Ensign Roy Bancroft - The Things Scans Don't Show
Carter Schimpff
(( Primary Sickbay - Deck 7, USS Artemis-A ))
Bancroft: I’ve got to say, Lieutenant Storm, you are in pristine health. What’s your exercise regimen? Running? Organizing your boot collection? Emotionally bench-pressing other peoples’ intrusive thoughts?
The overhead scanner began its sweep for the Bronchial Scan.
Storm: Oh…well really, my exercise program is pretty typical for an officer. It consists of pushing my body to the limit with late nights, too much coffee, and running from excruciating group social engagements.
Bancroft: ::chuckling:: Ah yes – “Functional Burnout Conditioning” with a minor in over-caffeination. Isn’t that a requirement to get your second pip? ::beat, faint smile:: You wear it well, Lieutenant. Just don’t forget the counterbalance – hobbies, downtime, socialization.
He tapped a few commands into his console and switched the scanning pod for a gastrointestinal pass, then reached for the resonance tissue scanner. The device, no larger than a medical tricorder, felt light in his hand – a marvel, considering the behemoth his mother had used in her day.
Storm: Oh. I socialize, just not usually in big groups. Sometimes, it’s just too much effort to block out all everyone’s mental clutter that overflows, especially during large group gatherings. It’s typical of Betazoids on the whole.
The overhead scanner whirred again, transitioning seamlessly into the bone scan, then the cardiovascular sweep. Storm’s toe tapped an inaudible rhythm against the biobed – syncopated, but steady. Roy caught it out of the corner of his eye as he worked. It was a good sign. Still patients were uncomfortable patients.
Bancroft: ::genuinely:: Makes sense. Group settings are noisy enough without any extra channels coming through. ::beat, wry:: I’ve seen what happens when humans can’t filter out subtle body language. I imagine thoughts and emotions are exponentially more challenging. ::softening:: Solitude’s no red flag here, Lieutenant. Sometimes it’s just a good strategy.
He moved methodically now, wrapping up the final sequence of tests – lymphatic scan, reproductive scan, and finally the bloodwork. The scanner beeped softly as it completed each one, feeding data into the console before him. All signs pointed to glowing, almost unnaturally good health.
All except for one.
Storm: So what’s the diagnosis, Doc? Do I need to start eating more greasy fried foods? Oh….I know what it is. You’re going to prescribe chocolate, right? I mean…I might be able to do that if I tried really, really hard.
Bancroft: ::raising an eyebrow:: Actually, Lieutenant, you’re not terribly far off there. You are in pristine health…
He let the end of the sentence hang in the air for a moment as the results of her blood scan flashed onto his screen.
Storm: Response
Bancroft: ::swiveling the console to face her:: But, your cortisol – that’s your primary stress hormone – is riding a little high. ::a beat, more gently:: Nothing to lose sleep over, unless you already are…
The scan didn’t tell him why, of course. Elevated cortisol could mean any number of benign things – new ship, new crew, the usual turbulence of adaptation. For a Betazoid, he imagined that kind of sensory upheaval was pegged at eleven. Or perhaps Lieutenant Silveira had her knee-deep in some particularly challenging task.
But something about the markers suggested a different story to him. This wasn’t some transitory spike – more like a slow burn. Subtle but persistent. Personal, probably. Most things were.
He considered asking. Just a nudge – a physician’s version of a leading question. But he wasn’t a counselor, and she hadn’t invited the conversation. If there was something there, she’d share it with him when and if she chose to.
Storm: Response
Bancroft: ::half smile:: My advice? Keep up that exercise routine, but don’t treat your workouts like a battle drill. Push too hard and those hormone spikes will work against you. It’s all about balance, Lieutenant. Don’t try to out-sweat the galaxy… and have a little chocolate from time to time.
Storm: Response?
He logged the last few bits of data on his PADD, eyes flicking back to her just once – not long enough to be noticed, probably, but long enough to register something unspoken. There were some things no scan could diagnose.
Bancroft: You’ll get my full report in your personal file shortly. And I’d like to see you again in a few months – check the numbers, make sure you’re still the Artemis’ gold standard for healthy officers. ::softer, with a knowing glance:: And to ensure that whatever’s setting your system on edge has started to ease off. In the meantime, remember, chocolate is an official prescription… and Starfleet Medical takes cocoa compliance very seriously.
TAG/End Scene for Bancroft
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Ensign Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1