ROLLERCOASTER - Analysis
Aug. 10th, 2009 11:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
r_scribblesSet at the end of S7 Episode 'Thine Own Self'
ROLLERCOASTER
-x-
Analysis
-x-
He had expected her to say more.
He had, after all, been stranded, devoid of memory, on a pre-industrial world for some time. He had expected her to tell him that she had been concerned for his wellbeing.
He could recall nothing of what had happened to him on the planet, but according to Dr Crusher and Geordi, he had been found offline and badly damaged – so much so that he had been taken by the inhabitants of the world to have died, and buried as such. It was, as the Captain had pointed out, fortunate that that particular society disposed of their dead with burial rather than incineration. He had expected her to mention that she disliked the concept of him being treated as a corpse.
He had seen the records of the damage that had been done to him before the repairs to his body had taken place. It appeared that a long metal pick had been thrust through his torso, causing him to go offline. There had also been a large portion of the synthetic skin and hair torn from the left side of his face, and it seemed from the nature of the injury that this partial scalping had taken place while he was still functioning normally. He had, in human terms, been facially mutilated and then impaled. He had expected her to show distress at him being a victim of such violence, and at seeing his body so visibly damaged.
She had expressed none of those sentiments, however.
She had been present when he had been returned online, but the only interaction she had made with him had been to smile, to cast her gaze quickly down the curious apparel in which he had found himself dressed, and to declare; ‘Nice tights’. By the time that he had noted the legwear in question and looked up to reply, she had walked away.
It was perplexing.
But did he not find much of Tasha’s social interaction with him perplexing anyway? Had he not become so accustomed to finding their relationship over the years difficult to rationalise that he had long since abandoned any attempts to do so? He was not given these days to trying to over-analyse the motives behind Tasha’s personal behaviour towards him unless she appeared to be angry with him, or in distress. So, why was he reflecting so much upon such a seemingly jovial and offhand remark?
Could it be that he was not merely confused?
Could it be…
Could it be that he was disappointed?
No.
No.
No, he was incapable of disappointment, as he was incapable of feeling hopeful.
No.
Impossible.
Besides which, what was there about her remark that could even be viewed as meriting disappointment? She had complimented him with a friendly comment. She had made no verbal suggestion that she had been worried for him when he had been missing, or that she was relieved now to see him returned to his normal state of functioning, but that did not mean that she had not experienced those emotions. Perhaps she had felt that she no longer needed to remind him that she cared.
In any case, what concern of his was the emotional response of another?
He noticed that he was staring at the box in which he kept the emotion chip that had been salvaged from his brother. It was the 429th occurrence in which his eyes had settled on the container, seemingly unbidden, since Geordi had presented it to him.
He was still unsure about whether to ever attempt to install the chip. As much as his friends assured him that the hatred he had felt and the damage he had caused while under the influence of the chip had been due to Lore’s abuse of the device, he could still not escape the possibility that, were he to attempt to use it again, it would trigger the same response. His behaviour had been unacceptable. He had obsessively pursued more emotions, losing reason and ethical consideration in the process.
And the hatred that he had felt… the fury…
He retained memories of all those emotions. They hung about him like shadows, like phantoms of feelings. Sometimes they would come to him in his dreams – never within him, always behaving as separate individuals, like Dr Faustus’ visitation from the Seven Sins… He had experienced Pride and Wrath, certainly; as well as Greed, for more emotion.
And Avarice.
The concept of jealousy had played about the edges of his awareness when he had been under Lore’s influence – as certain as he had been at the time that androids were superior to organic life forms, when he had cast his mind back to how very easily his friends found social interactions which never failed to leave him bemused; how they took physical and emotional pleasure for granted so, he had experienced envy. He was aware of that now.
Sloth and Gluttony had not affected him, but then he was capable of taking no pleasure from rest or consumption of food.
As for Lust…
…as for Lust, he could no more experience sexual gratification than he could take pleasure in a long sleep or large meal. It was illogical for such a visceral vice to have affected him.
And yet…
He had been enraged with Tasha. He had meant what he had told her, about despising her. That was a large contributing factor towards his disinclination to try using the emotion chip again. He had no wish to feel so aggrieved by her again. There had been something else present when he had seen her, however. Not merely anger, or a feeling of superiority over her as an electronic being, or envy over her humanity.
He knew that it was possible for individuals to sexualise hatred. Tasha herself, as the victim of so many violent sexual attacks in her childhood, was testament to that. That was why he would never tell her of his concerns that within the rage and the hatred towards her, he may have also experienced an element of desire. Much like the envy, he had barely noted it at the time. It was an occurrence that had only become plain to him after much analysis of his period under Lore’s control. He recalled the sensation of sexual need from Q’s orchestrated incident in the Turbolift. The sensation while he had been under the influence of the emotion chip had been nowhere near as pressing, but he believed now that it had been present, alongside the violent rage.
