Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - The Organ Donors
Carter Schimpff
(( Fohledi Nature Reserve, Rylor ))
The first thing Roy Bancroft learned about the PX160 motorbike was that it did not, under any circumstances, care how he felt about it.
It hummed beneath him with quiet confidence, the kind that suggested it had already made peace with whatever was about to happen. The vibration traveled cleanly through the frame, into the handlebars, into his hands – not an invitation so much as a statement. Can you tame me?
Roy kept his posture measured. He had, within the last several minutes, made a number of small but very important decisions – among them: do not overcorrect, do not panic brake, and do not spend too much time thinking about how the trees could kill him.
There were, he noted, a great many trees.
Ahead, Bergmen rode like someone who had either done this before or had made a conscious decision not to worry about the consequences.
Gideons.
The trail twisted through packed dirt and shallow ruts, over narrow wooden bridges and between outcroppings of stone. Ollie took a small rise with enthusiasm, the bike lifting cleanly before dropping back to earth in a spray of dust.
Roy followed – not so much with enthusiasm, yet, but at least with intent.
He leaned into the next turn – carefully – and felt the bike respond beneath him, smooth and immediate. That was… encouraging. He adjusted his grip, let the machine settle into the path, and for a moment – one glorious moment – things aligned.
Then came the rise.
It appeared with minimal warning. The engine note smoothed, stretched – and for a brief, highly educational instant, the ground ceased to exist.
Ah. So this is how I die.
–then the PX160 returned them both to the surface with a firm but not unfriendly reminder that gravity remained very much in effect.
Ahead, Bergmen slowed, pulling off slightly and glancing down at the navigator on his wrist. Roy eased back on his own throttle and rolled in behind Ollie, grateful for the pause – if not inclined to admit it.
A quick check of the navigator on Bergmen’s wrist, then a small gesture from Ollie – this way.
Roy nodded once, lowered his visor, and – before he could overthink things – rolled the throttle forward.
The bike surged. There was a brief, flickering moment where he considered easing off – and then decided, quite calmly, not to.
The trail opened just enough to invite a little speed. Not recklessness, not even confidence exactly, but something adjacent to them. Roy leaned in to the next series of turns with growing precision, the earlier stiffness giving way to something more fluid and instinctive.
Behind him, Bergmen’s engine rose in pursuit.
The forest began to thin, the canopy breaking apart into wider shafts of light. Soon, the trees fell away.
The overlook revealed itself in stages – first the edge of sky, then the suggestion of distance, and finally the full expanse: a wide, open shelf of dirt and stone set against a low cliff, the land below stretching into clusters of cabins and winding trails that cut through the terrain like careful lines on a map.
Imril was already there, at ease, helmet off, like they’d always intended for Roy and Ollie to arrive at precisely this moment.
Roy, for his part, took a second to confirm – quietly and privately – that all major systems remained intact.
Bergmen: So, how do you like it so far, doctor?
Bancroft: There was a moment back there where I briefly made peace with my God ::glancing between them, a hint of a grin:: I’m starting to see why people do this.
Imril: ::To The others:: Nice view.
Roy followed his friend’s gaze.
It was the kind of view that resisted quick description. The colony below looked smaller from here – its edges softened by distance. Trails cut through the landscape in looping lines, threading between trees and stone and open ground that rolled away toward the horizon in uneven, sunlit waves.
Bergmen: Yeah, what the view… It’s amazing here!
Bancroft: ::softly:: Yeah… this was definitely worth it.
Imril took a long drink from their water bottle, the simple act carrying a quiet weight Roy didn’t miss. He’d seen that look before – people reacquainting themselves with ordinary things after spending too long somewhere that made ‘ordinary’ feel very theoretical indeed.
Imril: How are the bikes working for you? Please tell me I don’t have to tune them up already. I really am trying not to do any work today.
Roy glanced back at his PX160.
There was a brief pause – just long enough to suggest he was considering a very honest answer.
Bergmen: To be true, it’s been quite a while since I drove anything landfasten off road, but I’m trying!
Bancroft: ::gesturing toward his bike:: It’s… remarkably forgiving. So far.
Bergmen: And let’s agree we will not add any work here for the doctor. Or paperwork for me, ok?
Roy looked between them, considering this with exaggerated seriousness.
Bancroft: Agreed. And if one of you does break something, I reserve the right to say “I told you so” while treating it.
Imril: Response
Roy stepped closer, following the general direction of the display without crowding in. His eyes traced the lines – one path climbing higher into the mountain, another looping wide, a third cutting through what looked like denser terrain.
Bergmen: So what trail should we choose?
A sly grin spread across the doctor’s face.
Bancroft: I think we’ve established that these things can move. ::looking up at the other two:: Let’s see what they can do. Something slightly more ambitious?
He gestured in the direction of the mountain trail.
Imril/Bergmen: Response
Roy shrugged, his grin widening.
Bancroft: I mean, if that’s what y’all can handle…
Imril/Bergmen: Response
TAG/TBC!
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Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1