Originally posted on fanfiction.net - Link.
Note: This story takes place right after the opening teaser of the episode "Second Contact".
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Bat'leth Friends Forever
“AAAHHHHHHHHH!” Boimler screamed as bright red blood began gushing from his thigh.
“Holy *bleep*!” Mariner yelped dropping the bat’leth like a live power relay. “Okay Boims, stay calm! Don’t panic!”
“Are you crazy?” Boimler yelled dropping his padd and frantically clutched his thigh. “You just sliced my leg open with an unsterilized, blood-encrusted bat’leth! I’d say this is a perfect time to panic!”
“Shhh! Man, just calm down!” Mariner shushed. “It’s probably not as bad as it looks.”
“It looks pretty darn bad to me!” Boimler shrieked indicating his leg. “Look! You can see tendons, ligaments, a little muscle and…is that bone?! Aggghhh!”
“Really? Let me see,” Mariner grabbed the bat’leth’s grips.
“No! Don’t yank it out…YAAAHHHHHH!” Boimler cried crashing to the floor.
“I don’t believe this! What a piece of junk,” Mariner frowned inspecting the blade. “A real bat’leth would’ve been sharp enough to take your whole leg off. The lying taHqeq I got this from cheated me!”
“Will you stop complaining about the stupid bat’leth already?” Boimler yelled while applying pressure to his thigh. “You’re showing more concern over that stupid sword than you are about me!”
“Don’t worry, Boims. I’ll take care of ya!” Mariner vowed ducking into the supply closet.
“Ahhh! Where are you going? Don’t leave me here!” Boimler cried. “What are you doing?”
“Getting a medkit,” Mariner popped back out. “Okay, let’s see what we got here. Hypospray, medical tricorder, some little blinky thing. Ooo, look at the pretty lights…”
“Are you insane?” Boimler began to hyperventilate as Mariner pulled out a strange looking medical device. “Do you even know how to use that?”
“Eh, I’ve seen it done a million times. How hard can it be?” Mariner shrugged leaning over him. “Now hold still. This might hurt a bit. Want a quick shot of Saurian brandy for the pain?”
“No!” Boimler yelled.
“Suit yourself. More for me!” Mariner took a swig from a distinctive curved bottle. “Ahhh, man that’s good stuff! Okay, let’s get to it! Hmmm, is this a cardiostimulator or an exoscalpel? Eh, only one way to find out!”
“ACCCKKK! NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!” Boimler shrieked and desperately attempted to crawl away. “FORGET THE MEDKIT AND JUST GET ME TO SICKBAY!”
“Fine, if you want to do it the easy way,” Mariner sighed helping him to his feet.
“Yeow! Hey, watch the leg!” Boimler yelped as Mariner half-carried him down the corridor. “Ow, I think you severed a nerve cluster or something! I can’t feel my knee! I’m going into shock!”
“Oops! That reminds me! Gotta take care of something first!” Mariner suddenly dropped him and ran back down the corridor. “Be right back!”
“What…auuuggghhh!” Boimler cried landing in a heap. “Oh, my bones…”
“I’m back!” Mariner reappeared and hauled Boimler back to his feet. “Whew, thanks for the reminder, man! That could’ve been bad.”
“Y-You left me!” Boimler whimpered. “What could possibly be more important than getting my bloody, injured body to Sickbay?”
“Oh, I just had to shove my box of shore leave contraband into your little hidey closet before Shaxs stumbled over it,” Mariner smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll move it out before your next unrealistic fantasy session playing captain.”
“WHAT?!” Boimler screamed as Mariner hauled him through the ship. “ARRRGHHH! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT! AND MY CAPTAIN FANTASY SESSIONS ARE VERY REALISTIC!”
“Ew, gross!” Mariner made a face.
“Wait! I didn’t mean it like that…” Boimler protested.
“Yo, Doc!” Mariner declared as the pair of ensigns entered Sickbay. “My buddy here needs some of your mad medical skills ASAP!”
“What is it now?” Doctor T’Ana grumbled sitting in her office surrounded by padds. “Whatever it is, I don’t have time to look at it. Go see Nurse Westlake.”
“Sorry, Doctor,” Westlake said working on a patient. “I’m busy knitting Lieutenant Commander Billups’ shattered eye socket back together.”
