Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - Yesterday's Problem
Carter Schimpff
(( Radiation Treatment Ward, Deck 7 – USS Artemis-A ))
Bancroft: This isn’t random, and it isn’t your fault. ::frowning:: It was the Maelstrom. In a healthy person, I’d expect some fatigue, headaches… maybe some transient neurological irritation. But in you? Your tissue was already living on borrowed tolerance.
Bergmen: Don’t worry, Roy. I knew it was just a question of time before something like this would happen again. It’s ok.
Ollie reached out, fingers brushing lightly against the back of Roy’s hand, grounding the moment in something simple and honest.
Bergmen: Do you believe the original therapy would be able to stop it?
Roy didn’t pull his hand away.
For a moment, he didn’t answer either – not out of hesitation, but out of care. His eyes dropped briefly to the contact, then lifted again, steady and clear.
His jaw set just slightly.
Bancroft: I believe the original therapy was never designed to stop it.
The words were gentle. The distinction was not.
Bancroft: It slowed it. Bought you time. Gave your body a margin it wouldn’t have otherwise had. ::beat:: But what we’re looking at now is a compound issue the original treatment was never designed to handle.
He shifted his hand just enough to turn the contact into something deliberate rather than incidental, then let it fall away as he turned back toward the console.
His fingers moved again across the interface, pulling up a tighter cluster of readings – neurological interference, autonomic fluctuation, cellular turnover trending upward in uneven waves.
Bancroft: Which means if we try to solve this by simply repeating what was done before… all we do is solve yesterday’s problem.
Ollie didn’t look away as he slowly nodded, confirming he was ready to go through it.
Bergmen: I know the cost of what it takes. We cannot cure the consequences without first stopping the cause. Do it.
Roy studied him for a moment – not clinically, but as one man measuring another’s resolve.
Then he nodded once.
Decided.
Bancroft: ::with finality:: Alright.
He turned fully back to the console, his tone shifting – not colder, not harsher, but sharpened into purpose.
Bancroft: But we’re not going to do it blindly, and we are not going to do it at full strength on the first pass.
His hands moved quickly now, configuring a sequence of commands, queuing up protocols that sat somewhere between standard Federation practice and something a little more… interpretive.
Bancroft: The Gideon therapy suppressed your cell cycle globally. Effective, but… inelegant. It treats everything as equally guilty.
A glance back.
Bancroft: Right now, I’m less interested in suppression and more interested in control.
He tapped the console, and a new sequence populated the display.
Bancroft: I’m going to start with a localized stabilization pass – target the most active regions, bring the cellular turnover back into something resembling compliance, and dampen the neurological noise while we’re at it. Similar to how we treat cancers.
A beat.
Bancroft: Think of it as… reminding your body what “normal” is supposed to feel like.
He let that sit for a moment – not as reassurance, but as orientation.
Bancroft: Once we’ve got you back inside acceptable tolerances, we can work to modify and then reintroduce the broader therapy.
His eyes met Ollie’s again, steady, certain.
Bancroft: The goal here is simple: we get you stable, we get you functional, and we do not pay more than we have to in the process.
He reached for a hypospray, then paused just long enough to give Ollie one final look – not for permission, but for alignment.
Bancroft: You trust me?
Bergmen: Response?
Roy gave a small nod.
Then, without ceremony, he went to work.
TAG(?)/End Scene for Bancroft
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Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1