"

I frown, setting down my paintbrush.

"Why do you ask?"

Geordi lowers himself down onto the chair adjacent from me. He observes my painting with apparent thought, before looking down to the paintbrush in my hand. I do not understand why Geordi should be so concerned for my own wellbeing, given that I, in comparison to my fellow crew members, have remained predominantly unaffected throughout the entirety of the Enterprise's ordeal.

"I've seen the latest report," Geordi says. His voice is gentle, as if he is attempting to be sympathetic. "I know the appeal against his hardware being disassembled was rejected by the Federation."

"It is important for Lore to be disassembled," I state calmly. "If he was allowed to continue plotting towards his desired plan for biological extinction, he would cause irreparable damage."

For further clarity, I choose to continue.

"It was Admiral Karova who submitted the appeal," I explain. "Not myself or Captain Picard."

Geordi nods thoughtfully, even though I can tell he is not completely convinced by my dismissal.

"From the Citadel, huh?" He considers this. "I've overheard some of the team in engineering say there's something off about her… it's a good job she isn't staying for the party, I wouldn't want to be stuck talking to her."

I say nothing. The admiral's position is more complex than Geordi will possibly understand, and I do not wish to reveal any secret information about her heritage which may upset or anger the admiral. As the ship's second officer, it is not my place to judge the admiral based on her Romulan genealogy. As she has been a guest of the Enterprise, I must maintain a display of full professionalism, and treat Admiral Karova consequently with dignity. Even if this leaves Geordi with wrongful assumptions about the admiral's personal life, I believe it is better than placing her at risk of discrimination or further scrutiny.

I look down at the pool of paint upon my palette. Although it is still wet, and therefore useful to my painting, I realise that it would be considered impolite to continue painting while Geordi is here with me. I place down my palette but keep hold of my paintbrush, which is gripped in my right hand. 

"…Geordi, how might one appropriately act during a surprise party?"

"Well, Data, the surprise is over pretty quickly," Geordi informs me assuringly. 

"Then what is its value in keeping the party a secret from Commander Riker?"

Geordi contemplates this.

"Well, he isn't expecting a big party," he elaborates. "So when he arrives at Ten Forward and realises everybody is waiting for him, it'll be a nice surprise."

I frown, but decide not to counter this. I find the concept to be a highly inappropriate, and inefficient, way of honouring somebody, however I choose not to express this to Geordi. After all, the party was not his idea. Technically it is the fault of Captain Picard, however I do not wish to blame him either.

"I am sorry that you were not also the recipient of a surprise party," I apologise matter-of-factly.

Geordi shakes his head, a broad grin spreading across his lips. "Data, if everybody on the ship was treated to a surprise party, I think we'd be in Ten Forward 'til this time next year. I'm not sure Guinan has enough Andorian Ale to last that long."

I do not quite understand what Geordi is insinuating, as his statement appears to be a vast over-exaggeration. He appears to notice my confusion as, to benefit me, he promptly continues.

"It's not so much about Commander Riker specifically."

"It is his party," I helpfully remind Geordi.

He smiles, tilting his head slightly. "I mean, it's a way for us all to celebrate… these past few weeks haven't been the easiest for anybody."

I notice that Geordi has appeared slightly nervous throughout the duration of our conversation so far, even if it has been difficult to detect. While he speaks, he repeatedly averts his gaze, toying instead with his fingers. His demeanour is similar to that of noticeable sheepishness, which is particularly unusual for Geordi. I perhaps might understand it better if he was speaking to somebody high-ranking like the captain, however ordinarily Geordi has very little issue in speaking directly to me.

"Actually, Data." He pauses. 

I do not know why he has stopped mid conversation, though I assume it must be important. Clearly the subject is difficult for Geordi, and so I straighten my posture in an attempt to show that I am actively listening. 

"Geordi, are you alright?"

He nods, but takes a moment to formulate his next sentence in a way which is coherent.

"I was wondering if you'd like to come on a walk with me sometime?" He pauses. "Now that the arboretum's back to normal again, I was thinking of visiting."

I set down my paintbrush. It is evident that this means a lot to Geordi, and so I must display my full attentiveness. I notice that, even though Geordi has completed his question, there is still a noticeable nervousness within his demeanour. I am able to deduce, therefore, that my answer is of high importance to him. I frown slightly, not in disapproval, but in confusion.

"Are you following a medical recommendation made by Doctor Crusher?"

A weak smile twitches at the corners of Geordi's lips. It appears I have unintentionally amused him.

"No… Doctor Crusher gave me the all-clear when she discharged me."

I am grateful for Geordi's elaboration, however this does not help my own understanding of our conversation. 

"Then you wish to visit the arboretum for leisure?"

Geordi nods. "I was hoping you might join me."

"I am surprised you do not wish for Mrs O'Brien to accompany you instead," I admit. "Considering that she is a botanist, I predict that she will be more qualified to assist you in any biology-related enquiries you might have."

"Because Keiko isn't my best friend, Data," Geordi corrects me promptly. "You are."

I fall silent. My eyes meet Geordi's visor, and when I look down I realise that he appears to be troubled by subtle restlessness. I hope that Geordi's restlessness is not an indication of regret, as I would not like him to retract his acknowledgement that we are indeed best friends.

I am troubled not by Geordi's statement, but instead by the realisation that our conversation feels strangely familiar. It would be illogical to suggest that we have shared this same conversation previously, however Geordi's tone of voice feels inarguably recognisable. 

