Ensign Roy Bancroft - The Flower Bit My Finger
Carter Schimpff
((Reception room, Halls of Andorenne, the Golden Spire))
Jovenan: Captain, I think it might be wiser to meet with the Advocate without Luirétt at first. Presenting a representative of the sacrosanct community as an equal party might alter their perspective of us and hinder our standing in the negotiations. Besides, we could take the opportunity for further fact-finding.
Munro: I think that might be best, at least until we see their response to the asylum request.
Jovenan: I could take a team to investigate the living conditions of the Yurum. Luirétt could guide us there ::to Luirétt:: if that is acceptable to you, of course.
K’Wara: Would the Matriarchy allow you to wander around, Luirétt? You are, technically, a fugitive.
Cole: Their return might be viewed as an attempt to mend the divide that was created in their absence.
Roy eased himself into the conversation with all the natural grace of someone who didn’t entirely trust his collar not to strangle him. He tugged lightly at the left cuff of his dress white uniform, which was immaculately tailored but somehow still conspiring to cut off his circulation in new and creative ways.
Uniform grievances aside, what weighed more heavily on his mind was the razor-thin wire they were walking – suspended somewhere between diplomatic inquiry and intergalactic family therapy. A single misplaced sneeze could send one side spiraling into offense, and the other into theological crisis.
Bancroft: I share Cole’s opinion – plus, this will make it even more clear that we are an impartial third party. I worry that the alternative might be seen as us ‘hiding’ Luirétt from the other Boraxians.
Luirétt: Response
Munro: Commander, select your team.
Roy watched as Jovenan’s gaze swept across the assembled officers. Her head tilted ever so slightly toward him. It took him a moment to recognize that she was, in fact, choosing him as one of her team. Ever since the ‘Jeff Incident’ in the Science Lab, he’d held only the thinnest of hope about the Commander’s feelings regarding his sanity.
Perhaps she’d lost a bet. Or, maybe, Munro had issued a challenge to her: ‘Take Bancroft. Let’s see what happens.’
Jovenan: Lieutenant Bergmen and Doctor Bancroft, if you would come with me. ::to Munro:: Good luck, sir. Hopefully we can provide you with further clarity when we join you again.
Bergmen: Yes, ma’am.
Munro: Take care, commander.
K’Wara: And good luck.
Cole: ::looking at Bancroft:: Try and stay out of trouble
Bancroft: ::elbowing Cole: No blowing yourself up while I’m gone, yeah? I’d hate to miss the fireworks.
Luirétt: Response
Bergmen: After you, Mx. Luirett.
Luirétt: Response
Roy followed the others out of the Reception Hall and into an adjoining corridor – though “corridor” felt inadequate. This wasn’t a hallway. This was the architectural equivalent of a wealthy sigh.
If the Reception Hall had been gracefully opulent, this space was full-blown decadent. The floors glittered with intricate gold-veined patterns, and the air was perfumed with something faintly citrusy but distinctly alien – like a grove of oranges had experienced a spiritual awakening.
Somewhere, distantly, something that sounded like a harp played a gentle, floating melody, as though to announce ‘you are now walking in luxury’ to those who were yet unaware.
He trailed his fingertips along with wall, which was warm – not like machinery or an overheated EPS conduit. Warm like a nap in the mid-morning sun.
He was mid-reverie when something violet caught his eye: a curious-looking plant nestled in a floating urn, its iridescent petals glistening like oil spilled in water.
He leaned in.
The plat twitched.
He twitched back.
After a long, silent negotiation with his better judgment, Roy extended a cautious finger toward one of the shimmering petals.
The flower nipped at him.
Bancroft: ::muttering:: Right. Big fan of your personal space. Noted.
It hadn’t broken the skin, but it clearly had opinions. He rubbed the tip of his finger gingerly and hurried to catch up to the others, a little more wary now of the local flora.
Jovenan: Thank you for agreeing to guide us, Luirétt. In case you didn’t learn our names yet, I’m Lieutenant Commander Jovenan, and these are Lieutenant Bergmen and Doctor Bancroft.
Bancroft: It’s a pleasure to meet you, Luirétt. I had the opportunity to treat some of your comrades this morning – including your friend Vahljeahn. I’m excited to learn more about your peoples’ story.
Bergmen: May I ask, Mx. Luirett. Considering how this... city of yours... is such a striking replica of a planetary display, have you ever set foot on the surface of a planet?
Roy blinked.
It hadn’t occurred to him until just now that some Boraxians – maybe most – had never actually stood on a planet.
He thought about dirt. Real, crumbly dirt. Sand between the toes. Gravity that didn’t adjust based on computer algorithms. There was something deeply unusual – and unusually fascinating to him – about a people who might live their entire lives in a floating, simulated utopia.
Luirétt: Response
Jovenan: Interesting. Is that true for all the Boraxians, or is that only so for the Yurum?
Bancroft: ::brow furrowing:: Do Boraxians even do ‘away missions?’ Or do they simply invite the universe for a bit of tea in this delightful palace?
Luirétt/Bergmen: Response
Jovenan: We want to learn as much about your people, Luirétt, about how the Yurum live compared to the other Boraxians. Perhaps you could show us. Where could we see more about what your life is like?
Bancroft: Are the Yurum – pardon my bluntness, I can’t think of a better word – physically segregated from the rest of Boraxian society?
Luirétt/Bergmen: Response
Jovenan: How would we get there?
Roy tilted his head toward a large crystalline window as myriad craft zipped past in elegant formations, each one tracing a glowing line through the air as it flew toward its destination.
Bancroft: ::pointing out the window in thinly veiled excitement:: Do we get to take one of those?
Luirétt/Bergmen: Response
With little ceremony, the group exited onto an open balcony constructed from the same luminous material as the corridor. The railing looked hand-carved. Roy approached it carefully, peering over the edge.
Far below, the ‘ground’ – if one could call it that – shimmered like cut glass. The entire city-state seemed to unfurl far beneath them.
There was no wind, and the stillness was eerie. Artificial.
A vehicle coasted into view with the causal elegance of something that knew it was cooler than you. It hovered just outside the railing – open-cockpit, sleek, and silent.
Bancroft: ::sucking his teeth:: That is… genuinely really cool. Luirétt, are these fully automated? Or is there a control room somewhere?
Luirétt/Bergmen/Jovenan: Responses
Roy stepped closer and crouched to inspect the side. No controls. No screens. No steering mechanism.
Bancroft: ::squinting:: Hm. No obvious user interface. ::clearing his throat:: Um… hello? ::tapping the side of the craft cautiously:: Are you… voice-activated? Or… I don’t know. Emotion-activated? Do I have to give you a hug and gently whisper my destination?
The craft merely continued to hover, although Roy thought he detected a slight air of smug self-satisfaction emanating from it.
He took a half-step back, chin raised in professional suspicion. He was a doctor, not a… whatever was required here. Transportation device whisperer?
Luirétt/Bergmen/Jovenan: Responses
Roy was just about to step into the craft when something pricked the edge of his senses. Not a sound. Not a breeze. A change in his visual field.
He turned – and spotted it. A thin pillar of black smoke curling into the distance, rising stark and slow into the otherwise pristine air.
Bancroft: ::frowning:: Well, that’s usually not a great sign. Is something on fire? Or is this some sort of ceremonial thing?
Luirétt/Bergmen/Jovenan: Responses
TAG/TBC!
===
Ensign Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1