Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - Error ID-10-T
Carter Schimpff
(( Hazardous Materials Lab, Deck 11, USS Artemis-A ))
Bancroft: Well, here she is, in all her glory.
Tho'Bi: Cool. ::to Bancroft:: Did you test it on the DOT? ::nods in direction of DOT containment cell. ::grins::
Imril: Did you test it on people? On yourself?
Bancroft: ::to Tho’Bi, chuckling:: No DOTs were harmed in the making of this device. ::a beat, then deadpan to Imril:: It ran its first diagnostic loop while I was cradling it in my arms. ::pause:: The screaming was mutual.
The truth was somewhere between ‘poetic’ and ‘legally inadmissible.’ Roy had, at the time, justified it as a moment of scientific bonding. In hindsight, it had been more like pressing your ear to a ticking bomb and whispering ‘it’s fine.’
Tho'Bi: ::thinking outloud:: …so what caused all the damage?
The Andorian leaned closer to the containment field, one antenna twitching like it was trying to calculate their odds of survival.
Imril looked to Roy, who shifted uncomfortably under the invisible weight of their curiosity.
Bancroft: ::scratching the back of his head:: Part of it was a power surge through an unshielded feedback loop. That’s on me. ::grimace:: The rest? Starfleet Medical said something about resorting to ‘kinetic mitigation.’ Which I believe is a polite way of saying ‘they hit it until it stopped making noises.’
Tho'Bi: ::still thinking outloud:: Either there's too much power or too much impedance.
Imril: Or too many software and hardware conflicts. Tech built to do certain things trying to do five to ten others. The CPU twisting itself up in the crossfire, throwing more and more power at resolving the conflicts. Excess power being shunted from one system to another, say the sensor resonance coils, to avoid overheating could explain the ‘screaming.’
Bancroft: ::raising a brow:: That’s… more sophisticated than my theory. I just assumed the screaming was a cry for help – specifically, from my dismal engineering skills. ::a beat, dry:: And now that I’ve said it out loud… it holds up.
He wasn’t joking. Not entirely. There was something about his prototype’s unholy warble that felt deeply personal.
Tho’Bi: Responses
Imril: Roy, Is this all a prank? If it is, it’s a good one. Lots of atmosphere. Perfectly built up tension. That rejection letter in the mess hall was perfect bait.
The question came with the soft, rising cadence of suspicion – one friend to another, searching for the glittering edge of a well-set trap.
Bancroft: Believe me, if I had the capacity to pull off something this elaborate, I’d have used it for something far less career-threatening.
Tho’Bi: Responses
Imril: No, really I won't be mad. I like pranks. I once had someone from Blue Squadron convinced that the Troyian Royal Guard was spying on her. Scouting her for a marriage proposal. ::laughs:: You should have seen the look on her face when the ambassador... Never mind. I didn't say anything. We never had this conversation.
Bancroft: ::laughing:: We’d have made a hell of a team in the Department of Mischief. ::softer:: Shame Starfleet doesn’t have one. ::beat:: And no – this isn’t a bit. I’m not nearly that good a liar.
Tho’Bi: Responses
Imril raised their hands in mock surrender.
Imril: Alright, alright, you convinced me. This is real. That device is real. And really, potentially, dangerous. And since it is both things, we should get some preliminary scans before it starts blinking differently again. I didn’t think to bring my kit to breakfast, though. Does this place have any regular, non-evil, tricorders available to borrow? I’ll settle for chaotic neutral.
Bancroft: ::shrugging:: This place has to have one sane tricorder stashed somewhere. Even haunted labs need a control group.
Tho’Bi: Responses
Imril nodded and stepped away, returning shortly thereafter with a tricorder for each of them, and a PADD primed for note taking. The sheer normalcy of it felt absurd.
Imril: Ready to go.
Bancroft: ::wincing:: Try not to look directly at it. It responds poorly to confidence.
Imril/Tho’Bi: Responses
The containment field dropped with a low-frequency thrum that Roy felt in his molars.
Bancroft: Okay. ::deep breath:: Round two. Let’s get it right this time.
Imril/Tho’Bi: Responses
Free of the confines of the containment field, W.H.I.M.P.E.R. stirred, shifting from its hibernation state into a soft, steady ‘ready to start up’ hum.
Roy lifted his tricorder like a shield and glanced at the others.
Bancroft: My gut says to activate it. ::a pause:: But given that my gut is the reason we’re in the HML this morning, maybe I let you two go first. ::beat, dry:: What’s step one?
Imril/Tho’Bi: Responses
TAG/TBC!
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Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1