Ensign Roy Bancroft - A Promenade Too Far
Carter Schimpff
(( Second Promenade - Deep Space 224 ))
Roy Bancroft stood at the railing of the upper concourse, half a protein bar in his mouth and a distant look in his eyes. Below him, the main level of the Second Promenade churned with the kind of determined chaos only a deep space hub could produce – diplomats weaving through traders, science officers navigating around school groups, and a Bolian street performer doing inexplicable things with three flaming batons and a collapsible stool.
And then he saw her.
Fleet Captain Addison MacKenzie.
Poised. Commanding. Effortlessly intimidating. Possibly shopping.
She was also – Roy was now certain of this – the one officer in his chain of command to whom he had not yet formally reported.
Because of the mission, of course. He’d been busy. There had been a war. An underground facility. Nanoparticles. These things happened.
But now – now was the time.
He crumpled the foil wrapper and straightened his uniform. Mostly. The collar was still doing something weird, but there wasn’t time to faff with it now. The Captain was already moving down the Promenade at a pace that was both shark-like and deceptively casual.
Bancroft: ::under his breath:: Just a quick update, Roy. Keep it brief. Confident. Respectful. Don’t be weird. You’ve got this.
He jogged to the nearest lift – only to be caught in a polite but impenetrable wall of Andorian tourists arguing about lunch. By the time he extricated himself – with a forced smile and a muttered apology – MacKenzie had gained a solid thirty meters and was approaching a vendor selling some kind of… artisanal Klingon soaps?
He wasn’t even sure Klingons used soap.
The Promenade was not, by Starfleet standards, an obstacle course. But it also wasn’t not one. He ducked under a hovering tray of Vulcan teas, sidestepped a Ferengi booth selling “gently pre-owned” tricorders, and very nearly collided with a group of cadets who scattered like startled ducks.
Bancroft: ::panting slightly:: Pardon – pardon me – Starfleet business, thank you – wait, is that a churro stand?
He shook it off.
Focus.
The Captain was in sight again. Was it his imagination, or had she just glanced over her shoulder and then quickened her pace? No – probably just looking at a reflection. Definitely not because she’d noticed the desperate, slightly sweaty Ensign trying to wave discreetly at her.
He called out, trying to project a tone that said ‘professional medical officer’ and not ‘injured backup dancer’.
Bancroft: Captain MacKenzie! Ma’am! I just–
A Caitian teenager zipped in front of him on a hoverboard. Roy swerved, hit a knee-high advertising drone, and crumpled to the ground, disappearing in the swirling crowd.
By the time he staggered back upright, she’d gained another twenty meters. Still moving. Maybe walking a tiny bit faster now.
Roy pushed forward, limping slightly but determined – the very picture of Starfleet professionalism. If you had your eyes firmly shut.
Bancroft: ::gasping:: Just want… to introduce myself…
He rounded a corner–
–and collided with a life-size holographic display of Captain MacKenzie advertising the latest issue of Fleet Monthly.
He apologized to it anyway.
MacKenzieBot: Response
TAG/TBC!
===
Ensign Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1