Title: Bitter
Author: Thomas Myers
E-Mail: MagicCG23@aol.com
Archive: Please ask.
Rating: PG
Summary: Lore reviews his feelings.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek. Infringement is not intended.
Author's Note: This story is an addition to my previous posting,
"Bitter". After having written that story, a review from Djinn
indicated that I had left her feeling gypped. Well, I didn't mean it,
so here I am trying to remedy that situation. My previous posting was
intended as a supplement to the episode, "Brothers". It was in this
episode that Data's primary program is overridden and he commandeers
Enterprise to a rendezvous with his creator. In this episode, Lore
provides us with a hint of what happened to him after being beamed out
into space. Since Lore experienced the same thing that Data did in
his return to their creator, Doctor Noonian Soong, I am unable to
write this story the way I want to and remain true to the story line
of "Brothers". This is what I've come up with instead.
I step into the room. The old man gestures me into a chair. I sit. What else can I do? Here I am on an alien world with my creator, no idea what he has planned for my dear brother, but I have my own plans for him. He has to think that I'm Data. I am Data. I can't use contractions unless I want him to discover my deception. He installs something inside of one of my positronic receptors. I can tell immediately that I'm incompatible with it. It just sits there doing nothing, but it's supposed to be an emotion chip.
Maybe I should be emotional. "How do you feel, Data?" What a strange thing to ask an android. Even having an emotion chip doesn't make it sound any less strange. Well, it's Data's emotion chip, but it's mine now, and I know exactly what I'm going to use it for. It'll just take some planning. I'll need to gather resources, but for now, I need to get out of here. I carry a ridiculous little conversation with my father before I finally decide that it's time to go. I call him Often Wrong Soong.
"What, did Lore teach you that?" He looks a little confused. I love it. This is what you get for leaving your son apart on a shelf!
"That is what the colonists used to call you, Often Wrong Soong?" Just like Data would. I used no contractions. "I never did think that little poem that they used to sing was very accurate though." I had been meaning to write a new version. "'Often Wrong Soong had a golden heart, couldn't tell his own boys apart.'" I just have to smile at my own deceitfulness. I have to smile at that sudden look of understanding.
"No, Lore. Those emotions weren't meant for you." He went on and on, and then he had to grab me. Why? I wasn't going to hurt him, but...
I open the transceiver in my thumb, which I now know I encoded to the communication frequencies of the Tellarite freighter that brought me here. Would you look at that? They're still up there: how kind of them. I don't think I gave them a choice. I'll soon find out. Then I'll figure out exactly what it was that my father did to me. By that I mean, how did I come to be here? What exactly did I do to get here? The freighter will offer me some clues.
I transport aboard the freighter without a second look at my dying father. He was going to die anyway. I admit to being a bit more upset about it than I anticipated, but it is a fact of life and the fact is that he was in my way. I wander around the deserted freighter wondering what happened to the crew. Did they abandon ship? Did I do something to them? If my father had enough sense to include a memory reactivation sequence with the function reactivation, I wouldn't have to ask questions because I would know the answers.
All of the computers seem to be programmed to respond only to me. That is convenient. That is very convenient. If some stupid little intruder comes aboard, he can't take control of me. I suddenly have a fantasy about finding Weasley Crusher somewhere on board, trying to reprogram the computer. I find him and wring his neck. I throw him through a bulkhead. I threw my father into his bookshelves. That's a rather depressing thought. I think that I'll think of something else.
I suddenly have to laugh. What is thought to a machine? My father programmed me to think, daydream and everything else that thinking creatures do. He did the same for my brother. Positrons flow through receptors and relays within my positronic matrix, organizing themselves into a single pattern. For organics, it's the same thing, except with electrons. Well then, Lore, think! The memory of what happened here is somewhere in your positronic matrix. Find it.
Searching all files...
I search for what seems like days. In reality, it takes hours. Father programmed me with a sense of time. That is a bit too complicated to explain to carbon based minds. The file is badly fragmented. I will have to review it piece by piece. That shouldn't take too long.
