Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - It's Due to the Blue Eyes, Surely
Carter Schimpff
(( Market District, City One – Rylor ))
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: I'm afraid so, you know how the captain gets when paperwork isn't filed on time... Unfortunately, that unenviable task falls to me as the department head. You, however, should feel free to take advantage of the fact that you are completely unburdened by such tasks. And on shore leave.
Roy regarded him for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, as though attempting to determine whether this was, in fact, a test of some kind – an obscure exercise in leadership, perhaps, or a deeply unorthodox performance review in which survival might be interpreted as initiative.
No such reassurance presented itself.
Bancroft: ::pleasantly, and with a care that suggested he was selecting each word under direct supervision from his better judgment:: Of course, sir. I would not presume to interfere with departmental obligations. It would be… unconscionable… to allow administrative continuity to suffer on my account.
Dr. Acula inclined his head slightly, observing the exchange with an air of patient interest, as though he had seen variations of this conversation play out before and found each one, in its own way, instructive.
Dr. Acula: Your colleague is most conscientious. It is a quality one rarely regrets – though one occasionally outgrows it.
The remark settled into the space between them with a quiet precision that Roy did not especially care for. A speck of dust touched his eye, and he blinked once as it watered, the timing of it sufficiently unfortunate to all but ensure misinterpretation.
Morgan: Don't worry, Dr. Acula - Dr. Bancroft is both a quick and thorough study. I am sure he will be a more than suitable proxy on my behalf.
There it was.
Not a retreat. Not even an abdication.
A handoff.
Roy felt, rather than saw, the final alignment of circumstances resolve around him. There was no longer any ambiguity in the geometry of the room, no remaining angle from which this might be interpreted as a shared engagement. The variables had simplified. The experiment, such as it was, now had a single participant.
Bancroft: ::dryly:: I have always endeavored to be… representative, sir.
It was not, he felt, his strongest contribution to the exchange. It was, however, the only one that presented itself without risking insubordination, open panic, or a level of candor that would almost certainly be remembered unfavorably.
Dr. Acula’s attention, which had until now been distributed with admirable restraint, settled with unmistakable clarity.
Not on the departing officer… On the one remaining.
Dr. Acula: An admirable trait.
A small pause followed, not empty but deliberate, as though allowing the observation to reach its intended depth.
Dr. Acula: Particularly in matters requiring careful observation.
Morgan offered the faintest hint of a half-salute as he turned to the door.
Morgan: I look forward to reading about your discoveries, Dr. Bancroft...
Bancroft: ::inclining his head, just enough:: I will, of course, endeavor to make some, sir. ::muttering:: And return to publish them.
The door opened.
For a brief, almost disorienting moment, the world beyond the shop reasserted itself – sunlight, voices, the distant clatter of the market, all of it remarkable in a way that now felt faintly theoretical.
Then the door closed, and with it went the last pretense that this was a shared experience.
Roy remained where he was for a moment, not out of indecision, but out of a very particular species of professional courtesy. It seemed only polite, under the circumstances, to allow the situation to fully declare itself before responding.
Behind him, there was the faintest shift in weight – fabric against wood, a footfall placed with care rather than urgency.
Roy turned.
Dr. Acula stood beside the shadowed doorway, one hand resting lightly against its frame. The gesture did not obstruct, nor did it beckon. It merely acknowledged the existence of a next step, and the quiet understanding that such steps were, in certain contexts, inevitable.
Dr. Acula: ::smiling faintly:: Shall we proceed, Doctor Bancroft? I believe you will find the experience… instructive. One does not truly understand a collection, after all, without first submitting oneself to it.
Bancroft: ::frowning:: For the record, Doctor, if I do agree to review this… collection… of yours, I would prefer it be understood that I am doing so under protest, skepticism, and what I would characterize as deeply compromised supervisory circumstances.
Dr. Acula inclined his head with a courtesy that was, if anything, more disquieting than either enthusiasm or injury would have been.
Dr. Acula: Of course.
He shifted his hand, not withdrawing it, but allowing the line of the doorway to open just enough that the space beyond could be acknowledged rather than merely implied.
Dr. Acula: Most worthwhile study begins that way.
Roy regarded the darkness beyond the threshold.
From where he stood, it offered very little: the suggestion of shelving, the faint geometry of glass catching what little light reached it, and the outline of surfaces whose purpose would, in all likelihood, become immediately apparent upon closer inspection.
He took a step forward, his feet seeming to move of their own accord.
As he crossed the threshold, the light shifted, and with it the world resolved, briefly, into fragments:
–pages, densely hand-written in a manner that implied not urgency, but duration–
–vessels arranged with an order that bordered on reverence–
–and, set apart, a specimen vial whose paper log remained conspicuously, disturbingly blank–
(( Some time later ))
When the bell above the shop door sounded again, it did so without any true ceremony.
Roy Bancroft stepped out into the afternoon light with the same measured composure with which he had entered, though the intervening time resisted precise accounting.
He paused just beyond the threshold, not dramatically, but with the faintest suggestion of recalibration, as though allowing his senses to reestablish their relationship with the world.
The sunlight was warm.
Bright.
He lifted a hand, briefly, to shade his eyes, then lowered it again, the motion absent-minded rather than protective.
There was, he noted, a certain sharpness to the light.
Not specifically painful… not even especially unpleasant. Simply… pronounced.
He adjusted his cuffs, a gesture that served no practical purpose and yet felt, under the circumstances, appropriate.
There would be notes. Thorough ones.
He would need to review them, of course, before publishing. Cross-reference. Reconsider certain assumptions that, in retrospect, might have been… inadequate.
He stepped forward into the light, his pace just slightly moderated. The brightness was, he decided finally, an unpleasant sensation.
Though not entirely intolerable.
End Scene for Bancroft (and Acula)
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Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1