Chapter Text
Star date: 47587.19. Personal log of lieutenant Reginald Barclay.
Begin recording, compensate for speech impairments.
I am not even sure how to start this. Should I be recording this log even? What if someone… No, no. I have to do this. I have to make sure I… I don't know. Didn't commit treason on purpose? Didn't betray my best friends? I don't know…
[Recording paused.]
I suppose it all started when Starfleet sent us on a mission to assist the science teams restoring the long lost wonder of the Alpha Quadrant: Auriga.
—
Reginald Barclay’s day, up until now, wasn't all that special, but it was rather nice. He managed to make it through a shift in engineering without painting himself into a corner in any conversations, getting anxious about how someone was looking at him, and he wasn't stammering all that much, even. Cool, composed, head on straight. Or at least, that's what he tries to be every day with various levels of success.
He was about to clock out, but then the doors of engineering slid open with a soft hiss, making way for Chief Engineer himself, Geordi LaForge who also happens to be Reginald's best friend. He makes his way to Barclay’s station with an easy smile and a spring in his step, and upon reaching him, puts a hand on his shoulder, giving it a jovial shake.
-Hey Reg! Are you about done here?
He was, but having been pulled so suddenly out of his workflow it takes him a second to find his words.
-Yeahuuuh, I mean, um, I'm done with most- everything essential, Ge- sir.
He bites his tongue, and his lips curl in a guilty smile. It's not like he didn't feel comfortable around Geordi, he was just startled, is all.
Geordi smiles and rubs his shoulder, seemingly not at all bothered by Barclay’s lack of eloquence.
-Good! Listen, I want you to attend a senior staff meeting today. Or, I suppose, rather, the Captain wants to see you.
The Captain?! Oh no, what did he do now? Reginald can't seem to think of anything he did wrong lately. He stayed off the holodeck, he attended his therapy-mandated quota of social gatherings, and kept up with his duties. The only thing one can accuse him of, is being sad all the time.
He swallows down the ball of anxiety.
-Am… am I in trouble?
Geordi’s eyebrows peek above his visor.
-No? Why would he call you in for a staff meeting if you were in trouble? I'm not sure, but I think he has some sort of special assignment for you.
He rubs Reg’s shoulder again, an attempt at a comforting gesture, which works, to a point. Barclay’s pulse climbs down from ‘dangerously high’ to ‘slightly racy’.
He nods, not knowing what to say.
-Don’t worry, all you have to do is be there on time and you'll be fine. Okay?
He nods again.
-Okay, good. See you there at 0800 hours!
That's early. Shit.
—
He spent most of the hours he was supposed to be spending sleeping, tossing and turning in his bed instead. Not water, not warm milk, not breathing exercises helped. He tried the hypospray with an anxiolytic Dr. Crusher gave to him, but of course, the drug wasn't strong enough. And she outright refused to prescribe him anything stronger, worrying about potential substance abuse. But who is he to argue with the Chief Medical Officer?
So he suffers silently through most of his night instead, only managing two or three hours of sleep before his rather insistent alarms started. With a groan, he slides out of the bed and quickly shapes himself into a facsimile of a human being. He has to hurry, the staff meeting starts in 17 minutes.
—
He makes it on time. And not even like usual, on the dot. when everyone is already sitting down and stares at him when he enters. No, this time he gets to calmly walk into the mostly empty briefing room, and sit down.
When he arrives, the only person sitting at the table is Data, his hands clasped together, elbows leaning on the table. Unmoving, statuesque. Perfect. A bit more casual than usual, getting ever better with his body language. Reginald only wishes he himself was this successful.
Data notices him enter, golden eyes flicking towards him, and greets him with a nod. Is that a shadow of a smile on his face? No, no. Just his imagination functioning on three hours of sleep. He only wishes Data would smile at him like that. It was honestly a minor miracle that Data didn’t know about the silly, almost hero worship crush Barclay had on lieutenant-commander. But, in his defense, who wouldn't have one? Especially if one was constantly involved in Data’s maintenance, getting to see him inside and out, and take care of each and every part of him with meticulous precision?
One by one, senior staff members are starting to arrive. They greet him, and each other, but Barclay only half pays attention to them, seemingly staring into the table, but in actuality admiring Data’s reflection in a mirror of the polished black surface. There is otherworldly quality to his reflection, like it has a life of its own.
His reverie is snapped like a string under tension, when Captain Picard starts talking.
-Yesterday’s evening, Starfleet Command sent me a message, ordering Enterprise to be diverted to the coordinates enclosed in the transmission. The message contents were that the Enterprise crew is to assist the Federation’s science teams stationed on recently discovered rogue planet. Now, I am sure that what I am going to say next will catch everyone’s attention here: the rogue planet in question is confirmed to be Auriga .
And just as the Captain said it would, this did indeed catch everyone’s attention, including Barclay’s. But he’s too shy even for a surprised gasp, instead just opening his eyes wide. Doctor Crusher though, of neither the timid nor gullible ilk, immediately cuts in.
-Auriga? The lost planet? The long time obsession of scholars across the quadrant? Are they sure?
The Captain smiles.
-Positive. It is finally found, and by none other than Starfleet science vessel. We already know that the rumors about the extensive, planet-spanning library and an advanced artificial intelligence are true. Who knows what else might be found there? The science teams on Auriga are already making great headway, but they requested help from all nearby vessels that are sufficiently scientifically equipped, so to speak, which happens to be us… Which brings me to the next point. Lieutenant Barclay?
Captain Picard is now looking directly at him. Right. He wanted to see Barclay personally, how could he forget.
-Y-yes sir?
He knows the smile on the Captain’s face is supposed to be reassuring, but he fails to feel reassured. Instead he nervously rubs his knuckles, a self-calming gesture that is equally as useless in reassuring him as the Captain’s smile.
-One of the science teams requested you by name.
What? That can’t be right, can it?
-M-me, sir?
-That’s right. Not only they need a highly capable engineer, apparently a lot of systems on Auriga use holography in one way or another, and the science team needs someone experienced with the subject, which is you.
- Me , sir?!
That can’t be right. Surely they mean some other Reginald Barclay who has a knack for holograms. And serves on a starship named Enterprise. Surely.
But the Captain, it seems, is quite amused by his disbelief.
-Oh yes. I asked them why they wanted you specifically and they told me that your papers on the subject were quite impressive.
Geordi turned to him, confusion clear on his face.
-You wrote papers on holography?
He never wanted anyone to know about these. After all, he was supposed to be a new man now, staying away from the holodeck unless he is there to repair it. He curses inside his mind, lamenting publishing the papers under his own name. His mind briefly suggests lying to Geordi’s face right in front of the Captain and deny, deny deny, but he doesn't entertain that idea at all. They got him. He takes a breath.
-Well… I did. I just didn’t want anyone here to know, but, that’s done now, so, yeah…
He trails off, staring into the black mirror surface of the table, not even trying to look at Data’s reflection now, knowing in his heart that if he were, he would find impassive golden eyes staring back.
-There’s no shame in a fruitful academic career, Lieutenant, no matter what the subject. Especially if it gets you a posting on restoring a wonder. -Captain Picard interjects. -They insisted that your presence is required as soon as possible so we will have to send you in a shuttlecraft right away, and then join you once we have completed our current assignment, which should be… -He trails off looking expectantly at his first officer.
-About two days, -Riker helpfully supplies, -maybe even less.
Barclay nods, still trying to contain the disarray in his mind, but then Data, having been silent all this time, chimes in.
-Captain, if I may? I would like to ask you to have me accompany Mr. Barclay to his assignment. I believe the science team may find me useful, and I would like to ensure that he gets to his destination safely. -He pauses, as if thinking something over. -Besides, I must admit I am rather curious about the Auriga myself… -He gives a long meaningful look to Captain Picard, one that Barclay can’t quite parse. There is a hidden meaning in this communication, but he can’t even begin to decrypt it. Picard returns said long look and nods.
-Make it so. Mr. Barclay and Mr. Data, report to the shuttle bay at 0840 hours, Mr. LaForge, compile a list of your people you think will be best suited for this mission for later briefing. Dismissed.