I attempt to locate such a memory within my neural net, which is when I realise that our current topic of conversation almost-identically mirrors one of my own, more recently-added, Holodeck programs, designed to familiarise myself with the human concept of flirtation and romantic gesticulation. The program in question has since been deleted, following the Holodeck's reinstatement, however I am led to wonder if this may be a romantic advancement from Geordi. There is a high likelihood that I am incorrect in my presumption, however Geordi's overall shyness corresponds characteristically to the way in which he often behaves around individuals he finds admirable and attractive. Considering I am an android, however, it is unlikely that Geordi may desire a romantic relationship with me. There are plenty of human female and male crew members aboard the Enterprise, and I believe that his chances of locating a compatible partner are significantly increased due to his position within the ship's senior crew.

In my opinion, Geordi's advanced qualifications as the Enterprise's chief engineer make him highly desirable. It would make sense for Geordi's high intellect to correlate with his romantic magnetism; it is unusual, therefore, that he has not yet been successful in his search for a romantic partner. As a dedicated crew member, often Geordi's work takes priority over his personal life. I assume that his infatuation with his engineering work is currently the main barrier towards his romantic success, having eliminated almost all other potential external factors. However, as a prominent subject of Geordi’s work myself, I cannot help but wonder if, by extension, Geordi’s infatuation must therefore apply to me too. 

I appear to have forgotten that it is my turn to speak, until Geordi awkwardly clears his throat. I blink, realising that I have been silent for an impolitely-prolonged amount of time.

Once I have gathered my thoughts, I fixate once more on Geordi's visor. Though the lack of conventional eyesight makes Geordi's emotions more complicated to read, I believe that, as a consequence of having spent so much time together, I have appropriately adjusted my own logical processes to suit Geordi's needs. Though evidently less-so his desires.

"I am honoured that you consider me to be your best friend, Geordi."

I wonder if I have perhaps said the wrong thing. Geordi's eyebrows rise in apparent surprise, and a bemused smile twitches at his lips.

"Come on, Data." His tone is gentle, yet insistent. "You've always been my best friend."

I too am pleasantly surprised. While I have always envisioned my friendship with Geordi to be one of closeness, it is reassuring to hear this exact affirmation coming from Geordi too. I was concerned that his long admission in Sick Bay may have instigated feelings of bitterness and distrust, and so I am pleased to learn that this is not the case.

"I must ask, Geordi," I begin my response with uncertainty. "Are there romantic intentions behind your suggestion of a walk?"

Geordi's smile falters. It is important for him not to feel disparaged by my question, as I did not ask it for the intention of shaming or embarrassing him. 

"Would it be a problem if there was?"

I do not respond at first, as the answer Geordi wishes for is not a simple one.

"You must be aware that I do not possess the emotional or physical capacity for a romantic relationship," I begin to explain. 

Geordi nods.

"I would therefore not be able to provide the company which you seek."

Geordi's expression relaxes, assumably out of realisation. I am unsure what I have said to make Geordi feel this way, however I am pleased that he appears to have found some form of consolation from our conversation. 

"Data, you already do."

I frown.

"But-"

"I'm asking you because I already like you, Data," Geordi continues. "The way you talk, behave… the way you're able to think about things differently to the rest of us."

"My thought processes are established through a combination of logical reasoning and subject-specific neural input, custom designed for my positronic net by Doctor Soong," I state in the hope of correcting Geordi. 

Upon registering Geordi's consequent silence in response to my statement, I decide to amend my initial answer. 

"...However, I am glad that you enjoy these attributes."

Geordi's lips curl upwards into a smile. I assume that, on my second attempt, I have evidently supplied the correct response, even if I am unsure what exactly that is.

"So… a walk in the arboretum, then?"

After a final moment of deliberation, I nod my head.

"I would like that," I agree earnestly.

Geordi smiles faintly, evidently with secret relief, before I speak again.

"But first, we must not be late for Commander Riker's party," I state. "It is important that we arrive on time."

"Actually, it'll be better to arrive early." Geordi agrees. "That way we won't risk ruining the surprise."

Although he was already notably cheery upon his arrival, Geordi's mood has significantly increased. He stands with eagerness and makes his way to the doors of my quarters, as if expecting me to join him. I do indeed plan to join him, however as I attempt to stand I am distracted by the painting of Lore in front of me. It is still unfinished, which I am admittedly unused to, and takes me initially by surprise. Geordi was correct; even with the visible scars on his face, it is difficult to tell Lore and myself apart. Our brotherly likeness is indisputable, however I hope that our similarity does not extend to our personality.

Although I do not see or hear Geordi, suddenly I am alerted to the fact that his hands are placed on either side of my shoulders. He says very little, however his close proximity suggests that he is attempting to comfort me. I am grateful for his presence, even though logically I do not require comforting.

"What are you going to do with the painting once you're finished?" His voice is tentative, and he appears to lower a hand from my shoulder to my back.

"I do not yet have a definitive answer," I admit. "However I am unsure whether there is any benefit in completing a painting with no intended purpose."

“Well, Data, it’s up to you,” Geordi says. “But sometimes, things like this can be a good way to express your feelings, even if it might not feel like it at first."

I turn away from my painting in order to face Geordi, who lowers his hands immediately. I frown.

"You do not have to stop," I insist. "I do not mind."

Geordi smiles, and when I look down at his hands I notice that he is toying gingerly with his fingers. While Geordi appears occupied, I cautiously outstretch my own hand, and place it upon his left shoulder. It sits in silence momentarily; at first, I am troubled by the possibility that I have potentially acted wrongly, until I look downwards to realise that Geordi is grinning discreetly.

I leave my quarters with Geordi, after bidding farewell to Spot. He is still sleeping, and so I anticipate that he will not have heard me. 