What type of person did that make him?
Tasha spoke of those who showed anger and violent lust towards her in the past as monsters. Indeed, he had witnessed her reaction to the Romulan General who had fathered Sela with an Alternate Tasha Yar. He had seen her distress; felt her hand as it had trembled with impotent rage; sat with her as she’d wept over how her years of abuse still affected her every day.
By attempting to install the emotion chip, even without Lore’s intervention, he ran the risk of becoming like one of those monsters from Tasha’s past. Even if he never acted upon the feelings, the combination of bitter recrimination and possessive desire was, he believed, a highly inappropriate response to have towards a fellow officer.
Let alone one who claimed to love him, and who appeared to wish him to love her in return.
Was that still the case? Were those still her feelings, or had Tasha since had yet another of her changes of mind? He believed that it would be inappropriate to ask her. In any case, would a change in her feelings and needs have any affect upon his response to her? He believed that, whether her feelings towards him were still amorous or merely friendly, she would still find the resentment he had felt towards her while equipped with emotions distressing, and no matter what her feelings towards him were, he would still find that shadow of desire… unfortunate. Troublesome, almost.
But if her emotional response to him was indeed so irrelevant, why had he been ruminating over her comment regarding the tights for so long?
It was all most perplexing.
Tasha was most perplexing.
For the 429th time, he made a concerted effort to move his attention away from the emotion chip. For now, it would be neither activated nor destroyed. The emotions bequeathed to him would remain a Schrödinger’s Cat – neither alive nor dead, in its box – until the moment came when he believed either that the positives of using the device satisfactorily outweighed the negatives, or vice-versa. That time had not yet arrived; therefore there was no merit on dwelling on the matter. Nor was there any merit in dwelling upon Tasha’s earlier comment.
But, he had expected her to say something more…
He got to his feet, briskly. This over-analysis was unhelpful, and becoming more than a little repetitive. He should concentrate upon some other activity.
Perhaps he should paint.
Again.
Again…?
Yes. He should paint again.
He removed the protective dustsheet from his latest project and carefully re-opened the box of unsynthesised acrylics that Wesley had sent him on the last “Birthday” that the young Cadet had nominally elected for him – the anniversary of his being discovered on Omicron Theta - purely on the grounds that “everybody should get Birthday presents”. With a knife, he added one part white to 4.6839 parts cobalt blue, mixing the paints evenly until they were exactly the tone of blue that he required. That done, he began to paint.
But, he had expected her to say something more.
ROLLERCOASTER
-x-
Analysis
-x-
He had expected her to say more.
He had, after all, been stranded, devoid of memory, on a pre-industrial world for some time. He had expected her to tell him that she had been concerned for his wellbeing.
He could recall nothing of what had happened to him on the planet, but according to Dr Crusher and Geordi, he had been found offline and badly damaged – so much so that he had been taken by the inhabitants of the world to have died, and buried as such. It was, as the Captain had pointed out, fortunate that that particular society disposed of their dead with burial rather than incineration. He had expected her to mention that she disliked the concept of him being treated as a corpse.
He had seen the records of the damage that had been done to him before the repairs to his body had taken place. It appeared that a long metal pick had been thrust through his torso, causing him to go offline. There had also been a large portion of the synthetic skin and hair torn from the left side of his face, and it seemed from the nature of the injury that this partial scalping had taken place while he was still functioning normally. He had, in human terms, been facially mutilated and then impaled. He had expected her to show distress at him being a victim of such violence, and at seeing his body so visibly damaged.
She had expressed none of those sentiments, however.
She had been present when he had been returned online, but the only interaction she had made with him had been to smile, to cast her gaze quickly down the curious apparel in which he had found himself dressed, and to declare; ‘Nice tights’. By the time that he had noted the legwear in question and looked up to reply, she had walked away.
It was perplexing.
But did he not find much of Tasha’s social interaction with him perplexing anyway? Had he not become so accustomed to finding their relationship over the years difficult to rationalise that he had long since abandoned any attempts to do so? He was not given these days to trying to over-analyse the motives behind Tasha’s personal behaviour towards him unless she appeared to be angry with him, or in distress. So, why was he reflecting so much upon such a seemingly jovial and offhand remark?
Could it be that he was not merely confused?
Could it be…
Could it be that he was disappointed?
No.
No.
No, he was incapable of disappointment, as he was incapable of feeling hopeful.
No.
Impossible.
Besides which, what was there about her remark that could even be viewed as meriting disappointment? She had complimented him with a friendly comment. She had made no verbal suggestion that she had been worried for him when he had been missing, or that she was relieved now to see him returned to his normal state of functioning, but that did not mean that she had not experienced those emotions. Perhaps she had felt that she no longer needed to remind him that she cared.
In any case, what concern of his was the emotional response of another?
