:PLEASE READ:::
When I first started on this site years ago, I had a different penname with a few stories underway. I've since deleted that penname, and saved the stories I was working on, and now I am slowly starting the process of bringing them back onto the site under this new name.
This story was published originally a short while after Star Trek: Nemesis came out. It is based mostly on the movie itself and the novelized version, and it probably won't make a lot of sense if you haven't seen the movie. It also makes references to several TNG episodes, such as The Most Toys, Sarek, The Next Phase, and Encounter at Farpoint. Some of these won't really make much of an impact, but it might be hard to understand certain parts of the story if you don't know what the episode is about. I'm posting all of what I had already written (three short chapters) at one time into one large, extended chapter. More will hopefully up within the next month or two, and I hope to finish before too long. Hope you all enjoy, and all disclaimers apply.
Summary: B4 remembers more and more of Data's memories, and that makes an impact on friends his brother left behind.
I never what a friend was until I met Geordi. He spoke to me as though I were human. He treated me no differently from anyone else. He accepted me for what I am. And that, I have learned, is friendship. But I do not know how to say goodbye.
-Data in The Next Phase, when Geordi is believed to be dead.
Remembering Blue Skies
Chapter One
His brother was talking. B4 could hear him...but he didn't pay much attention. He was in a great room, with lights...and noises...
Something was plugged into the back of his head, so fast he almost didn't notice it. A wire...or a cord? Why was it there?
"I can't believe the Captain went along with the memory download," a voice remarked. A soft voice...who was the 'captain'?
"If my memory engrams are successfully integrated into his positronic matrix, he should have all my abilities." His brother's voice sounded like B4, and he found that very amusing...but what abilities? His brother's? More people moved on the background in the room with lights, and the lights seemed to get brighter as B4 raptly looked from one to another, not concentrating on any certain one, but rather allowing his eyes to move where they pleased, to explore what they wanted to explore...
"Yeah...but he'd have all your memories as well," the soft voice parried. "You feel comfortable with that?"
Memories? B4 didn't have memories. He remembered the tall man with the furry face, though...
"I feel nothing, Geordi..." his brother replied...
...His brother was talking again...
"I must deactivate you." He couldn't move...his brother said he was dangerous...
B4 didn't feel dangerous...Deactivate me?
"For how long?" B4 asked, staring with a strange curiousity at his android brother Data. His brother paused slightly, before continuing, his eyes mirroring B4's.
"Indefinately," he replied, almost sadly...B4 didn't understand. What was indefinitely?
"How long is that?"
"A long time, brother..." Before he had a chance to say anything else, Data twisted the tool at the back of B4's neck, and as it did, the world around him went black, taking with it his brother's mournful face...
B4 sat alone in Captain Picard's quarters, slowly and methodically piecing together the words of the melody that, for some strange reason beyond his comprehension, had suddenly entered his mind, and seemed so familiar.
I was blue, just as blue as I could be
Everyday was a cloudy day for me
Then good luck came a-knocking at my door
Skies were gray, but they're not gray anymore
The simple words to the song had had an effect on the Captain. He had left B4 alone, leaving him to gather up motivation to continue reciting the strange tune. It had changed his eyes, B4 decided. They were shinier, he thought, his primitive positronic brain mulling over it. It was just like the look his brother had given him...but shinier...
Just like his head, B4 remembered. The Captain had a shiny head...
He had talked about his brother, B4 remembered, shifting tracks completely in his mind. He said that Data had helped them become more human...helped them became something that he had always aspired to be...B4 couldn't comprehend this-his brother was an android. Androids were not humans. It was all very confusing. Nevertheless, B4 had the overwhelming urge to continue the song, a song he had never heard, but yet he knew every word...
Blue skies, smiling at me
Nothing but blue skies
Do I see
This time, the song brought a memory...but not one of B4's. At first, B4 was sure what it was (granted, he did not know what many things were), but there was something about it...Alaska.
The word came without warning to B4, and in one flash described everything, but also told him nothing. What was an Alaska? Something important, B4 decided. But there were many people...why? B4 wondered.
Bluebirds, singing a song
Nothing but bluebirds
All day long
Riker. A name appeared with the memory, and this time, it brought a face...a very fuzzy, familiar, face...