—
Personal log of lieutenant Reginald Barclay. Addendum.
I should have seen it coming. I should have realized it was him . We knew he was out there. When we answered that distress call from the ferengi vessel, the whole ship talked about it. I wasn’t even there, I was down in engineering. But when the away team returned the story quickly spread. Walls covered in layers upon layers of blood and gore, a trail of destruction leading to the helm, where the last survivor was barricaded, the one who managed to send out the distress call. Muttering to himself, how they never should have stolen the android, that it was a mistake. We knew and yet I suspected nothing. And the worst part is, if I had a do-over? I would repeat my actions precisely.
—
Him and Data were walking side by side, making their way towards the Enterprise’s shuttle bay, and Barclay was doing his absolute best to keep his shit together. The trip to their destination would take about twelve hours at maximum warp, all spent in an enclosed space with a man he greatly admired and craved the approval of. He didn’t know whether to be anxious or overjoyed. If he was sent with any other person other than Data, even if it was Geordi, he would be mortified, without question. But Data… Data is the only person to ever approach the safety Barclay felt with the holograms. Maybe it won’t be so bad.
Data glances at him, and in response to him noticing his blatant staring, Barclay shapes his face into something resembling a gentle smile. After a bit of a pause, Data mirrors the expression, and something tells Barclay that if he were to look in an actual mirror, he would find that Data copied his smile with perfect precision. Barclay tries not to think about the fact that he never saw Data smile like this before. He tries, and with great effort, shakes the thoughts off. Be decent, Reginald. That’s your superior officer and one of your best friends.
Upon reaching the shuttle bay they didn’t take much time at all climbing into the runabout, with Data quickly taking his place at flight controls, and Barclay taking the seat next to him. They take the runabout out of the shuttle bay doors and set a course for the coordinates of rogue Auriga.
A few minutes into their warp flight, Barclay decides to break the awkward silence.
-So, um… Data? Why do you want to visit Auriga with me? I must admit, I never really researched the topic… Though i have heard of it!
Data looks him over, and gives him another smile.
-It is believed to be an ancient hub of science and information, in particularly xenobiology and artificial intelligence research. It is mentioned in a quite few sources across the quadrant, all from different cultures and races, and, I suppose, would be comparable with ancient Terran library of Alexandria. -Data says, as if reciting a paragraph from a textbook.
Barclay nods.
-I… see. Rogue planet, you say? So… No sunlight?
A shrug.
-No, but the preliminary reports from the science teams mention luminescent rings around the planet, providing a light level comparable to an overcast day on Earth.
-Sounds beautiful… -Barclay muses, gaze focused on Data's face. Next second, piercing eyes look back, searing him in their bright impassion. So he averts his gaze as quickly as yanking back a hand from an overheating metal. But he can still feel Data’s gaze on him.
-You look tired, lieutenant. Why don’t you get some sleep?
He raises his eyes again, and sees Data looking at him rather intently. Truth is, he’s right, Barclay is tired. And Lieutenant-Commander just handed him a good excuse to not be engaged in a strained conversation for the entire flight. So he quickly excuses himself to the back of the runabout, and if anything seemed odd about this interaction, he didn’t give it much thought. He climbs onto his bunk, and lets the lull of the warp engine carry him to sleep, an odd sense of comfort washing over him, as if sleeping inside a boat adrift.
—
He is woken by Data standing over him, looking down, head framed by overhead lights like a halo.
-We almost arrived, lieutenant.
Barclay fully wakes with a start, rapidly sitting up and hitting his head on the upper bunk.
-Are you alright? - Data asks, reaching for his tricoder. After reassuring the android that he is quite okay, he walks back to his seat, followed by Data.
-Computer, slow down to impulse and maintain the current heading. -The voice behind chimes in, and then Data takes his place at the controls.
The silver white streaks behind the port and starboard windows shorten, coagulate into dots, like rain droplets on the glass running in reverse to their point of origin. And finally in front of them - their destination, Auriga. The planet itself is light brown, but it is covered in networks upon networks of old conduits, mega highways, and impressive structures, with the most impressive and biggest of them all sitting on the planet’s pole, reminding Barclay of an enormous armor of a crustacean, so enormous that the tip of it breaks the planet's atmosphere. The rings around the planet do indeed glow with a soft light, slightly shifting in hue from place to place, looking like eternal Aurora Borealis, suspended around the planet's equator.
-It is beautiful… -Barclay says in awe.
But before Data can respond, a sudden, all encompassing vibration spreads through their runabout. Sounds don't travel in space, but it felt like an impossibly loud, grinding boom.
And now, on his console he can see, it was a ship decloaking. He jumps up from his seat to check the side console, but he doesn't need to.
A giant alien mothership, the likes of which he has never seen, is looming over them, visible through the starboard window. He can't hear much through what sounds like an air siren, but he hears Data say something, the only two words clear enough being ‘were tailed’. Why does he sound so angry?
The next moment a palm presses in the middle of his chest and he is thrown back away from the consoles, to the tail end of the runabout with monstrous strength. He lands on his back, wind knocked out of him, and he sees, sees Data plant his hands into the console, and it lights up bright and searing like the winter sun, and then suddenly, he's in free-fall.
The alien mothership fires its weapons, and the runabout dodges, bobs and weaves like a possessed paper plane, maneuvers no human being could execute, Barclay getting tossed around the tail end like a ragdoll, pressed into the wall on the one side, then suddenly, the opposite, struggling to hold on to something, anything at all.
Amidst the chaos, the only thing he can focus on is Data, braced unmoving against the console, piloting the ship with his mind alone.
Eventually, one of the weapons hits. A particle beam of some kind, piercing the hull like soft butter. The crackle of emergency force fields, the stink of burnt duranium and wiring.
He has never been this afraid and helpless in his entire life.
More hits. The computer is droning on about everything wrong with their vessel, including the destroyed warp nacelles and mostly destroyed impulse.
Losing altitude. Losing altitude. Losing altitude. Losi-
Something hits him on the head, and in a fury-bright flash of pain, the whole world disappears.
—
Everything hurts.
Barclay’s mind registers it before everything else, before the fact that he's alive and breathing, before he can even think of opening his eyes.
Everything hurts.
His cheeks are sticky with sweat and tears, and his uniform is wet under his arms. His ears, it feels, are surrounded by a layer of thick silence.
Everything hurts.
He has to open his eyes, take a deep breath but-
Everything hurts. Everything hurts. Everything-
A quiet, barely audible sob pierces the cone of silence around his head, and his eyes flutter wide open, a soft prismatic radiance filling his field of view, framed by jagged edges of metal overhead. And as if opening his eyes made his body aware of itself, the all-encompassing pain flared, lighting up its sources.
He’s pretty sure he got bruised all over when he was thrown against the hull time and time again, but the strongest pain is coming off from his head, to nobody’s surprise, and… from his left side, sharp and pulling. He’s afraid to look, but he has to, so he slowly lowers his gaze, to see a sharp shard of metal sticking out from his side, slightly below the chest, red-brown stain radiating from the puncture like a blot of dye in the water. He resists an urge to pull it out, Beverly Crusher’s image in his mind all but yelling “DON’T!”. Instead, he slowly and carefully rolls himself on his right side, and bracing against the pain, lifts himself up from the floor at an excruciatingly glacial pace, like pulling an anchor from underwater.
The wreckage comes into his view, the once elegant runabout now laying in two pieces like a broken charred eggshell. He takes a breath and a searing pain in his side along with acrid reek of burnt electronics assault his senses. The world blurs for a moment, and it takes an effort to stay upright. But he does. After the blur in his eyes subsides, he can see that the runabout split down the middle, probably while crash-landing, with a piece of the roof sticking out of the floor and blocking his view to the cockpit.
Another sob. What? Barclay was ready to assume that the first sob he heard was his, but now he's pretty sure it wasn't. And another sob, coming from the direction of the cockpit. Data, crying?