“Again?” T’Ana shot Billups an annoyed look. “I thought I told you to be more careful when working around the plasma conduits.”
“This isn’t from a plasma conduit,” Billups winced. “Ensign Barnes slugged me after I complimented her on how much weight she’d gained from building muscle crawling around the Jefferies tubes.”
“You what?” T’Ana’s eyes flashed. “How could you say such an insensitive thing to a subordinate?”
“Forget that,” Westlake gaped at Billups in shock. “How is it you’re still alive?”
“Uh, hello? A little help here?” Mariner waved. “My command-track colleague is kinda wounded. Or would you rather he keep bleeding on your nice, impractically carpeted floor until it’s stained as red as his uniform?”
“Will someone please see to that kid?” T’Ana growled. “Where are all the other nurses that supposedly work here?”
“Still overseeing the transfer of the latest load of medical supplies from Douglas Station,” Westlake reported.
“Figures,” T’Ana muttered. “Staff shortages are always happening to Medical and not to some other department like Security. When’s that new medtech supposed to get here?”
“She should arrive with the last batch of transfers, sir,” Westlake said.
“Ahem! Wounded man-child. Gashed leg. Medical treatment. Stat!” Mariner pressed.
“Fine, get him on a biobed,” T’Ana growled getting up. “At this rate I’ll never finish my paperwork.”
“Paperwork. Yes, just think about calm, relaxing paperwork,” Boimler whimpered lying down on a biobed adjacent to Billups. “All the forms and checklists and…oh man this hurts!”
“Pipe down and let me take a look,” T’Ana frowned sniffing at Boimler’s sliced leg. “Hmmm, appears to be a fairly neat cut. You’re lucky it just missed nicking the femoral artery. Hold on, I’m detecting traces of baakonite in the wound. And is that dried Klingon blood I’m seeing in here? What the heck have you been doing?”
“Well, you see…” Boimler began.
“Holodeck accident,” Mariner spoke up quickly. “Simple sparing session gone wrong. No biggie.”
“WHAT?!” Boimler yelped.
“You were sparing on a holodeck without safety protocols?” T’Ana snapped at Boimler.
“Uh,” Boimler gulped.
“Yes. Yes, we were,” Mariner covered. “But we didn’t disable them! The holodeck was like that when we got there! Must’ve been an error in the programming or something. Yeah, ‘cause disabling holodeck safety protocols would be against ship regs.”
“Using a holodeck with disabled safety protocols without authorization is also against regulations, Ensign,” T’Ana sniffed at Mariner as she carefully cut away Boimler’s pants and reached for an instrument tray. “So is not reporting an obviously malfunctioning holodeck while being drunk on duty.”
“Technically we’re both still on shore leave,” Mariner shrugged taking out a hypospray. “And with a quick anti-intoxicant injection I’ll be soberer than a Vulcan priestess during Kal Rekk! Wait, is soberer even a word?”
“You’ve had that this whole time?!” Boimler yelped spotting the hypospray. “Why didn’t you inject yourself with that in the first place? Where were you even keeping that thing? These uniforms don’t have pockets!”
“Settle down!” T’Ana snapped as she worked on him. “You’re going to be just fine. A few cellular micro-sutures and a round of subdermal regeneration will fix you right up.”
“Thank goodness,” Boimler sighed.
“See Boims? I told you the Doc here would take care of ya,” Mariner smiled patting his shoulder. “Hey, at least you’ll get a really cool scar out of this.”
“I don’t want a scar!” Boimler protested. “Scars are disgusting, unattractive and a deterrent toward future promotion!”
“I wouldn’t let Lieutenant Shaxs hear you say that,” Mariner smirked.
“Stubborn Bajorans,” T’Ana grumbled while micro-suturing Boimler’s thigh. “Wait, how could a hologram leave real blood in your wound?”
“Uh, well the safely protocols were off,” Mariner attempted to come up with an explanation. “The holodeck must’ve gotten crosslinked with a malfunctioning replicator or something and ended up creating a little blood and baakonite by accident. Why are you asking me anyway? I’m not a scientist.”
“Are you serious?” Boimler hissed giving her a look. “That is the lamest, most ridiculous techno-explanation I have ever…”
“Freeman to Commander Billups,” The Cerritos’ captain was heard over the ship’s comm.