"Ri-ker." B4 spoke it aloud slowly; the familiarity of it was strange, but for some reason, felt right. He knew who Riker was...but he didn't...And there were others, too...
Never saw the sun...shining so bright
Never saw things going so right
Noticing the days hurrying by
When you're in love, my how they fly...
Troi...Worf...Geordi. A funny name, B4 decided.Geordi...the name held an even stronger familiarity than Riker. Geordi LaForge...that was it.
"I've never been to a better funeral..." That wasn't right. What was a funeral? Geordi was...dead? That wasn't right either.
Lost...he was lost, not dead. They thought he was, but he wasn't. He was lost. But they brought him back...Who are they? B4 wondered. Lost? B4 was very confused...
Blue days, all of them gone
Nothing but blue skies
From now onI should care if the wind blows east or west
I should fret if the worst looks like the best
I should mind if they say it can be true
I should smile, that's exactly what I do
Over? Was that it? B4 didn't understand the meaning, or why he knew it now. He didn't know Riker...or Geordior Alaska. But something did, inside of him. But he didn't have the motivation to pursue it any further.
But he liked the song...and felt the need to start over again...
Blue skies, smiling at me...
Nothing but blue skies, do I see...
Geordi La Forge never fully realized how much Data meant to him until he was forced to endure life without him. It had been only mere weeks that Data had been gone, yet it seemed impossible that Geordi could turn a corner without expecting to run into the android, or call to Data's quarters, and hear his friend's voice answer.
It was like a knife was plunged into his heart whenever he was on the bridge, and had to see the Ops position filled by a fresh faced ensign, and not the bright familiar face of the curious android. And it was even worse when he saw the B4. The knife would twist, bringing pangs of sadness so overwhelming that Geordi didn't know if he would be able to bear it.
The android looked and sounded exactly like Data, but yet, Geordi knew he would never be the same. He couldn't match the curiosity, the passion to be human that his friend had. The passion to be better than he was-tohave the emotion to feelbetter than he was. B4 could barely remember what ship he was on, much less all of the memories that Data had downloaded into the prototype before he sacrificed him self aboard the Scimitar. Every time Geordi saw him, he always half thought it could be Data-that they had been wrong about what they had seen. That the explosion and the fight and the Thalaron radiation was all a horrible nightmare...
I was not lost in the Thalaron matrix, Data would say in his matter of fact voice. You must have been mistaken. And life would go on...but it wasn't a nightmare. It was all a terrible, horrible reality...
Geordi walked down the corridor of the Enterprise-E, shaking himself out of his fantasies, and rubbed his red eyes tiredly. Wake up, La Forge, he muttered to himself. Dwelling on Data wouldn't bring him back. Nothing would. He had cried for his best friend, the whole crew had, and they had wished a million times over that it hadn't happened- but Geordi knew wishing would never help. It wouldn't bring back Data, and he knew he couldn't cry forever, but sometimes, he had to admit, it was too difficult to hold them back.
So Geordi had adopted the task of going through Data's belongings shortly after his death, but had put it off for some time after. The feeling that Data would still be there haunted him, but he knew he couldn't put it off any longer. He had gone to Data's quarters eventually, taking Worf with him. Having Worf there with him gave him some stability-or at least, kept him from breaking down.
But Data had accumulated so many memories, so many paintings and books and Sherlock Holmes costumes and Starfleet medals that it was impossible to erase his presence from the room with one trip. So Geordi had returned, somewhat methodolically, to finish the task.
The room was so filled with Data's existence that it was almost intoxicating-Geordi could remember every time he had sat with Data in those very quarters, humoring Data on how to teach his orange cat Spot to behave, or designing their next Sherlock Holmes holodeck adventure. Granted, Data could remember every single line by heart-he could remember anything and everything he had done in a nanosecond, he didn't need to relive them over and over again. But he did.Every mystery, every adventure, every failed comedy program he had activated on the holodeck. Every mission, every face, everything with the accuracy of a super computer. But Geordi had never thought of him as a machine- he was never anything less than a friend-the fact that he was an android didn't matter...it hadn't mattered to anyone...