He noticed that he was staring at the box in which he kept the emotion chip that had been salvaged from his brother. It was the 429th occurrence in which his eyes had settled on the container, seemingly unbidden, since Geordi had presented it to him.
He was still unsure about whether to ever attempt to install the chip. As much as his friends assured him that the hatred he had felt and the damage he had caused while under the influence of the chip had been due to Lore’s abuse of the device, he could still not escape the possibility that, were he to attempt to use it again, it would trigger the same response. His behaviour had been unacceptable. He had obsessively pursued more emotions, losing reason and ethical consideration in the process.
And the hatred that he had felt… the fury…
He retained memories of all those emotions. They hung about him like shadows, like phantoms of feelings. Sometimes they would come to him in his dreams – never within him, always behaving as separate individuals, like Dr Faustus’ visitation from the Seven Sins… He had experienced Pride and Wrath, certainly; as well as Greed, for more emotion.
And Avarice.
The concept of jealousy had played about the edges of his awareness when he had been under Lore’s influence – as certain as he had been at the time that androids were superior to organic life forms, when he had cast his mind back to how very easily his friends found social interactions which never failed to leave him bemused; how they took physical and emotional pleasure for granted so, he had experienced envy. He was aware of that now.
Sloth and Gluttony had not affected him, but then he was capable of taking no pleasure from rest or consumption of food.
As for Lust…
…as for Lust, he could no more experience sexual gratification than he could take pleasure in a long sleep or large meal. It was illogical for such a visceral vice to have affected him.
And yet…
He had been enraged with Tasha. He had meant what he had told her, about despising her. That was a large contributing factor towards his disinclination to try using the emotion chip again. He had no wish to feel so aggrieved by her again. There had been something else present when he had seen her, however. Not merely anger, or a feeling of superiority over her as an electronic being, or envy over her humanity.
He knew that it was possible for individuals to sexualise hatred. Tasha herself, as the victim of so many violent sexual attacks in her childhood, was testament to that. That was why he would never tell her of his concerns that within the rage and the hatred towards her, he may have also experienced an element of desire. Much like the envy, he had barely noted it at the time. It was an occurrence that had only become plain to him after much analysis of his period under Lore’s control. He recalled the sensation of sexual need from Q’s orchestrated incident in the Turbolift. The sensation while he had been under the influence of the emotion chip had been nowhere near as pressing, but he believed now that it had been present, alongside the violent rage.
What type of person did that make him?
Tasha spoke of those who showed anger and violent lust towards her in the past as monsters. Indeed, he had witnessed her reaction to the Romulan General who had fathered Sela with an Alternate Tasha Yar. He had seen her distress; felt her hand as it had trembled with impotent rage; sat with her as she’d wept over how her years of abuse still affected her every day.
By attempting to install the emotion chip, even without Lore’s intervention, he ran the risk of becoming like one of those monsters from Tasha’s past. Even if he never acted upon the feelings, the combination of bitter recrimination and possessive desire was, he believed, a highly inappropriate response to have towards a fellow officer.
Let alone one who claimed to love him, and who appeared to wish him to love her in return.
Was that still the case? Were those still her feelings, or had Tasha since had yet another of her changes of mind? He believed that it would be inappropriate to ask her. In any case, would a change in her feelings and needs have any affect upon his response to her? He believed that, whether her feelings towards him were still amorous or merely friendly, she would still find the resentment he had felt towards her while equipped with emotions distressing, and no matter what her feelings towards him were, he would still find that shadow of desire… unfortunate. Troublesome, almost.
But if her emotional response to him was indeed so irrelevant, why had he been ruminating over her comment regarding the tights for so long?
It was all most perplexing.
Tasha was most perplexing.
For the 429th time, he made a concerted effort to move his attention away from the emotion chip. For now, it would be neither activated nor destroyed. The emotions bequeathed to him would remain a Schrödinger’s Cat – neither alive nor dead, in its box – until the moment came when he believed either that the positives of using the device satisfactorily outweighed the negatives, or vice-versa. That time had not yet arrived; therefore there was no merit on dwelling on the matter. Nor was there any merit in dwelling upon Tasha’s earlier comment.
But, he had expected her to say something more…
He got to his feet, briskly. This over-analysis was unhelpful, and becoming more than a little repetitive. He should concentrate upon some other activity.
Perhaps he should paint.
Again.
Again…?
Yes. He should paint again.
He removed the protective dustsheet from his latest project and carefully re-opened the box of unsynthesised acrylics that Wesley had sent him on the last “Birthday” that the young Cadet had nominally elected for him – the anniversary of his being discovered on Omicron Theta - purely on the grounds that “everybody should get Birthday presents”. With a knife, he added one part white to 4.6839 parts cobalt blue, mixing the paints evenly until they were exactly the tone of blue that he required. That done, he began to paint.
But, he had expected her to say something more.