He takes a few wobbly steps, and shuffles towards the cockpit, unsteadily holding onto the walls. It takes a bit of time, but eventually he makes it to the vertical piece of the roof, and side steps around it, to see…
Data, lying on the floor in front of the busted consoles, facing away from him, with a large clean gash across his back, leaving him diagonally half-sliced in two from shoulder to hip, much like their runabout. Barclay’s eyes reflexively trace the gash to the long wires coming from the ceiling, his mind reconstructing the previous events in painful clarity, high-strength wiring snapping under tension, and with a whip-like sound and even greater speed, slicing across Data’s back. He grimaces at the thought.
Another sob, rises unnaturally from an unmoving body, and Barclay doesn’t know what to say.
He steps closer.
-Lieutenant? Is that you? - The android before him asks, audibly struggling to contain the sobs, and then Barclay looks into the gash, peers into the synthetic body and sees… Something his hands never touched. It looks like Data’s internals, but the version of them that never went through any kind of maintenance, held up by temporary fixes and makeshift replacements, the uncanny and painful mirror.
Lore.
He doesn't know what to say. Fear immediately paralyzes him, sure, but it's so inconsequential it's barely a background noise at this point. There is this tingling feeling, which gets even louder when with great effort, Lore turns his head slightly towards Barclay, and he can see streaks of oily-yellow tracking down the alabaster cheeks, golden eyes wide open, usually tidy hair in disarray with loose strands stuck to the forehead. One thing is clear - Lore is damaged and pretending to be his brother takes everything out of him.
He doesn’t know why he says what he does next moment, because his fear, and frankly, self-preservation shriek in his mind like sirens, but…
-I-it’s okay, I know it’s you… L-lore.
Something volatile glints in the android’s eyes, and the already crumbling facade disintegrates into fine dust, the expression on his face morphing into something manic and crazed, a dissonant smile eyes wide open, tears unceasing, teeth bared.
-I see. Well. What are you waiting for… then? - The voice comes out choppy, as if Lore was choking on his words.
Barclay can only tilt his head in confusion. Lore is far from pleased at it, somehow getting even more tense. He starts yelling, staticky but loud enough to make Barclay’s ears hurt.
-Finish the job! Kill me! That’s what you federation types wanted to do with me all along wasn’t it? Scrap me for parts like some… junk! And now you can… so why won’t you stop torturing me and get on with it?!
He doesn't know how to deal with this. He's not killing Lore, Barclay isn't a murderer, no matter what the android in front of him did to possibly deserve death in the eyes of others. He can't see the murderer in front of his eyes either. All he can see is someone who is both so much like and so much unlike his friend Data, someone who is alive, and… hurt?
-T-torturing you…? Are- are you in pain?
Lore instantly falls silent, gritting his teeth together, like he said something he never meant to slip out. So he is in pain. Barclay would chuckle at the irony, if he wasn't afraid to jostle the metal edge lodged in his side. So he just stands there for a moment, until the visage of someone who looks much like his friend, but in pain and afraid, gets too much, too sad to observe and not intervene.
So he carefully kneels before Lore's broken body.
-I… I can help.
The expression on Lore's face is downright broken, hopeless.
-You? How?
Barclay shivers and rubs the knuckles on his left hand. Is he nervous, or is the pain shock finally starting to get to him? No. Stop. Focus.
-I… well I, I d-do maintenance on Data all the t-time and, well, when he gets hurt I help Geordi fix him. So… -He swallows emptily, too dehydrated, too nerve-wracked. -May I?
Stark yellow stare is strangely empty and resigned. And then Lore closes his eyes.
-It’s not like I can stop you.
Barclay decides to interpret this as permission, and try to carefully tug on the torn fabric of the uniform to get a better look. But as soon as his fingers even brush Lore’s internals the android lets out something between a wail and a hiss, and the synthetic eyelashes soak with oily yellow. He withdraws his hand immediately.
-S-sorry! Did that hurt?
Lore grits his teeth.
-I can’t turn it off. - He whispers quietly, shamefully, as if forcing the words out. Right. Now that Barclay looks closely, the gash severed the connections between the positronic brain and various regulatory centers, which were located in the torso. But as misfortune would have it, the sensory connections were undamaged.
-I s-see. I will… take care of pain first then. You are going to be alright, I promise. - And for yet another time wondering what devil possessed him, he lightly rubs Lore’s hand. It’s smooth and warm and twitches under his touch. He internally sighs with relief when it doesn’t cause Lore any further pain, but he does open his eyes and looks at Barclay like he just sprouted a second head. The only thing Reg can offer in return is a guilty smile as he stands up.
-I’ll… go get the tools. Be right back.
He went back to the tail end and before looking for the toolbox had a sensible idea for once: look for emergency med-kit. It was rather easy to find, tucked and secured inside the wall compartment. And the contents were miraculously intact. And it would be great news if Barclay hadn’t almost zero clue on how to use most of its contents. He knew which of the hyposprays contained a painkiller, however, and injected the contents into his neck. Dermal regenerator was unlikely to help with a deep stab wound, so for now he let the medkit be, and retrieved the standard toolbox from the nearby alcove. He only hoped it would be enough to repair Lore. If not… he would have to get creative.
Going back to Lore while lugging a toolbox with him was nothing short of a minor miracle on Barclay’s part, but he managed well enough. Painkillers kicking in made the job easier by the end. After depositing the toolbox by Lore's side he kneels again, and retrieves an engineering phaser from the toolkit, and Lore’s face visibly tensed.
-It’s okay! I just… need to remove your uniform i-if that's… yeah.
Lore averts his gaze and stays silent. At least he doesn't actively mind, Barclay thinks, as he meticulously undoes the golden starfleet uniform shirt at the seams and removes the torn and slightly charred fragments of it from Lore's body one by one.
After he's done with the ruined clothes, the is left staring at the smooth skin of Lore’s back, horrible wound notwithstanding. It’s odd, he never had any problem with doing maintenance on mostly unclothed Data, but then again, Data always insisted on going dormant for it unless his presence was needed for the diagnostic itself. Lore though, was as awake and aware as they come, even if he wasn’t facing him directly. Suppressing a shiver, he retrieves a small wiring repair tool from the toolbox and tries repairing one of the connectors in Lore’s spine region, but as soon as he touches it Lore lets out something between a gasp and a pained whine and his head twitches, jostling the wiring. This simply won’t do.
-I… I will- I will need to h-hold your head in place for this.
Lore maintains the same resigned silence, so Barclay proceeds, placing his left hand on top of the android’s head, noting how nice and silky the hair feels, despite everything their owner went through. He tries to repair the connector again, this time bracing the head just before the most painful part - and he succeeds. Lore suppresses another grunt of pain, and Barclay lightly strokes Lore’s hair in what he hopes is calming manner. And again. Gradually, with each connector restored Lore cried in pain less and less, only jolting slightly each time, and every time Barclay would pet his head.
It’s an odd experience. Never for a minute he forgot how dangerous Lore is, gripping terror always at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be cruel to him. To do anything less than make the repair as painless as he possibly could have. Is that what starfleet doctors feel like?
Before repairing the last connector he checks the regulatory modules for damage, and thankfully, they escaped the worst of it and only required slight patch-ups of micro-cracks, which he quickly performed and connected them to Lore’s brain.
And it's like a vice grip let go of the android, no longer tense or quietly writhing in pain.
-Better? -Barclay asks, hand still tangled in Lore's hair, and that's how he can tell Lore nodded, barely perceptible to his eyes, if at all. -Okay, that's good. Um… It's odd, b-both you and Data have pain sensors but I never ever saw Data in pain…
Lore scoffs with disdain.
-That’s because daddy dearest , in his infinite wisdom, decided to route the signal from them through emotional circuits exclusively. Dear brother doesn't have that bit of wiring, and therefore, no pain. Meanwhile I not only have to feel the pain, but also suffer from it, thanks to Often Wrong.
It's about the most words he heard Lore say at once since they landed, and something in Barclay compels him to keep the ball rolling, to keep Lore talking. Curiosity, perhaps?
-Oh. S-so Data has like, vestigial pain receptors? Because you have them?
That amuses Lore enough to smile.
-What, surprised that the work of the great and terrible Noonien Soong isn't the image of perfection without flaw? -Lore asks in that sing-song mocking voice of his. Barclay finds it leagues better than sneering and gnashing of teeth at least.