"Hey!" Geordi snapped out of his thoughts as he nearly tripped over an ensign kneeling next to the corridor wall, a welding device in his hands, repairing a wall panel. WAKE UP GEORDI! He thought again, shaking himself.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly to young ensign. The ensign gave him a good natured smile.
"That's okay, sir," he said, "I should have said something before you got too close." Geordi couldn't help but smile a little at the ensign's earnest face-he couldn't EVER remember being THAT young...
"Yeah, well, it was my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going," Geordi said, side stepping the ensign and continuing to walk down the corridor. "I'll, uh, let you finish what you were doing..."
"Aye, sir...and sir?" Geordi turned back to the ensign, who had scrambled to his feet, and was now looking at him with sorrowful and pitying eyes.
Oh no...Geordi thought with dismay. Here we go again...
"I'm sorry about Commander Data, sir," the ensign said, his voice betraying a hint of sadness. Geordi steeled himself against the wave of sadness breaking on him, and nodded slightly at the ensign.
"Thank you," he muttered, and turned back down the hallway, leaving the ensign behind him. The sentiment was appriciated, but so many people had tried to console him since Data had gone,and Geordi knew they could never really understand. None of them had he knew him as well as he had-or as well as the Captain or Riker or Troi had. Or any of them.
Geordi continued his walk down the corridor, trying to forget the ensign encounter, and turned his attention to the repair crews who were diligently working on the damaged corridor. He was amazed at the lack of damage there was on the surface of the walls and consoles. Less than a week before, the very hallway he was walking in had been a battlefield against the Reman intruders. Now, only a scratch remained every now and then, left over from the newer engineering crews that had repaired the gashes and the circuitry.
Data and I could have done it better, Geordi thought wryly, running a finger over a raised bump on the welding on the surface of a panel. A lot better...
The B4 walked down the hallway of the Enterprise-E, looking bemusedly at the many lights and doors he saw as he walked.
He had left the Captain' quarters a while before; he had run out of things to look at in there. But in the corridor, there was plenty to explore, so many lights down from the ceiling above him, and hundreds of different buttons and consoles and panels ran down the walls. Not that he had any clue what they were for-but they sure looked nice.
B4 turned down another long, deserted corridor, and found himself stopping at a set of shiny doors. Before he could examine them, they slid open swiftly to reveal a tiny room with even more lights.
Why? He wondered. He took a step into the tiny room, and had only a moment to access his surroundings before the doors unexpectedly slid shut again behind him. He paid little attention to this, and instead turned to peer at the many buttons on the room's wall.
"Fascin-nay-ting," he said, drawing the word out. He wasn't really sure why he said it, but it sounded like the right thing to say, so he said it again.
"Fascinating."
A voice from the ceiling interrupted B4 from his 'fascination'.
"Please state your destination," the voice asked crisply, echoing slightly off the walls of the tiny room. B4 looked at the ceiling, wondering where the voice had come from, but before he could ask his question (why?) something else came out of his mouth.
"Deck Seven."Deck seven? What is deck seven? The words seem to mean something, like Riker and Geordi and Alaska...but what was it?
Something was on Deck seven, B4 knew. How he knew he wasn't sure, but he knew there was something up there.
And then he felt himself flying upwards, the force of something pushing him and up and up, higher and higher--
B4 jerked his head down to look at his feet-but they were not moving. But how could he be going up...if his feet were not moving?
Turbolift, he thought. That was it. A turbolift. He had been on these before...he was sure...somewhere...
The turbolift came to a stop seconds later, halting gracefully, and opening its doors to show yet another hallway to walk down. Carefully, B4 stepped out of the turbolift, and made his way down this new hallway.
It looked the same as the others, but there was something about it that B4 didn't gather; couldn't focus his less-advanced positronic pathways on...
Nevertheless he kept walking, this time not knowing what he was doing...or why.
"Here's the last report, Captain."
Jean-Luc Picard mentally shook himself awake, and managed to look interested as he took the new report from the dark haired ensign.
"Thank you, Ensign..." Racking his brain, Picard tried desprately to remember the young man's name.
"Roberts, sir," the ensign supplied, sounding somewhat annoyed. Picard couldn't blame him-it was the fifth time that day that he had forgotten the name, and he could see that the Ensign was not too happy about it. I wouldn't be to thrilled either if my Captain couldn't remember a simple name like Roberts after two weeks, Picard thought wryly.