Inside the turbo lift we are joined by Lieutenant Worf. The lieutenant is dressed in formal attire, his Klingon Baldric worn proudly around his shoulder and torso. Geordi and I take our places, and as we descend downwards I use the opportunity to turn to Lieutenant Worf. He appears neither pleased nor displeased to see me. It is, however, assuring to see that the lieutenant appears fit and healthy, which I assume to mean he has recovered suitably from his infection.

According to Geordi, who himself was informed by Doctor Crusher, Lieutenant Worf's Klingon genealogy made him more susceptible to violent, destructive outbursts while under the effect of the virus. After investigation, it was discovered that he was responsible for much of the superficial damage to the ship's interior furniture, which has now been corrected and appropriately replaced where necessary. Allegedly embarrassed by his behaviour, Geordi has advised me not to discuss or acknowledge this particular matter in front of Lieutenant Worf, as not to trouble him further.

During my time on the Enterprise, I have learned that 'small talk' is often viewed as an acceptable and thusly polite way to interrupt moments of silence. 

"Are you looking forward to Commander Riker's party, Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant Worf does not meet my gaze. He flares his nostrils slightly, both in seeming indignation and a forced attempt at curtesy.

"I am… pleased… that Commander Riker is now well enough to attend such a… prominent social gathering," he answers unconvincingly.

Lieutenant Worf's evident reluctance is characteristic to his known dislike of unplanned, large-scale social activities and surprises. Similar to myself, I anticipate that the lieutenant is unfamiliar with the expected formalities and scheduled itinerary of the commander's upcoming party.

We arrive together at Ten Forward, where a noticeable crowd has already started to form. Amidst the hubbub, I notice Captain Picard talking to a group of officers from the Potemkin, in what appears to be a friendly and relaxed manner of conversation. He is already nursing a small, vibrant green coloured, drink in his hands, contrary to his usual choice of hot earl grey. Doctor Crusher is also present, and is talking enthusiastically to Counsellor Troi at the end of the bar. Like the counsellor, Doctor Crusher has changed her hair to a more relaxed, free-flowing style, and appears to have also applied a modest amount of makeup to her face.

Upon spotting us, both the doctor and counsellor pause their conversation with keen smiles. They gesture us over, and obediently Geordi and I approach. Lieutenant Worf disbands from our group, I assume to find a quieter, less-intrusive area of Ten Forward.

Counsellor Troi, who I suspect has not seen Geordi for a significant amount of time, immediately pulls him into a hug. While they embrace, Doctor Crusher turns to face me.

"Data, when can we expect you to join us for aerobics again?" She asks with coy amusement. "You've been absent for our last three sessions… don't tell me you've given up so soon."

There is a sternness in her voice which does not match her entertained expression. I deduce, therefore, that this must be the doctor's attempt at a joke.

"Aerobics?" Geordi's eyebrows raise dubiously as he and the counsellor separate from their hug.

"While you were detained, Geordi, I joined Counsellor Troi and Doctor Crusher for their regular aerobic sessions," I explain courteously. "I hoped that it might provide my newly-amended routine with some stability, however I am afraid I did not return as promised."

Counsellor Troi turns to myself and Geordi, her lips curling as if she, like the doctor, is also enjoying our conversation. 

"Next time, Data, we're hoping to see you in lycra."

I am unsure which part of the conversation has prompted such an amused response. Much like Doctor Crusher and Counsellor Troi, Geordi is also smiling, and so I decide that our current topic of interest must be an objectively humorous one, even if I do not understand why.

As we are conversing, Captain Picard emerges from within the crowd. He is no longer holding a drink, however he has raised his left hand in an apparent attempt to politely quieten the room.

"May I request your silence, please," he announces. "We are expecting Commander Riker any moment."

Out of respect, the party's attendees all descend into silence, including myself, Geordi, Doctor Crusher, and Counsellor Troi.

The lights dim, and I turn to Geordi with a frown. As if anticipating my question, he speaks before I even have the chance to articulate myself.

"It's part of the surprise," he whispers, gesturing around at the darkened space. "Then, when Commander Riker arrives, it'll-"

"Surprise!"

Before Geordi is able to finish his explanation, the overheard lighting suddenly reappears. The officers around me appear to throw up their arms as a conveyance of jubilance, however I fail to imitate their actions due to my lack of preparation. It is an evident mistake on my part however, considering Ten Forward is currently at full capacity, I doubt Commander Riker will have noticed.

Clearly, a surprise party is indeed an effective method of celebration. While logically this still makes little sense, it is important that, for future reference, I make a note within my positronic net that this may be used as a suitable template for any subsequent parties I may ever be tasked to design or attend.

Captain Picard, who had been previously stood at the front of the crowd, is the first to step forward. He firmly shakes the commander's hand with a knowing smile.

"Will, it's so good to see you."

"Sir." Commander Riker grins broadly. "It's just as good to be back."

Letting go of Captain Picard's hand, Commander Riker surveys the rest of Ten Forward. His smile widens as he looks around the room, presumably in conjunction with the recognition of several of his close friends and old crew members. When his eyes suddenly flicker with an unreadable display of emotional responsiveness, I realise that he has located Counsellor Troi, who herself is smiling with utmost delight. Unlike Commander Riker, Counsellor Troi's cheeks are tinted with a gentle red blush. Although the commander and the counsellor have not yet spoken a word to one another, it is indisputable that Counsellor Troi is the most likely out of everybody to be able to gain an accurate reading of the commander's current emotional state. 

As Commander Riker's gaze continues to circle around Ten Forward I become concerned that when he reaches me, he may no longer feel as pleased regarding the guest list for his party. I would dislike the culpability of ruining the atmosphere, especially given my high respect for the commander and his position as the ship's newly-reinstated First Officer.

