[Begin Act Three] Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - Karnack, Heal Thyself

[Carter Schimpff]

(( Main Engineering, Deck 4 – USS Karnack ))

MacKenzie: A semi-functioning warp core is a good place to start. What should we prioritize first?

Munro: Getting the shield emitters to mimic the properties of a Faraday Cage long enough to get us out of the system is going to be no mean feat. Especially since we have no operational systems. But I think we can do it - if we can figure out a way to replicate the Faraday Cage effectively. Brexis, Bergmen, Breys, we'll need your help getting this set up.

Brexis: ::Nodding.:: I’ll do what I can.

Bergmen/Breys: Response

MacKenzie: Even if we did get it set up, we need other functional systems to actually make us space-faring.

Munro: That's true. Even if the shield emitters work, we won't get far with the Karnack in this state.

Jovenan: Force fields and inner bulkheads can keep some of the pressure in, but we should try to close some of the breaches. The less we have to rely on force fields, the more we can use power in other systems. And the less we have to fear about them failing.

Silveira: I concur

Munro: Agreed. Bring Storm, Bancroft and Syn with you, and get those holes fixed. But be careful, the Things are still out here, and as it gets dark, they'll get more daring.

MacKenzie: Some of the upper decks should provide relative security from the creatures - I haven't seen them climb yet. 

K'Wara: We won’t get very far with Main Engineering in this state, either, Sirs. While the warp core is stable, it’s hardly safe for use at the moment. 

Munro: In its current state the warp core power distribution would likely cause a cascade failure. We're more likely to blow up the ship and this corner of the planet than get off this planet. Tamio, work with Imril to find a workaround, I don't think I need to tell you how important it is :: pauses :: Cole and Jaran, you're temporarily reassigned as technicians :: smiles :: Congratulations. 

Cole: ::nodded:: Grandpa Dorian, would be so proud.

Roy scanned the room, noting all of the familiar faces, scanning for a few in particular – and there she was. Natasha Cole, his best friend, in the flesh. And, for once, with all of her flesh still attached, too.

As though she could feel his eyes on her, she turned – and before he could so much as say hello, a flash of matted red hair collided with him hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. His arms came up on instinct as hers wrapped around him in a bear hug. She was solid. Real. Warm. Alive.

Bancroft: ::muffled against her shoulder:: If you’re searching me for weapons, I’ve only got the survival knife on me. ::beat:: You okay?

Her grip didn’t loosen.

Cole: I’m … ::pause:: Yeah. Just… tired.

Tired. He almost laughed at that. The understatement of the century. He felt her start to pull back, and something in him panicked.

No – not yet.

His arms tightened around her without conscious permission, anchoring him there as though gravity itself might reverse if he let go. For a fleeting, absurd moment, he worried he might actually crack a rib.

That’d be a first. Natasha Cole injured not by violence, but affection.

He drew back just enough to see her face, hands still firm at her sides.

Bancroft: ::earnestly:: I’m so happy to see you. You good? No injuries? No internal bleeding you’re heroically ignoring for the sake of morale?

It was a weak attempt at levity – tissue-paper thin, really – but humor was the only language he’d ever known to deal with terror. Love. Relief so violent it bordered on pain.

Before she could answer, Lieutenant K’Wara’s voice cut through the reunion.

K’Wara: I’m glad to see you’re both alright. ::smiles:: Despite the circumstances.

And just like that, the moment shattered. With a wink, Roy released Nat from his grasp and gave her a smile and a nod: we’ll pick this back up when we’re all safely off of this hellhole.

He spied Commanders Jovenan and Silveira standing across the way and started towards them – but something in him caught.

There was one more face he hadn’t seen yet.

One he hadn’t allowed himself to look for.

One he suddenly, desperately needed to.

He had heard Commander Munro say her name. Heard it spoken aloud, attached to orders and assignments. That meant she was here. Alive. Uninjured enough, at least, to work.

That should have been enough for him.

It wasn’t. He needed proof.

He found her near a darkened console, standing alone. One sleeve of her uniform hung in tatters. Dirt streaked her jawline in a rough diagonal. She looked thinner than he remembered, too.

Then again, they all did.

For nearly two weeks he had kept her sealed away inside his mind – not alive, not dead. Suspended in a vacuum. A chamber he refused to open because opening it would mean collapse.

Now, there she was. Real. Breathing.

He crossed the room toward her and stopped close enough that he could smell the smoke and blood and sweat that stained her uniform. And something else – burned skin?

His hand rose without permission. He wanted to touch her shoulder. Her wrist. Anywhere. Just to anchor himself to the fact that she still occupied physical space in this universe.

