Geordi braces himself as the transporter craft is steered, with some force, into the heavily trafficked Veray corridor. The chocolate energy bar slips out of his hand and falls under his seat. He bends down to pick it up, almost hitting his head on the dashboard as the warp engines stall and Lore swears.

"Hey, come on!" Bloody android.

"Shut it candy muncher."

One hour of this so far. He hopes the remaining travel time will pass quickly.

As soon as Lore had grasped the basic points of warp driving Geordi had been confined to the passenger seat, keeping busy trying to convince his company about the value of treating the warp with a feather's gentle touch. It hadn't done much to improve Lore's horrible driving style.

Nor had he gotten any sympathy for the necessity of getting a message out to the Enterprise.

By now Picard must be wondering what had happened to his Chief Engineer and the brand spanking new ship he had entrusted to said engineer. Arguments (like, if Enterprise was hailed they could assist them in getting to Data, either via elegant diplomacy or brute force) had fallen on deaf android ears. Lore wouldn't hear any of it and had gone into a prickly mode, lips pressed into a dangerous line.

The stubborn android obviously considers himself a one-man army, ready to take on whatever these pritide-things turns out to be.

Geordi thinks that the Enterprise crew would say he should be thankful for the small mercy of still being on board and not jetted out into space, never mind failing to get out a message. He doesn't feel very accomplished though, being prevented to inform Picard of his whereabouts, not having much else to do but to sit on his butt and eat the protein bars he remembered to bring, watching how Lore, again two-handed, mistreats the sensitive warp throttle.

The missing android arm had been found at the bottom of the pit under the two shipwrecks. Teamwork had been employed in order to retrieve it: Lore lifted the two ships (one on top of the other) a good meter up from the ground, making it possible for Geordi to scuttle underneath and collect the arm. Then, after a bit of cleaning, it had been an easy affair to click the limb back into place.

Before Geordi had mentioned communicating with the Enterprise one time too many and spoiled the general mood in the cabin, Lore had disclosed some facts about the pritides. Apparently the mysterious race had a mobile science station parked in B-S303. It would be the probable destination for the q-bits according to Lore. Maybe Data had also ended up there.

"How do you even know that they are in S303?" Geordi dares to ask, chewing as discreetly as he can on his protein bar. Moistening the granola with saliva before biting down seems to do the trick.

Or maybe not. Lore glances sideways at his moving jaw with a sour look of disdain. "I hooked up with an info transmitter specialising in science news. The prits are currently doing experiments that require a lot of q-power. They're attempting to create wormholes to escape into the next universe or something like that."

Well, apparently Lore is getting around. Geordi makes a mental note of adding this to his report when he gets back. Starfleet clearly needs to hook up with more info transmitters.

He almost chokes on a mouthful of granola when Lore wrestles the warp gear straight into nine, making the ship lurch forward. The warp begins to take effect, reaching almost eight but not getting enough drive to follow through. A second or two later it coughs pathetically and lapses back into five.

"You just tried that and it didn't work ten minutes ago either! Jumping from five to nine and not switching the active nacelle is just using up plasma." Geordi can't hold it in any longer. How could Soong have missed to program some driving logic into this one? "Don't start the warp increase before you have green light showing the conduits are cool enough, and THEN switch the nacelles! It's the latest type of conduits -"

The whole carriage shakes as warp six is kicked into gear with some force. "I KNOW that." Lore hisses. "I've picked something up about basic physics in my seven months!" He pulls the throttle back as far as it can go, switches nacelles, then presses the regulator into warp eight. Gods, thank you, finally he got it.

"Your seven months of what?" Geordi asks, holding on to his seat as the ship scrambles into warp nine.

Lore turns to look at him like he's an idiot born from a long line of idiots. "In. My. Seven. Months."

"Oh."

He haven't really thought about it, but logically Data's big brother would be younger than baby brother Data. But Lore not even being a year old, while Data is close to thirty? Time must be a strange thing for the Soong androids. He wonders how old they felt right off the starting block, when they were first activated. How much knowledge and experience did Soong load into their memory banks before they had even open their eyes?

He wishes for the umpteen time Data's early memories hadn't been erased. It would have been most interesting to hear about his early days with his parents. What were they like? How did he interact with the other colonists? The reason for the memory wipe, as Data had presented it, seemed like a poor excuse. Why wouldn't Dr Soong want to give a sense of belonging, family roots, to his son? Geordi was no expert by any means, but it made sense to provide a stable and loving home when raising androids, offer them every opportunity to thrive and develop like humans, and then giving them a chance to hold onto that through life. But maybe something horrible had happened, something that caused Soong to disassemble one android and wipe the memory of the other.

A chilling thought runs down his spine. Maybe there had never been any plans to re-activate Lore.

