Originally posted on fanfiction.net - Link.
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What Fools These Mortals Be
Captain’s log, stardate 57672.3. The Cerritos is en route to the Retsknarp system to host a diplomatic and cultural observation delegation from Retsknarp One. While previous encounters have noted the Retsknarpians’ technological level being on par with that of the Federation, their social and behavioral exchanges have a bit more…outré.
“Starfleet has made five attempts to establish official diplomatic relations with the Retsknarpians over the last year,” Captain Freeman continued the briefing with her senior officers seated around the table in Conference Room Two. “All of which ended inconclusively.”
“Sounds like they’re a pretty reclusive race,” Lieutenant Commander Billups commented.
“Or a really aloof, vacillating one,” Doctor T’Ana snorted.
“Not according to these reports,” Commander Ransom indicated a padd. “Half of the previous diplomatic overtures were initiated by the Retsknarpians. They just didn’t seem very impressed by what they saw.”
“Why does Starfleet Command think that?” Billups asked.
“On account of several inexplicable interactions on the part of the Retsknarpians,” Ransom consulted the padd. “Apparently, they covered the inner and outer hulls of the U.S.S. Bellerophon with giant purple polka dots, glued a particularly furry tribble onto Captain Bateson’s head, flooded three entire decks of the U.S.S. Thunderchild with Ktarian pudding, replaced all the main lighting fixtures on the U.S.S. Malinche with something called ‘disco balls’ and filled Captain Dayton’s private quarters aboard the U.S.S. Rubidoux with a few hundred native flying spider-snakes. Which Captain Dayton also managed to get trapped with for several hours…”
“Hmmm, must have been part of some kind of cross-cultural gift exchange…” Freeman did a take. “Wait, did you say flying spider-snakes?”
“A non-poisonous variety,” Ransom coughed. “Although the Rubidoux’s Chief Medical Officer only determined that after Captain Dayton had been bitten a few dozen times…”
“That explains why she looked even paler than usual during her call with the captain earlier,” T’Ana grunted.
“And why she kept muttering about having a nest of hungry snakes and spiders in her hair,” Shaxs growled. “So what? If a palukoo bites you on the neck, you shrug it off and bite the sucker right back!”
“Starfleet would usually cease attempting to establish diplomatic relations with the Retsknarpians if it wasn’t for their planetary system bordering space claimed by the Breen,” Ransom went on. “It would be a disaster for everyone if the Breen suddenly launched an attempt to seize that entire sector.”
“Which is why this diplomatic attempt must succeed,” Freeman declared. “I want the entire crew to roll out the red carpet and show the Retsknarpians every diplomatic courtesy. I want to knock their socks off! That is if their species wears socks. I want them to have a catered no-expense-spared diplomatic reception, unlimited holodeck privileges, a full captain-guided ship’s tour, the works. And make sure someone shows them the gift shop.”
“Yes, sir,” Ransom nodded along with the rest of the senior staff. “The Cerritos will be prepared to receive the Retsknarpian delegation within the hour.”
“Excellent,” Freeman smiled. “I know Starfleet isn’t expecting much by assigning us this mission, but I think we’ll end up surprising everyone once the Retsknarpians interact with a crew of serious, well-trained Starfleet professionals.”
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“Aggghhh, I don’t believe this!” Boimler was heard yelling from Deck Eleven’s communal sonic showers.
“What’s up, man?” Rutherford asked getting dressed. Boimler trudged into view covered in some kind of thick, off-colored goo. “Whoa, what happened to you?”
“I got run over by a horta. What does it look like?” Boimler grumbled wiping his cheek. “Ensign Karavitus rigged the sonic showers to spray yamok sauce on me.”
“Again?” Tendi blinked, surprised. “That doesn’t seem right.”
“I know,” Rutherford agreed. “She usually prefers covering Boimler with cheese sauce. I wonder why she switched?”
“I wonder why Boims keeps falling for the same old gag,” Mariner chuckled lying in her bunk. “You’d think he’d have caught on by now. Then again, he’s such an easy target.”
“Thanks a lot,” Boimler muttered cleaning himself off with some spare towels. “I thought we agreed to a truce with Delta shift in the never-ending war of pranks.”
“Eh, it expired last week,” Mariner waved. “Plus, I think they’re stiff miffed about us accusing them of theft and assault during the whole Fletcher-computer core mess.”
“That explains why Fletcher’s uniform remained on the transporter pad when he finally left the Cerritos,” Boimler sighed. “I told him back at the Academy he really needed to start wearing underwear.”
“You guys aren’t the only ones being targeted by Delta shift,” Ensign sh’Reyan walked over having overheard their discussion. “One of those jokers placed an electromagnetic transceiver in my bunk which made my antennae go haywire.”
“Ensign Asif messed with my last report to Doctor T’Ana,” Tendi frowned. “He reprogrammed my padd to have a very rude word randomly appear throughout it. I thought Doctor T’Ana was going to claw me to ribbons on the spot!”
“At least you were able to prove you were the victim of a prank,” Rutherford groaned. “My implant mysteriously ‘malfunctioned’ with my ability to differentiate between colors. I ended up reporting for my shift in Engineering wearing a pink and plaid uniform without even noticing.”
“Dude, you’re still wearing a pink and plaid uniform,” Boimler pointed out.
“I am?” Rutherford blinked staring down at himself. “Aw, man!”
“Boy, those Delta shifters are real jerks,” Several other Beta shift ensigns gathered around nodding their agreement. “We have to do something about them.”
“Aw, you guys are overreacting,” Mariner waved. “You all need to sharpen up if you want to stop being easy marks.”
“Hey, you’ve been a target for some of Delta shift’s pranks too,” Boimler pointed out.
