Interview One

Picard, flanked by one guard and a member of the Divemaster's personal staff who was acting as official record, entered Lore's cell with no trace of any emotion at all showing on his face. His own impression of Data, to try and keep Lore as neutral as possible while they talked. Any sign of accusation, of antagonism, and he could lose any chance of getting a reliable set of answers out of the android.

And my time is very limited. I have to make him talk straight with me, starting absolutely right now.

He sat down at the folding table that had been set up in the bare cell, with Lore already seated at the opposite end. "First interview, responsible prisoner Captain Jean-Luc Picard attending prisoner Lore Soong," whispered the Divemaster's aide. "Interview limited to ten minutes, Federation standard time." His dark eyes flicked to Picard, indicating that he could begin.

The opener is all-important…

"Lore," Picard said, calmly, and was glad to see he at least had some attention from his interviewee. "We have very little time and so I am asking you to believe me when I say that I am intending to do everything I can to have these charges against you dropped."

"To save your own skin, of course," said Lore, in a suspiciously cheerful manner. His eyes glinted.

"Of course," Picard agreed. No point in arguing. Lore was never going to believe any claim of altruism on the Federation's part. Best to stick to the truth, wherever possible. "The situation is hardly ideal for me. But any success I may have will rest entirely on how much you are willing to co-operate."

"Captain," purred Lore, head on one side, "if you and your diplomatic strings can get me out of this cell, I'll conscript myself right now. Don't you remember how good I look in Starfleet colours?"

Picard refused to be baited. It was far more co-operation than he could have hoped for, and even that victory was marred with suspicion. Just how bad a situation was Lore in, that he was willing to be so instantly pliable?

"Fine," he said. "Then you can start by telling me exactly what happened that resulted in your ending up in custody."

"It would help if you could tell me what these idiots have charged me with," said Lore, directing a sour look at the attending guard.

That was a surprise. "They haven't told you?"

A look of wounded innocence, so like Data's that Picard almost smiled. "No. They were too busy shooting me in the back. Cowards."

Wondering if that were true, Picard decided to press on. Time was going to run out.

"You're charged with assaulting a pregnant woman. Can you -"

"Assaulting her?"

Lore slammed back his chair and stood, the guard's gun covering his every move. He looked completely and all-consumingly livid, and Picard was reminded just how fast and unpredictable the programmed emotions were. And how unstable. Take control of this, quickly.

"Please sit down and tell me what happened," he repeated, calmly, not moving a muscle. The guard's readied gun hung in his peripheral vision as a constant warning. It would be so easy for this whole situation to dissolve into violence.

"Assaulting her," spat Lore, in utter disgust, grasping the back of the chair. "I was helping her. This is where being a good Samaritan gets you. It's a wonder you Starfleet types aren't all in prison somewhere by now."

It was at this point that Picard wished Lore was easier to read. Unfortunately, the android was an accomplished liar, and his physical mannerisms were not human: it was too difficult to predict what his reactions would be. Still, he seemed genuinely angry at the accusation, and there was certainly nothing to be gained by challenging him.

"Go on," Picard said. Seven minutes left, and he could tell it wasn't going to be enough, not even barely. Lore gave him a hard stare and scraped the chair back to the table, sitting down.

"She came to me," he insisted.

Apparently, it had been night on Ontares 21-Beta, also known as Blackjack, and it had been raining really quite hard. Lore had put the tiny stolen skiff down in the uninhabited wilderness area, utterly unafraid of the carnivorous beasts that kept almost all of the organic inhabitants safely within the walls of their shanty towns. He got out to start the repairs.

It was the middle of the night, local time, and the shining points of the six moons were hanging in the sky through a watery curtain of cloud. The rain was relentless. Within a minute, Lore was soaked to the skin, his stolen clothing soaked black, water running from his slick hair and streaming over his bare feet.

He paid it absolutely no heed unless the water ran into his eyes and obscured his vision.

The skiff wasn't badly damaged, just old and cranky and in need of a lot of patching. Lore worked steadily to make the thing space worthy. He hadn't intended to land on Blackjack, but a sudden power failure in the secondary engine had forced his hand. If he could just get this bucket back in the air, he could make it to the neutral space dock on Tractusaria, where a fully equipped team of engineers would be able to make it purr like a kitten.

Shortly after he realised the engine wouldn't work without a new section of shielding on the power converter, he realised he hated the rain. It was almost refreshing, to hate something so simple and so utterly beyond his control. It was simple to hate it, easy to hate it, and quite satisfying to hate it. He continued to hate it all the way into the shanty town, where he needed to beg, buy or steal some duranium sheeting.

The road was nothing more than a dirt track, and the dirt had turned quickly into a churned mass of mud. Lore slogged through it, still barefoot. There were few other people out in the pouring darkness, and those who had braved it kept their heads down and hoods pulled up against the wet and wind. The android walked straight, eyes slitted against the water, otherwise unaffected by the weather.

Small storm lamps hung on many buildings, swinging in the wind and casting dull yellow highlights onto the muddy ground.

A shaft of light abruptly spilled out in front of Lore as a door was thrown open, a keystoned yellow brilliance. And a woman, being hurled into the night. She hit the mud with a cry and rolled face-down, her clothes immediately clogged with grime.

It was noticeable only when she struggled to move herself onto her back that her stomach was distended in pregnancy, and that she appeared human.

"Captain Picard, you have one minute. Please give your closing remarks."

The aide sounded all efficiency, not even a hint of apology in having to draw the interview to a close. Picard clenched inwardly, holding Lore's gaze.

"And so you brought her with you, this woman?" he said, quickly.

Lore snorted, hissing air through his teeth in disgust.

"Not my idea," he said, turning his head away to apparently address the wall. "She talked me into it."

Wondering whether this woman was a truly gifted negotiator or in fact mildly insane, Picard stood at a prompt from the guard. This is assuming Lore's telling the truth…

"I will be back as soon as is permitted," he said.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," Lore returned, almost waspish, and folded his arms.

The force field of Lore's cell safely up behind them, Picard addressed his own guard, Abrin.

"Tell me. Would it be permitted for me to also interview the injured party…?"