Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - Kyle Morgan and the Creepy Storefront of Doom
Carter Schimpff
(( Market District, City One – Rylor ))
Morgan: Oh, come on, how often do you get to take advantage of someone with the expertise that Dr. Acula is offering? I can only speak for myself that I haven't seen so many unique items in one place…
Roy stared at him.
Not openly. Not rudely. Just with the quiet, increasingly specific disbelief of a man beginning to suspect that his superior officer had decided – consciously, deliberately, and perhaps with a certain amount of amusement – to feed them both to whatever this was.
Which, in hindsight, was disturbingly consistent with Morgan’s broader leadership philosophy.
Bancroft: ::tight smile:: It’s… certainly one of the more memorable opportunities I’ve been offered.
Why, Chief? Why are you doing this to me? Is it simply because I exist? Because I assure you, that decision was made well above my pay grade.
Dr. Acula’s smile deepened – not broadly, but with the unmistakable satisfaction of a man whose afternoon had just improved markedly.
Dr. Acula: Your colleague is quite right, Doctor Bancroft. Opportunities for truly personal instruction are regrettably rare.
Morgan shrugged nonchalantly – nonchalance, of course, being a notably un-Morgan-like trait. Roy immediately distrusted it.
Morgan: Could be an interesting opportunity to study some medicinal anthropology, after all…
Roy’s eyes widened slightly. Morgan was teeing something up – that much, Roy could feel in his bones – but what precisely it was he hadn’t yet been able to parse.
He made a final, increasingly fragile attempt at salvation.
Bancroft: And we do know how much you enjoy scholarly enrichment, sir. Perhaps we might exchange contact information and continue this… fascinating dialogue via subspace at a more administratively appropriate distance?
Dr. Acula: Some forms of knowledge do not survive transmission particularly well. One really must be present for the… finer details.
Morgan's brow furrowed suddenly and he once again held up his finger in protest as though he'd forgotten something. It was a deeply upsetting move, in Roy’s opinion – one he’d seen Morgan pull a number of times, almost always to the detriment of some officer more his junior.
Morgan: You know, on second thought, I think you're right - I remember Captain MacKenzie scheduling a meeting with the senior staff for this afternoon, but I know for a fact that you aren't on the duty roster this afternoon... This could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for in-depth medical knowledge from an absolute expert in his field. I'd hate for you to miss out on it...
Roy’s expression did not change.
This was not because he was unbothered.
It was because, for one brief and crystalline moment, his mind had declined to process what he had just heard.
Then, unfortunately, it did.
Somewhere deep within the architecture of his being, several separate reactions – offense, disbelief, self-preservation, and what he could only describe as administrative betrayal – arrived all at once and began competing for oxygen.
Morgan shifted.
And with that small adjustment – subtle, efficient, and devastatingly effective – Roy became aware that the situation had resolved itself into something much simpler.
He was being left. More specifically, he was being sacrificed.
Roy turned his head a fraction.
Bancroft: ::without looking directly at Morgan:: Sir, I’m quite certain Captain MacKenzie would never forgive me for failing to complete all of the charting I missed while on Callis I–
Apparently sensing weakness in the herd, Dr. Acula chose that precise moment to sever the last fragile thread of Roy’s escape.
Dr. Acula: Oh, I wouldn’t think of depriving you of the opportunity, Doctor Bancroft. Your colleague clearly has an unfortunate scheduling conflict. In my experience, the most worthwhile instruction is best conducted… individually.
At last, Morgan stepped away from the counter.
Not toward Roy.
Past him.
A smooth, unhurried drift toward the shadowed doorway, his movements quiet enough that the old floorboards scarcely acknowledged him.
Then he stopped and looked back.
Morgan: Response
Roy did not look at Morgan.
This was, in part, because he was attempting to preserve what remained of his dignity. It was also because if he did look at Morgan, there was a non-zero chance that something in his face might cease to be appropriately subordinate.
Dr. Acula, by contrast, seemed entirely at ease with the arrangement.
He turned just slightly, enough to place one pale hand against the frame of the shadowed doorway behind him – not barring it, not quite inviting, but suggesting access in the same way a maître d’ might suggest a private table to a favored guest.
Dr. Acula: You needn’t decide at once, of course. ::his gaze settling, calmly and quite deliberately, on Roy:: I would never dream of rushing a serious mind.
That, Roy thought, was an unhelpfully elegant thing to say to someone whose medical curiosity had historically exercised very poor judgment under pressure.
Bancroft: While I’m always eager to expand my medical understanding, I–
Morgan: Response
Dr. Acula seemed to take whatever Morgan said as little more than ambient weather. His attention had settled now with unmistakable precision, not on the Acting Chief Medical Officer, but on the one being left behind.
Dr. Acula: ::slightly sing-song:: My volumes of notes alone would certainly interest a physician of your disposition. The preserved samples… far more so.
The hook set cleanly, and Roy found himself, almost at once, a man at war with himself.
Because “preserved samples” could mean archived pathology… historical specimens… even meticulously documented longitudinal data. Positively fascinating things to study.
It could also, with only a modest adjustment in tone, mean Roy himself – stuffed somewhere in the back room with two delicate puncture marks and an extremely predictable postmortem.
Neither possibility, taken individually or in aggregate, did much to improve the overall situation.
And yet…
One of them was medically interesting.
Bancroft: ::carefully:: When you say preserved samples, Doctor Acula… I assume you mean the sort that remain politely sealed ::muttering to Morgan:: and in no way require me to become one.
Acula’s expression did not so much change as soften into something perilously close to fondness.
Dr. Acula: I mean only that I have spent a great many years assembling a collection worthy of proper appreciation. ::beat, softer:: I suspect you may be the first person in some time capable of not only appreciating that collection, but even adding to it. ::quickly:: Your analysis, I mean.
That was, Roy reflected, an extraordinarily manipulative thing to say to a doctor.
And – worse – it was not ineffective.
He finally turned his head, just enough to look toward Morgan.
Bancroft: ::quietly, with the brittle composure of a man trying not to become local folklore:: Sir… am I to understand that you are actually going to… miss such an opportunity?
Morgan: Response
TAG/TBC!
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Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1