Ensign Roy Bancroft - Knock Three Times
Carter Schimpff
((Makeshift Command Operations Building – Kobyar Capital, Galaris IV))
Bancroft: Pupillary response untestable without a mirror, but I’m assuming I still look sensational. ::beat:: Someone please laugh, I can’t see the awkward silence but I can still feel it. ::beat:: Imril, kill the signal if you please. The nanoparticles should begin dispersing back through my bloodstream, slowly – hopefully– restoring my eyesight.
Imril: ::Tapping controls:: Signal disengaged, aye.
The signal terminated with a soft chirp. His temples throbbed, tiny pulses echoing behind his eyes. Vision still swam in a fog of static – abstract shapes, motion without meaning. But his hearing sharpened to compensate: the low hum of power relays, the staccato taps of fingers on consoles, and the occasional crack of thunder outside, rattling the walls like a warning.
Richards: ‘Hopefully’ is a bold statement there Bancforst- I mean Bancroft.
Roy glared, or at least he thought he did, at Richards. He would never know that the true target of his annoyance was a harmless potted fern.
Kexxin: So, ::Speaking louder towards Bancroft:: Can you see anything yet?
Kexxin’s voice cut through Roy’s temporary – mild – annoyance and he almost smiled. He was blind, not deaf.
Oolwi: Response
MacKenzie: Dr. Bancroft?
Bancroft: Vision’s crawling back, emphasis on the crawling. Mostly shapes and motion – like a haunted lava lamp. But conditionally? I’m calling this a win.
Kexxin/Oolwi: Response
Imril: Not to interrupt, but I think I may have a solution to any further drone attacks. The salvaged firewall device is designed to interface with an engineering computer to authorize access to drone internal components for maintenance cycles. Through it, I can send power reallocation confirmation commands to enemy drone docking clamps. Trick the drones into shutting down for maintenance.
MacKenzie: I think we’ll need every trick at our disposal, Ensign. Proceed.
The air in the room shifted – not just with the storm outside, but with the weight of Imril’s discovery. If it worked, it would buy them far more than the precious seconds Roy’s plan would. If it didn’t... well, he’d already tried temporary blindness today. Next up: explosive decompression?
Richards: ::To Imril:: Good job on fixing that thingy I broke. ::grimacing:: Sorry again.
Bancroft: I’d prescribe a salve for the guilt, but the last one I tried gave me hives and an existential crisis. ::beat:: Honestly, tech that fragile’s just waiting for a breeze and a bad attitude.
He shifted in his seat. Still no real clarity in his vision. But there it was again – that itch at the base of his spine. Instinct. The same feeling he got before things went sideways in trauma wards. Or when the family dog used to hide under the porch five minutes before a thunderstorm.
Oolwi: Response
Imril: Biodata downloaded and incorporated. We’re ready to transmit.
MacKenzie: How long will we have to act once the virus is transmitted?
Bancroft: That depends on how fast the signal propagates and how long it takes them to realize they're blind. If their comms are still intact, they’ll be screaming into the dark in about twelve seconds.
Thirty seconds to disable a war machine. Thirty seconds to change history. He hated how fast that had started to feel normal.
Oolwi/Imril: Response
MacKenzie: Very well, then. Proceed.
Richards: I just want to make sure we are all on the same page here. Once the virus is transmitted and the respective people have lost their sight, what do we do then? What’s the plan?
Bancroft: Pull their sight – temporarily – and short out their drones and transmitters. That should buy enough breathing room for Major Oowli and General Kexxin to broadcast the truth. Ideally with Captain MacKenzie adding Federation credibility. Or, failing that, just her voice calmly asking everyone to please stop blowing things up.
There was a beat. Rain battered the building’s outer hull like it was trying to get inside. The lights flickered once. Held.
Oolwi/Imril/MacKenzie: Response
Richards: Do we need to have The Artemis on standby in case things go sideways and we need to get out?
Kexxin: ::To Sam:: I won’t let anything bad happen to you, ::Turning around and facing everyone else in the room:: I won’t let anything bad happen to any of you. ::Looking at Oolwi:: Kobyar included.
Bancroft: That kind of conviction? That’s the root of every good thing we’re supposed to stand for. I know the Federation’s still new to you, General – but peace, protection, no matter what your DNA says? That’s the whole idea.
The words were genuine, but in his gut, that itch kept crawling higher. A mantra often repeated by one of his favorite Medical Academy professors sliced into his brain: Trust your gut. Or ignore it and get punched in the trachea by fate.
Oolwi/Imril/MacKenzie: Response
Kexxin: Major Oolwi, Captain MacKenzie, I am ready and willing to make any sacrifice needed.
Bancroft: Every drop of blood spilled now isn’t for Grunden or Kobyar – it’s for the profit margin of some shadowy interstellar middleman. Let’s shut off the tap.
He didn’t know if it would work. But for the first time since beaming down, he believed it might.
Oolwi/Imril/MacKenzie/Richards: Response
Thunder growled overhead like a warning revisited – subterranean and low, vibrating through the walls like the planet itself was bracing for impact.
A moment of stillness.
Then–
BOOM.
The walls jolted as something heavy detonated outside – close. Dust shook loose from the ceiling. Panels flickered. Somewhere in the corridor, metal screamed.
Bancroft: That… wasn’t thunder.
MacKenzie/Imril/Richards/Kexxin/Oowli: Response
Bancroft whipped toward the sound, vision still blurry but recovering – light, shadow, motion. He could just make out Imril’s silhouette bracing against a console, the others snapping to action.
RAT-TAT-TAT.
Gunfire. Kinetic rounds, by the sound. Sharp. Brutal. Not Starfleet.
A shout from outside. Footsteps pounding.
A muffled voice shouting from just outside the locked doors to the control room: “Perimeter breach, north wing!”
More gunfire.
An alarm.
The clunk of magnetic seals locking echoed through the ops center.
And then silence.
Roy’s heart hammered.
A beat.
Another.
BANG.
The sealed door shuddered.
BANG.
Another hit. Close. Controlled.
Not panicked.
BANG.
A third knock – this one slower.
Measured.
Bancroft: Oh good. Rhythmic pounding. Never ominous. ::casually drifts an inch closer to Kexxin::
MacKenzie/Imril/Richards/Kexxin/Oowli: Response
Something about it wasn’t right.
No words. No demands.
Roy’s fingers hovered near the medkit hanging at his side. He could see now – just enough to make out the others in the flickering light. Eyes wide. Muscles tensed.
BANG.
He glanced at MacKenzie.
Bancroft: …We expecting guests? ::thumb instinctively flicking the medkit latch::
MacKenzie/Imril/Richards/Kexxin/Oowli: Response
TAG/TBC!
===
Ensign Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1