“Yeah, but I’ve spotted and disarmed all their lame attempts to trick me,” Mariner smirked sliding out of her bunk. “And I’ve pulled plenty of pranks on them too.”
“Not to mention me,” Boimler gave her a look. “Along with Commander Ransom, the captain, half the Cerritos and the crews of other ships we meet!”
“And don’t you forget it, Boims,” Mariner grinned opening her personal storage compartment. She took out a curved bottle and prepared to take a swig. “I’m an equal opportunity practical joker. I’m the Prank Queen. I’m…AAARRRGGGHHH!”
“Ahhh!” Tendi jumped at the scream. “What? What is it?”
“Pwwweeewww!” Mariner spat soaking Boimler.
“Hey, watch it!” Boimler yelped. “I’ve already had one bad shower today. I don’t need another!”
“Yuck! What the heck is this stuff?” Mariner gagged studying the bottle. “It sure the heck ain’t Saurian brandy!”
“Hey, Beta shifter!” The display panels built into Mariner’s bunk alcove suddenly sprang to life revealing Ensign Karavitus’ smirking image. “Hope you enjoyed a hearty, relaxing cocktail of Cardassian vinegar and fish juice!”
“What?!” Mariner sputtered. “Aggghhh, I’ve been poisoned!”
“Don’t worry about your missing Saurian brandy. We won’t let it go to waste,” The image switched to a group of Delta shifters with sniffer glasses raised. “Thanks for the drinks, loser!”
“WHAT?!” Mariner yelled.
“Huh, never thought I’d see the day Mariner fell victim to a prank,” Rutherford blinked.
“The Prank Queen is dead,” sh’Reyan quipped. “Long live the queen!”
“THAT THIEVING LITTLE D’BLOK!” Mariner howled. “That’s it! Those Delta jerks have gone too far! They are gonna die! Die, I tell you!”
“Uh, aren’t you overreacting just a little bit?” Boimler looked at her. “I’ve been on the receiving end of way worse pranks than that. It was just a little alcohol theft after all…”
“Oh no,” Mariner twitched with an evil look in her eye. “Those arrogant targ spawns have crossed the line! Now it’s personal!”
“Yeah,” Several other Beta shifters nodded their approval.
“This is war! War I say!” Mariner declared raising a fist. “Lower Deckers, prepare for action!”
“Yeah!” The crowd of Starfleet ensigns roared back.
“Prepare for battle!” Mariner howled.
“YEAH!” Even Tendi and Rutherford were caught up in the moment.
“Prepare to inflict some serious payback!” Mariner yelled tossing the empty brandy bottle against a bulkhead. “Well, what the heck are you standing around here for? Let’s do it! CHARGE!”
“YEAH!” Everyone whooped running out of the bunk area.
Everyone that is except Boimler. “Oh boy,” Boimler groaned holding his yamok sauce-covered head. “This will not end well.”
Within an hour the intrepid ensigns of Beta shift had rigged the Cerritos with an elaborate, extensive series of booby-traps. Their Delta shift counterparts had absolutely no idea what was waiting for them. Unfortunately, neither did anyone else onboard including the senior staff. Until…
“GAAAHHHHHH!” Ensign Karavitus screamed clutching her bright, poofy hair. “WHO RIGGED MY HAIRBRUSH TO EMIT PINK DYE AND STATIC SHOCKS? I LOOK LIKE A WALKING STICK OF COTTON CANDY!”
“Will somebody please get me down from here?” Ensign Asif wailed stuck to the ceiling wearing only his underwear. “I really need to go to waste extraction!”
“Ugh, what is that horrid noise?” One of their fellow Delta shift ensigns futilely covered her ears as Klingon acid punk blared out from her communicator. “Turn it off! Turn it off!”
“Hey, who magnetically sealed my personal storage compartment shut?” Another ensign struggled to open the stuck compartment with a P-38. “This isn’t funny, people! Not funny at…”
FLOOOOOOM!
“WAAAUUUGGGHHH!” The ensigns wailed as a cloud of multicolored glitter whooshed out from the unsealed compartment.
“AAAHHHHHH!” A disheveled, terrified Lieutenant Levy ran by covered with peanut butter and a mischief of translucent rodents. “HELP! SOMEBODY GET THESE GOSSAMER MICE OFF ME! YEEEOOOW!”
“I thought you were only targeting Delta shift,” Boimler frowned while hiding nearby. “Why did you include Lieutenant Levy?”
“Eh, couldn’t resist,” Mariner shrugged.
“Where did you get so many gossamer mice on such short notice?” Tendi winced at Levy’s screams.
“I have my methods,” Mariner smirked.
“Look out! Borg have invaded the ship!” Several startled crewpersons ran down the corridor in panic.
“I’m not a Borg!” A gagged Chief Lundy stiffly staggered after them while blinking Morse code with his sole uncovered eye. “Somebody stuffed me into this Borg-decorated catsuit and I can’t get out!”
“Don’t worry! I’ll stun it!” A bearded security officer whipped out a phaser.
BLOOP! BLOOP! BLOOP!
“Huh?” The befuddled security officer blinked as a stream of bubbles emitted from his phaser. “What the?”
“Uh, don’t you think we should have warned all non-Delta shift personnel about our pranks?” Rutherford asked.
“Oops,” Mariner snapped her fingers. “I knew we forgot something.”
“Pteeewie! Where did all these feathers come from?” Lieutenant Commander Stevens stumbled by looking like a diseased chicken. “Ouch! They’re sticking to my mustache! They’re tickling my nose! Achooo!”
“Excuse me, will someone please call a maintenance team? I seem to have been caught in a real honey of a jam,” Dr. Migleemo exited the Mess Hall covered in amber- and raspberry-colored goo. “The replicators appear to have a very sour attitude today.”
