Ensign Tho’Bi - Proto-Sandwich

[Tobi]

((Main Mess Hall, Deck 3, USS Artemis-A))

Amongst the clatter and chatter of the mess hall, the two Engineers attempted to decipher the creative coding of one Lieutenant Junior Grade Bancroft. 

Imril: Start from the beginning, Roy. Give us your turbolift pitch.

The good doctor cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter.

Bancroft: Every doctor asks the same question: ‘where does it hurt?’ Trouble is… sometimes the patient can’t answer. They’re unconscious. Non-verbal. From a species that doesn’t even have vocal cords. 

Words and hands began to work as one.

Bancroft: The scanners we have available today tell us where things are damaged, and to what extent. What they don’t tell us is how it feels. They don’t know if that shattered carapace, for example, feels like a stubbed toe or a supernova. That’s where W.H.I.M.P.E.R. comes in. It reads the neural and biochemical signatures of distress, runs them through a series of learning models, and translates them into a sort of ‘universal language of pain.’

Flow state.

Bancroft: It’s not mind-reading. It’s interpretation. Data, turned into empathy. In short, W.H.I.M.P.E.R. gives a voice to the voiceless. For the first time, we can see what a non-verbal patient actually feels – not just what’s broken. Which means we can treat the whole being during an intervention, not just the injury.

Tho’Bi: It is more Lieutenant Imril's area of experience than mine… I am really more of a bodger ::shrugs:: I guess we could… breakdown the prototype and draw up schematics from there.

Flow state, interrupted. 

Bancroft: Thobes, you’ve got just as critical a role here as either of us. And if I’d had the foresight to rope you both in from the beginning, this might have already been rolled out fleet-wide, improving patient outcomes. On my own head be it.

Imril: Trust me, Tho’Bi, half of invention is tearing something apart and rebuilding it to find out what didn’t work. Or just rebuilding it after something blew up. You’ll be all kinds of help.

Tho’Bi: …the design feels a little …random.

Bancroft: ::clearing his throat:: Right, yes, well– I think we can all agree the technical design is, generously speaking, an affront to engineering. In my defense, I’m a doctor, not an–

Imril: ::Wryly:: Endless list of alternative professions?

The human pawed his banana and stood.

Bancroft: The prototype – well, what’s left of it – is currently residing in exile on Deck 11. ::grinning:: Field trip?

Lieutenant Junior Grade Imril began a brisk demolition of his breakfast. 

The young Andorian scooped up the tattered lump of proto-sandwich and stood up.

Tho’Bi: ::nodding:: field trip.

A large, though not life threatening, bite was torn from the ragged hulk. The Andorian’s next words came filtered through chunky chews of proto-sandwich.

Tho'Bi: ::chunky chews:: One or two? ::chunky swallow:: Cargo bay? 

Casual banana peeling.

Bancroft: No, not in one of the cargo bays. Ops decided, against my passionate and wildly logical protests, to store it in the ::sighing:: Hazardous Materials Lab. Apparently ‘the risk of spontaneous combustion’ would trigger too much PADDwork.

Lieutenant Imril joined them on his feet, with cup and roll.

Imril: Am I the only one who remembers that power cells and combustible materials can be removed from an item before storing it away? I mean, there are procedures for that sort of thing.

Freshly tenderized from his latest chewing out, this time courtesy of then Acting-Captain Munro, the young Andorian had been attempting to study up on Starfleet Regulations and Protocols.

Tho'Bi: ::Recitative:: In the event of the removal of power cell and/or combustible materials proving too dangerous or impractical, the piece of equipment/technology in question should be stored as one…. Eh…. unit… piece…. …section 12, subsection 4, paragraph 9? …no, 7. …4? …11?

These attempts had so far borne mixed results.

Bancroft: Response

The trio made best their escape from the busy mess hall.

Imril: It seems to me that what you’ve come up with here is a variation on a psychotricorder. One that maps and translates a person's nervous system rather than the part of their brain that stores short-term memories. That could be gear to look to as a guidepost for refining and streamlining your prototype. ::teacherly voice:: And streamlining is very important if you want to get approval for expanded production. R&D honchos always want to read about how efficient a tool is going to be, and help others to be. Oh, and lots of little blinking lights that don't readily appear to do anything but blink. They love those.

Still chewing chunky chews, the proto-sandwich seeming never to lessen.

Tho'Bi: ::chunky chews:: Blinking lights, check.

Bancroft: Response

Imril: Might I suggest a rename, though? ‘W.H.I.M.P.E.R.’ doesn’t set a soothing impression in the mind of a patient of what the device is going to do to them. You don't go around calling laser scalpels Stabby Burny Sticks, do you?

The Andorian laugh-spluttered proto-sandwich across the corridor, pebbledashing a nearby control panel, much to the disgust of a pretty Bajoran Ensign passing the other way.

Tho'Bi: ::through chunky chews:: Uh Oh. 

 

Long Andorian legs darted to the control panel and wiped it clean with a long Andorian sleeve.

Tho'Bi: ::calling after the Bajoran:: Sorry! ::chunky swallow:: Fixed it!

The Bajoran looked back with a shake of the head in disgust and disbelief, leaving the now dejected Andorian and his companions behind.

Bancroft: Response

Tho’Bi: It was Imril's fault… they made me laugh ::shrugs:: Stabby Burny Sticks ::grins and chuckles::

Bancroft: Response?

Imril: You know engineers. We love to change things.

((Turbolift from Deck 3 to Deck 11))

As the trio crossed the threshold of the turbolift, the young Andorian instructed the computer. …at least he attempted to do so.

Tho'Bi: ::chunky chews:: Def eff-leff-un 

Computer: Please Repeat.

Tho'Bi: ::chunky chews:: Deff eeff-leeff-uunn 

Computer: Deaf Elephant. Unknown designation. 

One meter ninety centimeters of Andorian arch backwards with a muffled proto-sandwich filtered groan of frustration. 

Bancroft/Imril: Responses

Their destination finally confirmed, the turbolift hummed gently into motion; pulsing white lights indicating the passing of decks, on their way down to deck eleven and Project Bancroft. 

Seemingly past the proto-sandwich related mishaps of pebbledashing and deaf elephants, the young Andorian had returned to the task at hand.

Tho’Bi: What about psycho-corder?

Bancroft/Imril: Responses

Tho’Bi: Psycorder?

Bancroft/Imril: Responses

((Deck 11))

The trio made their way to the Hazardous Materials Lab.

Tho'Bi: How many evil super computers do you think they have in there?

Bancroft/Imril: Responses

Tho’Bi: We should ask them ::nodding::

Bancroft/Imril: Responses

TAGS/TBC

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Ensign Tho’Bi

Engineering

USS Artemis-A

A240203T11