"...Roberts, yes. Thank you," Picard nodded at the ensign, and the ensign nodded back politely.
"You're welcome, sir." Turning, the ensign made his way back to the turbolift from which he had come, and stepped into it. "Engineering," he announced, and the turbolift doors whisked shut, and the ensign disappeared.
Picard blew out an exhausted breath, and rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly. He hadn't gotten much sleep in the past two weeks, and he doubted it was going to get any better. He'd gone to sickbay twice, but everything the new ship's doctor had prescribed hadn't helped, and he couldn't bring himself to see the new ship's counselor-it had been hard enough just to walk into sickbay without having Beverly there to greet him. Stifling a yawn, he read over the report in his hands. Geordi was making some new modifications to the warp engines, and he must have had the ensign write a report on it to inform him. Picard tried to concentrate on the report, but he couldn't focus his mind on it too long before he found himself putting the report down on the arm of his chair. He didn't feel like dealing with it now-he trusted Geordi enough to know what he was doing. He knew the warp engines better than the man that had designed the ship, but still not as well as Data. Together, the two of them could complete the modifications in—
And then it hit him like a ton of bricks, like it had so many times before. Data was dead, killed by the Thalaron radiation explosion on the Scimitar. Picard sighed profoundly, and this time placed both hands over his eyes. It wasn't the first time he had to remind himself that Data was dead. He was so used to the android being there, so used to hearing his voice, that sometimes he managed to trick himself into believing that he was alive. The pain of it was evident in his mind, in his heart, but sometimes it managed to convince himself for a brief time that nothing had changed. That he could find his old crew beside him, instead of spread to all corners of the galaxy. And Data was his new first officer instead of young Martin Madden.
But then he would remember. He would remember everything...
Data had sacrificed himself so he could live-and he had promised himself then and there that he would live every day like it was his best, that he would take advantage of the second chance he had been given. But he couldn't forget that his friend was dead. He doubted he ever would.
Picard rubbed his eyes again and brought another hand to cover his mouth to extinguish another yawn. The whole ordeal had left him with a suffocating exhaustion, and it was beginning to wear on him.
At tactical, Worf gave him a strange look.
"Captain, are you alright?" he asked. Picard nodded his head slightly, and managed to give the Klingon a wan smile.
"Yes, Mr. Worf. Just a little tired." Picard stood up from his comfortable position in the Captain's chair, and straightened his uniform instinctively.
"I'll be in sickbay," Third time's the charm, he thought wearily. Maybe this time he'd be able to find something that could cure his insomnia.
"Commander Madden, you have the bridge." The dark haired man looked up from where he was studying a science station behind Worf.
"Yes, sir!" Madden took Picard's spot and sat down into the Captain's chair. He was a good officer, Picard had to admit. He had only spent two weeks with him, but already he could tell that he would make a fine Captain some day.
But Data would have been better...
"Any problems, Mr. Worf, you know where I'll-- Mr. Worf, what have you done to your hand?"
Worf glanced down at the back of his dark hand, which was sporting an angry red cut across the back. He quickly pulled his hand out of the captain's view.
"Nothing, sir." Picard smiled, amused, and leaned closer to Worf, so the rest of the bridge wouldn't hear.
"You're having problems with Spot, aren't you?" Mr. Worf shot him an indignant glance, as if the very idea of being scratched by the cat was ludicris.
"Certainly not, Captain. I am a Klingon warrior-teaching a cat to behave is not difficult." Picard nodded smugly. He knew as well as the Klingon did, and as Data had, that it was impossible to teach Spot to behave. He himself had suffered many a scratch from the orange tabby before he got it could realize that small fact.
"Ah. Well, carry on, Mr. Worf." Picard turned toward the turbolift, but stopped short and turned back.
"As I understand Mr. Worf, cat scratches can sting. You might want to have that checked out in sickbay anyway." The Klingon narrowed his eyes, but managed a half smile.
"Yes, sir."
Picard knew that Worf wouldn't; it took more than a simple cat scratch to have him agree to go anywhere near sickbay; but he just smiled and nodded, and disappeared into the turbolift, leaving the bridge behind him.
