Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - Moving the Needle

[Carter Schimpff]

Imril: =/\= Computer, standby to remotely de-power Hazardous Material Lab Item Number 569-7-Eta, code-name WHIMPER. Activate protocol under the standard HDL safety parameters, and add the following temporary initiation prompt; Code Grey. =/\=

Roy watched Imril work with the quiet appreciation of someone who knew when to shut up and let competence happen. There was a calm to the engineer’s movements that Roy envied – a practiced confidence born not of bravado, but of deep understanding. It was the sort of confidence that had no need to announce itself loudly.

Computer: =/\= Acknowledged. Standing by. =/\=

Code Grey, apparently, was the engineering equivalent of a fire extinguisher mounted next to a “Break Glass” sign. Roy filed that one away for possible use at the next cocktail function. 

Bancroft: ::mouthing to Imril:: (Code Grey?) ::spoken out loud:: Reassuringly vague. I’ll almost certainly not shout that by accident.

He glanced from the device to Imril and back again, as if expecting W.H.I.M.P.E.R. to react defensively to the designation. It didn’t – though one of the blinking lights did stutter, which Roy chose to interpret as judgement. 

Imril initiated their first scan.

Imril: Looks like we’re both right, Tho’Bi. Or sort-of right. This is a rather hefty battery for the size of the device. And I can see evidence of where a smaller battery housing used to be. There’s also carbon scoring across the various pieces of hardware, evidence of power surges. ::To Bancroft, smiling teasingly:: Looks like someone tried to brute force their way past systemic irregularities by upping the power.

Roy felt the familiar, reflexive urge to defend himself rise – then subside just as quickly. This was Imril. One of his closest friends aboard the Artemis. And Imril wasn’t accusing – they were merely observing. 

And worse, they were right.

Bancroft: I’ll have you know, my friend, that my ‘more juice, fewer questions’ approach has almost worked nearly every time I’ve tried it. ::guilty look:: This time being a notable example.

Roy leaned in beside Imril, tricorder angled just so, his own readouts already lighting up with familiar patterns. Beneath the scorch marks, the warped casing, the questionable life choices – it was still recognizably his work. The underlying medical scanner architecture was solid. Thoughtful, even.

The trouble wasn’t the foundation.

The trouble was everything he’d stacked on top of it while convinced he could carry the weight alone.

Imril: The scoring has introduced flaws in the insulation through which electricity can flow in unpredictable directions. Creating the likelihood of impedance to some components while compounding the effect of power surges directed at others. Effectively, random parts of the device are being starved or gorged with energy, and which is which is constantly changing.

Bancroft: Sounds like it’s mimicking an irregular heartbeat. Which is kind of poetic, in a way.

He wasn’t joking this time. The device wasn’t just malfunctioning – it was dysregulated. Overstimulated. Misfiring. A body pushed too hard, too fast, without the infrastructure to maintain it.

Roy swallowed. He knew that patient too well.

Imril: Downloading software for analysis…. There’s something… unusual… in the firmware command line prompts that I can't readily identify. Tho’Bi, can you sort it out?

Just as Imril asked the question, a chirp issued from Tho’Bi’s commbadge. He stepped away from them, held a brief conversation out of earshot, and then – with a flicker of resignation across his blue features – turned to go, double-timing it towards the exit.

Bancroft: ::watching Tho’Bi depart:: Guess it’s just you and me now.

The words landed heavier than he’d intended. The lab felt quieter without the Andorian’s presence – less kinetic. The hum of W.H.I.M.P.E.R. seemed all the louder by comparison, like it was aware it had fewer witnesses now.

Roy turned back to Imril and found them watching him – not suspiciously, but attentively. Waiting.

Bancroft: ::with a sheepish grin:: Seeing as I’m the one who, er… authored the anomaly in the firmware, you might want to handle that part yourself. Best not to let me poke at it twice. ::brighter:: I’m mostly harmless with a plasma torch. I’ll start peeling back the outer framework so we can get a look inside.

He reached for the tool before Imril could talk him out of it, hands steady despite the knot in his stomach. This? This was something he could do. Make space. Strip away armor. Expose the problem so someone better equipped could fix it.

Imril: Response

They worked for a while without speaking, each task unfolding with quiet care. Roy’s hands found rhythm in disassembly – unfastening protective panels, clearing the way. Imril traced diagnostics along emerging pathways, presumably capturing waveform irregularities and annotating feedback points, or whatever it was frighteningly capable engineers did.

Bancroft: ::after a while, conversational:: I really do appreciate you being here, Imril. I know I joke around a lot – silly names, breezy attitude – but this project matters to me. A lot. I honestly think it could help people. Maybe not revolutionize medicine overnight, but… move the needle? For sure.

Imril: Response

Bancroft: ::nodding:: That means a lot, buddy. Truly.

Roy deftly removed another of the prototype's outer hull plates.

Bancroft: You know, I’ve known you all this time, we’ve been together through thick and thin, and I’ve never once asked. What does Imril mean? Are you named for something or someone?

Imril: Response

TAG/TBC!

===

Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft

Medical Officer

USS Artemis-A

A240205RB1