What are you doing, Roy? You’re a professional. Put your hand down.

His arm dropped heavily to his side. He had never – in twenty-seven years of life – felt anything quite like this violent need to ensure another being existed.

What is wrong with me?

His voice, when it finally came, was quieter than he intended.

Bancroft: ::clearing his throat:: Alex… ::softly:: … you injured?

(((OOC: The rest of this reunion will be detailed in a shore leave backsim!)))

(( Corridor Near Engineering, Deck 4 – USS Karnack ))

His mind snapped back into work mode with almost mechanical precision. Compartmentalize. Focus. Execute.

Whatever had bloomed in his chest earlier was folded neatly away, labeled for later examination – if there was a later.

Roy strode down the half-demolished corridor with the others, boots crunching over shattered composite and charred insulation. The Karnack no longer felt like a ship so much as a body flayed open and left exposed to the elements.

They didn’t get far before the first massive hull breach yawned ahead of them – a jagged aperture torn wide enough to drive a shuttle through. Late afternoon sunlight poured through the wound – and others further down the corridor – in thick, golden columns.

Jovenan turned to address the rest of her team. 

Jovenan: So, any ideas how we do this?

Commander Silveira’s beard twitched, and he offered a mirthful wink to Alex and Roy.

Silveira: Carefully…

Storm: Cute, Sil.

Alex paused as though waiting for a follow-up from the Commander. When none came, she continued.

Storm: We’ve been cataloging and marking the damaged areas for a few days before you all got here. We found some old non-electronic welding equipment. But,

A balled fist met each hip.

Storm: It feels like welding pieces on a hull with this much damage is just about as effective as trying to tape the holes in a mesh fabric and trusting it to turn out watertight.

Bancroft: We don’t need it to be pretty or perfect. Just… enough.

Jovenan: We might not have much usable material around here unless we start ripping the bulkheads apart. There shouldn’t be any shuttlecraft here, and we have already scattered many of the escape pods around the planet.

Silveira: We won’t have enough bulkheads to do it anyway.

Storm: Is there any way that we can just focus our attention on the smallest part of the ship possible and keep everyone in that area? It would give us less space to cover.

Bancroft: ::nodding:: An Alamo, if you will – that’s a good idea. Main Engineering is more than large enough to hold all of us. Plus, we’ll save quite a bit of energy only running life support in that area.

Jovenan glanced through the hull breach, a worried look sliding across her face. Roy thought he might know what was on her mind. Memories of that horrible, cold night sent an involuntary shiver racing up his spine.

Jovenan: We discovered that the, um, Dark Things don’t like cold water, but I’m not sure how that would be useful against them here. Did anyone else happen to figure out how to keep them away or fight them?

Silveira: Not really, we basically avoided them.

Storm: Our group discovered two things. They are attracted to heat, and they disrupt telepathy. 

Her eyes remained focused on Commander Jovenan.

Storm: They also - at least during the night - can cause telepaths a lot of pain. Brexis and I are your early warning systems, which is probably one of the reasons that I was assigned to this task.

Roy’s head tilted slightly and he glanced at Storm, grinning.

Bancroft: So what you’re telling us is we’ve got ourselves our very own Starfleet-issued canary?

He gave her a quick, sideways grin, then averted his eyes. 

What the hell was that? She just said it causes her pain. Why would you joke about that?

Bancroft: That– that wasn’t funny, sorry. ::clearing his throat:: We have advance warning, and we know they hate the cold – how do we leverage that?

Silveira: If we had some way to find a hose or something to drench them that would solve that problem.

Storm: Oh, we also discovered that they only seemed to hunt at night. We even saw one during the day, and it surprisingly didn’t charge us.

Roy eyed the beams of light filtering through the multiple hull breaches with suspicion. His mind wasn’t playing tricks on him – they were growing dimmer by the minute.

Bancroft: ::pointing down the corridor:: By the look of it, our light’s going the wrong direction.

Jovenan: Response

Silveira: And for the next problem ::He pointed to the breach.:: Do we haul the bulkheads around to each breach?

Storm broke away, taking several steps down the corridor, apparently surveying the damage in greater detail.

Storm: We’ve got four large gashes in this small area, but there are dozens of smaller holes. For the larger ones, we may need to use bulkheads or portions of them, but for the smaller ones, if we could find something more fitting to the size or easily welded into place, that might be better.  

Bancroft: ::nodding:: Some of these are small enough that pressurization alone should hold something sufficiently stiff against the bulkhead.

Jovenan: Response

Commander Silveira flinched.

It was subtle – a tightening around the eyes, a fractional recoil – but Roy caught it instantly. The Commander shifted out of the shaft of sunlight and into shadow as though the light itself had offended him.

