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"So what are they?"

"Well not Human, though they look it...."

"But can anything survive out there?"

"No, it cannot," the senior cyberneticist glances at the stiff, ice-covered bodies which resemble a Human male and female, but their skin has a distinct pearlescent gold hue beneath the film of cosmic rhime.

A beat passes before they continue, "So, given their comparatively well preserved state this means only one thing..."

"Synths?"

"Correct"

"But...surely, these are now...defunct?"

"Not quite," says the cyberneticist boldly, and taking out a tricorder they run it methodically over both bodies.

On completion of the examination they raise one blue eyebrow with a practised 'hmm'.

"Well?" Their porcine assistant asks expectantly.

"They appears to be the same design. Positronic perhaps. Inactive for a long time...maybe decades." They pause to process the information, "Phaser damage, hmm...."

The head cyberneticist frowns as they assess this finding. 

"The male one is severely compromised but still active. The female however took a hit to the head so is totally frazzled." 

"Can you fix them?" The assistant asks, their question sounding oddly naive.

Their superior contrives an intense expression. "The male-coded one possibly, but there's a lot of exterior damage so it would be tricky. The female is extinct as the neural network was totally banjaxed by that phaser hit. Looks like it was set to kill..."

"Yeah shit... they must have pissed off someone big time."

The cyberneticist ignores the comment and instead focuses on the inert and ghostly countenance of the two synth bodies lying on the floor in front of them. The space ice is now melting, leaving a gathering puddle of moisture around their lifeless forms.

"I am intrigued enough to try to revive this one," they announce, pointing at the male. "However given the extent of the damage we have to assume there must have been some sort of threat. In which case, it would be wise to avoid the Federation. I have checked our coordinates and there's an unclassified planet about 20 light years from here where we might be able to work undisturbed, no questions asked."

"Sounds good. You sure you want to do this?"

"Absolutely. If this is what I think it is then it could earn me a favourable reputation and a stack of latinum."

"What about the comeback? 

"What do you mean?" The head cyberneticist poses suspiciously. 

"Well, this tech belongs to someone, what if they're still alive? Or their relatives are and they slap an intellectual property lawsuit on you?"

The cyberneticist smiles thinly. "Listen, in this neck of the woods it's a chaotic unpoliced no man's land. No one gives a cuss about anything. It's each person for themselves - like the ancient Terran wild west.

"But... everyone in the underworld will be queuing up to get a piece of tech like this - Ferengi, Orions, even Pakleds. The space outlaws too. It's like it's made of latinum ..." the assistant replies lamely.

The cyberneticist pauses, antennae lowered, hollow sleep-starved features configuring in an almost derranged expression. 

"Just leave that to me, I know exactly what to do..."

Their assistant shrugs, "OK you're in charge..."

**

Several weeks later, on Odin V an M class planet in the unchartered zone, the two scientists have constructed a makeshift lab. With the head cyberneticist's expertise they have fitted it out with replicated and acquired equipment in order to fully study and repair their precious booty.

The male synth is laid out on a biobed, its facial expression blankly serene and its cranium open.  

The cyberneticist is studying the brain structure meticulously and delicately. Probing each filament of wire and tiny electrode with absorbed interest. 

"Any idea yet as to whom created it?" The assistant asks.

"I'm not sure but I have an idea. I've seen this structure before. Ah - what's this...Hm, it has some sort of serial number, look - "

The assistant squints, trying to make sense of the microscopic characters imprinted on one of the synths interfaces. It's almost hidden but the assistant with their younger eyes is able to decipher it.

"From what I can make out, it appears to be AS-0572Y. Does that mean anything to you?"

"I can't say it does. But...I think I have got the main systems back up and running, just a tweak here and there, so they should be able to speak to us..."

The inert android body begins to reboot. Its eyelids flicker rapidly, and synthetic muscles give imperceptible spasms. It's clearly coming back online.

"Hehe doctor, did anyone tell you you're a real packrat...?" the assistant chuckles.

"Shut up!" The scientist retorts back, clearly affronted.

"Hey just had a thought - what if it's hostile?" The assistant's face suddenly wears a look of concern.

However their mentor is calmly confident. 

"I've still got the dampener immobiliser on. It won't move until I release that command."

"Right, okay. So in case they're sentient should we give them a name?"

"Yes that's a good idea. What about Fred?" They reply in a fanciful tone.

"Fred?" The assistant's brow knits quizzically.

"Yup, just Fred."

"Okay..."

The android's eyes snap open. The two scientists are intrigued to find its irises are bright yellow. After a preamble to gain awareness it looks round, before focussing sharply on the two alien scientists. 