“Billups here,” The ship’s Chief Engineer replied just as Nurse Westlake finished working on him.
“I need someone to replace the replicator in my Ready Room. The darn thing is malfunctioning again,” Freeman cursed. “Every time I try to order a cold Bolian tonic water it spits out a steaming, smelly hot banana!”
“Understood, Captain,” Billups acknowledged. “I’ll send a team up to replace it right away.”
“Thanks. Freeman out.”
“See? Told ya,” Mariner grinned.
“Whaaa?” Boimler gaped.
“Hmmm, guess anything is possible when it comes to holodecks,” T’Ana grumbled. “Hey, Chief.”
“Yes? What’s up, Doc?” Billups asked hopping off the biobed.
“Don’t bother assigning an engineering team to replace the captain’s replicator,” T’Ana indicated the two red-shirted ensigns. “I got a pair of volunteers with idle hands and too much free time for you right here.”
“Huh?” Boimler blinked in surprise.
“Really? That’s great!” Billups smiled at him. “Way to show initiative, Ensigns! Hey, aren’t you the guy who’s always cleaning up Shaxs’ coffee spills?”
“Just once,” Boimler sunk down on the biobed. “And only because I was delivering a report to Commander Ransom at the time.”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Boims,” Mariner chuckled.
“You’re doing a great job cleaning those spills, Ensign. Keep up the good work,” Billups said before turning to T’Ana. “Anything else you need me for, Doctor?”
“Yeah. Have someone take a look at the holodecks,” T’Ana grunted running the subdermal regenerator over Boimler’s thigh. “They’re apparently malfunctioning again.”
“Apparently,” Boimler mumbled. “Wait, what do you mean again?”
“Pffft, since when has there ever been a holodeck that didn’t malfunction?” Mariner quipped.
“No problem, Doc. I’ll assign my best guy to it,” Billups smiled tapping his combadge. “Billups to Ensign Rutherford. I want you to run a Level Three diagnostic on all ship’s holodecks. I want them functioning at better-than-Borg efficiency.”
“Okey-dokey!” Rutherford was heard chirping.
“Great. Billups out,” Billups exited Sickbay while gingerly rubbing his eye. “Hmmm, maybe I should recommend Ensign Barnes for ops duty on the bridge.”
“There, done,” T’Ana growled as she finished working on Boimler. “Your leg might be tender for a few days. Try to stay off it and avoid any more Klingon sparing.”
“How about other kinds of sparing?” Mariner asked cheekily. “We could try using kar’takins, lirpas, those spiked mace gauntlet thingies they use on Ligon II…”
“Ha ha, she’s just joking,” Boimler glared sliding off the biobed. “Thanks for your help, Doctor.”
“Whatever. Just avoid doing anything that will send you back here,” T’Ana grunted walking back to her office. “The last thing I need to deal with is even more paperwork.”
“Thanks, Doc! See ya!” Mariner waved as she happily dragged Boimler out the automatically opening doors.
“Ugh, thanks a lot, Mariner!” Boimler hissed as he gingerly headed down the corridor while futilely attempting to cover up the large hole in his pant leg. “Not only did you end up slicing me open with a blood-stained, contraband Klingon sword while drunk, you lied about it and got me assigned maintenance work while I’m still on shore leave!”
“Hey, don’t think of it as lying. I prefer the term ‘creative spontaneous obfuscation’,” Mariner smirked. “Besides, you like work. Doing dull, boring, tedious maintenance tasks is your jive!”
“You have a point,” Boimler admitted. “Still, this whole incident is going to leave a permanent mark on both of us.”
“I’ll say,” Mariner glance at her uniform boots. “These blood stains are never going to come out.”
“You know what I mean!” Boimler hissed. “My perfect service record is going to have a big fat demerit on it because of you!”
“Eh, don’t sweat it. Anybody tries to mark you down, I’ll take the heat,” Mariner promised. “Besides, having a demerit or ten on your record is nothing to be ashamed of. Demerits are like scars. They’re badges of honor to those forgotten personnel who proudly prowl among Starfleet’s lower decks and aren’t afraid to break the rules in order to keep things running.”