"Please do enjoy yourselves," Captain Picard announces. "We have prepared a selection of Earth and Klingon inspired delicacies, the latter advised by Lieutenant Worf… and Guinan will be serving drinks at the bar throughout the duration of the evening."

Following the captain's announcement, I notice that a buffet has been laid out. It is not dissimilar from the types of banquets often assembled for visiting leaders and occasional wedding ceremonies, and has been arranged with a large selection of what I believe to be Commander Riker's favourite foods. At the opposing end of the bar a brass band has also assembled, and has started to play a selection of jazz-inspired music.

I accompany Geordi as he picks up a plate and begins to fill it with bread rolls, potatoes, and an unspecified variant of fried fish, however I am finding it difficult to avert my eyes away from the commander.

Even though the majority of the crowd have spread out, many attendees have naturally chosen to gravitate towards Commander Riker in order to congratulate him. I deduce that the unfamiliar figures currently surrounding him and patting him on the back must be his former crew mates from the Potemkin. It would be an inappropriate time to interrupt a much-anticipated reunion, and so reluctantly I turn my gaze away and refocus instead on Geordi.

Geordi, who has taken an unconventionally-large bite from one of the bread rolls on his plate, is watching me with interest. I am not surprised he is hungry; it is often stated that appropriate nutrition is important in the days and weeks following a significant bout of sickness.

“I know when you’re thinking about something, Data,” he says after finishing his bite. “C’mon, you can tell me… is it about the commander?”

I nod, though in doing so I am aware my reaction may be perceived as impolite. 

"I am concerned that my presence here may be an unwelcome one," I admit.

"Data." Geordi lowers his plate, even though it is evident that he is enjoying his meal and has not yet finished. "You said it yourself, it was Lore who made the virus… if I don't blame you, then I'm certain Commander Riker won't either."

He gestures to Commander Riker, who is laughing heartily at a presumed joke made by one of his surrounding entourage.

I follow his gaze, and frown consequently. 

"Perhaps it would be appropriate for me to leave," I suggest.

Raising one of his eyebrows, Geordi scoffs.

"What? And leave me here?" He demands. "You promised me a walk in the arboretum, remember?"

As I open my mouth to respond, I realise that Commander Riker seems to be approaching myself and Geordi. From a superficial perspective he appears confident, walking with his head raised and his shoulders squared. Whether this is a true display of self-assurance or not, it is a remarkably plausible one. Much like Geordi, I am unable to see any type of tremor, twitch, or sign of physical discomfort. It is unlikely that Doctor Crusher would have discharged Commander Riker if he was still exhibiting a range of related mental and physical symptoms, and so I must trust that her judgement is accurate, which I am certain it is.

"I hear you saved our lives, Mr Data."

He extends a hand for me to shake. I accept, although I do so with initial uncertainty. In his available hand he is nursing a drink, which I notice is already half empty. The liquid is blue and, paired with the scent, I am able to decipher that it must be Antarean Brandy.

"It would be incorrect to attribute the ship's recovery to solely myself," I feel it necessary to explain, once I have let go of Commander Riker's hand. "In fact, a rescue operation would have been impossible without the assistance of Lieutenant Barclay."

The commander continues to grin broadly, and I am troubled by the likelihood that he is not acknowledging the seriousness of my statement. Up close, there are still faint, lingering signs of tiredness, particularly in Commander Riker's eyes, however he is making a commendable effort to overcome this minor ailment. 

"Then it seems I owe you both a drink."

I open my mouth to correct the commander, before I realise that he is making a joke. He chuckles, though the look in his eyes suggests that there is still more he wishes to discuss.

"Lore, hm?" He says suddenly after a prolonged pause. "Who'd have thought?"

"Lore's movements are commonly unpredictable and at times illogical, Sir," I admit, having already anticipated that the commander might wish to discuss Lore. "Given his untracked change of location, it appears that your encounter was merely a highly unfortunate coincidence."

Commander Riker does not respond verbally at first, but instead nods slowly. He takes a small sip from his drink, before setting it down upon one of the tabletops next to us. A passing officer pats the commander on the back and offers a fleeting "congratulations", which Commander Riker acknowledges with cheery gratitude.

His expression quickly settles again, and when he looks at me he appears to exhibit an expression of duel soberness and professionalism.

"It's a good thing you knew him," he commends. 

I cannot help but frown.

"I do not believe I understand why that would be helpful, Sir."

"Many people don't have the luxury of knowing their assailant, Mr Data," the commander elaborates. "You know all about Lore's inner workings, I'd say that's more useful than most."

"It is correct to state that our similar design as Soong-type androids has aided my understanding of Lore's positronic build," I initially agree. "However Lore's lack of ethical programming sometimes makes it difficult to understand his motives and lack of logical reasoning."

"Well, it's not surprising he'd want to hurt us," Commander Riker brazenly shrugs off. "Besides, I've annoyed enough people across my lifetime… I'm sure there are plenty of other people who'd want to harm me too."

I wish to inform Commander Riker that the trajectory of the virus was merely a fluke, catalysed by Lore's lack of control variables and scientific miscalculations. However his consequent laugh suggests that he is joking again, and so I deem it situationally-redundant to rectify the matter.

"Don't be a hero, Will." Counsellor Troi's voice emerges as she approaches. She is smiling fondly, and as she stops beside Commander Riker she places a hand comfortably against his chest.

Though this is an objectively unprofessional form of conduct, I must remind myself that this is the commander's party, which means the rules and expectations are seemingly more relaxed. As I look across Ten Forward, I notice that the captain and the doctor are also sat in close proximity to one another. I deduce that Doctor Crusher, from a medical point of view, may be assessing Captain Picard for any lingering side effects or anomalies within his recovery. Though this would make the most sense, it does not match the fact that both are conversing in hushed voices, with Doctor Crusher occasionally letting slip a laugh, or playfully batting at the captain's arm.