Half way to sickbay, Picard changed his mind. The walk there seemed to have woken him up sufficiently, and he didn't really want to socialize with the new ship's doctor. Jason Morande, the new ship's doctor, was a very pleasant man, but he was no replacement for Beverly. His skill level might have matched hers, but Picard would much rather have the congenial red-haired doctor back. Not for the first time, he wished that she hadn't transferred to Starfleet Medical.
Edging past the doors to sickbay, Picard turned down a different corridor towards his ready room. There was something there he had to take care of...or rather, a somebody.
He had been talking to B4, yet again, about his 'brother'. It seemed that B4 had finally grasped the concept that Data was not coming back, but there was so much that he didn't understand, and that was what must have brought him back to Picard's ready room. He didn't have the mad desire to learn that Data had, the aspiring to be better than he was, but it was a slight start. But there was still a lack of understanding and personality in his eyes that sometimes Picard couldn't stand to even look at him. He was a picture perfect replication of Data-but he couldn't come close the late android. Still, Picard felt it was his duty to give B4 an oppurtunity to do something with his android existance, to grow as Data had.
I don't think even Data could have imagined it would be this difficult, Picard thought.
Data, you should be here helping B4 with this now, not me...
Picard stopped in front of the familiar doors of his ready room, and took a breath. Dealing with B4 needed patience, something Picard didn't have a great deal of at the moment. Here we go again, he thought. Steeling himself, Picard stepped into the ready room, and was stunned by what he saw.
The room was empty.
What a pretty room.
It was big-bigger than the captain's ready room where B4 had spent most of his hours. And it was a lot more interesting. Paintings hung from various places on its walls, a black, oddly shaped case rested on the desk unit in the corner. Shiny buttons and light-up panels shone brightly from the walls and the desk, more than B4 had seen in the ready room. A lot more inviting than the ready room-there wasn't much to look at there. But why had it been locked? A voice had asked for the entrance code, which B4 had given, although it was very strange-he had never heard it before, but he couldn't understand how he had known it...
B4 stepped into the room, doors sliding shut behind him, and walked to the corner of the room where the desk stood, picking up the odd-shaped case. He wasn't sure what it was, but the black case was smooth and polished, and it looked intriguing enough. He turned it over. The other side was pretty much the same-black and smooth, and not really much to look at. His positronic mind beginning to wander, B4 started to put the case back onto the desk, in search of something else to see, until he noticed a small clasp on one side he hadn't notice before.
Newly intrigued, he twisted the clasp, and was amazed to see the case pop open to reveal a wooden instrument sitting inside it. It, too, was as shiny as the case, with strings running down the middle, and a long stick resting on top of it. Puzzled, B4 put the case down, and took out both the stick and the wooden instrument, one in each hand.
Violin, said a voice in his head.
Violin? Another funny name...but that was it. A violin. To make music.
Vaguely, he wondered if he could play it.
But of course he could play it. He had played it countless times, in concerts on the ship, alone in his quarters learning new songs, he had even played for Vulcan Ambassador Sarek on his last diplomatic mission, before he had to retire because of the Bendii...
Who is Sarek?
B4 knew those things were true, but they didn't seem right. He remembered the lights, and his brother, and the Captain with the shiny head, but he didn't recall any Vulcans.
But what is a Vulcan? He didn't look like a Vulcan-"I don't see any points on those ears boy, but you sound like a Vulcan..." But he wasn't a Vulcan... was he? He didn't think so...
Not knowing didn't really bother him-he didn't care too much, and the questions weren't enough to tear his interest from the violin. B4 positioned it in his hands in a way that he knew was right, with the long skinny neck in his hand, and the end under his chin.
Without even thinking, B4 brought the stick to the tight strings on the instrument, and began to move it back and forth across the strings. A beautiful melody cascaded out from the violin as he moved the stick gracefully on the strings, that was, like Riker, familiar...but still alien.
The music went on for less than another minute, and then B4 stopped suddenly. He knew there was more, though he wasn't quite sure how he knew, but he had lost the song. It had made Sarek cry, once.
What?
Why?
B4 put the instrument back onto the desk next to the case, his interest waning too much to remember to put it back into it. Instead he moved on to explore the next thing that caught his eye-draped over the back of a Starfleet issue chair. It looked rather dull, compared to all the shiny lights and uniforms B4 had seen since he had been activated, but it still had a sense a familiarity.
