Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - An Error in Interpretation
Carter Schimpff
(( Holodeck 1, Deck 2 – USS Artemis-A ))
Bancroft: Causing harm to a friendly – even non-lethal harm – is not a line I’m willing to cross. If the price of passing this evaluation is crossing that line… then I accept failure.
Storm: Lieutenant, I’m sure as a surgeon, you’re familiar with muscle memory?
Bancroft: ::quietly, after a beat:: I am, ma’am. Surgeons drill technique until it becomes second nature – but we’re also trained to pause. To assess. To recognize when an initial instinct could cause more harm than good.
His hands rested lightly behind his back, one hand clasped in the other with the practiced stillness of someone who knew how to stand at attention without looking rigid. Beneath that calm, tension coiled – not defiance, not fear, but intent. He wasn’t pushing back. But he wasn’t going to let the metaphor pass unexamined, either.
Because practice didn’t make perfect.
Practice made permanent.
And the more you practiced pulling the trigger on a familiar face – even in simulation – the more natural that motion became. The body didn’t care about intent. It remembered repetition.
Bancroft: Split-second decisions absolutely matter, ma’am. So does what we condition ourselves to see as acceptable in those seconds.
Storm: Today, in this simulation, I was your adversary, not your enemy. An exercise like this is supposed to help you procure muscle memory.
Alex’s eyebrows lifted slightly – not accusatory, but probing – as if checking whether her point had landed. Before Roy could respond, Imril spoke up.
Imril: Sound was working against me, against us, so I did my best to make less of it and not let it guide my actions. I focused on the light reflecting off the mists, and on the shadows. Looking for something that didn’t ‘fit’ with everything else. Something that could be you, Sir.
Storm: That was an acute tactical move, Lieutenant.
Roy maintained his bearing – such things mattered when you were being dismantled by a superior officer in slow, professional increments – but he allowed a trace of warmth to soften his expression.
Bancroft: ::to Imril:: Twice the shadows, twice the opportunities to be wrong – and you still moved with clarity. Good work, buddy.
Imril: Doctor Bancroft and I split up when we reached a new cavern. Which gave me twice as many shadows, twice as many sources of movement, to be mindful of. When I saw a dark patch that didn't match the surroundings, I had to confirm I was aiming at the right person before I fired. I needed to open myself up to being shot at in order to do that. It could have gone either way.
Storm: That’s often the moment where the mission rises or falls, and you’re right. It can go either way. Fortunately for you, it broke very much in your favor.
Roy kept his mouth shut. His opinions weren’t needed here. He could congratulate Imril properly once Storm finished running him up the flagpole.
Still, he was quietly grateful that things had broken Imril’s way, rather than breaking something else.
Storm: I’ve sent your official phaser qualification to you and to the CTO. This will last you for a year, after which you’ll need to do another recertification.
Imril: Acknowledged. Thank you, Sir.
Roy broke his at-attention stance for a half-second to lightly pat Imril on the shoulder one time.
Bancroft: Good work, buddy.
Storm: Unless you have any other questions, you’re dismissed, Lieutenant.
Imril hesitated, glancing toward Roy as if wondering whether staying might help. It wouldn’t. Their presence would only complicate what was coming next.
Imril: ::To Storm:: Aye, Sir. Thank you for your time, Sir. ::To Bancroft:: Later, Roy.
Roy pursed his lips together and nodded in Imril’s direction. Get while the getting’s good, my friend.
Imril turned and headed for the exit.
Alex drew in a breath, then let it out slowly. When she looked back at Roy, her expression had softened. She slid her PADD into her back pocket and clasped her hands in front of her.
Storm: Lieutenant Bancroft … Roy. Can you help me understand your hesitance in any way other than because this wasn’t a real situation, but a simulation, that you refused to shoot me? I do want to understand.
The softening in her eyes – and the use of his first name – told him this was no longer a dressing-down. At least, not of the same caliber it had been before. Lieutenant Storm had stepped aside. This was Alex now, asking him to meet her halfway.
Roy exhaled quietly.
He held no illusions about what would happen next. His decisions would travel up the chain of command, stripped for parts, compressed into something easier to summarize than to understand.
All he could do now was be precise.
Bancroft: Delighted to, ma’am.
Ma’am felt a touch formal for the moment – but not wrong. She was still his superior. And for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate yet, he felt an unusual need not just to justify his actions… but to be understood by her.
He held her gaze firmly.
Bancroft: There wasn’t any hesitation. I didn’t freeze. I made a decision – and I made it quickly. This wasn’t a hiccup. It was a choice.
Storm didn’t interrupt.
Bancroft: Two things factored into my decision. The first is the Starfleet Physician’s Oath I swore when I graduated from the Medical Academy, part of which is a promise to never deliberately cause harm to any sentient being.
There wasn’t any theatricality to his statement. There didn’t need to be – the words lived in him.
Bancroft: I know the definition of ‘causing harm’ has elastic edges. Phasers set to stun still hurt. I have also deliberately caused harm before – to people actively trying to hurt my comrades – and I’ll do it again if I have to. That tension – between being an officer and a physician – isn’t theoretical to me.
It wasn’t an accusation – merely the truth. He shifted his weight slightly.
Bancroft: Today, we weren’t in combat. And the person in my sights was a fellow officer standing in for a threat. Which brings me to the second factor, and – honestly – the larger of the two: reflex.
His eyes never left hers.
Bancroft: It’s easy to say that in a real firefight – a hostile scenario, dust flying, minimal situational awareness – I’d recognize your face as friendly and hold my fire. I probably would. But if I condition myself to fire on you here – even on stun, even knowing it’s a simulation – what reflex am I training?
He opened his hands slightly, palms up. Reasoning, not pleading.
Bancroft: In that split second, when adrenaline is high and information is incomplete, do I make the same decision? Or do my hands default to the last reflex I drilled into them?
The question wasn’t rhetorical. It was sincere.
Bancroft: That’s the risk I wasn’t willing to take today. ::a beat:: There are times when my oath to Starfleet as a physician and my oath to Starfleet as an officer come into conflict, and I understand that. I carry that weight proudly. But this isn’t about morality, ma’am – not at all. Nor is it about defying authority.
His eyes bore into hers now, intense in purpose rather than accusation or defiance.
Bancroft: It’s about being very deliberate with what I allow to become an instinct.
Storm: Response?
TAG/End Scene for Bancroft
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Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1