Captain Picard appears atypically at ease. His usually-stoic expression has been replaced by a gentler facade, and it may even be accurate to describe the smile on his lips as being genuine.

"I didn't say anything about being a hero," Commander Riker says, regaining my attention. I blink, and turn back to face him. "All I said was I'm sure I've annoyed plenty of people."

"That you have," Counsellor Troi concedes, her lips curling into an evidently-amused smile. "If anybody deserves a trial, I think it's fair to say you'd be a top contender."

Commander Riker grins lazily, though he promptly clears his throat. When he next speaks, it is directly to me.

"Data, if you need anybody to testify on your behalf..."

"I appreciate your concern, Commander, however I do not believe it possible to testify given the severity and length of your incapacitation."

"Perhaps I can," Counsellor Troi offers, likely in an attempt to be helpful. "I could sense both Will and Geordi's change of emotions… if that might be of any help to the Federation-"

I shake my head. I do not do so to be impolite, but because I know it will not benefit either myself or Captain Picard.

"While I am grateful for your insistence, the captain and I must face the enquiry alone," I explain, consequently silencing both Commander Riker and Counsellor Troi. "In order to establish a fair trial, Lore's disassembly has been authorised by both Starfleet officials and the Federation."

Counsellor Troi frowns. I can tell that she is troubled by this information, which I find to be puzzling. Under intergalactic law, Lore is indeed a criminal. His treatment should not differ simply because he and I share a creator. I am aware of Geordi's close proximity, which I deduce to be an attempt at reassurance. It is commendable that Geordi feels the need to look out for me. I suppose, after all, it is one of the benefits of having a best friend.

"I think some shore leave will do us all good," Commander Riker breaks the silence after a moment, changing the topic of conversation.

"Do you have plans, Commander?" I ask earnestly.

This appears to please Commander Riker, who breaks into a smile.

"Oh, plenty." His smile broadens. "I've persuaded Deana to join me for a fishing trip."

"Only if he takes me horseback riding," Counsellor Troi elaborates sternly, arching her eyebrow. 

"I did not know that you are a keen horse rider, Counsellor," I admit in surprise.

Counsellor Troi smiles, though appears slightly embarrassed in doing so. She purses her lips before speaking again.

"I'm really not very good," she confesses. "But I've always wanted to try properly."

"It is relatively easy," I state calmly. "Though it is important to build trust with your equine partner should you wish to succeed."

I am unaware that I had said anything unclear or controversial, until Geordi, Counsellor Troi, and Commander Riker all turn to face me with expressions of bewilderment.

"You like riding horses, Data?" Counsellor Troi asks.

I think of Black Bess, and frown slightly. 

"Should I not?" I ask.

The counsellor shakes her head.

"No, not at all," she assures me. "It's just… surprising."

I raise my eyebrows, but nod. 

"I see," I admit. "I was unaware that I do not present as the type of individual who may enjoy equestrian-based activity."

I turn promptly to Counsellor Troi.

"Counsellor, might you explain to me the difference in physicality between an individual who enjoys horseback riding and one who does not."

Counsellor Troi's lip is twitching, as if she is either attempting not to smile or to suppress a sneeze, the latter being unlikely.

"You know what," the commander announces, separating suddenly from the counsellor before she has the chance to answer. He straightens his back, picking up his glass. "I think it's time for a toast."

Stepping into the centre of Ten Forward, he clears his throat and raises his glass. Using a utensil, he taps loudly at the side of it. Each separate conversation around the room appears to falter, as a noticeable hush descends upon the room. Even the quartet of brass musicians pause and subsequently lower their instruments out of respect.

"Captain, if I may, I'd like to propose a toast."

Captain Picard, who is standing upright, appears to nod in approval.

Grinning loosely, Commander Riker speaks again.

"As you all know, things haven't been easy these past few weeks," he announces. "It's been difficult to wrap my head around… and I'm not just talking about the script for Doctor Crusher's newest play."

A chorus of laughter fills Ten Forward. Although I do not join in, mainly because I find the commander's joke difficult to understand, I am able to make out a light chuckle from Geordi beside me. In response to her name being mentioned, Doctor Crusher appears to roll her eyes and wave a hand of dismissal. I realise, in turn, that she is being playful.

Commander Riker grins, though his expression soon becomes one of seriousness.

"…During a standard away mission, I contracted what I believed to be a rare case of Transporter Psychosis," he continues. "As it quickly became apparent, I had in fact contracted a virus far more severe, which affected not only myself but my fellow crew mates around me."

Commander Riker pauses briefly. 

"Without intervention, there is a high likelihood that none of us would have recovered." He takes a moment. "And so for that reason, I'd like to propose a toast to Data."

Although I recognise my name, I am unsure why Commander Riker has decided to include it in his sentence.

I frown, aware that many of Ten Forward's occupants have turned to face me, including Geordi and Counsellor Troi. Commander Riker raises his glass, before continuing to speak.

"To Data."

"To Data," the crowd around me repeat, raising their glasses in unison. 

This includes Geordi and Counsellor Troi, who raise their own glasses with a supportive cheer.

As the majority of attendees take sips from their own drinks, I utilise the opportunity to turn to Commander Riker. He is already waiting for me expectantly, a large smile spread across his lips. He tilts his head forward, as if anticipating that I am about to speak. He is correct in deducing so.

"Commander, I am most appreciative that you have chosen to include me in your toast," I say. "However I must admit that I am highly surprised."

Commander Riker's smile breaks into a toothy grin, and he arches an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me all this attention makes you shy, Data," he says.

