Diya's eyebrows raise in polite skepticism, although there's almost a smirk to her serene smile. She sweeps a step closer, her hands folded in front of her.

"Just so," she says, laying a hand at the head of the examination table. "Mint condition, as you say. Those of us born with organic bodies, ours certainly have their wear and tear..." If there's a trace of irony there, it's because Diya's haut and we all know how smug as fuck the haut are about their genes, seriously.

"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger, isn't that the old Earth adage? I'm afraid in this case it's quite correct. Disease, injury...they leave their marks, better prepare us for the next time, the next battle. Our bodies are constantly at war with our environment, and one so new as yours..." She's not close enough to touch him, has no interest in getting that close, but she lifts her hand, palm up. "Where do you suppose you get your antibodies from, hm? You have none."