Breakdown on the Street (Closed)
The EMH was gone. The village's ability to bring people in and dismiss them was one that usually only sparked curiosity with his positronic brain. Perhaps being of some familiarity with an individual, even if they weren't personally acquainted, had inspired a completely different reaction than he had previously encountered in Haurvatat.
He was on his way to Ten Forward, carrying a small clear cylinder that was a holosuite program dedicated to the function of his positronic technology, when the realization hit. The effect, which he could observe though he made little effort to do so, was something along the lines of his first emotional apprehension at interacting with the Borg aboard the Enterprise-E. If he were to return to the point that he was discharged from, he would be destroyed in the explosion of the Scimitar.
When he had gone on board the ship, he knew he had no likelihood of escape, but he felt it his mission on the behalf of his crew to sacrifice himself; comforted only that he stored his memories, the logs of the colonists of Omicron Theta, and the memories of his daughter inside of the positronic brain of his malfunctioning sibling. B-4 had been his only chance for continuing on in some fashion, he had presumed at the time. Fortunately for him, he had found himself in a small village in the middle of nowhere through some means or another; that gave him another chance at life and learning.
With the loss of the EMH, Data suddenly became aware of his tenuous state of existence. Perhaps not at the moment he noted the hologram's number vanished, but in the calculations that followed later. The emotion from that realization hit him with the force of an electrical surge, and he slowed his gait.
He dropped to the concrete steps of a shop, program weakly held between his fingers as he put his face in his hand. If he were to destroyed, his father's life's work would be lost. He had produced no lasting offspring, perhaps only the legacy of artificial intelligence rights. He would have only second hand memories that the previous model of himself was not advanced enough to access. All the important information he had gathered here would be gone.
He should have been more grateful to experience a very genuinely biological fear of death and destruction. Instead, for the moment, gold eyes welled up with tears that were rarely shed and he made a half-hearted attempt to shield his watering eyes with his fingers. Still he couldn't quite hide the shudder of shoulders or the sound of shaky, automated breath.
[(Slow-time is love.)]
He was on his way to Ten Forward, carrying a small clear cylinder that was a holosuite program dedicated to the function of his positronic technology, when the realization hit. The effect, which he could observe though he made little effort to do so, was something along the lines of his first emotional apprehension at interacting with the Borg aboard the Enterprise-E. If he were to return to the point that he was discharged from, he would be destroyed in the explosion of the Scimitar.
When he had gone on board the ship, he knew he had no likelihood of escape, but he felt it his mission on the behalf of his crew to sacrifice himself; comforted only that he stored his memories, the logs of the colonists of Omicron Theta, and the memories of his daughter inside of the positronic brain of his malfunctioning sibling. B-4 had been his only chance for continuing on in some fashion, he had presumed at the time. Fortunately for him, he had found himself in a small village in the middle of nowhere through some means or another; that gave him another chance at life and learning.
With the loss of the EMH, Data suddenly became aware of his tenuous state of existence. Perhaps not at the moment he noted the hologram's number vanished, but in the calculations that followed later. The emotion from that realization hit him with the force of an electrical surge, and he slowed his gait.
He dropped to the concrete steps of a shop, program weakly held between his fingers as he put his face in his hand. If he were to destroyed, his father's life's work would be lost. He had produced no lasting offspring, perhaps only the legacy of artificial intelligence rights. He would have only second hand memories that the previous model of himself was not advanced enough to access. All the important information he had gathered here would be gone.
He should have been more grateful to experience a very genuinely biological fear of death and destruction. Instead, for the moment, gold eyes welled up with tears that were rarely shed and he made a half-hearted attempt to shield his watering eyes with his fingers. Still he couldn't quite hide the shudder of shoulders or the sound of shaky, automated breath.
[(Slow-time is love.)]