"Hello Fred," the pair chorus simultaneously. 

"Hello." The android responds in a neutral cadence but looks puzzled, "Fred? That is not my name." It answers decisively. 

The two scientists exchange furtive looks. "You have another name?" asks the assistant with vague surprise in their tone.

"Yes, I do."

"What is it then?" 

"I am Beautiful Flower, I am from Coppelius on the fourth planet in the Ghulian system. And I act in capacity of ambassador for the synth community residing there. What am I doing here? What happened to the ship? To Jana? The Captain?"

The two scientists exchange bemused glances and laugh nervously. These are random questions they cannot answer.

"I'm afraid I don't know," the cyberneticist gives a dismissive shrug, though their voice is soft and benevolent. "But you're with us now, that's all you need to know."

Their statement is final and perfunctory. There is a loaded pause before they add enquiringly: "So what's with this Beautiful Flower thing? Is it some sort of nickname?"

The android baulks imperceptibly before giving a measured reply, "No. It is not. It is an honorable name bestowed upon me at the time of my inception by my creators. I have a twin, called Broken Flower..."

The information, particularly any name including the prefix 'broken' pertaining to a synth clearly unsettles the two scientists, who for a moment are unsure how to proceed further.

"Ah okay...so who are your creators?" the cyberneticist ventures, impatient now for quick (and reassuring) answers.

"Dr Altan Inigo Soong and Dr Bruce Maddox" the synth replies dispassionately. 

"Soong?" The cyberneticist parrots, thinking that the name sounds eerily familiar.

"Wasn't he some famous cyberneticist in the 23rd century?" The assistant muses, anticipating some grand reveal.

"That is correct." The synth replies baldly.

"And Bruce Maddox - I remember, " chimes in the assistant. "He was a Starfleet officer. Chair of cybernetics. Fled after the synth ban 75 years ago. Resigned his commission. Retreated to some planet to carry on his work but was murdered by B'zyel."

"Thank you for that piece of historical trivia," the cyberneticist acknowledges in a withering tone.

"You know, this synth could be linked to the late Lieutenant Commander Data...'" the assistant continues undeterred. 

"Data? What or who was that? Starfleet??"

The head cyberneticist gives their colleague a disparaging look and shakes their head. Taking a small tool in their hand, they whisper a discreet aside to them: "If what you're saying is correct I think we're going to have to switch it off and do some retuning." 

"Why?" 

"Because all this sounds too risky. Especially with a Starfleet officer involved. Deceased or not. Their blabbering could get us thrown into the wrong hands. Loose lips and all that. It could expose us full on to the Feds."

"The Feds?" The synth's intrusive words throw them off guard.

They both notice that its voice is innocent but its fixed expression holds an undercurrent of guile. It may mean nothing, but they can't take any chances.

"Sorry Fred - Flower," the doctor says as they reach for the recess in the synth's shoulder blades. 

"Excuse me. What are you do-?" 

Its vocal processor is cut off and its body goes limp as the cyberneticist presses its off switch.

Their assistant stands over the now inert synth, padd in hand, ready to take down the pertinent specifics which the cyberneticist is gathering about its neural net and its physical construction.

They then stop to examine their findings, comparing them to notes in both official Federation files and other less warrantable sources.

"Done!" The cyberneticist cries in delight when all the study matches are complete. "Now I'm going to re initialise."

"Are you sure it's safe now?" The assistant asks cautiously.

Their superior nods,  antennae lowered, and quirks their eyebrows. "Absolutely..."

Once more the synth wakes up, but now looks less self-assured and ever so slightly disoriented. 

"Right." The cyberneticist remarks in a confident tone, clearly pleased with this adjustment. 

"Now, starting from the beginning, tell us all you know about yourself," they query with a hint of muted aggression.

There is an uneasy recess as the android regroups.

"I am Fred, just Fred..." it deadpans.

"And can you tell me who made you?"

"I do not know."

The cyberneticist gives an uneasy smirk. 'That will do for now,' they think to themselves. 'This centrifuge will suffice until we can offload them onto a suitable planet...'

In the interim they install a tracking device on the synth and link in their Breen contacts. They know the Dominion species will offer a tidy sum for a Soong android, whatever its designation.

"Do you have any intel on a planet?" The cyberneticist asks his assistant brusquely, and after a few taps on a padd they give a firm nod. 

"Okay Fred, listen - we are going to carry out a few more tests and then drop you off at Planet Q'mau where my associates will take care of you..."

"That is acceptable," the synth answers, probably not understanding what this entails.

Meanwhile the cyberneticist grins and checks the coordinates, thinking only of the haul of latinum coming their way...