I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I know that must instill a great deal of comfort in you Dear Reader but it's just something I felt best to put out there at the beginning. Long story short it's been 8 years and I as a viewer still can't accept the idea of Data being dead. So I figured since the Mirror Universe has a spare of everything, why not grab him from there? Or at the very least see what he's up to. So, that's where we begin, Data, his Dad and his Mum, mirror universe. Since I'm unclear of a great deal of the mechanics and politics of the MU, I'm going with what I've pieced together from the original series as well as one episode of DS9. Guess that's it, Paramount owns all, I own nothing. The quote is from Frankenstein and the song is a traditional Irish folk ditty called "The Woman From Wexford" and you can find it on YouTube if you type in The Clancy Brothers - Woman from Wexford. OK…shall we?

"You gave me these emotions, but you didn't tell me how to use them. Now two people are dead because of us. Why? And what of my soul? Do I have one? Or was that a part you left out?"

Against A Sea Of Troubles

It is not easy to conclude that suicide is the only way out and yet he had reached the conclusion just the same.

His mother's melodic voice drifted in from the other room and he contemplated what fresh hell awaited him. She only sang when she was in a good mood, and what put her in a good mood was…well it was something that did not bode well for him.

Fresh hell was a term his father had used quite often. A witticism from author, poet and satirist Dorothy Parker noted for her-

No. His mind wanted to take him on a long roundabout intellectual dalliance. That was a failsafe, a diversionary tactic he'd developed over the years to distract himself but he couldn't afford to be distracted now. He had work to do.

One of his brothers walked by, silently and disappeared into the room off the lab where his mother was working. 'He was number…4?' he thought, feigning what it was like to forget, to lose count. He cradled his arm subconsciously, fingers brushed against scars, some old, some new.

In the beginning she had been only humming softly, vocalizing perhaps every few words. It was one of the many tunes he had grown so accustomed to over the decades, now she was singing full out. The lilt of her native Ireland finding its way into the tune.

There was an old woman in Wexford

In Wexford she did dwell

She loved her old man dearly

But another man twice as well

There was a loud thump, perhaps a head or maybe a limb. He didn't know and didn't care to speculate but against his will his mind processed the calculations. It was indeed a head, the weight and the sound of the strike against the floor made that abundantly clear.

He could imagine her, smiling faintly as she worked and it filled him with uneasiness. He didn't need to speculate on the detached pleasure she took in her work. He had had years to come to grips with what she was.

He had first been activated in 2333 and it was now 2379. Chronologically speaking he was 46 years in age and he had spent all 46 years here. His parents dwelling was a combination lab and living space. They had shared these quarters, the three of them for over 4 decades but it had truly been only the last few hours he had found unbearable. Everything else though perfectly preserved in his brain was a gray blur compared to the vibrant nightmare he was in now. He sat upon the chair staring at his console, unable to concentrate on anything but the sounds coming from the next room. Feeling as though he had fallen prey to a circuit malfunction he shut his eyes as he had often seen his father do in an effort to focus.


Quite without receiving instruction from him to do so his left fist clenched at his side.

Anger. This is anger. No. This is rage.

This was emotion and it was bitter. He could never have imagined how dark it would all taste. All the literature he'd read, all the lessons he'd learned from his father had never prepared him for this. Emotion was supposed to be this miasmic thing full of light and shading, a palate bursting onto an ever changing canvas. This was not that at all. This was black, all black.

All these years, I labored under the assumption I was my fathers son. I was his creation and some of what was within him that was good had passed to me.

Now as he sat in their bunker listening to the sounds of his mother in the adjacent room, vivisecting his sibling he felt only a strong desire to injure, to inflict, to hurt.

That was not my father. I am not his son. I am hers. I am just like her.

He cocked his head to the side for a moment to consider the implications of that realization. He approached the entire situation as an equation and after running the calculations several times came to a single two part conclusion.

I must kill her.

Then, I must kill myself.

From the adjacent room him mother continued on, unaware.

So one day she went to the doctor

Some medicine for to find

Said; "Doctor give me something

For to make me old man blind."

The inflection of her voice forced his fist into a tighter ball which he only unclenched when he felt the sharp sting of his nails as they pierced the meat of his hands.

Curious, the incongruity of being so aware of his own flesh. In spite of this he was not at all unaccustomed with seeing his own blood. He could remember each scar she had ever given him. But of course that was true, his memory was flawless. But…then again there were scars he could not account for, callous pleasures, painful liberties she had taken with him when he was deactivated. These were all things his emotion chip made it unpleasant for him to recall but recalled them just the same…

Juliana enjoyed hurting him as well as his siblings and she had enjoyed hurting his father. She had a brilliant and frightening mind and he did fear her as his father had feared her. But he also wanted to injure her, to hurt her, make her fear him, to hear her beg and plead for her life before he extinguished that blasphemous candle.

That was why he had to die. Not because of what he planned but because of the joy he anticipated reaping from it. It was a violation of his programming, it could likely cause a complete system abort if he were to go through with it and simply let the action stand. At the very least his ethics and morality subroutines would drive him mad. So, he reasoned he must complete the action. He must bring it to its logical conclusion and then he must end the experiment that had been his existence.