“Says the person who was considered too unorthodox to even serve on the Excalibur,” Boimler groaned holding a hand to his head. “If only I’d been assigned to the Titan or the da Vinci upon being commissioned instead of here.”
“Are you kidding? You would’ve hated serving on the da Vinci,” Mariner laughed. “Working with a bunch of brilliant, eccentric engineers all day. Being sent on one critical, high-stakes assignment after another. Trying to come up with crazy solutions to three or four completely impossible things before breakfast. Is that really how you’d want to spend your Starfleet career?”
“More than anything,” Boimler sighed wistfully.
“Forget it, man. You lucked out getting assigned here,” Mariner smiled slapping his back. “This is the best darn duty around! No pressure! No expectations! No boundaries!”
“No sanity,” Boimler groaned.
“C’mon, let’s hit the phaser range before heading up to repair the captain’s replicator,” Mariner grinned. “We can test out a little something I picked up from a passing El-Aurian who visited Magus Three!”
“Oh no, not the phaser range!” Boimler moaned as Mariner cheerfully dragged him through the Cerritos’ brightly lit corridors. “Maybe Romulan whiskey isn’t such a bad thing after all!”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
Note: This story takes place right after the opening teaser of the episode "Second Contact".
--------------------------------------
Bat'leth Friends Forever
“AAAHHHHHHHHH!” Boimler screamed as bright red blood began gushing from his thigh.
“Holy *bleep*!” Mariner yelped dropping the bat’leth like a live power relay. “Okay Boims, stay calm! Don’t panic!”
“Are you crazy?” Boimler yelled dropping his padd and frantically clutched his thigh. “You just sliced my leg open with an unsterilized, blood-encrusted bat’leth! I’d say this is a perfect time to panic!”
“Shhh! Man, just calm down!” Mariner shushed. “It’s probably not as bad as it looks.”
“It looks pretty darn bad to me!” Boimler shrieked indicating his leg. “Look! You can see tendons, ligaments, a little muscle and…is that bone?! Aggghhh!”
“Really? Let me see,” Mariner grabbed the bat’leth’s grips.
“No! Don’t yank it out…YAAAHHHHHH!” Boimler cried crashing to the floor.
“I don’t believe this! What a piece of junk,” Mariner frowned inspecting the blade. “A real bat’leth would’ve been sharp enough to take your whole leg off. The lying taHqeq I got this from cheated me!”
“Will you stop complaining about the stupid bat’leth already?” Boimler yelled while applying pressure to his thigh. “You’re showing more concern over that stupid sword than you are about me!”
“Don’t worry, Boims. I’ll take care of ya!” Mariner vowed ducking into the supply closet.
“Ahhh! Where are you going? Don’t leave me here!” Boimler cried. “What are you doing?”
“Getting a medkit,” Mariner popped back out. “Okay, let’s see what we got here. Hypospray, medical tricorder, some little blinky thing. Ooo, look at the pretty lights…”
“Are you insane?” Boimler began to hyperventilate as Mariner pulled out a strange looking medical device. “Do you even know how to use that?”
“Eh, I’ve seen it done a million times. How hard can it be?” Mariner shrugged leaning over him. “Now hold still. This might hurt a bit. Want a quick shot of Saurian brandy for the pain?”
“No!” Boimler yelled.
“Suit yourself. More for me!” Mariner took a swig from a distinctive curved bottle. “Ahhh, man that’s good stuff! Okay, let’s get to it! Hmmm, is this a cardiostimulator or an exoscalpel? Eh, only one way to find out!”
“ACCCKKK! NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!” Boimler shrieked and desperately attempted to crawl away. “FORGET THE MEDKIT AND JUST GET ME TO SICKBAY!”
“Fine, if you want to do it the easy way,” Mariner sighed helping him to his feet.
“Yeow! Hey, watch the leg!” Boimler yelped as Mariner half-carried him down the corridor. “Ow, I think you severed a nerve cluster or something! I can’t feel my knee! I’m going into shock!”
“Oops! That reminds me! Gotta take care of something first!” Mariner suddenly dropped him and ran back down the corridor. “Be right back!”
“What…auuuggghhh!” Boimler cried landing in a heap. “Oh, my bones…”
“I’m back!” Mariner reappeared and hauled Boimler back to his feet. “Whew, thanks for the reminder, man! That could’ve been bad.”