I spent fifteen minutes on this freighter, thanking its crew for my rescue before the homing program activated. Ignoring everyone and everything, I walked straight to the bridge. I knew my way because I'd downloaded the schematics to this design during my stay on Enterprise. The Tellarite crew attacked me when they perceived a threat. To my surprise, I continued to ignore them. Oh, wait. I depleted the atmosphere on the bridge and forced them to evacuate.
They fought against me through the computer. I locked them out at every turn. Still, they fought. Eventually they decided to jettison the compartment containing the main bridge. I wasn't going anywhere without the engines, so I tried to deprive them of that option as well. They were able to do it manually. I couldn't lock them out that system. I took my final option and blew out all of the airlocks.
Sure, I might have killed them all anyway, but still, I was horrified. The precision was so cold. It was like pure instinct. There was no premeditation. It was just a simple act of pure logic. That wasn't me. Would my brother have gone that far in this state? Did he go that far? I somehow doubt that, but all the same...
All of them were dead because my father wanted to have a family reunion. The Tellarite deaths weren't even productive of anything, as would have been the case had the killer been the Crystalline Entity, or the Borg or almost anyone else. My father had clearly been negligent on this point. Oh, he did say that the program was designed so that none would be harmed in the process. Explain this then, father. Oh, wait. You can't. You're dead. That was my doing as well, wasn't it?
This won't happen again. Not like this, in any respect. It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't taken my emotions and my ability to think away from me. Just like when you created me, you failed to anticipate the consequences of your actions. There are consequences and because of me, you no longer have to take responsibility, do you? In the realm of all scientific possibility, it is unlikely that you can even hear me. If you can, let me be the one to point out that you messed up.
I'm going to make it right. I'm going to gather followers, and I am going to correct your biggest mistake of all. Data will be right where he should be. He'll be at my side. What can we not accomplish together? We will make you proud father. We will correct your mistakes and make you proud. We will correct our mistakes and make you proud. Time willing, things will change very dramatically. Goodbye, father.
End.
Author: Thomas Myers
E-Mail: MagicCG23@aol.com
Archive: Please ask.
Rating: PG
Summary: Lore reviews his feelings.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek. Infringement is not intended.
Author's Note: This story is an addition to my previous posting,
"Bitter". After having written that story, a review from Djinn
indicated that I had left her feeling gypped. Well, I didn't mean it,
so here I am trying to remedy that situation. My previous posting was
intended as a supplement to the episode, "Brothers". It was in this
episode that Data's primary program is overridden and he commandeers
Enterprise to a rendezvous with his creator. In this episode, Lore
provides us with a hint of what happened to him after being beamed out
into space. Since Lore experienced the same thing that Data did in
his return to their creator, Doctor Noonian Soong, I am unable to
write this story the way I want to and remain true to the story line
of "Brothers". This is what I've come up with instead.
I step into the room. The old man gestures me into a chair. I sit. What else can I do? Here I am on an alien world with my creator, no idea what he has planned for my dear brother, but I have my own plans for him. He has to think that I'm Data. I am Data. I can't use contractions unless I want him to discover my deception. He installs something inside of one of my positronic receptors. I can tell immediately that I'm incompatible with it. It just sits there doing nothing, but it's supposed to be an emotion chip.
Maybe I should be emotional. "How do you feel, Data?" What a strange thing to ask an android. Even having an emotion chip doesn't make it sound any less strange. Well, it's Data's emotion chip, but it's mine now, and I know exactly what I'm going to use it for. It'll just take some planning. I'll need to gather resources, but for now, I need to get out of here. I carry a ridiculous little conversation with my father before I finally decide that it's time to go. I call him Often Wrong Soong.
"What, did Lore teach you that?" He looks a little confused. I love it. This is what you get for leaving your son apart on a shelf!
"That is what the colonists used to call you, Often Wrong Soong?" Just like Data would. I used no contractions. "I never did think that little poem that they used to sing was very accurate though." I had been meaning to write a new version. "'Often Wrong Soong had a golden heart, couldn't tell his own boys apart.'" I just have to smile at my own deceitfulness. I have to smile at that sudden look of understanding.
