Ensign Roy Bancroft - A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forensics Kit
Carter Schimpff
((Holodeck 2, Deck 2, USS Artemis))
Jovenan: Hmm. Major Oolwi, the Kobyar liaison, explained that the drones operate independently if they lose contact with a live operator. The drones my team encountered seemed to behave that way. Is it possible that the age of some of the technology introduced vulnerabilities?
Bancroft: If I may offer a theory on vulnerability, Commander: based on what we’ve seen so far, this whole system looks like a patchwork – different cultures, different eras, all duct-taped together into something functional. It reminds me, just a little, of the Pakleds and their Clumpships. ::holds up both hands, placating:: Not suggesting they’re involved, just… drawing a parallel. ::a beat:: It could explain the erratic behavior – tiny incompatibilities in the way subsystems talk to each other could be their own vulnerability.
Tho’Bi: ::quieter and nodding:: The drone in the forest ::swallows:: behaved strangely (beat) as though ::shakes head:: executing (beat) multiple command protocols.
Imril: Response
Jovenan: Okay. Imril, would you mind introducing the drone technology to Tho’Bi in further detail? I want both of you be full up on speed before we can start making further hypothesis.
Imril: Response
Tho’Bi: ::nods:: Aye, Aye.
Jovenan: Meanwhile, Doctor…
((Preserving Jovenan’s OOC: Feel free to have Tho’Bi and Imril talk together as much as you see fit while Jovenan and Bancroft are doing other things, even if there aren’t explicit tags for the two in this part!))
Jovenan: We should also study the Grunden technology. You and Tho’Bi might have more data, but my team also encountered some damaged Grunden vehicles in the old battlefield. That would provide an interesting comparison. We also found some, um, biological matter inside. Would it be possible to ask you to evaluate that part of the data before cleaning up and looking further into the technology?
Bancroft: ::smiling brightly:: Absolutely, ma’am. If there’s any evidence to be found in the, er… remains… or the technology it’s spread across, I’ll find it.
Jovenan: Computer, replicate the destroyed Grunden vehicle as recorded in the folder Jovenan Lambda-Gamma-1.
Bancroft: ::softly, to himself:: Oh, good. Not horrifying at all. ::clearing his throat, louder:: I’m on it, Commander. Computer – replicate an isolation suit, full forensic kit, and medical tricorder if you please.
Imril/Tho’Bi: Response?
Bancroft: ::poking his head out of the cabin:: Commander Jovenan? How confident are you that the holographic recreation of this Grunt is absolutely accurate?
Jovenan: Huh? Um, there are always some imperfections in the scans and how the computer interprets them, but the data should be as accurate as the circumstances permit. Why?
Imril/Tho’Bi: Response?
Bancroft: It’s just… there’s a hot spot here, on this floorboard. Small, no larger than a few centimeters in diameter. The rest of the vehicle is cold and dead, but this… isn’t. It seems out of place to me.
Jovenan: Can you have a closer look? Is there a hot component or something else you could identify as the source?
Imril/Tho’Bi: Response?
Bancroft: ::ducking back inside the Grunt:: I’ll dig into it, Commander.
Jovenan: Tho’Bi, did you happen to take any scans of vehicles like this while you were with the Grunden? There’s a hot spot in the floor. It might not be anything, but I want to check it.
Imril/Tho’Bi: Response
Jovenan: Is it possible this grunt is of different design? Maybe there’s something added or removed to the ones you saw.
Imril/Tho’Bi: Response
Roy ducked back inside the vehicle and sat on his haunches, staring at the bit of floor plating. What if whatever was producing this heat was explosive? He knew the holodeck safety protocols were active, but instinct still told him to tread lightly. He decided to see if the computer would be helpful before attempting anything more kinetic.
Bancroft: Computer, what is the source of the heat bleeding through the deck plating immediately in front of me?
Computer: Unknown.
Roy sighed. Of course it didn’t know, that would have been helpful. He decided to try a different approach.
Bancroft: Computer, remove the section of deck plating directly in front of me.
Computer: Unable to comply.
Roy scowled. This wasn’t the first time he’d wished the computer had a corporeal form – mostly so he could throttle it in situations like this.
Bancroft: ::under his breath:: Could you be any more worthless?
Computer: Please restate your query.
He was reasonably sure the computer’s tone had shifted into something resembling snideness.
oO Alright, fine. We’ll do it the old fashioned way. Oo
Bancroft: ::holding out his right hand, palm upward, like a surgeon awaiting a tool:: Computer, plasma torch.
