Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - If it's stupid but it works, it's not stupid. If it's stupid and you crash...
Carter Schimpff
(( Fohledi Nature Reserve, Rylor ))
Bancroft: =/\= Fair warning – the mountain’s still shifting. If we’re going to do something, we probably shouldn’t take too long deciding. =/\=
Bergmen: =/\= Okay, time for a leap of fate - if I make it, follow me! =/\=
Roy had just enough time to recognize the particular tone of voice people tended to use immediately before doing something inadvisable.
Imril: Are you sure that’s--
Then Bergmen was gone.
The engine’s pitch climbed, the bike lunged forward, and Roy watched with the sinking certainty of a physician who had, on more than one occasion, seen exactly how this sort of confidence tended to conclude.
His grip tightened instinctively on the handlebars.
Bergmen: =/\= Bad idea. It was a bad idea! =/\=
Imril: ::Shaking his head:: =/\= Bad idea. =/\=
Bancroft: ::exasperated:: =/\= I believe we all made a very gentlemanly agreement not to create extra work for one another today. =/\=
For one suspended instant, it looked almost workable.
Then the rear wheel clipped the far edge.
Roy felt his entire body tense in useless sympathy as dirt sheared away beneath the tire in a sickening crumble, the bike pitching into that ugly, indecisive space between recovery and disaster. The engine screamed. The chassis bucked. Then man and machine separated in what was, all things considered, a remarkably professional disagreement.
The bike flipped.
Bergmen did not.
That, at least, was something.
Roy’s pulse spiked hard once, then flattened immediately into the cool, unpleasant focus that arrived whenever a situation threatened to become medical.
Bergmen: =/\= Go, go, ok’am ok, just go! =/\=
Roy keyed his HUD again out of habit more than hope. The numbers were not encouraging.
The gap had widened. Not dramatically, but enough to move the whole proposition from questionable to medically relevant.
Imril: ::To Bergman:: =/\= Don’t worry, Ollie! We’ll get to you! =/\= ::Pointing up the slope to trace a path for Bancroft:: =/\= The trees above are still holding the earth together. It’s the opposite of a shortcut, but stable ground is stable ground. I’ll scout ahead. =/\=
Roy followed the indicated line without argument, which was not the same thing as following it comfortably.
The slope was uneven in the way only natural terrain could be – casually, personally uneven, as though the mountain had handcrafted each irregularity for the express purpose of humiliating him. Tree roots pushed up beneath the soil in ridged, unhelpful seams. Loose gravel shifted under the tires without warning, offering all the reliability of a political promise. Branches reached in at shoulder height as if trying to participate.
He kept moving anyway.
Not quickly nor elegantly, but with sufficient determination to remain, at minimum, difficult to kill.
Each correction required three more. The bike climbed, slid half a foot sideways, corrected, then climbed again. Somewhere beneath the engine noise he could feel – not hear, feel – the mountain shifting in low, intermittent pulses.
That was not ideal.
But the ground, for the moment, remained where it was.
Bancroft: =/\= About 30 meters behind you, Imril. =/\=
Bergmen: Response
Imril: =/\= So far, so good. Headed down. If I keep going when I reach you, don’t try to catch me. =/\=
The descent proved substantially less cooperative than the climb.
Gravity, apparently emboldened by recent success elsewhere on the mountain, made a persuasive case for urgency. Roy declined on principle.
He feathered the brake, shifted his weight back, and picked his way downslope in a series of controlled near-mistakes. The rear tire skidded once, corrected, then threatened to do something deeply theatrical before he brought it back under him. One boot came down hard to arrest a slide. Then the other. A branch snapped somewhere alarmingly close to his shoulder. Something with thorns objected to his passage on what felt like a deeply personal level.
The entire route down felt less like riding and more like negotiating with physics in real time.
Still – he made progress.
And, somewhat against expectation, remained attached to the bike.
Bergmen: Response
By the time Roy reached the bottom, Bergmen was upright – which was encouraging, though not yet exculpatory.
He brought the bike to a stop with more precision than grace, killed the engine, and swung off quickly enough to suggest concern but not panic. His visor came up before his boots had fully settled, his attention already narrowing in the familiar, clinical way.
Ollie was standing. Breathing evenly. Speaking coherently.
Excellent – and also meaningless.
Roy’s eyes moved automatically through the usual rapid triage checklist: posture, symmetry, pupils, gait, guarding, blood, confusion, delayed reaction, the subtle betrayals of adrenaline beginning to wear thin.
He did not touch him immediately.
People were often most convincing about being “fine” in the fifteen seconds directly preceding evidence to the contrary.
Imril: ::Quite concerned:: You sure you’re OK, Ollie?
Stepping off the bike, Roy unshouldered his pack and pulled out a tricorder, flicking it open with the sort of practiced ease that only came from years of repeatedly being handed situations that absolutely should not have required one.
He ran the scanner over Ollie in a smooth, methodical sweep, eyes moving between the readout and the patient with quiet professional focus.
Bancroft: ::calmly:: No contusions. No significant bleeding. No obvious fractures. No immediate indication that you’ve done anything medically interesting to yourself. ::snapping the tricorder shut:: Which, frankly, feels a little show-offy under the circumstances. ::mustache twitching:: There is, however, one injury I feel ethically obligated to report.
Bergmen: Response
Bancroft: ::cracking a wide smile:: What appears to be a fairly aggressive sprain of your ego.
Bergmen/Imril: Response
Bancroft: Well, if I’m apparently practicing medicine on my day off, it seems only fair that the two of you get dragged into it with me…
He gestured toward Ollie’s bike, still laying in the dirt.
Bancroft: How’s the other patient doing?
Bergmen/Imril: Response
TAG/TBC!
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Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1