“Levy to Transporter Room Two! Emergency transport directly to Sickbay!” Levy and the mischief of mice vanished in a swirl of sparkles. “AAAGGGHHH! I SAID SICKBAY, NOT THE AQUATIC SECTION OF CETACEAN OPS! GLUUUB!”
“Yaaahhhhhh! Somebody get us outta here!” Screams of terror rang out from various turbolifts. “The turbolifts have gone nuts! They keep going up and down! Up and down! All the blood is rushing to my head! I’m gonna be sick! Bleeeach!”
“Hey, who reprogrammed Holodeck Three to be filled with live pyrotechnic squibs?” Lieutenant junior-grade Winger Bingston Jr. stood in the open holodeck doors. “Though I have to admit these holograms are incredibly realistic.”
“Those aren’t holograms!” Lieutenant Merp blanched. “Ahhh! Run away! Run away!”
SNAP!POW!CRACK!WHIZZZ!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!
“Yuck! Who filled all the juice bar dispensers with decaffeinated coffee?” More outraged shouts rang throughout the Cerritos. “Admiral Janeway would be appalled if she ever found out about this!”
“Look out! The tricorders are attacking!”
“Who painted the shuttlecraft Joshua Tree in psychedelic colors? And what’s it doing in the Science Lab?”
“Will somebody please get this fake mugato head off me?”
“Yahhh! Who waxed every surface of Corridor Fifty-Four? How did they even manage to wax frieze-style carpeting in the first place?”
CRASH!
“Whoa! Stay out of the squash courts! The automatic serving machines are loaded with exploding squash balls and are bombarding everything in sight!
“Look out for the water balloons! Hit the deck!”
“I can’t! The gravity net in this section has been reversed! I can’t get down! Help!”
“Brrrrrr,” A frozen Commander Ransom shuffled out of the Gym coated with frost and liquid nitrogen.
“HOW DID THE ARMORY GET FLOODED WITH GASEOUS HELIUM?” Lieutenant Shaxs stormed out from it sounding like a hyper, animated chipmunk.
“WHO COATED ALL THE SURGICAL GOWNS WITH HAIR REMOVER?!” Doctor T’Ana’s apocalyptic shrieks held the promise of pain and probable dismemberment. “WHO AROUND HERE HAS A DEATH WISH?!”
“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” A young Bajoran lieutenant zoomed by while plastered to a thruster-propelled antigrav. “HELP! SOMEBODY SAVE ME!”
SMASH!
“Yikes! Where did all these rubber duckies come from?” Billups shouted buried underneath a tidal wave of toys. “They aren’t part of the inventory for this room! Though a Rubber Ducky Room does have a nice ring to it…”
“Who poured glue and itching powder in all the EV suits?” Ensign Casey howled in agony.
“What do you mean Storage Bays Three through Seven are missing?!” Lieutenant Dahae yelped.
“What the heck is with you people today? Have you all gone mad?” Ransom gasped having unthawed enough to speak. “There are mice tracks in the corridors, crew and equipment stuck to the ceiling, half the ship is flooded, the other half is a complete and utter mess! Things can’t possibly get any worse!”
“And the next stop on our tour is the Main Computer Access Room,” The sole untampered turbolift opened revealing Captain Freeman and the six members of the visiting Retsknarpian delegation. “I bet you’ve never seen such compact, transluminal isolinear processors perform over five hundred fifty-eight trillion calculations per nanosecond before.”
“Mmm-hmm,” The Retsknarpians sounded very unimpressed.
“And our command processors are absolutely top of the line,” Freeman went on exiting the turbolift. “We just had them upgraded during our last maintenance cycle at…WHAT THE DEVIL IS GOING ON HERE?!”
“Hey, a little help please?” Lieutenant Darra struggled to pry open Chief Logan’s mouth. “Somebody replaced all the salsa in the Mess Hall with molecular bonding compound!”
CRASH!
“Ahhh! Who fitted all the Operations stations with ejection seats?” More frantic wails echoed throughout the ship.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
HISSSSSSSSS!
“WAAAUUUGGGHHH! WHERE DID ALL THIS FABRIC-DISOLVING SOLVENT COME FROM?!” A poofy, pink-haired Karavitus and her Delta shift companions ran by wearing nothing but their boots and some strategically-placed combadges. “THOSE BETA SHIFTERS ARE DEAD! DEAD I TELL YOU!”
“WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING OUT OF UNIFORM?!” Freeman roared with a bulging vein in her forehead. “GET BACK TO YOUR STATIONS AND YOUR CLOTHES BEFORE I HAVE YOU ALL THROWN IN THE BRIG…!”
“Captain, look out!” Ransom yelled.
“Huh?” Freeman and the Retsknarpian delegation ducked just in time to avoid being hit by a barrage of flying Yigrish cream pies. One of the delegates stumbled against a wall display and inadvertently tapped one of the panels.
WHIIIRRRRRR!
ZING! ZING! ZING! ZING! ZING!
“Aaahhhhhh!”
FLOOOOOOOOOSSSHHH!
“Yuck!” Freeman spat as she and the entire Retsknarpian delegation stood covered in streamers, shaving cream and rubber suction cup arrows. “Ugh, even random visits from Q aren’t this bad…”
“Uh oh,” Boimler gulped as he, Mariner, Tendi and Rutherford peaked out from their hiding place. “I told you we should have warned the senior officers to stay out of the crossfire.”
“You four are responsible for all this?!” Freeman hissed dangerously.
“Not all of it,” Tendi shrank back nervously. “Just…most of it.”