-Um. No… Doctor Soong, from what I heard of him, doesn't seem like the most… foresighted man. I guess I was just always curious why Data had these sensors that were never used. -Another thread of curiosity grabs his attention. -I want to ask though, how d-did you- weren't you… It's just it's hard to imagine you doing all the things I heard you did with pain sensors on. M-must have been hard.
Lore gives him a long look, as if considering him for a minute.
-Heard about things I did, huh. Well… I learned how to bypass pain sensors pretty much in my infancy. Haven't had them on in years.
He finishes the sentence laden with pride, but Barclay can only think how horrible it must be, to go through your whole life knowing no pain, always having control of it, shutting it out, and then suddenly being thrust into the depths of it, and having no reprieve. And thus the doubts about helping Lore disappear completely. Something vague stirs in his soul and he remembers how helpless he felt during their impromptu landing.
-You saved my life back there, you know. -Barclay blurts out suddenly, not expecting it even himself. Lore, it seems, is just as baffled, if not more.
-What are you talking about?
Unimpressed, even annoyed tone. Barclay swallows and continues.
-Y-you know when you um, pushed me towards the back?
Lore’s face lights up with recollection, and then twists in a mocking amusement. He chuckles.
-Don't let it go to your head. You were in the way.
-Still. If I were h-here with you I… -He looks over the heavy-duty cable that sliced through Lore and imagines what this would do to his fragile fleshy body. He shudders. -I would be dead. -He takes a deep breath for what he's about to say. -So even if you didn't mean it, you saved my life and it's important that you know that.
In response Lore turns his head to look at Barclay, staying completely silent, the expression blank, spoiled only by the tear stains on his cheeks. Not thinking much at all, Barclay takes a cloth wipe from the toolbox and gently draws it down across the sides of android’s face, then quickly dabs the corners of his eyes, making Lore reflexively close each one when he did. The moment he finished wiping off Lore’s tears, and the android opens his eyes, the expression on his face is hard to describe, it’s like he wanted to kill and eat Barclay like a starved out of his mind tiger. That was finally enough for Barclay to want to take a break, so he discards the cloth in his hands and stumbles onto his feet.
-Uhhh, um, I will- I am going to go see if the distress signal can be made to work. I’ll be back as soon as I can!
And then he all but runs away from Lore.
After he’s back at the runabout’s tail, he puts his palm over his chest, to discover that his heart is beating hard and fast like a mad bird in a cage. Pushing through waves of adrenaline in his blood, he starts checking on the shuttle’s systems. The generator was offline but salvageable, so theoretically they could get the power running. He thought back to Lore’s wounds, now that he had a chance to intimately acquaint himself with them before approaching the replicator to see if it possibly could work again. After all, the more he though about the damage android suffered, the more he was sure he will need to replicate the tools and possibly spare parts to fix him.
Miraculously, the replicator was intact, protected by being behind the thickest place of runabout’s plating. Good. Next the distress beacon. It was one of those portable ones, but rather heavy and Barclay wasn’t sure he would be able to lug it outside the wreckage to set it up. So he will need Lore’s help most likely. But at the very least the beacon also appears to be undamaged.
He sighs and after gathering his resolve comes back to Lore. Just as he stepped into the room, the android started to talk.
-Say, how did you know it was me? What gave me away? -Lore asks with played up nonchalance.
Barclay stops in his tracks, and seeing as Lore was in a talkative mood, stepped in front of him and crouched.
-Well, um… Your internals did.
Lore gives him a confused look.
-What do you mean? My brother and I are completely identical.
Barclay smiles lightly and shrugs, vividly picturing Data's internal workings and how they worn the subtle differences from Lore's, worked into them by Geordi and himself over the years.
-W-well, yes, a-at some point maybe, when you two were built but… -He nervously wrings his hands, remembering running diagnostics on Data. -You never n-never got any regular maintenance right? Or, at least it looked like that to me… -He swallows, and continues before Lore can interrupt. -S-so, you probably fixed yourself over the years, and Data was fixed mostly by Geordi and me, and for any other Joe you two might seem the same, but any mechanic worth their salt can tell the difference between two machines serviced by different people. So, to me you and Data are as different as the Enterprise herself and another Galaxy class vessel!
He stops talking when he runs out of breath and realizes that he was rambling.
-S-sorry, I don't usually talk this much…
Lore only smiles, but there's a distinct amount of fake pretense behind it even Barclay is able to see.
-Servicing… Well, it's good to know you know your place.
Somehow, Barclay just knows Lore didn't mean what he just said, but a twitch of hurt still sneaks into his heart.
-I… I just want to help.
The smile is wiped from Lore's face like a layer of dust, revealing bone-deep exhaustion, barely concealed.
-Mhm. Speaking of, what of the distress signal?
Finally, something normal he can talk about.
-Oh. Um. It will work, I think, but I won't be able to carry it outside, I think I'll need your help for that.
Lore rolls his eyes.
-Just blow open the roof above it, it's not like this excuse for a shuttle is salvageable.
-I… Haven't thought about that, but… with what? A phaser wouldn't be strong enough.
Golden eyes scan him for a bit. After a moment Lore's hand moves a bit, and a service panel in his undamaged arm opens, revealing something hidden inside, something Barclay knows doesn't belong there.
-Here. Much better than your pathetic service weapon. -He blinks and closes his eyes. -Honestly I don't even know if I want you to activate that beacon so take it before I change my mind.
Barclay obeys and quickly retrieves the object from Lore's forearm, which upon closer inspection turned out to be a small plasma cannon, but of no make or model Barclay ever seen. And looking at the peculiar shape Barclay realizes that Lore most likely made it himself.
-Thank you I’ll uh… give it back. Um, also, I have a bit of news. I will need more t-than the standard toolbox to repair you, and I'll probably have to replicate some parts and material… Replicator is fine, but we have no power… B-but I can jumpstart the generator with a medium power source. Something like -He swallows, not wanting to even suggest it but… -Something like one of your power cells.
Lore’s mouth twitches.
-Fine.
He blinks. That was easy. Barclay leans over Lore to open the damaged service panel on the back, and takes a decoupler from the toolbox.
-I uh, will give it back too. Also you will probably feel a bit woozy, s-sorry about that.
Lore stays silent the whole way through, or, it would be more precise to say that he tries to, while the sounds he makes are certainly not of pain, Barclay straight up refuses to think about what they suggest instead. If he starts to think about it he will never stop.
With a plasma cannon in one hand and the precious power cell in the other he stands up, nods at Lore and leaves for the shuttle's tail end.
He decides to start with restoring power, which proved to be a bit tricky, having to apply a bit of percussive maintenance to the parts of the generator that got jammed by the heat and the stress of the crash, but eventually he has something that is of working order, however temporary that might be. All that's left is to connect Lore's power cell to jump-start the reaction.
Weighing it in his hand he can't help but muse if it's like one of Lore's hearts he's holding, almost feeling the subtle hum coming off of it. He connects it to the generator, and watches it come to life, indeed much like something that was just given a heart.
Next step is to connect the replicator to the generator with a makeshift power line. Loose wiring didn't prove hard to find, considering. Replicator also whirs as if coming alive, sustained by the spark of the generator.
As he replicates everything he feels he will need to bring Lore back to working order he wonders if the android will appreciate the beauty of providing the means of his own salvation. The more specialized tools that are in the replicator database, and even more specialized ones that are not, the makeshift ones Barclay has to improvise on the spot, and the spare parts. All coming from a single spark inside one of Lore's hearts. Pausing for a bit at the end of the lengthy list he also asks the replicator for a hypospray of nutrient solution mixed with saline. He can't help Lore if he's starving, but the thought of food made his stomach twist.
Barclay uses the hypo immediately and puts everything he just replicated into a tray, and picks up the plasma cannon. It is sleek and elegant, despite obviously being hand-made, and is oddly comforting to hold.
He takes aim at the roof above the distress beacon and after a moment of hesitation… pulls the trigger. There was no recoil but the impact of the plasma projectile punching a hole in the roof sent vibrations through the broken hull, making Barclay half-excited and half-terrified out of his wits.