The tool materialized with a cheerful little shimmer that he found offensive. He took it anyway.
Patient? One ex-military transport with severe combat trauma. Symptom? Localized hyperthermia in the subdermal plating. Procedure? Exploratory heat-source excision with torch-assisted access.
He activated the torch and set to work with practiced hands, idly wondering if anyone else from the Starfleet Medical class of 2402 had performed exploratory surgery on a war vehicle.
The torch ignited with a hiss that sounded suspiciously smug, as if it knew how unnecessarily dramatic it was being. Roy adjusted the flame with a flick, then knelt down beside the stubborn bit of floor plating like a man preparing to extract a splinter from a god.
The metal protested at first, letting out the kind of whine one might expect when trying to yank open a particularly passive-aggressive filing cabinet. Sparks flew up in defensive little arcs, as though ready to lodge a complaint with their local union. Undeterred, Roy continued his makeshift surgery, tracing a crude circle with all the grace and precision of a caffeinated honey badger performing calligraphy.
By the time the circle was complete, the plating made a noise halfway between a clink and an oh-no, then fell inward with all the elegance of a man slipping on a bar of soap in zero gravity.
What lay beneath it was... mysterious. Everything inside the freshly-opened cavity looked like it belonged. Everything was cold, dark, and battle-damaged. Everything except that.
Bancroft: ::dryly:: Well, hello there, suspicious little thing I’ll probably regret touching.
He reached for his tricorder, finally ready to let technology do what brute curiosity had started.
Bancroft: ::shouting slightly to be heard from inside the Grunt’s cabin:: Today’s episode of “One of These Things Is Not Like the Others” stars something under the deck plating that doesn’t look Grunden. Scanning now.
Imril/Tho’Bi/Jovenan: Response?
The tricorder chirped to life, eager as a labrador on its first day of Starfleet obedience school. Roy angled it toward the suspicious metal doodad nestled in the cavity beneath the plating, which was now glaring back at him with the mute defiance of something that had absolutely not consented to this particular physical.
Bancroft: ::muttering:: If this thing starts blinking ominously, I’m beaming straight to the bar.
The device, either unbothered or deeply offended by the attention, remained resolutely inert. The tricorder, on the other hand, burst into life with the excitable urgency of a conspiracy theorist who’d just found a second corkboard.
The Tricorder spewed data in a font Roy didn’t trust and a cadence he certainly hadn’t authorized. Parsing it felt like asking a shopping mall guard to draft battle plans for a full-scale interstellar conflict – technically possible, but mostly just sad.
One thing Roy was certain about was that the device wasn’t meant to integrate with the Grunt’s systems – it was leeching power, not participating.
Bancroft: ::squinting at the screen:: Right. So that’s either an incredibly sophisticated surveillance node… or the galaxy’s most over-built space heater.
He tapped a few buttons, filtering the nonsense from the actually-useful nonsense. Power signature: internal, but unfamiliar. Emissions: narrow-band, high-gain, two-way signal. Encrypted, of course, because of course it was. Code base: a Frankensteinian blend of archaic Starfleet firmware, Ferengi data compression, and something encrypted and unlabeled – probably bespoke.
Bancroft: ::to the room:: Commander? I’ve found something. Some kind of long-range transponder – possibly a surveillance node. It’s not broadcasting on any Grunden or Kobyar frequencies. And it’s definitely overpowered – this thing could phone home well into the mid-reaches of this star system.
Jovenan/Imril/Tho’Bi: Response
Roy nodded, mostly to himself, and continued to scan, simultaneously uploading the scan data to a workstation near Imril and Tho’Bi.
Bancroft: It’s interesting… I could certainly see the Grunden utilizing a tracking device for logistical purposes. But why wouldn’t it be similar to all of their other tech? And why would it need to be powerful enough to beam signals off-world?
Jovenan/Imril/Tho’Bi: Response
He closed his Tricorder and holstered it. Analyzing the tracking device was better left to the two others in the room – an actual scientist and two actual engineers.
Bancroft: Agreed. I’m going to get to work analyzing the biological material here. ::opening kit:: Let’s see if our dearly departed friends left behind anything besides viscera and unresolved plot threads.
Jovenan: Response
Imril/Tho’Bi: Response
TAG/TBC
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Ensign Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A204205RB1