“WHAT?!” The four ensigns could practically feel the waves of rage and ire emanating from Freeman’s incensed form. “THAT’S IT! I WANT THE LOT OF YOU MANIACS OFF MY SHIP! YOU’VE ALL JUST EARNED YOURSELVES ONE-WAY TRANSFERS TO STARBASE 80…!”
“Dang, Starbase 80?” Someone was heard gasping in shock.
“YES, STARBASE 80!” Freeman howled. “WHICH I’LL EXPEDITE BY STUFFING YOU LUNATICS INTO A TORPEDO CASING AND SHOOTING IT OUT AN AIRLOCK!” She turned to the dripping, arrow-studded Retsknarpian delegates. “Honored guests, I am so sorry about…”
“Hahahahaha!” All of the Retsknarpian delegates laughed heartily and in good cheer. “Excellent work! What a job! Never saw it coming!”
“Huh?” Every Starfleet officer stared at the Retsknarpians in surprise.
“Uh, what are you talking about?” Freeman stammered, confused.
“Why that magnificent series of pranks your crew just played on us!” The leader of the Retsknarpian delegation chortled slapping her on the back. “Very impressive! It’s about time you Starfleeters displayed indications of true wit and intelligence!”
“HUH?!” A stunned Freeman gawked in shock.
“Wait, back up,” Mariner held up a hand. “Are you saying you guys view pulling pranks on others as good things?”
“Of course,” The head Retsknarpian delegate smiled. “The Art of Pranking is the central pillar of our culture. Playing harmless, good-natured pranks signifies one as possessing great wit, cunning and intelligence.”
“Pranking requires a firm understanding of Physics, Mechanics, Chemistry, Biology, Pattern Recognition and Social Behavior,” The other delegates went on. “It defines a species as capable of conducting high-level diplomacy, firm strategic planning and most importantly: having a healthy, developed sense of humor.”
“That’s certainly one way to look at it,” Tendi blinked.
“Uhhh,” Freeman’s jaw was practically dragging along the floor.
“I don’t understand,” A half-frozen Ransom penguin-walked up to the group. “If pulling pranks is so important to you, why didn’t you mention it before?”
“Because it would defeat the purpose if the prankees were warned of being the target of a prank beforehand,” The head Retsknarpian delegate explained. “One is expected to possess enough intelligence and self-awareness to realize what is happening to them and respond in kind.”
“You Federation types sure took your time indicating you had finally caught on,” One of the other delegates said. “We were beginning to think you were all talk and no brains.”
“Like the Breen. Those people have absolutely no sense of humor,” Another delegate snorted. “They sent an envoy to us a while back so we transported a stink bomb into his suit, glued remote-controlled rocket boots to his feet and filled his ship with eighteen hundred tons of fine yenoh pudding. We waited for the Breen to reply, but they simply warped away only to return later with a hundred ships.”
“The Breen sent an entire war fleet against you?” Rutherford gasped.
“Hard to call it a war fleet when there wasn’t any war,” The head Retsknarpian delegate shrugged. “We unleashed part of our prank arsenal against them and they all ran off like a pack of scared zappa cubs. Haven’t seen hide or helmet of any Breen since.”
“Gee, I wonder why,” Mariner drawled.
“But this marvelous exchange of pranks proves you Federation types are alright,” The head delegate grinned. “You have proven yourselves capable of intelligent, civilized behavior and we look forward to establishing full diplomatic relations with your people.”
“Really?” Freeman managed to compose herself while still covered in streamers, shaving cream and rubber suction cup arrows. “That’s wonderful! I’m sure this will be the first of many mutually beneficial diplomatic and cultural exchanges for both of us.”
“I’ll drink to that,” The head delegate agreed. “In fact, why don’t you beam down to Retsknarp One right now where we can continue to participate in a full range of cultural exchanges.”
“Oh, this is going to be good,” The other Retsknarpian delegates snickered. “Someone call down and tell the welcoming committee to have the shock patches, flying scorpions and ticklish body paint on standby!”
“What?!” Freeman balked. “Uh, thanks for the offer, but I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble…”
“Oh, it’s no trouble. We insist!” The head delegate smiled. “You would like to visit and have Retsknarp repay you in kind for all you have done for us here, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course she does!” Mariner piped up before Freeman could reply. “I’m sure our beloved Captain here would love to visit your planet. Heck, why don’t you take Commander Ransom too while you’re at it?”
“WHAT?!” Freeman and Ransom yelped.
“Then it’s settled!” The head delegate grinned throwing an arm around both senior officer’s shoulders while surreptitiously pinning a pair of ‘Kick Me’ signs to their backs. “The legendary beauty, hospitality and pranks of Retsknarp One await!”
“But what about the ship?” Ransom yelped as he was unwilling dragged towards the nearest transporter room. “We can’t just up and leave things like this…OW! WHO KICKED ME?!”
“Oh boy,” Rutherford whistled as the Retsknarpians whisked the Cerritos’ protesting captain and first officer away. “I hope the Captain and Commander Ransom don’t end up taking this out on us when they get back.”
“I hope they don’t experience the same transporter ‘accident’ that happened to Ensign Fletcher,” Tendi said. “Then again, considering the circumstances, it would probably increase their standing with the Retsknarpians.”
“I know having video footage of their activities planetside will increase my standing around here,” Mariner grinned heading for the Repair Bay. “Outta the way! I gotta finagle a way to transport a few camera drones down with the Captain and Ranny! More priceless blackmail material here I come!”