Silveira: Sorry… You were saying…

Storm reached toward him instinctively, then stopped herself mid-motion, hand hovering before retreating.

Storm: Sorry. Habit.

Roy’s mouth tightened. Photophobia.

Bancroft: Commander Silveira, sir – ::softening his tone, smiling:: Let me give you a quick once-over. I know it’s probably nothing, but it’ll make your doctor sleep better tonight, alright?

The reassuring smile he offered was easy.

The reassurance itself was a lie.

Photophobia after days of dehydration, exhaustion, and possible head trauma was never nothing.

Roy stepped in close without ceremony, movements efficient and discreet. No need to alarm the corridor.

He tipped Silveira’s chin gently toward the light. Pupils sluggish – but reactive. Pulse elevated, though not dangerously so. No obvious facial asymmetry.

Not textbook normal.

But nothing about any of them was textbook anymore.

Dehydration distorted baselines. Fatigue rewrote vitals. Trauma made liars of clean numbers.

Still, he didn’t see anything immediately catastrophic.

He exhaled slowly, meeting Silveira’s gaze with quiet steadiness – a silent directive to report any change. No stoic heroics.

It was delivered gently – and unmistakably firm.

Jovenan: Response

Storm: If you were a surgeon operating on a person in a similar state to this ship, how would you go about saving them?

I’d write them one hell of a eulogy.

Bancroft: ::ticking his fingers:: Intensive care. A team of specialists. Rooms full of equipment. ::idly:: And probably a religious representative, if they were a person of faith. ::beat:: Out here? Field medicine’s ugly. You don’t fix everything – you just try and stop the dying. Keep as much blood on the inside as possible. Protect the airway. Stabilize until you can get them to advanced care.

It likely wasn’t the elegant answer Alex had hoped for. It wasn’t poetic, nor was it elegant – but it was true to survival.

Jovenan/Silveira: Response

Storm: So, how would we best replicate that here? 

Bancroft: Prioritize the big breaches first – the structural hemorrhages. Mid-sized ones? Flesh wounds. Patch them just enough to hold pressure. Anything stiff enough ought to do. The little ones? Those are your capillary bleeders. Annoying and messy, but not fatal. If we’re short on materials, we accept some loss there.

Jovenan/Silveira: Response

Alex turned to Jovenan, gesturing at Roy. 

Storm: Feasible? Or, no?

Roy tilted his head, a ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth.

Bancroft: I’m spectacularly unqualified to comment on starship engineering. But on a patient? ::beat:: Hard, but absolutely feasible.

Jovenan/Silveira: Response

They set to work.

The natural light filtering through fractured hull seams was thinning by the minute, gold giving way to bruised violet. Roy found himself scowling at it like it was personally offensive.

Darkness didn’t just make repairs harder.

Darkness invited them.

A few steps down the corridor he spotted a recessed panel marked EMERGENCY. He ripped it open.

Inside: an engineering kit. A medkit. Palm-lights. And – blessedly – a bundle of chemlights shoved into the back like an afterthought.

He grabbed them.

One tossed to Silveira.

One to Storm.

One to Jovenan – accompanied by an apologetic smile.

Bancroft: We’re rapidly losing light – we’ll need these to get anything accomplished before too long.

Jovenan/Silveira/Storm: Response

Roy crouched to lift a fallen corridor panel, muscles protesting the movement.

And then–

He stilled.

There it was again.

Faint.

Under the clatter of debris and muted conversation.

Scratching.

Scrabbling.

A sound that didn’t belong to broken machinery.

His spine went rigid.

Bancroft: ::whispering:: Listen. ::cocking his head toward the entrance to Main Engineering:: Do you hear that?

The sound came again – closer now. Claws on composite. A skittering drag.

Jovenan/Silveira/Storm: Response

Roy squeezed his eyes shut, straining to isolate it. Praying he was wrong.

Then the howl came.

Long.

Alien.

It vibrated through the corridor like something alive inside the walls.

Another answered from the opposite end.

Roy’s eyes snapped open.

No. No, no, no–

Movement beside him.

Storm doubled over, hands flying to her head as if someone had driven a spike through her skull.

He dropped the panel.

He reached her in three strides, one hand bracing her shoulder, the other hovering uselessly before settling at the base of her neck, searching for heat, for tremor, for anything he could interpret.

Bancroft: Alex! ::turning towards Jovenan and Silveira:: They're here! We need to find something – anything – that’s cold, quickly!

Jovenan/Silveira/Storm: Response

TAG/TBC!

===

Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft

Medical Officer

USS Artemis-A

A240205RB1