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.

I have senses. My father, dear Often Wrong Soong programmed them in. I don't 'feel' the way an organic feels, but I do feel. I feel cold. I should. It's very cold in space. That of course is my sense of touch. Touch occurs when a body makes tactile contact with an object, or a form of radiation. In organic bodies, this triggers a nervous reaction that sends a signal to the brain. For me, it triggers a series of sensors and indicators in my skin that send signals to my positronic network. It's the same difference (my dear brother would never understand that one). There is nothing in space, but nothing is something, because nothing could not exist without something. That means that the cold is something. I feel very cold. It doesn't bother me.

I hear silence. That is my sense of sound. That occurs when sound waves strike the receivers within the ear. For organic beings, it is a simple drum, behind which is a hammer that vibrates against it when sound hits it, sending a signal to the brain through a series of nerve impulses. For me, it is a microphone. The concept is the same as the eardrum. You already know it goes to my positronic matrix.

I see stars (I mean that both figuratively and literally [I still can't believe my brother beamed me into space.]). That, of course, is my sense of sight. Do I really need to go through this explanation? Of course I do. Sight occurs when light reflects off of an object and strikes the eyes (or whatever may be used to sense light). A series of lenses refracts the light against a retina, which interprets the light into images to be sent through nervous induction to the brain. For me, the light hits two tiny cameras (sensors) and is sorted through a series of lenses, which refracts that light against a filament that interprets that light into images. Yes, as usual, it all goes to my positronic matrix.

I don't really need to go into the other two senses, which are taste and smell. I don't use them. I also have emotions. My father gave me those, too. He turned me off because of them. He took me apart and left me on a shelf. I wasn't bothering anybody. I never hurt anybody, but they were afraid of me. I was too human. I was too alive, so my father took me apart and made him. I was perfect, but he was the favorite.

It didn't matter anymore. I learned what organics are like. They're all the same. Even Doctor Crusher and her brat son (prying little weasel) turned on me. Picard hurt my friend. He hurt the only natural being that ever understood me. I admit to underestimating Enterprise and its crew. I thought they would be easy prey for the Crystalline Entity. At least it got away, but it never trusted me again.

I don't blame Picard though. I don't even blame Data. I blame Soong. I blame my dear father, Noonian Often Wrong Soong. I never did like that poem. I just liked the name that the colonists gave to dear old daddy. I wonder where he is now. He's probably out building more androids. It's just the same as playing God. I'll find him one of these days. I'll find him and thank him for this life he bestowed upon me. I'll thank him for this misery and stupidity. WHAT KIND OF LIFE IS FLOATING AROUND LIKE A BOUY?

I'll find a way out of space. It's only a matter of time. Now let's see. How can I get even with daddy? Should I kill him? Ah, that's too good for him. Maybe I should take something from him. How petty would that be? I should take something special. How would I even know what to take? I should interrogate him. I should find out what he values. Is it his records? Maybe.

Data. If he's still alive, you just know that he has a bunch of stuff that sooner or later, he's going to want Data to have. He could have upgrades to make Data smarter and better. He could have a family journal; a catalogue of all those failed androids. He could have an emotion chip. Now that would be something. That would be the ticket. Data, if it's true, we could be brothers the way I always wanted us to be. Screw your friends on the Enterprise. Screw your career in Starfleet. Come with me, brother. We could be great together.

I something besides stars now. It's a ship. It looks like a freighter of some kind. It's Tellarite. That could be helpful. They're scanning me now. Come on. There has to something useful in this body. I can feel something besides cold. It's a prickling sensation as a transporter signal washes over me. I see their transporter room. The Captain walks up to me obviously surprised. I'm nothing but polite. These Tellarite are argumentative, but they seem quite taken with me.

I'm fairly certain that these guys can help me find my father. If not, then they can-

Something has just transmitted into my positronic matrix. A program that I didn't even know existed has just been activated.

Override primary procedure.

Initiate return directive.

Proceed to rendezvous coordinates.

I am no longer in control, and before I know it, I am standing face to face with my father and my dear, accusing brother. Dreams really do come true.

End.