“More like something insane this way comes if things continue to proceed down this loony rabbit hole,” Boimler groaned as the storm of pranks, chaos and madness continued to reign around him. “I used to dream about working side by side Starfleet’s best and brightest aboard one of the top ships-of-the-line. Instead I’m doomed to serve the rest of my career among the lower decks of Starfleet’s quintessential ship of fools!”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
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What Fools These Mortals Be
Captain’s log, stardate 57672.3. The Cerritos is en route to the Retsknarp system to host a diplomatic and cultural observation delegation from Retsknarp One. While previous encounters have noted the Retsknarpians’ technological level being on par with that of the Federation, their social and behavioral exchanges have a bit more…outré.
“Starfleet has made five attempts to establish official diplomatic relations with the Retsknarpians over the last year,” Captain Freeman continued the briefing with her senior officers seated around the table in Conference Room Two. “All of which ended inconclusively.”
“Sounds like they’re a pretty reclusive race,” Lieutenant Commander Billups commented.
“Or a really aloof, vacillating one,” Doctor T’Ana snorted.
“Not according to these reports,” Commander Ransom indicated a padd. “Half of the previous diplomatic overtures were initiated by the Retsknarpians. They just didn’t seem very impressed by what they saw.”
“Why does Starfleet Command think that?” Billups asked.
“On account of several inexplicable interactions on the part of the Retsknarpians,” Ransom consulted the padd. “Apparently, they covered the inner and outer hulls of the U.S.S. Bellerophon with giant purple polka dots, glued a particularly furry tribble onto Captain Bateson’s head, flooded three entire decks of the U.S.S. Thunderchild with Ktarian pudding, replaced all the main lighting fixtures on the U.S.S. Malinche with something called ‘disco balls’ and filled Captain Dayton’s private quarters aboard the U.S.S. Rubidoux with a few hundred native flying spider-snakes. Which Captain Dayton also managed to get trapped with for several hours…”
“Hmmm, must have been part of some kind of cross-cultural gift exchange…” Freeman did a take. “Wait, did you say flying spider-snakes?”
“A non-poisonous variety,” Ransom coughed. “Although the Rubidoux’s Chief Medical Officer only determined that after Captain Dayton had been bitten a few dozen times…”
“That explains why she looked even paler than usual during her call with the captain earlier,” T’Ana grunted.
“And why she kept muttering about having a nest of hungry snakes and spiders in her hair,” Shaxs growled. “So what? If a palukoo bites you on the neck, you shrug it off and bite the sucker right back!”
“Starfleet would usually cease attempting to establish diplomatic relations with the Retsknarpians if it wasn’t for their planetary system bordering space claimed by the Breen,” Ransom went on. “It would be a disaster for everyone if the Breen suddenly launched an attempt to seize that entire sector.”
“Which is why this diplomatic attempt must succeed,” Freeman declared. “I want the entire crew to roll out the red carpet and show the Retsknarpians every diplomatic courtesy. I want to knock their socks off! That is if their species wears socks. I want them to have a catered no-expense-spared diplomatic reception, unlimited holodeck privileges, a full captain-guided ship’s tour, the works. And make sure someone shows them the gift shop.”
“Yes, sir,” Ransom nodded along with the rest of the senior staff. “The Cerritos will be prepared to receive the Retsknarpian delegation within the hour.”
“Excellent,” Freeman smiled. “I know Starfleet isn’t expecting much by assigning us this mission, but I think we’ll end up surprising everyone once the Retsknarpians interact with a crew of serious, well-trained Starfleet professionals.”
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“Aggghhh, I don’t believe this!” Boimler was heard yelling from Deck Eleven’s communal sonic showers.
“What’s up, man?” Rutherford asked getting dressed. Boimler trudged into view covered in some kind of thick, off-colored goo. “Whoa, what happened to you?”
“I got run over by a horta. What does it look like?” Boimler grumbled wiping his cheek. “Ensign Karavitus rigged the sonic showers to spray yamok sauce on me.”
“Again?” Tendi blinked, surprised. “That doesn’t seem right.”
“I know,” Rutherford agreed. “She usually prefers covering Boimler with cheese sauce. I wonder why she switched?”
“I wonder why Boims keeps falling for the same old gag,” Mariner chuckled lying in her bunk. “You’d think he’d have caught on by now. Then again, he’s such an easy target.”
“Thanks a lot,” Boimler muttered cleaning himself off with some spare towels. “I thought we agreed to a truce with Delta shift in the never-ending war of pranks.”
“Eh, it expired last week,” Mariner waved. “Plus, I think they’re stiff miffed about us accusing them of theft and assault during the whole Fletcher-computer core mess.”
“That explains why Fletcher’s uniform remained on the transporter pad when he finally left the Cerritos,” Boimler sighed. “I told him back at the Academy he really needed to start wearing underwear.”
“You guys aren’t the only ones being targeted by Delta shift,” Ensign sh’Reyan walked over having overheard their discussion. “One of those jokers placed an electromagnetic transceiver in my bunk which made my antennae go haywire.”
“Ensign Asif messed with my last report to Doctor T’Ana,” Tendi frowned. “He reprogrammed my padd to have a very rude word randomly appear throughout it. I thought Doctor T’Ana was going to claw me to ribbons on the spot!”
“At least you were able to prove you were the victim of a prank,” Rutherford groaned. “My implant mysteriously ‘malfunctioned’ with my ability to differentiate between colors. I ended up reporting for my shift in Engineering wearing a pink and plaid uniform without even noticing.”
“Dude, you’re still wearing a pink and plaid uniform,” Boimler pointed out.
“I am?” Rutherford blinked staring down at himself. “Aw, man!”
“Boy, those Delta shifters are real jerks,” Several other Beta shift ensigns gathered around nodding their agreement. “We have to do something about them.”
“Aw, you guys are overreacting,” Mariner waved. “You all need to sharpen up if you want to stop being easy marks.”
“Hey, you’ve been a target for some of Delta shift’s pranks too,” Boimler pointed out.