I frown. "It is not that I am experiencing an alteration in my ability to comprehend an influx of attention from my peers and fellow officers," I explain. "I am simply surprised that you are not angry or disappointed with me, particularly given my failure to recognise Lore's involvement in your sudden development of atypical symptoms."

Evidently taken aback by my admission, the commander's eyebrows raise wildly before his expression quickly settles again.

"You may be a genius, but I doubt even a hundred Datas would've been able to predict what the cause was."

I find this to be an inaccurate judgement. "But Sir, if there were one hundred duplicates of myself then the increased probability would likely-"

"Data." The commander's voice is firm. "What I'm trying to say is… don't beat yourself up for not knowing the answer. You went above and beyond. That in itself makes you a fine officer."

I consider this statement, and my brow creases thoughtfully. After a prolonged moment of contemplation, I speak again.

"If I may, I would like to make a speech of my own."

I look at Commander Riker, who nods encouragingly, before formally commencing.

I clear my throat for dramatic effect and look around the room. Like at the start of the commander's toast, the chatter dies almost immediately, and once Ten Forward has reached a considerably low level of audial output I decide it is a suitable opportunity to begin.

"I hope you are able to forgive me for the lack of cohesion… I am afraid I have not prepared a script or preliminary accumulation of my thoughts," I announce to my surrounding party attendees. "…However, following Commander Riker's toast, I believe now is an appropriate occasion to address you all."

From the corner of my eye, I see both Geordi and Counsellor Troi. Though both appear surprised, it is Geordi who, I notice, is smiling with apparent pride. It is not evident why Geordi feels proud, considering that I have not even finished my speech yet, however I perceive this to mean that I must have made an adequate introduction. 

"…During a therapy session with Counsellor Troi, I suggested that a probable solution to ending the Enterprise's growing transmission rates would be to indefinitely deactivate my positronic network," I continue. "It was Counsellor Troi who advised me against this proposal… while initially I could not understand the logical reasoning against this request, I now believe that my decision to remain an active member of crew was indeed the correct choice to make."

Commander Riker wraps an arm around the counsellor, whose own smile borders one of delight. It is similar to how I have often noticed Lieutenant Barclay admiring Spot, particularly when he has achieved a commendable feat like finishing an entire bowl of his formula or hitting conventionally-expected milestones in his feline development.

"Though refuting my deactivation was an arguably illogical step to take in eliminating the potential source of the virus, it was in fact a… good choice."

I hesitate suddenly. For the first time, I am unsure how to articulate my current thought process. I resist the urge to frown, before continuing to speak when I realise that everybody is still looking at me expectantly.

"Remaining activated was in fact a desirable outcome, as it has enabled me to remain among my friends."

As I say the word 'friends', I find myself looking down to Geordi. Though I cannot see his eyes, I have no doubt that he is looking at me too. 

I compose myself, before looking up again. I notice that, aside from the sound of my own voice, Ten Forward is completely silent. In the far distance, Captain Picard appears to be listening intently, and beside him Doctor Crusher appears surprised, but equally pleased, by the unusually personal nature of my speech.

I find myself remembering the conversation between myself and the captain regarding brotherhood. I have contemplated it many times since our initial discussion, although I have since realised that the topic itself is more complex than my neural net is typically predisposed to deal with.

"Long ago, my father, Doctor Soong, asked why I had chosen Starfleet as my desired primary occupation," I recall. "I have always believed it to be a fair question to ask… as an android, I could indeed have chosen any profession I desired. In fact, I believe that he wished for me to become a cyberneticist like himself… I do not know a lot about familial expectations, however I assume that Doctor Soong hoped that I may follow in his footsteps."

I continue. "I have often attributed my decision to the fact that I was rescued by Starfleet officers, who demonstrated what I now recognise to be empathy and kindness."

Again, however, I pause. "…I have never experienced what may be described as a conventional upbringing. Though I was designed to be as humanistically-accurate as possible, I did not share a typically strong bond with my creator… frequently, throughout the duration of my time aboard the Enterprise it has been my fellow officers who have taught me what it means to be a human. Though I am still learning, I believe I have gained a considerable understanding of what it means to be a human, and equally what it means to be an android."

I begin my next sentence slowly. 

"For a short period, I believe it is accurate to say that I had a father, a mother, and a brother. That description is no longer applicable… however I often envision that being in the company of friends is perhaps similar to how it might feel to be part of a family."

I look briefly around at each of the faces watching me, before I continue.

"Therefore, I believe it is logical to conclude that I have a new family. It is comprised of my friends. My crew mates. And for that I am remarkably grateful."

I nod to signify that I have finished my speech, to an unexpected, but appreciated, chorus of light applause. As the crowd disperses and the brass band strikes up again, I notice that many of my fellow senior crew members are on their way to greet me.

"Oh, Data." Counsellor Troi pulls me into a tight hug, as does Doctor Crusher.

As they pull away, Captain Picard enters behind them and nods affirmingly. 

"An excellent speech, Mr Data," he compliments. "It is certainly a privilege to have you with us."

Beside him, Lieutenant Worf holds himself in a composed manner, seemingly in agreement of everything the captain has to say. In a similar fashion, Commander Riker outstretches a hand, and pats me firmly on the back. As he pulls away, I notice that he appears to be staring almost longingly at the brass band at the opposing side of Ten Forward.

"There is still the position of trombone to fill, Sir," I input helpfully. "I was offered the opportunity to perform tonight, however I feel you are more suited to the part."

The commander's eyes glimmer, and he straightens his back in apparent readiness. "Mr Data, how could I possibly refuse?"

As he attempts to make a rapid beeline towards the band, the doctor interrupts him by placing a steady hand against his chest.