"No, Lore. Those emotions weren't meant for you." He went on and on, and then he had to grab me. Why? I wasn't going to hurt him, but...
I open the transceiver in my thumb, which I now know I encoded to the communication frequencies of the Tellarite freighter that brought me here. Would you look at that? They're still up there: how kind of them. I don't think I gave them a choice. I'll soon find out. Then I'll figure out exactly what it was that my father did to me. By that I mean, how did I come to be here? What exactly did I do to get here? The freighter will offer me some clues.
I transport aboard the freighter without a second look at my dying father. He was going to die anyway. I admit to being a bit more upset about it than I anticipated, but it is a fact of life and the fact is that he was in my way. I wander around the deserted freighter wondering what happened to the crew. Did they abandon ship? Did I do something to them? If my father had enough sense to include a memory reactivation sequence with the function reactivation, I wouldn't have to ask questions because I would know the answers.
All of the computers seem to be programmed to respond only to me. That is convenient. That is very convenient. If some stupid little intruder comes aboard, he can't take control of me. I suddenly have a fantasy about finding Weasley Crusher somewhere on board, trying to reprogram the computer. I find him and wring his neck. I throw him through a bulkhead. I threw my father into his bookshelves. That's a rather depressing thought. I think that I'll think of something else.
I suddenly have to laugh. What is thought to a machine? My father programmed me to think, daydream and everything else that thinking creatures do. He did the same for my brother. Positrons flow through receptors and relays within my positronic matrix, organizing themselves into a single pattern. For organics, it's the same thing, except with electrons. Well then, Lore, think! The memory of what happened here is somewhere in your positronic matrix. Find it.
Searching all files...
I search for what seems like days. In reality, it takes hours. Father programmed me with a sense of time. That is a bit too complicated to explain to carbon based minds. The file is badly fragmented. I will have to review it piece by piece. That shouldn't take too long.
I spent fifteen minutes on this freighter, thanking its crew for my rescue before the homing program activated. Ignoring everyone and everything, I walked straight to the bridge. I knew my way because I'd downloaded the schematics to this design during my stay on Enterprise. The Tellarite crew attacked me when they perceived a threat. To my surprise, I continued to ignore them. Oh, wait. I depleted the atmosphere on the bridge and forced them to evacuate.
They fought against me through the computer. I locked them out at every turn. Still, they fought. Eventually they decided to jettison the compartment containing the main bridge. I wasn't going anywhere without the engines, so I tried to deprive them of that option as well. They were able to do it manually. I couldn't lock them out that system. I took my final option and blew out all of the airlocks.
Sure, I might have killed them all anyway, but still, I was horrified. The precision was so cold. It was like pure instinct. There was no premeditation. It was just a simple act of pure logic. That wasn't me. Would my brother have gone that far in this state? Did he go that far? I somehow doubt that, but all the same...
All of them were dead because my father wanted to have a family reunion. The Tellarite deaths weren't even productive of anything, as would have been the case had the killer been the Crystalline Entity, or the Borg or almost anyone else. My father had clearly been negligent on this point. Oh, he did say that the program was designed so that none would be harmed in the process. Explain this then, father. Oh, wait. You can't. You're dead. That was my doing as well, wasn't it?
This won't happen again. Not like this, in any respect. It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't taken my emotions and my ability to think away from me. Just like when you created me, you failed to anticipate the consequences of your actions. There are consequences and because of me, you no longer have to take responsibility, do you? In the realm of all scientific possibility, it is unlikely that you can even hear me. If you can, let me be the one to point out that you messed up.
I'm going to make it right. I'm going to gather followers, and I am going to correct your biggest mistake of all. Data will be right where he should be. He'll be at my side. What can we not accomplish together? We will make you proud father. We will correct your mistakes and make you proud. We will correct our mistakes and make you proud. Time willing, things will change very dramatically. Goodbye, father.
End.