“Yeah, but I’ve spotted and disarmed all their lame attempts to trick me,” Mariner smirked sliding out of her bunk. “And I’ve pulled plenty of pranks on them too.”
“Not to mention me,” Boimler gave her a look. “Along with Commander Ransom, the captain, half the Cerritos and the crews of other ships we meet!”
“And don’t you forget it, Boims,” Mariner grinned opening her personal storage compartment. She took out a curved bottle and prepared to take a swig. “I’m an equal opportunity practical joker. I’m the Prank Queen. I’m…AAARRRGGGHHH!”
“Ahhh!” Tendi jumped at the scream. “What? What is it?”
“Pwwweeewww!” Mariner spat soaking Boimler.
“Hey, watch it!” Boimler yelped. “I’ve already had one bad shower today. I don’t need another!”
“Yuck! What the heck is this stuff?” Mariner gagged studying the bottle. “It sure the heck ain’t Saurian brandy!”
“Hey, Beta shifter!” The display panels built into Mariner’s bunk alcove suddenly sprang to life revealing Ensign Karavitus’ smirking image. “Hope you enjoyed a hearty, relaxing cocktail of Cardassian vinegar and fish juice!”
“What?!” Mariner sputtered. “Aggghhh, I’ve been poisoned!”
“Don’t worry about your missing Saurian brandy. We won’t let it go to waste,” The image switched to a group of Delta shifters with sniffer glasses raised. “Thanks for the drinks, loser!”
“WHAT?!” Mariner yelled.
“Huh, never thought I’d see the day Mariner fell victim to a prank,” Rutherford blinked.
“The Prank Queen is dead,” sh’Reyan quipped. “Long live the queen!”
“THAT THIEVING LITTLE D’BLOK!” Mariner howled. “That’s it! Those Delta jerks have gone too far! They are gonna die! Die, I tell you!”
“Uh, aren’t you overreacting just a little bit?” Boimler looked at her. “I’ve been on the receiving end of way worse pranks than that. It was just a little alcohol theft after all…”
“Oh no,” Mariner twitched with an evil look in her eye. “Those arrogant targ spawns have crossed the line! Now it’s personal!”
“Yeah,” Several other Beta shifters nodded their approval.
“This is war! War I say!” Mariner declared raising a fist. “Lower Deckers, prepare for action!”
“Yeah!” The crowd of Starfleet ensigns roared back.
“Prepare for battle!” Mariner howled.
“YEAH!” Even Tendi and Rutherford were caught up in the moment.
“Prepare to inflict some serious payback!” Mariner yelled tossing the empty brandy bottle against a bulkhead. “Well, what the heck are you standing around here for? Let’s do it! CHARGE!”
“YEAH!” Everyone whooped running out of the bunk area.
Everyone that is except Boimler. “Oh boy,” Boimler groaned holding his yamok sauce-covered head. “This will not end well.”
Within an hour the intrepid ensigns of Beta shift had rigged the Cerritos with an elaborate, extensive series of booby-traps. Their Delta shift counterparts had absolutely no idea what was waiting for them. Unfortunately, neither did anyone else onboard including the senior staff. Until…
“GAAAHHHHHH!” Ensign Karavitus screamed clutching her bright, poofy hair. “WHO RIGGED MY HAIRBRUSH TO EMIT PINK DYE AND STATIC SHOCKS? I LOOK LIKE A WALKING STICK OF COTTON CANDY!”
“Will somebody please get me down from here?” Ensign Asif wailed stuck to the ceiling wearing only his underwear. “I really need to go to waste extraction!”
“Ugh, what is that horrid noise?” One of their fellow Delta shift ensigns futilely covered her ears as Klingon acid punk blared out from her communicator. “Turn it off! Turn it off!”
“Hey, who magnetically sealed my personal storage compartment shut?” Another ensign struggled to open the stuck compartment with a P-38. “This isn’t funny, people! Not funny at…”
FLOOOOOOM!
“WAAAUUUGGGHHH!” The ensigns wailed as a cloud of multicolored glitter whooshed out from the unsealed compartment.
“AAAHHHHHH!” A disheveled, terrified Lieutenant Levy ran by covered with peanut butter and a mischief of translucent rodents. “HELP! SOMEBODY GET THESE GOSSAMER MICE OFF ME! YEEEOOOW!”
“I thought you were only targeting Delta shift,” Boimler frowned while hiding nearby. “Why did you include Lieutenant Levy?”
“Eh, couldn’t resist,” Mariner shrugged.
“Where did you get so many gossamer mice on such short notice?” Tendi winced at Levy’s screams.
“I have my methods,” Mariner smirked.
“Look out! Borg have invaded the ship!” Several startled crewpersons ran down the corridor in panic.
“I’m not a Borg!” A gagged Chief Lundy stiffly staggered after them while blinking Morse code with his sole uncovered eye. “Somebody stuffed me into this Borg-decorated catsuit and I can’t get out!”
“Don’t worry! I’ll stun it!” A bearded security officer whipped out a phaser.
BLOOP! BLOOP! BLOOP!
“Huh?” The befuddled security officer blinked as a stream of bubbles emitted from his phaser. “What the?”
“Uh, don’t you think we should have warned all non-Delta shift personnel about our pranks?” Rutherford asked.
“Oops,” Mariner snapped her fingers. “I knew we forgot something.”
“Pteeewie! Where did all these feathers come from?” Lieutenant Commander Stevens stumbled by looking like a diseased chicken. “Ouch! They’re sticking to my mustache! They’re tickling my nose! Achooo!”
“Excuse me, will someone please call a maintenance team? I seem to have been caught in a real honey of a jam,” Dr. Migleemo exited the Mess Hall covered in amber- and raspberry-colored goo. “The replicators appear to have a very sour attitude today.”
