Late Night Holodeck

It was considerably later the night of the launch when T'Pren finally ran out of things to do that were keeping her mind occupied and fell back on that old standby: fighting things.

She was dressed as she would be for the rescue mission, her hair back in a neat French braid that showed her ears and kept it from her face. And though she was not sweating -- Vulcans don't do such things -- she was flushed fairly green from the effort, a clear indicator that she had been at it for a while now.

The scene? An approximation of their destination, a Cardassian prison camp in the Badlands. But instead of a whole team, it was just the little halfie doing the fighting, all in the dark. She was outnumbered and outgunned (in fact, she had no phaser), and she was fighting off as many opponents as she possibly could with traditional Vulcan forms. She was an impressive fighter, though not necessarily because of her skill, which was above average for a Starfleet lieutenant, but because of her scrappiness and resourcefulness.

The android on board was equally restless. They were not used to being alert but idle. When Zíma 8 learned that the holodeck was running a training simulation, they entered, presuming they could be of help. They switched to low-light vision and recognized the lieutenant.

"Good evening, lieutenant," Just as they had been programmed, Zíma punted away attacks from the holographic enemies so they could make their way to her. "Would you prefer an opponent you have not programmed yourself?"

It took T'Pren a few moments to reply. She took down an attacking Cardassian with a double-fisted Vulcan nerve pinch and finally looked in Zima's direction. "Doctor!" she greeted, a little exhilarated from the fight.

After a brief hesitation, she admitted, "I was trying to desensitize myself to seeing Cardassian guards, but I could definitely use something new." She grinned. "I promise I won't dismember you."

"I think it's highly unlikely, but you will know what to do in the event it happens, I'm sure." Zíma assured.

"Computer," T'Pren ordered, ducking out of the way of a Cardassian punch, "end program."

The room went blank and the Vulcan stretched out her arms and shoulders. "Even if I were that strong," she agreed with a wry smile, "Vulcans don't really do dismembering." She glanced around at the black room and then back at the robot. "Any sparring preferences?"

"I am most familiar with hand-to-hand, but there is no need for you to play to my strengths. You may use a weapon if you wish." Zíma adopted a defensive stance, their yellow eyes flickering over the girl.

"I prefer hand-to-hand," replied the lieutenant, stepping over to the wall panel and cycling through possible locations. In the end, she picked a classic dojo look and then watched Zima's pose with caution. "I should have looked over more of your schematic," she admitted. But she came back to face him, assuming a poised defensive Vulcan stance of her own. And there she waited to see what the robot would do.

Once again, Zíma found themselves in the unfamiliar position of attacker. They circled the smaller organic being slowly before charging, giving her an exploratory left hook to the solar plexus.

This was because one should never attack a robot before a robot attacks you. Besides, T'Pren was small and gauging her opponents' weaknesses was essential to surviving a fight. She kept herself facing Zima at all times, and because the punch was a test, she danced out of the way fairly easily. She still didn't attack, though, staying alert and in motion when necessary, but spending most of her attention on trying to figure out how an organic being goes about incapacitating a synthetic one. Punching plastic wasn't going to do her any good.

When she dodged, Zíma immediately faked another hook, then swept a kick to her legs, intending to knock her to the ground.

When Zima faked the second hook, T'Pren was ready for him: she slammed a powerful Vulcan open hand up under the joint of his arm where the faux skin covered the wires and magnets that held him together. What she wasn't ready for was the kick. She went down despite her last-second efforts to leap over the robot's legs, hitting the mat and then throwing her legs over her head so she came up a body-length away, raised up on one knee with the other foot stretched out behind her, cat-like and alert, waiting to see if her attack did any good at all or if this was one particularly hopeless match.

A small magnet in Zíma's arm jolted out of place from her powerful hit, but they popped it back into place with a small jerk that may have been terrifying if he were really coming after someone.

They waited for her to come to her feet before barraging her with a series of quick, sharp Thai boxing attacks, which tested the quickness of her reflexes. Zíma's intent was to give her no time to respond between blocks.

If there was one advantage to T'Pren's size it was that she was, in fact, quite fast. And though she was half-Vulcan, she was still no match for a sentient computer. Her hands and arms were a blur and she bobbed and weaved as necessary, but while she managed not to get hit, she definitely didn't have the time to attack.

At least not until she disengaged entirely. In the middle of the scuffle of hands, the little halfie dropped like a stone, driving her elbow for the side of Zima's knee. It wasn't an ideal target, but it was the only one she could get to.

Zíma did go down, losing their centre of balance, but slid into another attack. They locked their legs around T'Pren's trunk and pinned her to the floor. They expected the sparring session to be over, but waited to see if their unpredictable opponent would respond.

T'Pren didn't want the sparring session to be over. Being held down just made her fight harder. But no matter what she did, how she moved, what efforts she made, Zima's legs held her fast. It was only after every other option that wasn't just plain bad manners was exhausted that she finally went limp, letting her head hit the soft mat underneath them. "No wonder he had to dismember you," she told the ceiling.

Zíma sat up, still sort of sitting on her, but no longer holding her down.
"I was not programmed to attack people - only to defend if needed. I worked very hard for these abilities," they said, almost with pride.

When Zima sat up, T'Pren pushed herself up on her elbows to study him with new interest. It was both scientific and quite human. "They're magnificent," she assured him earnestly. "When did you decide -- and how and why -- that you ought to gain them?"

"I learned at Starfleet," Zíma answered. "It was recommended to me. The aggressive side of martial arts is congruent with my defensive programming, but it.." Zíma searched for a terminology that would make sense to an organic. "It goes against my instincts."

"Mm," T'Pren replied thoughtfully, studying the robot's not-quite-human face. "But do you enjoy it?"

"I am becoming accustomed to it," Zíma replied nebulously. They then stood and offered Pren a hand up. "Though I do not know what would transpire if I tried to really hurt someone. It has not yet been necessary or asked of me."

"It should never be asked of anyone to hurt someone else," the half-Vulcan said with certainty. She took Zima's offered hand and climbed to her feet, though she didn't actually need the help. "If I'm restless or anxious or angry, I might take it out on a virtual opponent or two," she gestured at the room, though there were no more virtual opponents to be seen, "but when it comes to actual life, I firmly believe that the damage one does to one's opponent ought to be directly proportional to how much is necessary to incapacitate them or to stop them from harming you or another person."

Zima considered this philosophy a moment.
"When protecting the wounded on a battlefield, the use of force is not difficult to determine. However.. when ordered to go out and stop an occupying force, the situation is more complicated. And I do not completely understand the Federation's stance on ethical warfare. But then, there are many things about organic life in general I do not understand. But I do not think they understand it either."

Zima's last comment got a fond smile from T'Pren, who was checking her forearms for the tell-tale signs of early bruising. "You may be right about that. That's the thing about being a sentient individual: you've only got your own experiences and knowledge to draw from. So some things that are perfectly natural to another person may seem unfathomable to you. Or me."

She dropped her arms after the inspection and tilted her head at Zima thoughtfully. "I hope you know that you can always ask me if you don't understand something. It's all science at its core anyway."