There were adjustments that had to be made initially, that came as no surprise. For one thing, augmentation was illegal in the universe Data was accustomed to. Being revealed as an augment could rob one of well-deserved honors and citations. Here augments were run of the mill. If someone wasn't a Heavy Gravity Worlder (meaning that they were sturdy and dense and could navigate easily in two Gs, and their metabolism was incredible to feed that stocky bulk), then they had their reflexes enhanced, the ability to breathe water, or were tweaked clones. Cybernetic enhancements for more than just keeping the body maintained were common, such as for strength or for data navigation. And there were androids. There were still prejudices against AIs, and they couldn't efficiently navigate slipstream without the intuition of an organic, but there were many of them. Androids, and androids with brains that could link to ships with massive cosmic intellect, and all of them could feel.

It was nice to just... blend in, Data found. He was still unique, his positronic system still wonderfully compatible with other systems and strange in the way that it evolved and altered. His appearance still not modeled to look like that of a human precisely, but markedly different in that he had gold skin. And while they didn't have warp drive (yet another little tidbit that he was sure they could "develop" for interstellar rather than intergalactic ships) he had Avon to help navigate slipstream.

( When they found a ship that was, of course... )

[(Continued from here)]

It was really fortunate Data remembered where either of their rooms were. It wasn't that his memory wasn't functioning, persay, but it was random fact over random fact, tumbling in an illogical order that trumped his processes. When he opened the door, he barely registered the cat skittering off to hide herself in the bathroom, suitably dosed so that her feline paranoia was getting the better of her and she wanted nothing to do with these two legged fiends.

He dropped their cricketing gear near the couch in the main area, oddly clumsy, and if he hadn't been holding to the Doctor to counterbalance his own weight.

"We have a mystery to solve," Data declared sternly, holding up his tricorder so they both could look at it. "But we can't until Avon is here. He needs his mustache." This was a fact. No mystery could be unravelled until Avon was fully mustachioed and prepared to provide... something. What was it.

And where was his pipe and smoking jacket?