“Levy to Transporter Room Two! Emergency transport directly to Sickbay!” Levy and the mischief of mice vanished in a swirl of sparkles. “AAAGGGHHH! I SAID SICKBAY, NOT THE AQUATIC SECTION OF CETACEAN OPS! GLUUUB!”
“Yaaahhhhhh! Somebody get us outta here!” Screams of terror rang out from various turbolifts. “The turbolifts have gone nuts! They keep going up and down! Up and down! All the blood is rushing to my head! I’m gonna be sick! Bleeeach!”
“Hey, who reprogrammed Holodeck Three to be filled with live pyrotechnic squibs?” Lieutenant junior-grade Winger Bingston Jr. stood in the open holodeck doors. “Though I have to admit these holograms are incredibly realistic.”
“Those aren’t holograms!” Lieutenant Merp blanched. “Ahhh! Run away! Run away!”
SNAP!POW!CRACK!WHIZZZ!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!
“Yuck! Who filled all the juice bar dispensers with decaffeinated coffee?” More outraged shouts rang throughout the Cerritos. “Admiral Janeway would be appalled if she ever found out about this!”
“Look out! The tricorders are attacking!”
“Who painted the shuttlecraft Joshua Tree in psychedelic colors? And what’s it doing in the Science Lab?”
“Will somebody please get this fake mugato head off me?”
“Yahhh! Who waxed every surface of Corridor Fifty-Four? How did they even manage to wax frieze-style carpeting in the first place?”
CRASH!
“Whoa! Stay out of the squash courts! The automatic serving machines are loaded with exploding squash balls and are bombarding everything in sight!
“Look out for the water balloons! Hit the deck!”
“I can’t! The gravity net in this section has been reversed! I can’t get down! Help!”
“Brrrrrr,” A frozen Commander Ransom shuffled out of the Gym coated with frost and liquid nitrogen.
“HOW DID THE ARMORY GET FLOODED WITH GASEOUS HELIUM?” Lieutenant Shaxs stormed out from it sounding like a hyper, animated chipmunk.
“WHO COATED ALL THE SURGICAL GOWNS WITH HAIR REMOVER?!” Doctor T’Ana’s apocalyptic shrieks held the promise of pain and probable dismemberment. “WHO AROUND HERE HAS A DEATH WISH?!”
“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” A young Bajoran lieutenant zoomed by while plastered to a thruster-propelled antigrav. “HELP! SOMEBODY SAVE ME!”
SMASH!
“Yikes! Where did all these rubber duckies come from?” Billups shouted buried underneath a tidal wave of toys. “They aren’t part of the inventory for this room! Though a Rubber Ducky Room does have a nice ring to it…”
“Who poured glue and itching powder in all the EV suits?” Ensign Casey howled in agony.
“What do you mean Storage Bays Three through Seven are missing?!” Lieutenant Dahae yelped.
“What the heck is with you people today? Have you all gone mad?” Ransom gasped having unthawed enough to speak. “There are mice tracks in the corridors, crew and equipment stuck to the ceiling, half the ship is flooded, the other half is a complete and utter mess! Things can’t possibly get any worse!”
“And the next stop on our tour is the Main Computer Access Room,” The sole untampered turbolift opened revealing Captain Freeman and the six members of the visiting Retsknarpian delegation. “I bet you’ve never seen such compact, transluminal isolinear processors perform over five hundred fifty-eight trillion calculations per nanosecond before.”
“Mmm-hmm,” The Retsknarpians sounded very unimpressed.
“And our command processors are absolutely top of the line,” Freeman went on exiting the turbolift. “We just had them upgraded during our last maintenance cycle at…WHAT THE DEVIL IS GOING ON HERE?!”
“Hey, a little help please?” Lieutenant Darra struggled to pry open Chief Logan’s mouth. “Somebody replaced all the salsa in the Mess Hall with molecular bonding compound!”
CRASH!
“Ahhh! Who fitted all the Operations stations with ejection seats?” More frantic wails echoed throughout the ship.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
HISSSSSSSSS!
“WAAAUUUGGGHHH! WHERE DID ALL THIS FABRIC-DISOLVING SOLVENT COME FROM?!” A poofy, pink-haired Karavitus and her Delta shift companions ran by wearing nothing but their boots and some strategically-placed combadges. “THOSE BETA SHIFTERS ARE DEAD! DEAD I TELL YOU!”
“WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING OUT OF UNIFORM?!” Freeman roared with a bulging vein in her forehead. “GET BACK TO YOUR STATIONS AND YOUR CLOTHES BEFORE I HAVE YOU ALL THROWN IN THE BRIG…!”
“Captain, look out!” Ransom yelled.
“Huh?” Freeman and the Retsknarpian delegation ducked just in time to avoid being hit by a barrage of flying Yigrish cream pies. One of the delegates stumbled against a wall display and inadvertently tapped one of the panels.
WHIIIRRRRRR!
ZING! ZING! ZING! ZING! ZING!
“Aaahhhhhh!”
FLOOOOOOOOOSSSHHH!
“Yuck!” Freeman spat as she and the entire Retsknarpian delegation stood covered in streamers, shaving cream and rubber suction cup arrows. “Ugh, even random visits from Q aren’t this bad…”
“Uh oh,” Boimler gulped as he, Mariner, Tendi and Rutherford peaked out from their hiding place. “I told you we should have warned the senior officers to stay out of the crossfire.”
“You four are responsible for all this?!” Freeman hissed dangerously.
“Not all of it,” Tendi shrank back nervously. “Just…most of it.”