“Y-You left me!” Boimler whimpered. “What could possibly be more important than getting my bloody, injured body to Sickbay?”
“Oh, I just had to shove my box of shore leave contraband into your little hidey closet before Shaxs stumbled over it,” Mariner smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll move it out before your next unrealistic fantasy session playing captain.”
“WHAT?!” Boimler screamed as Mariner hauled him through the ship. “ARRRGHHH! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT! AND MY CAPTAIN FANTASY SESSIONS ARE VERY REALISTIC!”
“Ew, gross!” Mariner made a face.
“Wait! I didn’t mean it like that…” Boimler protested.
“Yo, Doc!” Mariner declared as the pair of ensigns entered Sickbay. “My buddy here needs some of your mad medical skills ASAP!”
“What is it now?” Doctor T’Ana grumbled sitting in her office surrounded by padds. “Whatever it is, I don’t have time to look at it. Go see Nurse Westlake.”
“Sorry, Doctor,” Westlake said working on a patient. “I’m busy knitting Lieutenant Commander Billups’ shattered eye socket back together.”
“Again?” T’Ana shot Billups an annoyed look. “I thought I told you to be more careful when working around the plasma conduits.”
“This isn’t from a plasma conduit,” Billups winced. “Ensign Barnes slugged me after I complimented her on how much weight she’d gained from building muscle crawling around the Jefferies tubes.”
“You what?” T’Ana’s eyes flashed. “How could you say such an insensitive thing to a subordinate?”
“Forget that,” Westlake gaped at Billups in shock. “How is it you’re still alive?”
“Uh, hello? A little help here?” Mariner waved. “My command-track colleague is kinda wounded. Or would you rather he keep bleeding on your nice, impractically carpeted floor until it’s stained as red as his uniform?”
“Will someone please see to that kid?” T’Ana growled. “Where are all the other nurses that supposedly work here?”
“Still overseeing the transfer of the latest load of medical supplies from Douglas Station,” Westlake reported.
“Figures,” T’Ana muttered. “Staff shortages are always happening to Medical and not to some other department like Security. When’s that new medtech supposed to get here?”
“She should arrive with the last batch of transfers, sir,” Westlake said.
“Ahem! Wounded man-child. Gashed leg. Medical treatment. Stat!” Mariner pressed.
“Fine, get him on a biobed,” T’Ana growled getting up. “At this rate I’ll never finish my paperwork.”
“Paperwork. Yes, just think about calm, relaxing paperwork,” Boimler whimpered lying down on a biobed adjacent to Billups. “All the forms and checklists and…oh man this hurts!”
“Pipe down and let me take a look,” T’Ana frowned sniffing at Boimler’s sliced leg. “Hmmm, appears to be a fairly neat cut. You’re lucky it just missed nicking the femoral artery. Hold on, I’m detecting traces of baakonite in the wound. And is that dried Klingon blood I’m seeing in here? What the heck have you been doing?”
“Well, you see…” Boimler began.
“Holodeck accident,” Mariner spoke up quickly. “Simple sparing session gone wrong. No biggie.”
“WHAT?!” Boimler yelped.
“You were sparing on a holodeck without safety protocols?” T’Ana snapped at Boimler.
“Uh,” Boimler gulped.
“Yes. Yes, we were,” Mariner covered. “But we didn’t disable them! The holodeck was like that when we got there! Must’ve been an error in the programming or something. Yeah, ‘cause disabling holodeck safety protocols would be against ship regs.”
“Using a holodeck with disabled safety protocols without authorization is also against regulations, Ensign,” T’Ana sniffed at Mariner as she carefully cut away Boimler’s pants and reached for an instrument tray. “So is not reporting an obviously malfunctioning holodeck while being drunk on duty.”
“Technically we’re both still on shore leave,” Mariner shrugged taking out a hypospray. “And with a quick anti-intoxicant injection I’ll be soberer than a Vulcan priestess during Kal Rekk! Wait, is soberer even a word?”
“You’ve had that this whole time?!” Boimler yelped spotting the hypospray. “Why didn’t you inject yourself with that in the first place? Where were you even keeping that thing? These uniforms don’t have pockets!”
