Arming Zima

Despite her earlier levity with Akhil around, T'Pren showed at least some decorum as they made their way through the station, tucking Zima's arm back under hers and dropping back by the robot's side so that she didn't cause too much of a scene. She didn't want to embarrass the new doctor, if the new doctor could feel such things.

They were not too far from Engineering when she wondered, "Did you feel it? Do you feel it now?"

"I was aware of my limb being torn from my body - though it's never happened before, so it took a moment for me to recognize it," Zíma answered. "Though if you mean 'did it hurt,' the answer is no."

"That's good," T'Pren admitted with a grin. "I would have felt horrible if you'd told me it was painful and I'd laughed the whole time."

As they walked, she moved the hand on the dismembered arm so that she could run a finger over the palm. "Can you feel that?"

Zíma regarded her with a puzzled expression.
"There is nothing connecting my neural pathways to that arm. Are you certain you're qualified to perform this repair?"

"Science is trial and error, Doctor," T'Pren replied lightly, tossing a sideways grin at him as they entered Engineering. "I am more than qualified to try and err." And just in case he didn't understand that she was joking, she added more seriously, "It's basic stuff. I'll pull up your schematics and we'll be done in no time."

To reassure the synthetic being, she stepped up to a computer and went sifting through files to bring up the one on Zima.

The file gave Zíma's design intention (field medical assistance), his previous injuries (nothing so dramatic as the present injury), and an overview of his construction. The wiring would be tricky, but given the supplies they had on the station, it was possible.
"We say that a person 'practices' as a doctor, because in the antiquity of medical science it was all trial and error. But we - and by 'we' I mean 'you' - have evolved past this, no?"

"Trial and error is the fun part of science," T'Pren replied coyly, setting an elbow on a ledge so she could better study the wiring. "I hope to never evolve past it. Otherwise science will never evolve." When she had found what she thought she needed, she pushed away from the console and offered Zima control of his arm. "Hang onto this, will you?"

When she'd handed the hand off, she opened an engineering kit and pulled out a tricorder and a fancy-looking instrument with a metal proboscis and a blue-white light at the end. And then she hesitated. "...You're going to have to sit. I'm not exactly tall."

Zíma sat down obediently. "I'm very glad it wasn't my head that Akhil decided to tear off."

"I didn't bother looking at that on the schematic," T'Pren replied distractedly, running the tricorder over the empty socket that used to house Zima's arm. "But if your head attaches at all like your other appendages, you'd still function, wouldn't you?" The tricorder beeped and the half-Vulcan tilted her head as she studied its results.

"If you fail to re-attach my arm properly, the control of my arm would be compromised. If it were my head, the damage would be.. more inconvenient."

"I'm installing an Artificial Singularity Drive to a Federation ship," T'Pren pointed out flatly, fiddling with the exposed wires and using the lighted tool to do something mysterious and engineer-y with them. "I think I can handle a magnetic arm."

She set that tool aside and pulled another from the kit, setting back to work. "If you're worried, we can talk about something else to distract you."

"That's very considerate of you, but it would not have been wise for my engineer to programme me with anxiety," Zima said.

"Well, every emotion I experience is the result of thousands and thousands of years of evolutionary programming," T'Pren reasoned as she worked, poking and proding and pulling on the tiny details of Zima's shoulder. "Anxiety has its uses." She looked up and reached out a hand toward the dismembered arm. "May I?"

"Of course," Zíma gave it to her. "As I understand it, anxiety is useful for self reservation. I was programmed to preserve others."

T'Pren took the arm and leaned against the nearest wall, going through a similar set of steps for its gaping hole as she did for the shoulder. And as she worked, she mused. "Evolutionarily speaking, preservation of the self and preservation of others could be argued to be the same thing. But anxiety could be specifically useful in protecting others. It's a way for my body to be on red alert so that if something happens, I can act quickly." She smiled up at Zima. "Granted, anxiety in an inappropriate situation can make organic life complicated and miserable."

She dropped her attention back to the arm for a moment and then wondered, "What are you programmed to feel? If you don't mind me asking. And do you ever do or feel things that aren't in your programming? Or that are against your programming?"

Zíma held very still for her to do her work.
"I feel pressure, weight.. I register temperature and humidity. I was programmed to simulate a few demeanours relevant to my work - sympathy, compassion, calm, severity. I am learning to simulate others."

T'Pren couldn't help but smile at the idea of simulating severity and also at the idea that she probably had already come across that one from Zima. "Which one is your favorite?" she wondered, holding up the arm near the socket so she could work on connecting them.

"Which is your favourite?" Zíma countered.

"Mm," T'Pren replied thoughtfully, pressing her lips together. She paused in her work to give the question actual time and attention. "I don't know that I could pick a perfect favorite," she decided. "But I love joy. And being content. Giddiness." She smiled as she spoke. "Certain kinds of fear and sadness. Righteous anger."

"Ah," Zíma said simply. "I don't think I have a favourite either. They are all useful tools."

As T'Pren went back to work, she gave Zima an appraising look. "Do you have a favorite to see in others? Or a favorite to have in response to something you've said or done?"

"I accept the demeanor of all people I have contact with," Zima said. Then, after a pause, "There were two individuals at Starfleet whom I became accustomed to. I grew very accustomed to their laughs. And to the occasional panic attacks one of them was prone to. Particularly before exams."

"Friends, you mean?" T'Pren asked with an amused smile, glancing up momentarily from her delicate work. She was fusing wires back together and making sure they were the right ones and that it was a very thorough, exact job. Because the last thing she wanted was to have a doctor with a busted arm when they were going to potentially rescue her fathers. "Do you have anything of any kind that you consider your favorite? Favorite color, favorite activity, favorite book...?"

"I do have a hobby," Zíma said. There was a hint of a smile. "For many years, I have been implanting each organic person I treat with a chip that, when activated, will destroy them. My aim is to eliminate all organic life - though of course it will take more androids than just myself. But I have already recruited a few."

After the last several jokes like this, T'Pren was ready for the darkness of Zima's blank-voiced humor. So she grinned as she worked, giving a throaty giggle in appreciation. "You wouldn't be the first doctor to implant me with things that might destroy me."