Ensign Roy Bancroft - Be the Man MacKenzieBot Thinks You Are

[Carter Schimpff]

(( Second Promenade - Deep Space 224 ))

MacKenzieBot: ::tilting head slightly:: Ensign Bancroft. You appear winded. Hydration is essential during pursuit of senior officers.

Roy blinked. Twice. The fact that it knew his name was – well, unnerving. The kind of unnerving usually reserved for haunted houses or fortune cookies with aggressively personal messages.

Bancroft: ::half-doubling over, wheezing:: Oh good. You know my name. That’s… that’s somehow more terrifying.

MacKenzieBot: Would you like to purchase a copy of Fleet Monthly? This month’s issue features in-depth articles on warp field advancements, senior command fashion trends, and Five Leadership Lessons from Addison MacKenzie That May or May Not Involve Airlocking Your Ensigns.

Roy stared at her. It. The projection. He wasn’t sure what unsettled him more: the hologram’s chipper tone, or the fact that the real Captain MacKenzie had apparently written that article.

He would, ideally, prefer not to be airlocked.

MacKenzieBot: Please note, this holographic representation is incapable of signing leave requests, issuing commendations, or accepting apologies for high-speed collisions.

A brief pulse of light flashed across the MacKenzieBot’s chest, syncing with the advertisement's changing headline: Command Presence: What It Is, and Why You're Probably Not Doing It Right.

Bancroft: ::staring at the rotating headline:: Right. Yes. All excellent topics. Although I’d love a follow-up article on “How to Regain Command Presence After Apologizing to a Billboard.” ::beat:: And no thank you on the magazine. I already subscribe to Imposter Syndrome Illustrated.

The hologram’s head cocked slightly – eerily similar to what little he knew of the real Addison MacKenzie.

MacKenzieBot: ::cheerfully:: Would you like to record a short message for Captain MacKenzie? Suggested greetings include: Reporting for duty, ma’am. Your leadership inspires me daily. I regret hitting you with my shoulder even though you are composed entirely of photons and forcefields. Or, perhaps you would prefer directions to the nearest medbay?

Bancroft: ::awkwardly straightening his uniform:: No offense, but sending a message to the Captain through you feels like a great way to get airlocked. ::a pause:: But… for the record, I am reporting for duty. And I am inspired. And I may be mildly concussed.

A pause stretched between them – him and the hologram. Then, as if to put the final cherry on the simulation sundae, a Ferengi child ran up and poked at the hologram. 

The MacKenzieBot didn’t so much as flinch. 

Roy wasn’t sure if that was clever programming or an uncomfortably faithful simulation of the real thing. Either way, it felt… eerily accurate. He shuddered.

MacKenzieBot: ::lower, almost conspiratorially:: She’s two levels up. Walking precisely 13% faster than her average promenade pace. If you sprint now, you may arrive… just in time to pretend this never happened. (beat) Also, your collar is still crooked.

And just like that, the holo-projection flickered, reset, and looped back into its idle cycle – gazing heroically into the middle-distance beneath a bold new tagline:

Fleet Monthly. Because Commanding Officers Don’t Chase Themselves.

MacKenzieBot’s unsettlingly specific directions kicked Roy into gear. He made it three strides before a churro vendor yelled “free sample!” and tossed one at him.

Roy caught it reflexively. 

Which was, of course, a mistake.

Because now he was a man sprinting with a churro. 

Which was… not the energy he’d hoped to bring to his commanding officer.

Bancroft: ::to himself, running:: Okay, Roy. You’ve got one chance. Be casual. Be confident. Be the kind of officer that doesn’t trip over–

He tripped over a low-hovering maintenance drone.

Bancroft: –drones. Fantastic. This is all going so well.

Back on his feet, ego in tatters, Roy vaulted into the nearest lift and slammed the control for the upper level.

It began to rise. 

Slowly. So very slowly.

Tellarite jazz piped in through the overhead speaker – relaxed, unbothered, utterly divorced from Roy’s current emotional state. 

He bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet, willing the lift to move faster through spite alone.

(( Second Promenade, Upper Level - Deep Space 224 ))

The moment the doors parted, he saw her.

Captain Addison MacKenzie.

Standing just outside a storefront. Perfect posture. Neutral expression. Admiring a display of... tiny bonsai trees suspended in gravity-neutral globes?

Roy exhaled slowly. Smoothed his collar. Smoothed it again. This was his moment.

He stepped forward–

–and was immediately intercepted by an automated retail cart. Sleek. Friendly. Utterly lacking in spatial awareness.

Retail Cart: ::cheerfully:: Hello, valued customer! May I interest you in our Floating Flora Starter Kit? A unique blend of hydroponic aesthetics and mood-calibrated terrarium scents!

Bancroft: ::startled, swatting at it gently:: No thank you – actually I’m on duty – sorry, I’m trying to – just–

Retail Cart: ::persisting:: Studies show commanding officers respond 17% more positively to subordinates who give gifts. Might I recommend the “Serenity Fern” for professional appeasement?

Bancroft: ::gritting his teeth:: If I buy the fern, do you shut up? Or do I have to pay extra for that?

He sidestepped, ducked, juked, and very nearly executed a spin move to evade the retail drone – only to catch his own reflection in the storefront glass.

He stopped.

He looked… unwell.

Forehead slightly damp. Hair tousled. And in one hand? A half-smashed churro he was now gripping like a weapon.

And next to the glass storefront – MacKenzie. 

Looking right at him.

Their eyes met.

Roy froze.

Then–

–a passing cargo module blocked his line of sight. And when it rolled past–

She was gone.

Vanished. No trace.

Bancroft stood in silence. The retail cart hummed sympathetically.

Retail Cart: Would you like to send her a bonsai?

Bancroft: ::after a long beat:: You know what? Sure. Send the bonsai. Maybe it’ll get further than I have.

He turned back to his reflection. Smoothed his hair. Straightened his uniform. Ditched the churro.

Bancroft: ::to himself, steeling:: Okay. No more dashing. No more churros. No more conversations with holograms that know your name. Just walk up to her like a normal person. With a functioning sense of timing. And basic social skills. You know – the bare minimum. 

A pause.

Bancroft: …And I’m still talking to myself. That’s fine. That’s great.

With a deep breath and a renewed sense of resignation, he walked on.

(( Second Promenade, Upper Level, Observation Alcove - Deep Space 224 ))

He found her near one of the tall windows that overlooked the docking hub – a quiet alcove, distant from the commercial churn of the level below.

Captain Addison MacKenzie.

Calm. Composed. Alone.

Roy approached with deliberate care. No more sprinting. No more panting. No more sweating. No more chaos.

Just him, a perfectly reasonable sense of performance anxiety, and the vague memory of her giving battlefield commands while he was crouched behind a command console thinking very hard about not dying.

He stopped a respectful distance away and quickly checked his surroundings – no airlocks in sight. 

Bancroft: ::clearing his throat politely:: Captain MacKenzie?

She turned.

He stood up straighter, hands clasped behind his back in the very best impersonation of a fully functional officer who hadn’t once suggested blinding an entire planet’s population to her. 

Outwardly, he looked solid. Uniform neat. Collar fixed. Hair in place. Not a drop of sweat.

Inwardly, he was not okay. At all. But his nervous system was being very polite about it.

Bancroft: I know we’ve technically met – combat zones tend to rush the usual introductions. But I just wanted to say – formally, finally – Ensign Roy Bancroft, Medical Officer aboard the Artemis… reporting for duty, ma’am.

MacKenzie: Response

TAG/TBC!

===

Ensign Roy Bancroft

Medical Officer

USS Artemis-A

A240205RB1