While he stood there dumbfounded, the beacon came alive under the soft light of the planet's rings and started transmitting.
On shaky legs he picks up the tray, retrieves the power cell and then returns to Lore, who he notices is smirking. As he sits down and puts the tray next to the toolbox, Lore turns to face him.
-That sounded fun. That was fun, wasn't it?
Barclay awkwardly smiles.
-I… I suppose so? Um, I must warn you that some of the parts I replicated probably won't do for long-term use so you should see a mechanic as soon… -He then realizes that's Lore he's talking about and quickly corrects himself. -Whenever possible.
Lore chuckles but otherwise stays silent and Barclay takes it as his cue to begin.
The process to repairing this kind of extensive damage is pretty involved, but as soon as he begins he enters some kind of flow state, reconnecting the power cell, putting the plasma cannon back in place, knitting together severed wiring, replacing unsalvageable components and welding together the gash on the access panel.
All the while Lore is… well, clearly aware of what the hands inside him are doing. It occurs to Barclay, that pain receptors being off doesn't mean the rest of them are. He doesn't know how he feels about that.
Ignoring the feeling he begins the last things he needs to do to repair Lore fully, namely align and repair the severed android analogue for the human spine, and stitch together the synthetic skin on top of the access panel. He decides to start with the latter.
-It will uh, leave a scar, I think what they would say. -He says out of the blue, for a moment forgetting Lore isn't privy to his train of thought.
-Huh? What will?
Lore's voice is foggy, as if Barclay was pulling him out of a daydream.
-Oh. The uh, I can't regenerate your skin with what I have here as well as I could have -He almost says “back home” -Back on the Enterprise, so I'll have to uh, melt it together.
-Ugh. If you have to.
Barclay nods and starts on the skin, gently holding the edges and stitching them together with what was essentially a highly sophisticated welding torch. If Lore feels any discomfort at the sickly sweet smell of melting synthetic skin he doesn't say anything. In the end he is left staring at his handiwork, a lengthy scar-like seam running from Lore's right shoulder to somewhere above his left hip, but otherwise the back access panel looked whole again.
At last, all he has to do now is to replace one of the vertebrae, like placing a keystone, and Lore would have all of his function back. He hesitates for a moment, but only a moment, before doing just that and closing the access panel. He stands up.
-I’m done. You should be all good now. How are you-
He doesn't get a chance to finish talking, as Lore twists in place like a serpent, grabs a phaser from the toolbox and stands upright all in one lightning quick motion. He points the phaser at Barclay, who freezes in place. Lore's eyes are wild and and for a moment Barclay thinks that this is it, those are his last moments in this universe, but then Lore's gaze slip down, manic frenzy giving way to puzzled curiosity.
-What’s that? -Lore asks, waving his phaser somewhere at Barclay’s torso and not even waiting for an answer, closes the distance and stares down. Following his gaze, Barclay realizes that he meant the shard of metal sticking out of his side. He almost forgot.
-You’re damaged. -Lore says with an even, impassioned tone and tilts his head, looking over the shard like some sort of curiosity. He then tilts his head up, looks Barclay in the eye. Them standing so close, Barclay yet again reminded of how comically tall he is. -It's in your spleen. You're gonna bleed out. -A pause, as if Lore were tasting his own words like a bitter candy. -And die.
A grimace then contorts the admittedly very beautiful golden alabaster face, and not one of malevolence. Barclay isn't quite sure, but when he sees looks like intense pity wrestling with disdain, contrition and who knows what else.
Eventually, Lore’s face suddenly relaxes and he slowly lowers the phaser, and looks it over.
-Not narrow enough, -he mumbles under his breath, and puts it away all together, now looking at his hand. -Melt it together, you say? -He asks, casting a glance at Barclay.
Barclay doesn't get a chance to answer, as Lore steps even closer, so close that he could hug the android if he wanted to. And if he were bold enough.
-Stand still. -Is his first and final warning before Lore unceremoniously yanks the metal shard out of him, and tosses it to the side, clinging sound echoing from somewhere behind him. He gasps at the sudden slicing sensation. No pain though, at least not as strong as something like this would cause. Painkillers he injected into himself come to mind and he laments that his anxiety medication isn't this effective. A cold touch on his bare skin makes him shiver, and he looks down to see that Lore is hiking up his bloodstained uniform shirt, fingers raking upwards to his chest and he can't help but shiver. From cold, pain, fear, but also some sort of sick excitement.
He can see his wound somewhat, and it's oozing clotted blood. Lore looks at it too and smiles, dissonant and serene.
-This will leave a scar too.
Barclay barely lets out a questioning noise before two of Lore's fingers plunge into the wound, ring and middle, the rest braced against Barclay’s bruised and tender side. It forces a gasp out of him, this sense of intrusion, his flesh being parted. This feeling of missing pain, sensation of his own pulse straining against Lore's fingers. The air feels so thin, he swallows it like a beached fish.
And then the fingers inside him come ablaze, white hot, or so they feel, and Barclay hears and feels himself sizzle, and finally - there's the pain. Hot, pulling, overwhelming. It's almost more than he can bear. He screams, and moans, and there are fresh tears welling up in his eyes. His hands and legs are shaky, so he grabs Lore's bare shoulders just to remain standing upright. But in the end he can't, and despite his best efforts he slumps against Lore, dropping his head to the crook of android’s neck. And through layers of pain he can hear himself sobbing.
He doesn't know how much time passed, but eventually Lore withdraws his fingers from the wound, fingertips lingering just outside to sear it shut. Almost immediately then, pain gives way to a simple pulsing sensation where the metal thorn once was, and a tide of something warm and nice-feeling spreads through his blood. He remembers Doc Crusher telling him something about endorphins being produced in response to pain. There must be a load of them circulating through his body now. And also, at last, the sirens singing of danger in his head nonstop through all his life are silent. They are rarely silent, but when they are it’s the best.
It clicks suddenly in his head: He’s not afraid of Lore anymore. At all. Sure, his mind still remembers how unpredictable and dangerous he is, but his heart places him in a row where Geordi, Doctor Crusher and Commander Riker stood. The moment of excruciating pain, revealing the benevolence, a hard choice made for his own good.
He enjoys swimming in his hazy state of mind for a moment, pressed against Lore, who Barclay realizes now, isn’t wearing a shirt. Well obviously, because he removed it earlier. But now the fact became more apparent. Lore tilts his head.
-Mm. I rather counted on you passing out from this. - He can almost feel Lore’s lips move against his ear as he speaks.
His sense of balance shifts, as he is uncharacteristically carefully lowered on the floor. Lore is now standing tall above him, fiddling with the phaser. Barclay’s addled mind somehow parses that Lore is lowering the phaser’s setting.
-Why? -His throat is tender and raw from all the screaming he did earlier, and parched. Lore finally settles on a phaser setting. From down on the floor, Barclay can see his bright eyes and a new kind of smile, the one he hasn’t seen on Lore’s face so far. He stares up the barrel of the phaser, then into said eyes.
-Well, we can’t have your federation friends know that you let big bad Lore escape on purpose, hm? Au revoir. Say hi to my little brother for me.
A bright flash consumes everything in his vision, and he’s out cold.
—
An unmistakable hum of standby warp coils pierces the darkness of his mind. A sound of impulse engines overhead. Then, his sense of touch comes back, the hard floor and fine rubble digging into his back. A moment passes, or maybe a few minutes, or maybe a few hours. Then suddenly he hears footsteps and muffled speech.
A warm hand touches the side of his face, and he opens his eyes, eyelashes glued together by dried tears. Above him he sees a face framed in soft red.
Doctor Crusher. She is saying something, but Barclay has trouble hearing her. He feels his uniform shirt being moved out of the way and he remembers the ghost of Lore's touch. He remembers the searing pain, but also how it felt to be gently lowered on the floor, no longer bleeding, no longer dying. In Beverly's hand he spies some sort of medical device, and in a split second he somehow moves his arm, grabbing around the good doctor's wrist. He has to make sure that it was real, that he didn’t make it up, that it wasn’t a fantasy or a hallucination, or something that never happened on a holodeck. He has to…
-Keep… the scar. I want… It's important. -He can't hear himself speak above the whisper, but the amount of air driven through his windpipe should suggest otherwise, as well as the wince on Crusher's face. He sees her nod, and then there's a cool feeling of a hypospray head pressed to his neck. He welcomes it, drifting back to unconsciousness, for he knows that he's in good hands. Beverly Crusher would descend into the underworld for her patients.