“WHAT?!” The four ensigns could practically feel the waves of rage and ire emanating from Freeman’s incensed form. “THAT’S IT! I WANT THE LOT OF YOU MANIACS OFF MY SHIP! YOU’VE ALL JUST EARNED YOURSELVES ONE-WAY TRANSFERS TO STARBASE 80…!”
“Dang, Starbase 80?” Someone was heard gasping in shock.
“YES, STARBASE 80!” Freeman howled. “WHICH I’LL EXPEDITE BY STUFFING YOU LUNATICS INTO A TORPEDO CASING AND SHOOTING IT OUT AN AIRLOCK!” She turned to the dripping, arrow-studded Retsknarpian delegates. “Honored guests, I am so sorry about…”
“Hahahahaha!” All of the Retsknarpian delegates laughed heartily and in good cheer. “Excellent work! What a job! Never saw it coming!”
“Huh?” Every Starfleet officer stared at the Retsknarpians in surprise.
“Uh, what are you talking about?” Freeman stammered, confused.
“Why that magnificent series of pranks your crew just played on us!” The leader of the Retsknarpian delegation chortled slapping her on the back. “Very impressive! It’s about time you Starfleeters displayed indications of true wit and intelligence!”
“HUH?!” A stunned Freeman gawked in shock.
“Wait, back up,” Mariner held up a hand. “Are you saying you guys view pulling pranks on others as good things?”
“Of course,” The head Retsknarpian delegate smiled. “The Art of Pranking is the central pillar of our culture. Playing harmless, good-natured pranks signifies one as possessing great wit, cunning and intelligence.”
“Pranking requires a firm understanding of Physics, Mechanics, Chemistry, Biology, Pattern Recognition and Social Behavior,” The other delegates went on. “It defines a species as capable of conducting high-level diplomacy, firm strategic planning and most importantly: having a healthy, developed sense of humor.”
“That’s certainly one way to look at it,” Tendi blinked.
“Uhhh,” Freeman’s jaw was practically dragging along the floor.
“I don’t understand,” A half-frozen Ransom penguin-walked up to the group. “If pulling pranks is so important to you, why didn’t you mention it before?”
“Because it would defeat the purpose if the prankees were warned of being the target of a prank beforehand,” The head Retsknarpian delegate explained. “One is expected to possess enough intelligence and self-awareness to realize what is happening to them and respond in kind.”
“You Federation types sure took your time indicating you had finally caught on,” One of the other delegates said. “We were beginning to think you were all talk and no brains.”
“Like the Breen. Those people have absolutely no sense of humor,” Another delegate snorted. “They sent an envoy to us a while back so we transported a stink bomb into his suit, glued remote-controlled rocket boots to his feet and filled his ship with eighteen hundred tons of fine yenoh pudding. We waited for the Breen to reply, but they simply warped away only to return later with a hundred ships.”
“The Breen sent an entire war fleet against you?” Rutherford gasped.
“Hard to call it a war fleet when there wasn’t any war,” The head Retsknarpian delegate shrugged. “We unleashed part of our prank arsenal against them and they all ran off like a pack of scared zappa cubs. Haven’t seen hide or helmet of any Breen since.”
“Gee, I wonder why,” Mariner drawled.
“But this marvelous exchange of pranks proves you Federation types are alright,” The head delegate grinned. “You have proven yourselves capable of intelligent, civilized behavior and we look forward to establishing full diplomatic relations with your people.”
“Really?” Freeman managed to compose herself while still covered in streamers, shaving cream and rubber suction cup arrows. “That’s wonderful! I’m sure this will be the first of many mutually beneficial diplomatic and cultural exchanges for both of us.”
“I’ll drink to that,” The head delegate agreed. “In fact, why don’t you beam down to Retsknarp One right now where we can continue to participate in a full range of cultural exchanges.”
“Oh, this is going to be good,” The other Retsknarpian delegates snickered. “Someone call down and tell the welcoming committee to have the shock patches, flying scorpions and ticklish body paint on standby!”
“What?!” Freeman balked. “Uh, thanks for the offer, but I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble…”
“Oh, it’s no trouble. We insist!” The head delegate smiled. “You would like to visit and have Retsknarp repay you in kind for all you have done for us here, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course she does!” Mariner piped up before Freeman could reply. “I’m sure our beloved Captain here would love to visit your planet. Heck, why don’t you take Commander Ransom too while you’re at it?”
“WHAT?!” Freeman and Ransom yelped.
“Then it’s settled!” The head delegate grinned throwing an arm around both senior officer’s shoulders while surreptitiously pinning a pair of ‘Kick Me’ signs to their backs. “The legendary beauty, hospitality and pranks of Retsknarp One await!”
“But what about the ship?” Ransom yelped as he was unwilling dragged towards the nearest transporter room. “We can’t just up and leave things like this…OW! WHO KICKED ME?!”
“Oh boy,” Rutherford whistled as the Retsknarpians whisked the Cerritos’ protesting captain and first officer away. “I hope the Captain and Commander Ransom don’t end up taking this out on us when they get back.”
“I hope they don’t experience the same transporter ‘accident’ that happened to Ensign Fletcher,” Tendi said. “Then again, considering the circumstances, it would probably increase their standing with the Retsknarpians.”
“I know having video footage of their activities planetside will increase my standing around here,” Mariner grinned heading for the Repair Bay. “Outta the way! I gotta finagle a way to transport a few camera drones down with the Captain and Ranny! More priceless blackmail material here I come!”
“More like something insane this way comes if things continue to proceed down this loony rabbit hole,” Boimler groaned as the storm of pranks, chaos and madness continued to reign around him. “I used to dream about working side by side Starfleet’s best and brightest aboard one of the top ships-of-the-line. Instead I’m doomed to serve the rest of my career among the lower decks of Starfleet’s quintessential ship of fools!”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
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