General Practice

As the morning wore on, the infirmary became a little more active, but mainly with routine things that Zíma's staff could almost take care of my themselves. A headache here, an allergy test there.
Ensign Tarq'ai's 8 year old daughter was making a fuss about having her blood drawn for testing, even after Zíma explained to her that the discomfort was minimal and merely exacerbated by her thinking about it. Finally, they gave the little girl their left eye to distract her while the the blood could be drawn without her noticing.
"Can I keep it?" she asked, rolling the glass ball in both her hands.
"I'm afraid I need it more than you do," they replied. At the urging of her mother, the little girl pushed the eye back into the soft synthetic socket where it locked into place by magnetic connections to its control centre inside Zíma's brain.
The android thanked the little girl and patted her head. They passed the phial of blood onto a nurse and moved on to the next patient.

The next patient could not have been more different. A giant Klingon was pacing the examining room, a bloody tear in his arm seeming to cause him more annoyance than anything else. Akhil had been spending more of what little free time he had training in the holosuites, and today had proven more hazardous than usual. His Klingon side would have likely made him ignore the wound until it sorted itself out, but the human, and more importantly, Starfleet common sense sent him to the infirmary to make sure it would not get infected and he would be in good working order to carry out his duties. Besides, there was no point frightening the very children he worked so hard with by stomping around and bleeding.

The counselor stopped and turned to greet the doctor as Zima entered, then paused, taking in this surprising new arrival.

Zíma looked up at the enormous man coolly, scanning him with their yellow eyes and analysing his wound.
"Hello Counselor Akhil. I am the new acting medical officer, Doctor Zima 8," they raised a dermal regenerator. "I hope you are not going to give me any trouble with this. Because I do not intend to let you keep a scar."

Akhil frowned as if trouble was exactly what he was about to give, then sat down on the examination table. It creaked under his weight. "If I was going to give you trouble, I would not have come here in the first place," he replied gruffly, then checked himself. "Welcome to the station, Doctor." He looked them over again, with interest, unsure what to make of this new development. He was not unfamiliar with robots - in fact, this very model was familiar from his time in the military. Several served as auxiliary medical relief. But he had never encountered one that operated on its own and with full free will and apparent personhood.

Zíma acknowledged him with a dispassionate smile. They steadied his arm with surprising strength, and set to work scanning for any damages to muscle or tendon, then sterilised the wound with a sonic instrument.
"I'm so glad to see that reason prevails, despite the obvious strength of your Klingon genes," they said as they worked.

Akhil shot the robot a look, but was distracted. "You are very strong. Were you employed in the military before?"

"Yes," Zíma replied. "I was deployed as a field medic for the Tripoli for five years. I am designed to provide defence against attacks on the wounded and humanoid medics."

That explained it. Akhil looked at the robot with increased respect. "You have fared well since then, Doctor. I served with in the Dominion Wars with Starfleet."

"Yes, I saw that in your file," Zíma passed the dermo regenerator over Akhil's wound with precision. "Do you still practice martial arts now that you are a counsellor?"

"Yes," Akhil replied. "Martial arts are part of my counseling program - I teach group and individual courses. And I practice on my own," he added stiffly. Practice, maim holograms, same difference.

Zíma's sculpted and painted eyebrows rose with interest.
"Perhaps we can spar together some time. We should be a rare match, given our mutual robustness."

Akhil's eyebrows rose in their turn. "Mutual robustness?" The robot may have been strong, but from where the half-Klingon was sitting, they were still a piece of pretty delicate machinery.

"My body was designed to withstand extreme conditions and strain, including phasor fire and small explosions. This is why I am not passable as an organic humanoid," Zíma explained. "I will take care not to hurt you."

Akhil's eyebrows climbed higher on his forehead, then the counselor burst out into booming laughter that startled several patients waiting their turn outside. He looked down at his mended arm, then back up at the robot. "Alright, is that a challenge, doctor? You are on."

"Good," Zíma decided coolly. They put away the generator and inspected their work. "The damage was not deep - you may use your arm as normal."

Akhil looked down at his arm and moved it around, flexing the muscle. The skin was only slightly red where the scar should have been, and he knew from pas injuries that would fade quickly. "Thank you, doctor."

"You are most welcome," Zíma said. "My Infirmary shift ends in six hours. Shall we fit in an holodeck session before we are deployed on the Hippolyta?"

Akhil looked the robot up and down. "Yes. I will see you there." He smirked, intrigued by this new potential partner.