With one hand, B4 picked up the long, light brown trench coat, and draped it over his own shoulders. It was a very odd-looking coat; B4 hadn't seen anyone else wearing one; but he thought it looked very good on him. Looking back down at the chair, he saw a matching hat, hidden under the trench coat. With a free hand, B4 picked up the hat and placed it on his own head.
Turning, he stared out the window of the starship, not at the stars moving past it on the black backdrop of space, but at the reflection of himself in the glass. The hat and trench coat looked out of place on the android, but like the violin, he knew he had worn them before. But something wasn't right. Cocking his head to the side, he reached up a hand and titled the hat slightly on his head.
There. That looked right. Or better. He couldn't decide.
Just like Sherlock Holmes, B4 thought.
Whoever he was, anyway...
The turbolift doors opened in front of Geordi La Forge, and it took a great deal effort for him to step out of it, allowing the doors to close behind him. As he got closer and closer to Data's quarters, his feet seemed to get heavier and heavier, as if they were made of lead. He had a vague idea why—this would be the last time he would ever venture inside Data's quarters. It would be the last trip he would take to clean out the rest of Data's belongings. And to him, that meant saying good bye to Data for the last time.
The walk down the corridor seemed to last forever, but eventually Geordi managed to reach the set of sliding doors to Data's quarters.
Once again, more than anything, he wished he was anywhere but there. But he knew what he had to do. Even more ironically, it was the second time he'd had to do it. Years before, Data had been presumed dead when his shuttle had exploded during a mission. In reality, Kivas Fajo had kidnapped him, to add the android to his vast collection of rare items.
But for that time, Geordi had felt more tortured than he ever had in his life. They had been forced to leave Data behind to complete their mission, but from the minute the shuttle exploded, Geordi knew something wasn't right. In the back of his mind, it nagged him-Data couldn't be dead. He just couldn't be. Over and over the thought repeated, until he couldn't stand it any longer. He knew Data better than anyone else did-and he knew then that he wasn't dead.
And he couldn't ignore what that same feeling was telling him now. This time, Data wasn't going to come back.
Geordi rubbed his hand over the tears that were suddenly forming in his eyes. He had been doing that a lot lately-probably more than he had in his whole life. But it didn't seem to matter now. Sighing, he pressed the button that would allow Data's quarters to open.
"Please state entrance code," the computer said.
"Spot-alpha-27-Holmes," Geordi said tonelessly. Normally, the odd mix of a code would bring at least a small smile to his face, but not even it was enough to shake him out of his sadness. The doors obediently slid open.
Stepping into Data's quarters, Geordi looked around the room his friend had once inhabited. Only a few things were left to clear out, but he knew it was going to take a great deal of time to finish his task.
That's when something odd caught his eye. Walking over to Data's desk, Geordi ran his hand over the dark brown, highly polished violin lying on the corner, the bow resting on top of the taut strings.
Geordi had packed the violin away in its case the last time he was there-what was it doing out? Shaking his head, Geordi carefully picked up the violin and placed it inside the black case resting beside it, and snapped it shut. He must have forgotten to put it back the last time he had been in the quarters, he thought. But something wasn't right...something was missing...
And then he saw it. Or rather, didn't see it. The empty Starfleet chair. The last time he had been there, he had gathered up Data's holodeck costumes, and put them there before he could take them.
They were gone.
Someone had been there...
Geordi did a quick scan of the rest of the room, and tapped the Starfleet badge on his chest, anger slowly enveloping him. Someone had broken in...
"La Forge to security."
"Security here."
Geordi took a breath, and tried to keep his voice steady.
"Someone has broken into Commander Data's quarters. I want security down here now." Geordi tapped the badge again to silence it, clenching his fists. Before he could stop himself, he brought one of his fists slamming down on the desk, ignoring the audible crack he felt in his hand, and the pain that followed. The violin slid off the end, crashing to the carpeted floor.A red haze had filtered down, clouding his vision. Someone had broke into Data's quarters, he thought again, letting anger fill him and overshadow the sadness that had been crippling him just moments before.
And when I find out who did...