He turns to the android, who is busy throttling the engine gauge, staring at it accusingly for not magically revealing all the secrets of Starfleet-constructed warp coils. The words comes across his lips before he can stop himself:

"It can't be easy."

He thinks about that for a second, after he has spoken. Perhaps he shouldn't have said that. Pity is likely one of the many things that doesn't sit well with Lore. Geordi braces himself for the inevitable burst of rage, taking a submissive interest in the dashboard to minimise the onslaught. He waits five heartbeats. As there is no sneering or shouts of indignation, he dares to glance at his company.

The android looks as if he hasn't heard him, face frozen in a calm neutral expression, one hand still on the engine gauge. Okay good, no explosion of anger. That counts as a success in his book. Still, it's a bit unexpected. Maybe he's busy running systems checks or something. Geordi shrugs mentally and takes an overview of the dash. Distance to destination is now 40 minutes until they are within range of the assumed prit ships in S303. A blinking light catches his eye: the fuel indicator, warning about sinking plasma levels.

He turns to Lore. "Hey, I think we should… oh."

Amber liquid is once again making little trails from the restored eye and down the android's face, painting golden stripes as they go. He doesn't make any move to wipe it off, letting them run towards his chin.

"Your eye ducts has sprung a leak again." Geordi dumbly informs him, as if Lore somehow might have missed the fact.

Geordi looks around for something to soak up the fluid and spots a neatly folded cloth next to the radar screen, specially designed to wipe down the instrument board. Fancy things these new crafts come with.

Risking an indignant outburst, he offers it to Lore. The android makes no attempt to take it, ignoring Geordi and his outstretched hand. A couple of sparkling drops have made it all the way down his face and is threatening to fall onto the seat.

Geordi fidgets. The upholstery is cream-coloured, brand-spanking new just like the rest of the craft, its light colour being as impractical as it is well-matched to the interior colour scheme. One could argue that minding Star Fleet textiles is not on top of Geordi's job description, but in this situation a stain could be so easily prevented. The craft IS new, and he would like to bring it back in perfect condition. If Lore would just take the damn cloth.

"Okay…Here, let me then."

Leaning towards the android, he carefully wipes off the threatening liquid. Drip danger averted, he presses the cloth lightly against the corner of the eye where the fluid seems to originate from, pondering the fact that Lore is actually letting him do insignificant things like this. First tying a rag over his missing eye down on the planet, and now poking around the remaining eye with a piece of cloth to stop Starfleet property getting stained. Picard would be baffled impressed.

"Seems like that duct is broken, can't control it." Lore says in a flat, monotone voice. "Have to get that fixed too."

Satisfied that the trickle has stopped, Geordi puts the rag in the bin compartment where it joins three protein bar wrappers. He checks the dash again: the plasma light indicator is tinted orange.

"I think we should get that re-filled before exiting Veray. We could make it to S303 but only just. I don't want to delay more than absolutely necessary, so let's make a quick stop."

Lore's face has come alive again, forming a frown. He seems to have swung back to his earlier foul mood. "Quickest way is scout another ship."

"Scout as in hijack and plunder? No thanks." Geordi checks the resource compartment for the Starfleet standard trade kit. Good, the assemblers had remember to equip it. He lets the little pebbles of iridium and encapsulated lokium fall into his hand, showing it to Lore.

"To trade with. We're in the Veray going towards Kinok galaxy, there's the HH3 planet systems. In HH3 there are places that we can use them." He checks the computer. Starfleet friendly- and neutral planets light up in yellow on the screen. "Every one of these could work, it'll be a quick stop. Altair, Warmark…"

The last stop before the inky emptiness of S303 has the fitting name "Last Chance". What a dump that must be. Either Warmark or Altair would work, the latter with a nice average temperature of 22 C. He turns to Lore to suggest Altair.

Last Chance does indeed live up to its name. The main town is a dinky composite of buildings, hangars, launch sites and roads leading elsewhere, mostly to abandoned mines. The population consists mainly of humans, with quite a few androids and a handful of alien-looking humanoids. The main street is mottled with rough-looking people hanging about, giving the new arrivals shifty looks. Apparently Last Chance doesn't get a lot of the trade traffic coming through HH3. The atmosphere is dry and sand seems to blow everywhere, getting into Geordi's mouth. He wishes they had gone to Altair instead, but once Lore had spotted the name, reading over his shoulder, any objection had been moot.

Trading for the plasma has gone unexpectedly well so far. They quickly found a place carrying everything from whole space ships to food and live pets. The trader had showed them out to the back where he kept big containers of all imaginable fuel. To get the right amount Geordi had only to get out twelve pieces of lokium, which was a good trade. The guy must've been sympathetic to Geordi's plight with dragging around a grumpy android. Or maybe it has something to do with Lore shooting the man one-eyed dark looks, mouth fixed in a silky smile.