"Go easy on those airways," Doctor Crusher warns, however she smiles as she speaks.

She lets go of Commander Riker, who grins in return. 

"At least if I hurt myself, I know there's a doctor nearby," he retorts.

"Absolutely not." Doctor Crusher's voice grows in firmness. "Will Riker, you're mad if you think I'm admitting you back to Sick Bay again. I think I've spent enough hours looking after you to last a lifetime."

The doctor returns to sit comfortably beside Captain Picard, and together they watch the commander as he picks up the lone trombone and joins the centre of the band, striking up a lively jazz rendition of what I believe to be an old Earth classic.

I feel a hand skimming gently and discreetly against the back of my uniform, and realise that it must be Geordi. I look down, and realise that my assumption was correct. Geordi appears to have helped himself to another drink, which I perceive to mean that he is enjoying the party. It is simple to deduce when Geordi is not having a pleasant time at a formal gathering or social event, as typically he will attempt to excuse himself by falsely claiming that his presence is required in main engineering. It is not a tactic which I myself have attempted, not only because I consider myself to be an ineffective liar, but because I find attending events to be an interesting way to enhance my knowledge of human social practices.

"Good speech," he commends. "Keiko was just telling me how much she enjoyed it."

It is pleasing to discover that my friends Keiko and Chief O'Brien are also here. It is a nice surprise, especially given their lengthened absence from the ship following their unexpected departure while under the influence of the virus's symptoms. Apparently, their shuttle was located not far from our original position within the Delta Quadrant, allowing them a safe return back to the Enterprise. While both have healed exceptionally well from their respective illnesses, it is apparent that Chief O'Brien is still contending with a significant amount of embarrassment and guilt. I have not yet attempted to greet them, as I have heard from Geordi that, during his most recent visit to Transporter Room Three, the chief was uncharacteristically subdued and red-faced.

"Geordi, how do you plan to spend your shore leave?" I ask.

"Well," Geordi contemplates. "Actually, I was planning to watch the enquiry."

While this is undoubtably a kind gesture, I cannot help but shake my head. "Geordi, I am afraid you will not be allowed to testify."

"Not to testify." Geordi hesitates gingerly. "Actually, I just want to make sure you're alright."

I frown in surprise, but nod.

"Thank you," I express. "That is much appreciated."

Geordi takes a sip from his drink, and I survey the room. Though some attendees have left, likely back to their quarters or to begin their night shifts, the atmosphere is still lively. Lieutenant Worf appears to be in the midst of a conversation with one of the crew members of the Potemkin, though it is unlikely that he was the one to start it. Commander Riker appears to be greatly enjoying his place amongst his fellow musicians, and strangely I can no longer see Doctor Crusher or the captain, which I presume means they have disappeared off together. Doctor Crusher has been notably overprotective of the captain, which it appears he is begrudgingly allowing. Although, like the rest of the Enterprise's inhabitants, he has returned to an expected level of physical and psychological functioning, Doctor Crusher seems to still be keen to oversee the continuation of his wellbeing.

 Once I have completed my informal observation, I return my gaze to Geordi.

"The enquiry is not anticipated to last for more than three days," I further elaborate. "Depending on its outcome, it is likely we will still have a significant amount of leisure time once it has ended."

"Well, if Commander Riker and Counsellor Troi can go fishing, then why can't we?" Geordi suggests. 

My brow furrows. "It is difficult to estimate whether my skillset with be adequately suited to such a task."

"Come on, Data, you're good at everything," Geordi says encouragingly. "Besides, I can always teach you."

"Perhaps that will be beneficial," I agree, nodding.

This appears to please Geordi, whose shoulders noticeably relax at my confirmation.

"It'll be nice to have some time together," Geordi acknowledges with a long sigh.

"But Geordi," I insist. "Now that you have returned to engineering, we already spend a substantial amount of time together."

"No, Data, I mean time together," he explains. "Just me and you, outside of work."

"I see." I blink, nodding in realisation. 

"Maybe I can even show you around some of my favourite places."

Noticing another crew member signalling for his attention, Geordi excuses himself politely. I can tell that he is resistant to leave my side, however he should not be. After all, we still have our scheduled walk in the arboretum later this evening. 

As I watch Geordi depart, I notice that Lieutenant Barclay is approaching me. I did not think that he would enjoy such a busy party, however it is a pleasant surprise to see him. He is holding something in his hands, which he tentatively offers me once he has reached a close enough distance.

"I-I hoped you might be here, Sir," he greets me with a nervous smile. 

I look down towards the lieutenant's hands, and realise that he is cradling what appears to be an unconventional, seemingly handcrafted, piece of apparatus. 

"I made this for Spot… I know how much he enjoys playing with toys."

I look down at the toy in question. It appears to be made from many multiple fragments of varying-length string, offcuts of fabric, and shaped cotton wadding.

These are all materials which I predict Spot will enjoy greatly, and I take the structure from Lieutenant Barclay's hands with fascination. I furrow my brow as I examine it, realising that the lieutenant has evidently gone to the effort of sewing and crafting everything himself by hand.

"I was unaware that you were a skilled seamster, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Barclay shrugs off my observation with an embarrassed grimace.

"I don't do it often," he confesses. "I t-tend to be quite clumsy… I wouldn't want to keep pestering Doctor Crusher with needle injuries."

I nod, cradling the item gently as not to damage it. I assume that the lieutenant has spent many hours crafting it, and so I would not like to risk ruining it.

"I will present this to Spot tonight," I say, before pausing. "Or alternatively, you are welcome to introduce it to Spot if you desire."

The lieutenant's eyes widen. It is not in shock, as such, but instead seeming excitement. 

