Ensign Roy Bancroft - Easy-Bake Death Tube

[Carter Schimpff]

(( Holodeck 3, Deck 222, DS 224 ))

Meris: ::pushing on Roy's hip to move him aside:: =/\= I'm looking ::coms static:: ...looking for... ::coms static:: ...move Doctor! =/\=

Roy snugged himself against the far wall of the jeffries tube – an uncomfortable proposition due to the heat radiating from every surface – and Meris’ smaller frame slithered past.

Storm: ::to Tho’Bi:: =/\= We’re ::coms static:: -king on - ::coms static:: -ly way through? ::coms static:: =/\=

Tho'Bi: ::coms static:: 

Roy caught the rhythmic thump-thump of Tho’Bi’s boot near his hand and yanked his fingers back before they became minced into the deck plating. Finger sandwiches à la Bancroft were not going on today’s menu.

He looked up and caught the Andorian’s thumbs-up. His intent was clear: Pass it on to Storm.

Roy gave a short nod in acknowledgement.

Bancroft: =/\= Lieu- ::coms static:: Storm, we’ve got a th- ::coms static:: -bs up from ::coms static:: blue guy. Tho- ::coms static:: says ‘hi’. =/\=

Then, for added benefit, he exaggeratedly mirrored Tho’Bi’s thumbs-up toward Storm and added a theatrical flourish with his other hand – as if unveiling the latest-model shuttle at a very prestigious, very confused galactic trade show.

Meris: =/\= I'm ::coms static:: in. =/\=

Tho’Bi: ::thumbs up to Bancroft:: ::indicates pass it down the line::

Bancroft: ::gives another thumbs up to Storm::

Storm: =/\= We ::coms static:: -d time upda- ::coms static:: =/\=

Tho'Bi: ::to Bancroft:: ::Holds up eight fingers no thumbs::

Bancroft: ::gestures at wrist with one hand, then holds up eight fingers::

Storm: =/\= Is ther- ::coms static:: -ay around? =/\=

 

Storm: =/\= Meris, we- ::coms static:: able to dis- ::coms static:: panel? Or did yo- ::coms static:: coolant vent- ::coms static::? =/\= 

Meris: =/\= I'm ::coms static:: -ough. =/\=

Bancroft: ::muttering to himself:: My kingdom for a working comms system. Note to self, if you need a white noise machine for bed, just open a local channel and irradiate the area.

 

Meris: =/\= You should be ::coms static:: more ice. =/\=

Storm: Response 

With no small degree of engineering finesse – yank on it until it does what you want it to – Tho’Bi managed to open the hatch.

A blast of air knifed past Roy – so cold it felt like a sudden, weaponized case of the flu. His visor fogged instantly, the temperature regulator in his suit humming frantically to compensate. Outside, the frigid gust slammed into the lingering heat, exploding into a swirling cloud of steam and frost crystals.

Along the length of the tube, secondary power relays began to go – each one erupting in a burst of golden sparks that sprayed across the three of them like a deeply unsafe holiday display.

Then came a sharp, splintering crack beneath his boots. A jagged fissure ripped down the center of the decking, panels snapping inward one by one like a zipper trying to close in reverse.

Roy watched Tho’Bi disappear through the open hatch and vanish from sight – presumably dropping down into a junction room. Although, with comms shot, he could have been falling down a never-ending well. Time would tell, and Roy was certainly not inclined to linger in the death tube.

He reached the open hatchway and made a valiant attempt to descend with dignity.

Tho'Bi: ::dead comms:: Crashcart! Wait! ::no one could hear him::

Unfortunately, his boot caught on the rim. His center of gravity called an emergency union vote. And before the rest of him could register dissent, Roy’s body launched into a full-tilt tumble with all the coordination of a dropped mannequin.

He flailed through the air like a marionette, limbs pinwheeling in every cardinal direction. The fall wasn’t technically long, but there was still quite enough time for him to experience all five stages of grief before–

THUMP.

When body met deck, he bounced. Then came back to ground, finally, in a tragic tangle of arms, legs, and ego – his visor thunking to a stop inches from Tho’Bi’s boot.

For a moment, the only sounds in the compartment were the hiss of his suit’s respirator and the distant rustle of Roy’s dignity quietly packing a bag and slipping out the back door.

Bancroft: ::to himself, wheezing:: Well. Stuck the landing. Really nailed it. 10/10.

He lifted one gloved hand and flapped it vaguely in Tho’Bi’s direction – an attempt at reassurance that most likely read more like a sluggish, radiation-suited sea lion petitioning for more fish.

Tho'Bi: ::dead comms:: Lieutenant! Wait One! ::no one could hear him::

Roy rolled onto his back with the groan of a man who’d just discovered a new and unfortunate method of spinal realignment, then propped himself up on his elbows just in time to see Lieutenant Storm arrive.

With great ceremony – and not a hint of shame – he knocked twice on the deck plating with one gloved fist, then shot the compartment a chipper thumbs-up.

Bancroft: ::garbled comms, cheerfully:: Deck plating’s intact here. Very sturdy. I tested it personally. For science… and team safety.

(OOC: I will leave it to the others in the scene to decide what, if any, of that line of dialogue was heard)

Meris/Storm/Tho’Bi: Responses

Clambering to his feet with all the grace of a man who had only just been formally introduced to a floor, Roy looked up – and there, standing near the hatch at the top of the junction room, was Ensign Meris, phaser in hand.

It was a moment suspended in absurdity. The ship was minutes from destruction, the air thick with heat and panic… and Roy, in a decision that could best be described as curious, lifted one arm and gave Meris a jaunty little wave.

Bancroft: =/\= Stellar wo- ::coms static:: buddy! Rea- ::coms static:: ‘ice’ save. Than- ::coms static:: getting us outta that eas- ::coms static:: bake death tube. =/\=

Meris/Storm/Tho’Bi: Responses

TAG/TBC!

===

Ensign Roy Bancroft

Medical Officer

USS Artemis-A

A240205RB1