Ensign Roy Bancroft - Would You Like a Scan With That?
Carter Schimpff
(( Primary Sickbay, Deck 7, USS Artemis ))
Roy was midway through composing an unnecessarily dramatic note in a patient chart and, to put it lightly, he was exhausted. The extra shifts he’d pulled during the Artemis’ transit back to DS224 – stacked on top of the lingering fatigue from the mission on Galaris IV – had left his brain feeling like overcooked pudding.
Frankly, he was amazed he hadn’t made a major mistake yet. More amazing still, he hadn’t made one while Lieutenant Meyers – arrogant, combative, critical – had been watching his every move like an overgrown spider.
Bancroft: ::narrating to the Computer:: Patient remains miraculously alive and in good health, despite repeated poor life choices and ::yawns:: an alarmingly suspect understanding of basic culinary tools.
He paused, reread it, and added a helpful clarification: see also – Incident Log, Ensign [Redacted], Cheese Grater.
The main Sickbay doors parted with their usual hiss and hydraulic sigh.
Bergmen: One doctor, please!
Roy blinked. Then turned. Slowly.
The Lieutenant who had just announced his presence like a walk-in at a drive-thru stood there expectantly, youthful and unbothered, as if he hadn’t just summoned medical aid like it came with fries and a drink.
Roy’s mouth twitched.
Bancroft: ::chuckling:: Lieutenant… ::searching his memory:: Bergmen, yes? I’m Doctor Bancroft, pleasure to meet you.
The Lieutenant raised a hand in greeting, which Roy promptly mistook for a handshake. He extended his own hand enthusiastically – only for Bergmen to wince and retract his arm with a grimace. Roy’s hand continued on, slicing through empty air before slowly retreating back to his side like a shuttle denied docking clearance.
Bergmen: Yeah, that.
Bergman exhaled slowly – a movement Roy’s clinicians eye recognized immediately as a textbook pain response – before helping himself to a biobed.
Bergmen: My left shoulder has been really bothering me lately. Most of the time, it's just a dull pressure or mild pain, but about fifteen minutes ago, while I was cataloging, I tried to raise my arm and felt a sharp pain shooting from my shoulder down somewhere under the shoulder blade, here, toward the spine. ::points at the location on his back, approximately::
Roy strode over to the biobed and accessed the console, pulling up Lieutenant Bergman’s medical records.
LIEUTENANT JUNIOR GRADE / BERGMEN, OLLIVER KIMMI / OPERATIONS
Patient Reference Number: GB-503-838
Date of Birth: 235105.08
Age: 51
Species–
Roy’s eyes stopped reading and darted back up to the “Date of Birth” and “Age” lines. He rubbed his face vigorously, scowled at the display, gave a quizzical look to the… teenage?... Lieutenant JG on the biobed, then scowled at the display once more.
Was he hallucinating?
Bancroft: ::under his breath:: Fifty-one?
He flagged down Crewman Jorgenson, who had – most unfortunately for him – wandered within whispering distance.
Bancroft: ::hushed, to Jorgenson:: Is there something wrong with the medical database?
Jorgenson’s brow furrowed in confusion.
Jorgenson: No, sir, not that I’m aware of.
Bancroft: ::still whispering:: Then explain to me why the computer says the… ::in a hiss:: human teenager… on that biobed is fifty-one?
Jorgenson opened his mouth to respond – but before he could commit to either defending the system or the pride of his overly-tired officer, Bergmen spoke up from the bed.
Bergmen: Response
Jorgenson took that moment to execute the classic enlisted maneuver: immediate strategic vanishing. Roy blinked and the man was gone – no hum, no shimmer of transporter beams, just pure enlisted witchcraft.
Roy gave the room a cursory scan, found nothing but air where the man had been, and then turned back to the Artemis’ very own Dorian Gray.
Bancroft: ::clearing his throat:: Right. Well. Be that as it may... let’s begin your examination, shall we?
Bergmen: Response
TAG/TBC!
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Ensign Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1