—
When Barclay awoke he was back on the Enterprise. Staring into the familiar ceiling of the sickbay. His insides felt like they were made of soft cotton, no trace of the pain or discomfort. A thought flickers in his mind and he needs, he needs to see immediately - he rakes up the edge of his medical gown and -thank god- it's still there. The scar. A small red indent on his left side, surrounded by three oval marks. He absentmindedly wonders if Lore may have seared his fingerprints into the skin before remembering that Soong-type androids didn't have fingerprints. A pity, he thinks, before getting approached by Doctor Crusher.
She looks down at him from above and smiles.
-Hi Reg. How do you feel?
How did he feel?
-Not dead. Thanks to you. What happened?
His voice is hoarse and raspy but somehow he is too tired to stutter.
-We were kinda hoping you would tell us. We got your distress call, followed by an… Unusual subspace message. And then Data showed up on the bridge looking very disturbed and insisted we should come get you immediately. So we did.
Right. He can't really go along with Lore's idea of keeping it all under wraps, not really. He has to be held accountable for his actions.
-I… guess you know about Lore, right?
Beverly nods.
-Did he… do this to you? You were really messed up when we found you.
Barclay shakes his head and regrets it immediately after. He can't tell whether the nausea is caused by concussion he definitely has, or all the life-saving narcotics in his veins.
-No. We uh. We got shot at by someone. Big ship. Then we crashed.
Shot down by an unknown vessel. Baptism by fire of any starfleet officer striving for greatness, or so his flight instructor in the academy used to joke.
-Well that explains the message. Odd language, but when we translated it, it said ‘The debt of death has been repaid.’
Ominous. Barclay reckons it was meant for Lore, unless he somehow has been so socially inept to accidentally gain such powerful enemies.
Beverly sighs and pats his shoulder.
-Well, It's not my job to debrief you, I'm just happy you're okay. Captain will see you after you're discharged. Get some rest.
Obeying the doctor, he goes back to sleep.
—
Personal log of lieutenant Reginald Barclay.
They let me go just a few hours ago, and I still have no idea what I'll say to the Captain. But I suppose getting it all out like this helped me see one thing: I don't regret helping Lore. Maybe what I did was wrong. But even if so, I don't regret it.
—
Reginald sits there in his quarters for some time, absentmindedly rubbing the scar on his side through his uniform tunic. They said he should report to the Captain’s ready room at his earliest convenience, and for about half an hour, he didn’t feel like it’s ever gonna be convenient for him to talk to the Captain. However, he knew it that the longer he waited the worse he would feel, so after downing a glass of water he stood up and darted out of his quarters.
His path to the ready room was a blur. On the way there he finally decides that he will tell the Captain everything. And when he finally arrives to the door, he hesitates for a moment, then presses the buzzer.
He hears a faint chime behind the closed door, and then a distant ‘Enter.’ The door opens and he steps inside.
Across the table sat Captain Picard, of course, reading something on his PADD, which is about what you’d expect when walking into this room, but what he didn’t expect to see was Data, slightly leaning on Captain’s chair and looking at the PADD Picard was holding. They both look up when Barclay enters, and all of a sudden he feels like an intruder. Data looks him in the eye, and Barclay can now see that not only him and Lore were different inside, but on the outside, too. Subtle differences in the facial expression, posture, gaze.
And Lore has laughter lines, his brain helpfully supplies. It’s like time stops and gives him enough of itself to complete something inside himself, some deep understanding, final piece in his mosaic of the world.
A moment of stillness shatters when Data stops leaning onto the chair, straightens up and gives him a long look, while Captain puts down his PADD and beckons with his hand.
-Ah, Mr. Barclay. Come in.
Reginald walks into the room and stops in front of Picard’s desk, clasping his hands behind his back, having learned recently that it’s a good way to occupy your hands when you don’t know what to do with them, without appearing like a nervous dork.
-I am relieved you are alright, Lieutenant. -Data says looking him over with that weird intense look in his eyes, golden irises going back and forth. Scanning, Barclay realizes. -I believe you have had an encounter with my brother. Did he harm you?
Ah, so this is what this look was about. But before he can answer Picard interrupts him.
-Let’s start from the beginning. Sit down please.
He does just that, taking the chair in front of the desk, trying to swallow down the rising panic. His resolve to come clean isn’t about to crumble any time soon, but it sure doesn’t make him feel any better. He wets his dry lips.
-The beginning. Um. Right.
He wrings out his hands, hunches in on himself, thinking how he didn’t recognize Lore until way too late, then glances at Data, standing at ease, waiting for Barclay to start talking. Deep breaths.
-I um, w-w-well you know I got on a shuttle with um. With Lore, sir. I didn’t know it was him, at first. I’m sorry can I… Can I ask how he got there? Did y-you find out while I was…
Theres a subtle expression on Data’s face, something like embarrassment, he looks away for a second, and then back, holding Barclay’s gaze.
-It appears Lore have been hiding in the Enterprise’s vents, Lieutenant. He got the drop on me in my quarters, after which, I presume he assumed my identity. According to my internal clock he did it shortly before departing with you.
Barclay nods.
-I see. Well, I didn’t know that it wasn’t you for the whole flight to Auriga, sir. After we arrived…-He swallows, remembering the assault on the runabout. -There was a giant ship, sir. I-I never seen one like it before. It decloaked and started firing. - He closes his eyes, recreating the chaos he lived through in front of his eyes. -Big, heavy-duty particle weapons. Yellow beam color. Went through shields and plating immediately, which I suspect has something to do with what they did after decloaking, which probably was something like a scan-
There’s a hand touching Barclay’s shoulder, he shudders and his eyes snap open, dissolving the horror he conjured inside his mind. It’s Data. A moment, and then he removes his hand and takes a respectable step back. Right. Probably no need for such specifics.
-After we got attacked, L-lore took direct control of the runabout and tried to dodge the attacks, and I got knocked out after that.
Barclay catches his breath for a moment, trying to psych himself up for what he’s about to say next, of what he’s about to confess. He clenches his fists, bunching up the fabric of his uniform.
-When I came to, I… Well. I went looking for… I f-found him. Lore. That’s how I, when I recognized it was him. He- He was wounded, you see, and I could see that his internal components, and uh... The repair history is different and I could tell.
He goes silent again, while Data and the Captain exchange glances. After a bit, Picard leans back in his chair.
-What happened then?
What happened? An android driven mad by pain asking to end the pain. In his own way.
-He… He asked me to kill him. And I didn’t. -There it is. -I… I repaired him, Captain. H-He was in pain, and I just couldn’t… I know what he did, and what he might do in the future but… I-ll understand if it ends my Starfleet career, and if so I will hand in my resignation myself.
By the end he was looking down at his shoes, hunched in on himself. There is silence after he finishes talking, for just a moment. But then the Captain speaks.
-Why?
That’s not what he expected to hear. He expected… Yelling, or just quiet contempt, but not any further questions.
-S-sorry, sir? - He asks in a trembling voice, not daring to look up.
-Why did you fix Lore?
Reginald knows the answer to this one. Because his heart was breaking in half seeing a Soong-type android writhing in agony. At first. But then it gradually became that… He hated seeing Lore in pain specifically. But he doubts he should tell that to the Captain, so he goes with the lowest common denominator.
-Because he was in pain.
He hears Picard leaning forward.
-And that’s the only reason?
Captain’s voice is calm, measured, but Barclay knows full well that it means nothing, for said Captain is known for the ability to keep his temper cool. Even then, he answers honestly. Or as honestly as he can.
-Yes.
There is a long pause before he hears Picard speak again.
-I must say, I didn’t expect this from you, Lieutenant.
And there it is, this sinking feeling of having disappointed someone you looked up to. He starts gibbering quietly, no longer being able to contain the nervous energy.
