Ever since the little âSoong family reunion,â the android had been gallivanting around Federation space. And, at first, he was gloating in his accomplishments; he had successfully confiscated his brotherâs emotion chip, and although he still didnât feel whole, at least the knowledge of Dataâs impasse ensured him that neither of them would ever truly be perfect. However, after his many attempts at integrating himself into other organisations, such as the Rigellian Hunters, Suliban Nomads, and Nausicaan Outlaws, Lore had discovered that even those species had their prejudices toward artificial lifeforms ⸺ they were just as terrible as humans. This realisation made him feel an excruciating loneliness, which brought him to the conclusion to cease his illegal enterprises and roam the galaxy on his own, wishing, hoping he would find a place, a planet, where he could pursue his dreams and live among kindred spirits; individuals who would understand him, because they were like him, lost and forgottenâŚ
  The Romulan Warbird he had commandeered from a Nausicaan Outlaw after he had double-crossed the idiot, was on auto-pilot until its sensors intercepted a distress call from a moon not far away from his current position. Curiosity, an intrinsic characteristic in every Soong-type android, compelled him to investigate, and he tapped the coordinates into the console, altering the Warbirdâs trajectory.
  When the vessel arrived at its destination, Lore scanned the moonâs desolate surface for life signs. There was one, but how peculiar, it was half-humanoid, half-artificial. A cyborg? A Borg?
  Lore beamed down to the surface of the moon, and one glance at the lifeform confirmed his suspicions; a lonesome Borg. A smug grin was conjured to his synthetic countenance; he was going to derive great pleasure from taunting one of the Federationâs greatest foes. However, his resolution wavered when he advanced and realised that the Borg was⌠Wait. Were those tears? Was that Borg crying?
  Awkwardly, the android became stationary and whistled to garner the boyâs attention. Perhaps he could deal with the kid and salvage the ship? But then another thought struck him: what if this boy had been abandoned by the Collective? Discarded by his family, just like him? But what if it wasnât? What if this was a trap?
  âDâyou need a ride?â he asked promptly, throwing all caution to the wind. âBecause it doesnât look like youâre going to get anywhere with that piece of scrap,â he pointed out, gesturing to the crashed shuttle, which was clearly Borg in design. âMy nameâs Lore. Whatâs yours? Do Borg even have names?â
@spacetimewriter (Lore, cont. from here)
Funny. He had been so upset he hadnât even noticed when this new stranger approached. He didnât notice until the man whistled.
The man, an android, looked so much like Data it made Hughâs heart ache even more and his face twisted up all over again. He sniffled and choked back a sob that escaped his throat in such a small hiccup. He missed Data. He missed Geordi. He missed Geordi so much! And Beverly!! Oh, he missed her warm smile. How she smelled how Hugh imagined a mom might smell. Floral, in a soft and gentle way.
But this wasnât Data. He said his name was Lore and asked if he needed a ride. Was that an offer?
âMy name is Hugh,â he answered, voice tight with emotion. It sounded so strange to his own ears. Strangled, like it was being forced through the vocal implant by a fist in his lungs. âIâm stuck. Iâm not Borg anymore and the Collective-â He cut himself off as fresh tears began to fall. âThe Collective doesnât want me anymore.â
âIâm stuck,â he repeated. âIâm stuck.â
He did need a ride off the moon. He just wished it was the Enterprise taking him back. The Enterprise was warm, comfortable, heâd even be okay being trapped in the brig for awhile. At least he had company. Guards, but they counted. This was the closest thing to homesick heâd likely experience. Rejected by two homes, now. If he could call them homes.
He hugged himself. âI donât know what to do.â
