It is quiet in Engineering, save for the soft click of the access port closing, and the subtle pulse of the warp engine. The fine, dark hair, identical to his, falls back into place. Task completed, he moves to stand before the object of his attention.
He is running a routine self-diagnostic on all non-critical functions, analysing the complete works of Ernest Hemingway, and generating seventeen possible compositions for his next painting. After a moments' contemplation, he shifts these operations to lower priorities; he has another task before him which requires a greater portion of his runtime.
A considerable percentage of his positronic brain is already focused on processing the range of emotions running through his system. Not so long ago, these processes would have overcrowded his neural net, rendering him incapable of coherent thought. Since then, he has learned to organise and manage them more efficiently. His grasp on his expressive capabilities has improved exponentially; consequently, his countenance is impassive, flat, as he stares at the figure standing before him.
B-4 stands limply in the alcove, restraints banded across his chest. His face is smooth and blank, head tilted haphazardly to one side, features a precise duplicate of Data's own. His mouth has fallen slightly open, yellow eyes empty and unfocused. He knows the angles and planes of this face as intimately as his own, a familiar landscape he has seen in the mirror countless times. A face that also belonged to another.
You may call me Lore. His own face, reflected before him, perfectly identical to the smallest detail, save for the sly smile playing about those pale lips. His own face, contorted in an expression of pure, controlled hatred, golden eyes razor-sharp.
He dismisses with difficulty the memory of that vicious yellow gaze.
Pale fingers slip under the collar of B-4's engineering coverall and fold it back to reveal a small switch set into the pale skin of the android's neck. He slots the tool into the switch and rotates the dial in a precise, calculated fashion.
Two blue lights flicker in recognition, accompanied by a small, melodic sound. Awareness sparks within a complex web of circuitry as B-4's system initiates its startup sequence. Golden eyes shift, suddenly animated.
He withdraws the tool from B-4's neck. His brother's eyes are flicking back and forth, attempting to process the situation at hand. Synthetic muscles in his face twitch faintly; the rest of his body remains perfectly still.
"Brother... I cannot move." B-4's voice is soft, disconcerted.
"No. I have only activated your cognitive and communication subroutines."
Confusion briefly creases the pale skin of B-4's face. "Why?"
"Because you are dangerous."
A long moment. Then, again, "Why?"
He knows that B-4 is not capable of malice or deception; he cannot help what Shinzon's program compelled him to do, or the limitations his programming dictates. Yet Data feels the need to help B-4 comprehend the severity of his actions. "You have been programmed to gather information that can be used against this ship."
B-4's brow furrows. "I... do not understand." The distinctive voice, with its faint, buzzing undertone, is close to plaintive.
Data nods slowly. A trace of regret colours his voice for a brief moment. "I know," he says, quietly.
Another long pause, in which Data allows his gaze to linger on his brother's face. B-4's
countenance is perfectly blank, save for the faint lines of confusion around his eyes. Yellow gaze shifts back and forth, still processing.
He wonders if B-4 will ever overcome his currently limited programming. He also wonders if B-4 will ever attempt to recognise his own unique identity, fully grasp the reality of his existence. The potential is certainly there; his childlike mind, unable to grasp anything beyond the simplest of concepts, is encased in a strong, fast, dexterous body capable of far more than the use B-4 currently puts it to. But there is something fundamental missing. The drive to become more than he is, to amount to more than the sum of his programming. A drive that has imbued every moment of Data's existence.
And the other's existence as well, although it spun off into a completely different tangent, motivated by entirely disparate factors. Data strove to find meaning in his existence, to become more human, but he strove to find meaning by continually seeking to assert his superiority over other lifeforms. Unlike Data, he possessed the capacity for emotion. But the emotion turned, and twisted... became entangled with ambition. He killed their father, lied and charmed and manipulated Data into almost committing unspeakable acts. We will be more alike, Data, you and I -
He terminates the thought process. The memories still seem to cling to his circuits, Lore's face drifting across his mind like an afterimage. He finds this sensation - like his brain is trapped in a feedback loop that he cannot control – highly disconcerting. However, he needs to focus on the task at hand, so he abruptly forces out another question, voice hard.
"Do you know anything about Shinzon's plans against the Federation?"
B-4 pauses, flicks haltingly though his memory banks. It is a slow process, one that would have taken Data a tenth of the time.
After a moment, his lips move. Softly, apologetically, he utters, "No...?" It is almost a question.
A small thread of an emotion Data identifies as disappointment works its way through his brain. He finds he cannot meet B-4's bemused, guileless eyes. Moving to B-4's side, he shifts the weight of the tool in his hand. After a few moments, he is able to look his brother in the face again, his voice stern.
"Do you have any knowledge of the tactical abilities of his ship?"
"No..." Even more plaintively than before. "...can I... move now?"
He does not understand. And perhaps he never will. He may never get the chance.
"No." The word escapes his lips with a sigh and a shake of the head. He folds the mustard-yellow collar back once more, and lifts the tool to -
"What are you doing?" Golden eyes flick in his direction. The childlike innocence of the question catches him off guard.
"I must deactivate you."
An echo of the words he spoke years ago, to another brother, in another time. Lore. I must deactivate you now. Brilliant, dangerous Lore, his electronic brain laid bare before him. His fingers tapping a deadly pattern among the circuitry. I love you... brother. B-4's tilted head, wiring exposed to the cool air as pale, deft hands disable his motor functions. The scene before him all too familiar. I... am you.
A note of concern enters B-4's voice. "For how long?"
When Lore's body went limp, consciousness draining from that sharp yellow gaze, he felt nothing at all. Now, the emotion chip affords him an obscene sense of guilt and sadness and regret permeating his consciousness, a hollow emptiness in the vicinity of his chest.
It seems as though he is fated to face and defeat his own brothers, over and over. He knows every circuit pathway and neural connection in his brother's heads because they are also his. It is because of this that each time he recalls their faces, perfectly identical down to each pale eyelash, a sickening feeling of wrongness overwhelms him.
But he does this because he needs to, has to, to protect the Enterprise and all that is housed within. Odd, how his friends are more like family to him than his true brothers. It is because of this that there is only one action he can take; only one response he can give. I know. But you leave me no other choice.
"Indefinitely." With a quick movement at B-4's neck, he flicks the dial.
"How long is tha-" B-4's last query is cut off as his communication and cognitive subroutines go offline. A click and a soft beep accompany the completion of his shutdown sequence. Golden eyes freeze in their sockets; his pale face becomes perfectly still, perfectly flat.
Slowly, Data's hands withdraw. He stares into B-4's open, empty face.
"A long time, brother."
A/N: It's been a long, long time since I wrote anything remotely creative, so constructive criticism would be welcome. I spent a while lingering over this. I know many people don't like to consider Nemesis as canon (and I have to admit I'm not exactly fond of what happened either), but this scene intrigued me when I compared it to the events of Descent II. I wanted to write a reimagining of the scene to try and evoke what Data may have been feeling, because the film portrays him as acting very stern and matter-of-fact at the time. In any case, it was nice to write something in a style that wasn't academic for a change.