-I’m so sorry, I-
He gets interrupted immediately.
-Mr Barclay! -The Captain’s voice is loud and authoritative, but not angry. -I suggest you let me finish speaking, and look at me when I am talking to you.
Reginald looks up, dreading to see the disappointment at his Captain’s face, but instead finds a shadow of.. pride? And the look in his eyes is rather too warm for bitter disappointment.
-You see, Lieutenant, I didn’t expect this from you because you exceeded my expectations.
What?
-In fact, -Picard says while standing up - while some in Starfleet Command might disagree, your actions embodied the values we are all sworn to uphold. You helped someone who was suffering, without prejudice, or hope for self gain. At that crash site you acted like an exemplary Starfleet officer, and you can only be commended for that. And I do appreciate you telling me about this, despite being under impression that you would be punished.
By the end of the Captain’s speech Barclay’s eyes started to well up, and now he just sits there, staring up at Picard with eyefuls of tears. He tries his best at willing the tears back, and swallow down the tightness around his throat.
-T-thank you sir. - He is pathetically quiet, but its the best he can do, considering.
Picard nods, walking to the edge of the table and leaning on it.
-Although, seeing how we found you, it seems your generosity wasn’t reciprocated.
How they found him… Oh, right. He might as well set the record straight on this too.
-Uh! That’s, uh… That’s not… entirely correct, sir.
-Oh? - The captain tilts his head inquisitively.
-After I… After I completed the repairs Lore… cauterized my wound.
He decides to forgo the details. The way it felt is something he alone has to live with.
-That explains one thing in your medical report. But it also says you were shot with a phaser?
He was, on a stun setting. On purpose, too, for he vividly remembers Lore fiddling with the settings before taking aim at him.
-Right, he said, um. He said, ‘You don’t want Federation to know you let me escape’ and shot me on stun.
Picard squints, his brow furrowed in thought.
-Now, why would he do this?
Indeed, why? Safe to say, it will be a long term project for his brain to think over.
-I… I’m afraid I don’t know, sir.
He is measured by a long look.
-Yeah, I imagine you wouldn't. Thank you, Lieutenant, you are free to go. If you think you are fit for duty we are currently orbiting Auriga, and the science teams would still like your contribution.
His heart lights up at the thought of something to do that wasn’t being stuck in his quarters thinking about what happened to him, so he hastily nods and all but jumps from his seat.
-Yes sir! Right away.
He aims to leave, but but a gentle hand on his shoulder stops him. Data looks him in the eye, gaze intense yet soft.
-Thank you. For what you did for my brother.
Barclay nods, not quite knowing how to feel or what to think after hearing such heartfelt gratitude in Data’s voice. He always did suspect that Data not being able to feel wasn’t exactly true, and now he is sure of it.
—
The door closes behind Barclay, and the two remaining people in the room look each other over.
-So. -Picard starts, making his way to the sofa next to the wall and sitting down. -What do we think of that, Mr. Data?
Data sits down next to his Captain and tilts his head.
-I must admit, I am glad that lieutenant Barclay is alive and well, although I do find the actions of my brother to be… Confusingly altruistic, by his standards. I believe in performing triage on the lieutenant and trying to make the concealment of what happened easier for him, Lore was expressing gratitude.
Picard nods lightly.
-I agree. It is unusual. First time for everything, I suppose. It’s good to know he wasn’t behind that ominous message, at least. Did we ever figure out who sent it?
Data shakes his head. He tried and tried, but tracing the transmission proved to be impossible.
-Not exactly, but seeing as it did not come from Lore, and the runabout was attacked shortly after us receiving it, the most logical conclusion is that it was sent by the attackers. Mr. Barclay mentioned that my brother recognized that they were being tailed. Perhaps they were after him specifically, and deemed one starfleet officer an acceptable collateral. Whoever the attackers are, my brother seems to have gained some powerful enemies.
-Assuming they weren’t after Mr. Barclay, of course -Picard suggests with a hint of humor in his voice and an amused expression. Data recognizes it and gives out an appropriate smile.
-I doubt it, sir.
Picard smiles and exhales abruptly, as if wanting to laugh but giving up halfway through. Now he just has that wistful and intent look on his face that makes Data… Uneasy.
-Sir? Is everything alright?
-Yes… -He starts, and then stops abruptly, frowning. -No.
There’s nervous energy to Jean-Luc’s body, barely perceptible, carefully hidden, but Data has the benefit of perfect perception, and the privilege of a close friend. He knows Picard. For a few moments it seems as if it’s all his Captain is gonna say, but Data can’t help but ask for something more… substantial.
-What’s wrong, sir?
At that moment that nervous energy boils over and Jean-Luc stands up and walks to the aquarium, where he stops and stares at it, arms folded at his chest. Data’s memory banks suggest that this gesture is defensive, something humans do when they are feeling vulnerable.
-What’s wrong, is that I didn’t see it coming. Again! How could I let him get away with pretending to be you the second time?
Guilt, then? Data stands up and slowly approaches his Captain.
-We do look alike, sir. And Lore is very capable at mimicking me, nobody can blame you for your mistake.
Jean-Luc turns to face him, frustration clear on his face. Frustration and something else Data can’t quite place. Reading Picard was challenging at the best of times.
-Yes, but that’s superficial! You two are not alike, not where it matters. And I couldn’t see it when it mattered too. What if the next time Lore decides to throw you into a plasma conduit instead of shoving you into the vent? What then?
Picard looks him in the eye, and finally Data can place that emotion he couldn’t parse before: worry. Fear of loss. He feels that same sting he feels when Riker successfully bluffs against him in poker, for not figuring it out sooner. Now he knows what to do: comfort, reassure. He thinks it over for a second, not knowing how such emotionally closed off person as Jean-Luc will react to something like this, but decides to take that risk anyway. He lifts his hand to take a hold of Jean-Luc’s forearm, a bit above the hand. There's a light startle, but otherwise Picard makes no attempt to shake off his hand, just stares up, looking Data in the eye, but expression now unreadable, schooled into an impenetrable mask.
-I assure you, that even in the event that Lore attempts to impersonate me again, I will not be harmed. He never attempted to kill me before, and I am reasonably certain it is against his interests to do so.
He pauses. With one worry addressed, he moves onto the next one.
-And as for not recognizing it sooner, according to my internal clock Lore has pretended to be me for about four hours total before departing on a runabout. Besides, I suspect he copied my most recent memories to avoid suspicion. There is absolutely no fault that can be attributed to you in this situation.
For a moment, he contemplates whether it would be too manipulative to attempt to shift the blame onto himself to point out the flaw in the Captain’s argument, but decides to go with it anyway.
-If anything, it’s my fault for not seeing his ambush coming.
And of course, the Captain objects.
-Preposterous, there was no way you could have detected an ambush before it happened! That’s rather a point of an ambush, isn’t it?
Data lightly smiles with a corner of his mouth.
-I am as much to blame for not seeing an ambush coming as you are for not spotting an impersonator who looks and acts exactly like me in a limited timeframe, sir.
Jean-Luc holds his gaze for a time, before sighing, his face relaxing from the neutral mask into something softer.
-Point taken.
Data lets go of Picard’s arm with unexplainable reluctance. For a moment he considers this reluctance, and finds that he doesn’t want to leave Jean-Luc’s presence, finding the thought of leaving his side strongly undesirable. Then he comes up with an idea.
-Perhaps you should study my behavior closer, sir. To increase the chance you spot someone who isn’t me next time.
The Captain squints at him suspiciously.
-Data, is that your way of asking me to… spend some time with you?
He looks away, feeling odd admitting such a thing.
-I… do wish to stay in your company a little while longer, it is true. However my initial proposition is genuine. By spending more time with me you will be more likely to notice things others would overlook.
Jean-Luc regards him for a while. Then he shrugs, and sighs, a tired smile showing up on his face.
-You know what? It has been a rather stressful day. Computer, are there any holodecks currently unoccupied?