"Are you going somewhere, Sir?"

I nod. "I am joining Commander La Forge for a walk in the arboretum."

I notice that Lieutenant Barclay still appears surprised, however I cannot fathom why. I assumed my explanation would have answered any questions he might possess.

"Is that considered to be peculiar, Lieutenant?"

Quickly, Barclay shakes his head.

"Not strange, Sir," he answers. "Actually, I suppose it's just… nice."

I raise my eyebrows, and hum in response.

"I am glad it may be considered a pleasant occurrence," I concur. "I will ensure that you are granted access to my quarters… if it may be possible, I would like a report detailing Spot's response to his new toy. I find that it is advantageous to keep a note of his levels of mental stimulation and physical exercise."

I hand the fabric toy back to Lieutenant Barclay, and say goodbye. I notice that Geordi appears to have disappeared amidst the crowd, and that my fellow senior officers appear to be preoccupied with their own endeavours. I am able to relocate Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher who, alongside Lieutenant Worf and Counsellor Troi, appear to be applauding Commander Riker and his fellow brass players. I gather that he has just completed a particularly difficult song, as he is currently bowing to a stream of applause. 

I contemplate whether or not to join them. It is not that I do not enjoy their company, because I do, or that I dislike listening to music, which I also enjoy, but instead because I require an opportunity to rationalise my thoughts. There has been a lot to process, and I must ensure that each of my findings are logged adequately within my neural net.

I approach Guinan at the bar.

She smiles, watching me thoughtfully.

"Waiting for somebody?"

I nod.

"I cannot locate Geordi," I admit. "I presume he is busy conversing with a fellow attendee."

"Would you like me to help you find him?" Guinan asks.

"That would be unnecessary," I explain. "I trust that Geordi is having a pleasant time, and it would be impolite to interrupt his conversation… besides, there is still some time before our scheduled walk in the arboretum."

"So I've heard." Guinan's lips curl into a very faint smile.

I am taken aback. "Perhaps I have been overly vocal in discussing my plans," I admit, however Guinan promptly shakes her head.

"Geordi told me," she elaborates calmly. "Now I wouldn't like to give too much away… but he wanted advice on what would be the best way to ask you."

I am surprised to hear that Geordi was unsure of how to converse appropriately with me.

Guinan appears to notice my confusion, as she continues to speak in a soft, steady tone.

"You mean a lot to him, Data."

I nod. "That is because Geordi is my best friend," I answer with matter-of-fact confidence. 

Guinan does not react overtly to my statement, however I notice a flicker of something in her eyes. It is difficult to deduce what this emotion may be, as Guinan is typically good at disguising her true feelings regarding certain matters.

"Are you nervous?"

"If you are referring to the enquiry, Guinan, then I must remind you that I am unable to experience nervousness," I state. "I trust that the Federation will make an accurate judicial decision."

"Even if it means the destruction of Lore?"

I do not answer immediately. On an ethical level, Lore's disassembly and ultimate destruction is an understandable consequence of his actions. From a brotherly standpoint, however, the answer remains less clear. I doubt Captain Picard would feel the same about his brother, in a similar sense to how Geordi might feel about his sister.

"It is a serious yet appropriate punishment, that is if Lore is found guilty," I explain. "If Lore is deemed not to be fully responsible for his actions, then his components will simply be placed into storage and kept in the possession of Starfleet.

Guinan nods softly. 

"You must be relieved it's over," she says.

"I am pleased that the Enterprise's occupants have all returned to appropriate levels of physical and psychological functioning," I partly agree. "However I was not affected by the virus."

She smiles reflectively.

"Everybody was affected… just some in different ways to others."

I decide not to debate this. There is a knowingness in Guinan's words, which makes me expect that she knows something which I do not.

Two security officers approach the bar, and Guinan excuses herself in order to serve them. After a short, yet polite, conversation about the evening, she returns to resume our conversation. There is still no sign of Geordi. I doubt he has left the party without informing me, though I cannot help but recall his tactic for escaping uncomfortable, nerve-inducing situations. If he truly was nervous about asking me to join him for a walk in the arboretum, then this may indeed be the case.

"It's a shame the Citadel had to leave," Guinan says, distracting me from my concerned thoughts. "Those officers really knew how to party."

At the mention of the Citadel, my eyes widen attentively.

"Guinan, did you ever meet Admiral Karova?"

Guinan's smile widens ever so slightly. Though she does not disclose why her smile has increased in size, I believe I am correct in gathering that Guinan may also know the truth behind the admiral's identity. Out of our equal respect for the admiral, it appears neither myself nor Guinan wish to say it aloud.

"Once," she answers simply. "She and Counsellor Troi shared a table."

I raise my eyebrows, to convey to Guinan that I wish her to continue.

"I know better than to pry on a conversation with guests, Data," she says. "That being said, the admiral did appear deep in thought."

Guinan stops abruptly. I cannot fathom why, until I realise that her gaze has drifted away from me.

"Data… I think there's somebody waiting for you."

I turn away from the bar, to realise that Geordi is approaching me. He is smiling sheepishly, and appears to be by himself. He comes to a stop at the bar, adjusting his uniform as if he is worried that it does not look neat enough. Once he is ready, he meets my eyes. I, in turn, meet his visor.

"Data, are you ready?"

"Yes, Geordi," I agree. "I believe I am."

I bid farewell to Guinan, and join Geordi's side. I notice that we appear to be closer than the typical distance at which we normally walk beside each other. I choose not to comment on this, as I consider it to be a comfortable arrangement. To my consolation, Geordi also appears to be enjoying it.

Together we exit Ten Forward, to the sound of Night Bird playing distantly on the trombone, and make our joint way towards the arboretum.