"Lore…" This is really not the way Geordi wants to trade. Granted, he is out of his uniform, but the round starry logo is all too visible on the trade bag. They could still be seen as Starfleet, and scaring the other party while making a trade is considered bad form in any galaxy. He nods to th meter tank he just bought: "Maybe you could go and put the plasma in the nacelles while I'm finishing up here?"

"Sure thing, Killer. I'll be at the ship." With a wink and a conspiratory tap on his nose, his annoying companion hauls the plasma tank up on his back like it weighs nothing and trots off toward their ship.

"I'm sorry about that. I'm not called Killer, really…" Geordi sighs. The trader looks nervous. "Anyway, I'd like some food too. We don't have a replicator on board. Some of those pies, and I'll have that dried meat as well."

While waiting for his food to be replicated and put into bags, Geordi leans against the counter, taking a look around the place. Seems to be a local hangout as well as a trader's. There's a group of humans and androids at a table in a corner. They are clearly talking about him, looking at him but trying to make it seem like they're not really looking. If he had a kiss for every time this had happened.. Yes, its called a VISOR people. Gawk all you want.

The group has apparently decided it is worth the effort approaching him and asking about it, because here comes two of them. A greying, portly man with a small woman in tow is making his way over from the table. As they approach, Geordi realises the woman following him is an android of a primitive type, about 1,6 meter high and of a type used for company, sex, and simple repairs. She's made to look like a toffee-coloured human female; her plain face is empty and expressionless.

The man walks up to him. "I saw youse coming into town. Starfleet?"

"No, not at the moment. Shore leave." Geordi instantly takes a dislike to the guy. Something tells him he's just been sniffed out by one of the local top dogs, a man used to getting his way.

"How about that. That's an impressive android you've got with you. Never seen anything like it. What kind is it?"

So it's not the VISOR this time, it's the android. "He's a Soong-type."

They should have thought of covering Lore's head too and not just the missing eye. His colourful cranial lights are like a big sign saying HELLO, ANDROID. Geordi has just gotten so used to them he don't really notice them anymore.

The man leans against the counter, mirroring Geordi's posture. His android takes what is probably her usual position, standing just behind the man with her head lowered.

"Soong.. really advanced huh. And strong, I saw it carry the tank. Kind of ugly though, what's with the skin and the nose. And it could use some repairs on the missing eye. But I'd be willing to take it off your hands." The man gives what he no doubt believes to be a trustworthy and disarming smile, kindly offering to help this stranger get rid of his half-broken android. "Interested in trading it?"

Geordi is thankful Lore is out of earshot or there would be blood right about now. "HE is a Soong type, deemed sentient by trial in Starfleet. As in, he's a person and not an object, with the full rights of a sentient being. Like you and me."

"Really. Well here we don't really take notice of Starfleet rules. Our androids are not 'setinent'. Just look at my girl here." He makes a gesture towards his companion with its unchanging vacant face. She continues to stare haplessly at the floor. "And you're here now where our rules apply. Our droids don't have fancy ideas about themselves."

"Sorry, I can't help you. He has fancy ideas about himself and is not mine to trade."

"So what are you saying, you're saying you're not his owner? If that's what you're saying, all the better. Then I'll just help myself." He pats an impressive disruptor hanging from his belt. "I'll have it caught and re-programmed before you can say 'sentitent'. But - I'm a honest man so I rather do an honest deal."

Well that's just great. This guy thinks Geordi is using haggling tactics; an out-of-towner sitting here claiming preposterous things about androids being sentient just to get the price up. If he were to tell the man he himself was in an equal relationship with an android his head would probably explode.

"There's no deal." he says with a louder voice than before. "I'm not interested, and HE is definitely not interested. If you try to approach him, I think the odds are you will be hurt. Badly. So I would advise you to leave us well alone."

Something in his demeanour must have gotten through, because the man drops his act. "Well that's no civilised way of talking business. I was just asking. Jeez, and here I thought you looked like a reasonable guy."

He watches the man retreating hastily back to his table, his little android faithfully shuffling after. Geordi is left with the surreal knowledge that the man was scared of HIM, and his command over his powerful android, and not of Lore himself.

As he leaves with a bag full of meat pies and pemmican he spots a couple of androids repairing a ship, and another one talking to a human outside the eatery. Now when he look for it he can see the 'droids have tiny gold chains around their necks, the chain attached to a thin metal plate fastened on back of the neck. Geordi doesn't know exactly what it's for, but he can sort of imagine. Last Chance is clearly not a nice place to be an android. He shall put a note of warning in the Starfleet system when he get back to the ship.