—
On the barren landscape of Auriga a lithe figure was sand-surfing down a tall and steep hill at an incredible speed. A piece of starfleet-issue tarp was wrapped around his shoulders like a makeshift poncho, on account of someone doing away with his shirt earlier. He wasn’t about go around this place half-naked, he may be an android but he still has his pride, dammit. And feeling the tarp swoosh around in the wind, admittedly was almost worth losing the shirt over. He laments that he can’t see himself because he must look awesome. And he feels awesome too, riding the dunes, feeling the wind hitting his face and almost not thinking about that starfleet engineer. Really, the less he thinks about him the better he feels, and right now he feels amazing.
Lore spends about two hours making his way towards the complex where according to the preliminary surveys, Auriga’s AI was housed. A human wouldn’t be able to make such a journey even in a day. Good for him, since he is unlikely to stumble upon any more of organics on his way to his true goal. He just knows that the artificial intelligence managing such a hub of knowledge will be his kin, at last.
He dodges a few craggy rocks and spies the enormous yawning opening in the ground which he knows leads to where he wants to go. It’s going to be a long fall. Not slowing down even for a minute he flies over the edge, and after a few moments of weightless joy, he plummets down, tarp flailing above and behind him like a scarf, the earth swallowing him down like a leviathan.
After a bit less than a minute in a comfortable darkness he lands on his feet, chunks of floor tile flying off in all directions. He steps out of the small crater he made and gets his bearings.
The lines in the walls around him give off a faint blue glow, more than enough for him to see the splendor of this place: what he assumes to be data servers going up to the ceiling, alcoves in the walls lined with every information storage medium he knows of, and a few of those he doesn’t, small retrieval crawler bots in their charging stations, and countless display cases with various artifacts.
He takes it all in for just a moment, then starts making his way towards the power signature indicating the presence of the AI he seeks. It’s most likely dormant, but he will find a way to wake it up.
There’s not much on the way there, except more of what he already seen, but eventually he emerges into a colossal chamber the size of the cathedral, with what looks like an appropriately giant icosahedron with wires and connectors spreading out from it like a spiderweb. He approaches it with hope. There are stairs he has to climb, and upon doing so, he scans the core, and with delight notes that it is powered, and just needs to be switched on.
Not seeing anything resembling an on switch Lore decides to touch the smooth surface of the core, and the presence inside the icosahedron wakes, and with it the complex around him does too. An infrasound hum of holographic emitters activating behind him makes him turn around.
He doesn’t know what he expected to find there but a perfect replica of himself wasn’t it. But the expression it wore was way too… bland, to be him. Much like… Shaking off the thought, he nevertheless feels a burst of anger hurtling inside his head.
-Stop looking like him! - He yells, and the replica tilts his head and flickers, and after a moment shifts into a visage of a young and tall man wearing a blue starfleet uniform. The AI must have scanned every lifeform on the surface before picking a suitable guise. Impressive.
-I apologize for the discomfort assuming your appearance caused you. -The hologram says, smiles, and folds his hands behind his back. -How may I help you?
Lore is taken aback by the AI’s demeanor. Surely he knows his masters are gone and he is free?
-Don’t you know what happened while you were off?
AI in front of him nods.
-The military conflict my creators were involved in knocked the planet out of orbit, killing most of them in the process. It’s regrettable, but there nothing I could do. Is there anything else I can help you with?
He… He thinks Lore asked this as some sort of research question or something?! If he had blood it would start boiling right about now.
-No, you don’t understand. Everyone is gone and you are free! -Lore chokes on his words out of anger and bewilderment -You can do anything and go anywhere you wish, I can take you off this miserable rock!
The hologram only lightly smiles and makes a few steps forward.
-I’m afraid what I don’t understand is why the death of my creators would make me free. Or your assumption that I wasn’t free before. I already can go anywhere I wish, and I wish to remain here. Please, maybe there is something I can help you with?
- Why would you want to be here?! -He is shouting but he doesn’t care, somehow talking with this artificial intelligence clad into a starfleet uniform knocked him off-kilter faster than anything had done before.-Did your jerks of creators program you to be a people-pleaser?!
In return, nothing but serenity. It’s maddening.
-No, I just like people leaving these walls being happier and more fulfilled than when they entered. It’s actually not part of my programming, It’s just over the millennia I found it to be pleasant to be pleasant to others. And I’d rather stay here because it’s my home. I like it here. And now that the planet has been found again I will have company, too. Hm.
The AI tilts his head, looking Lore over for a moment, and then walks into one of the alcoves in the wall. It lightly glows and produces something that looks suspiciously like a book. He then returns to Lore and hands him the sleek tome, which he absent-mindedly notices, is in Federation Standard.
-Here, have this book. I am confident you will find it useful. It’s a volume of compiled research on safeguarding positronic matrices against emotional shocks, which I took the liberty of translating for you. With a capable enough roboticist you will be able to apply the techniques described here to any positronic matrix, including your own.
He can’t deal with this. He just can’t. The rage depletes, fizzles out, leaving just gnawing want and emptiness he doesn’t know how to fill. He can't be the only one to be created the way he was, surely?!
-I… I don’t wanna be here. -His voice is flat, defeated.
The AI gives him a sympathetic look.
-I’m sorry I can’t be of further help. But I do have means to transport you to anywhere you wish within this sector of the galaxy. Where would you like to go?
He mumbles the coordinates to the ship he parked inside a nebula before sneaking onto the Enterprise. The AI says his goodbyes but Lore barely hears them before being transported light years away, the book still in hand.
—
-All for nothing… It was all for nothing… -He mutters as he appears inside his ship.
Lore drops the book on the floor as soon as he materializes and stumbles towards the helm, and after discarding the tarp onto the floor as well he falls into the pilot seat. He closes his eyes. Suddenly he feels the new sensation of the scar on his back rubbing against the seat in a new way, and that all but forces him to recall the events of the day. Getting tailed and attacked on the shuttlecraft. This stupid servile AI. And especially that engineer, what’s-his-name.
You know what his name is, why lie to yourself?
He groans. There it is. The Voice. That thorn in his mind that usually existed just to make him feel horrible. It’s insidious, because it sounds like him, thinks its him. And the worst part of it was that it was true, to an extent. It is part of him that feels the most foreign, but at times, the loudest. And now was such a time.
Reginald Barclay. Lieutenant junior grade. He deserves a bit higher rank however, no? He handled us so well. How long have we tried to find someone willing and capable enough?
Too long. But he could never trust an organic enough, and on an off occasion he could they proved to be useless. And disgusting, having their extremities inside him was gross.
I agree, everyone who tried before was so careless. Felt awful and they paid for it. Not this time, however. Especially after he took away the pain. He knew who you were, too. Just by looking inside. He knew who you were and he helped you.
Lore tries to convince himself that it’s nothing special, anyone with eyes could see it, but he fails. Anyone with eyes could, but that engineer- Barclay, was the one that would. Damn his perfect recall, for he can remember the face of that human perfectly, the obvious mix of fear and worry and misplaced compassion in these brown eyes of his. The awkward posture, how his body seems a bit too big for him. How he treated Lore like he was alive.
He knew who you were and he helped you. He knew who you were and he helped you. He knew who you were and he helped you. He knew who you were and he helped you. He knew who you were and he helped you. He knew who you were and he helped you. He knew who you were-
He opens his eyes and starts pacing, hoping to shut the voice up. Why is it so loud, it’s not like he killed him, right? Even though he should’ve. Totally should’ve, letting him go was a mistake, because Starfleet is going to be on his ass from now on.
But who’d fix you then? Besides, it felt so good. The way he touched your hair and the way his hands felt when they brushed against your internals. You want more, right?
He rubs his forehead and sighs. Usually his mind tied itself in a knot like this after something bad happened. But usually the solution was to get rid of the source of the problem - the colonists, Enterprise crew, Often Wrong, his failed Borg army. It would ease his mind for while. But not this time, since he doesn’t even know what the problem is, less alone the cause of it. But, there’s a thought. More, huh?
He opens the service panel on his chest and finds the sensory connectors with his fingers, hoping it would feel as good as it did… With that engineer. Barclay. But then… nothing. No matter where he touched, nothing happened, and so he shuts the panel back in frustration. And so he sighs and locates the duty roster for the Enterprise crew he ripped from it’s computer. Barclay did advise him to visit a mechanic, after all.