“Settle down!” T’Ana snapped as she worked on him. “You’re going to be just fine. A few cellular micro-sutures and a round of subdermal regeneration will fix you right up.”
“Thank goodness,” Boimler sighed.
“See Boims? I told you the Doc here would take care of ya,” Mariner smiled patting his shoulder. “Hey, at least you’ll get a really cool scar out of this.”
“I don’t want a scar!” Boimler protested. “Scars are disgusting, unattractive and a deterrent toward future promotion!”
“I wouldn’t let Lieutenant Shaxs hear you say that,” Mariner smirked.
“Stubborn Bajorans,” T’Ana grumbled while micro-suturing Boimler’s thigh. “Wait, how could a hologram leave real blood in your wound?”
“Uh, well the safely protocols were off,” Mariner attempted to come up with an explanation. “The holodeck must’ve gotten crosslinked with a malfunctioning replicator or something and ended up creating a little blood and baakonite by accident. Why are you asking me anyway? I’m not a scientist.”
“Are you serious?” Boimler hissed giving her a look. “That is the lamest, most ridiculous techno-explanation I have ever…”
“Freeman to Commander Billups,” The Cerritos’ captain was heard over the ship’s comm.
“Billups here,” The ship’s Chief Engineer replied just as Nurse Westlake finished working on him.
“I need someone to replace the replicator in my Ready Room. The darn thing is malfunctioning again,” Freeman cursed. “Every time I try to order a cold Bolian tonic water it spits out a steaming, smelly hot banana!”
“Understood, Captain,” Billups acknowledged. “I’ll send a team up to replace it right away.”
“Thanks. Freeman out.”
“See? Told ya,” Mariner grinned.
“Whaaa?” Boimler gaped.
“Hmmm, guess anything is possible when it comes to holodecks,” T’Ana grumbled. “Hey, Chief.”
“Yes? What’s up, Doc?” Billups asked hopping off the biobed.
“Don’t bother assigning an engineering team to replace the captain’s replicator,” T’Ana indicated the two red-shirted ensigns. “I got a pair of volunteers with idle hands and too much free time for you right here.”
“Huh?” Boimler blinked in surprise.
“Really? That’s great!” Billups smiled at him. “Way to show initiative, Ensigns! Hey, aren’t you the guy who’s always cleaning up Shaxs’ coffee spills?”
“Just once,” Boimler sunk down on the biobed. “And only because I was delivering a report to Commander Ransom at the time.”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Boims,” Mariner chuckled.
“You’re doing a great job cleaning those spills, Ensign. Keep up the good work,” Billups said before turning to T’Ana. “Anything else you need me for, Doctor?”
“Yeah. Have someone take a look at the holodecks,” T’Ana grunted running the subdermal regenerator over Boimler’s thigh. “They’re apparently malfunctioning again.”
“Apparently,” Boimler mumbled. “Wait, what do you mean again?”
“Pffft, since when has there ever been a holodeck that didn’t malfunction?” Mariner quipped.
“No problem, Doc. I’ll assign my best guy to it,” Billups smiled tapping his combadge. “Billups to Ensign Rutherford. I want you to run a Level Three diagnostic on all ship’s holodecks. I want them functioning at better-than-Borg efficiency.”
“Okey-dokey!” Rutherford was heard chirping.
“Great. Billups out,” Billups exited Sickbay while gingerly rubbing his eye. “Hmmm, maybe I should recommend Ensign Barnes for ops duty on the bridge.”
“There, done,” T’Ana growled as she finished working on Boimler. “Your leg might be tender for a few days. Try to stay off it and avoid any more Klingon sparing.”
“How about other kinds of sparing?” Mariner asked cheekily. “We could try using kar’takins, lirpas, those spiked mace gauntlet thingies they use on Ligon II…”
“Ha ha, she’s just joking,” Boimler glared sliding off the biobed. “Thanks for your help, Doctor.”
“Whatever. Just avoid doing anything that will send you back here,” T’Ana grunted walking back to her office. “The last thing I need to deal with is even more paperwork.”
“Thanks, Doc! See ya!” Mariner waved as she happily dragged Boimler out the automatically opening doors.
“Ugh, thanks a lot, Mariner!” Boimler hissed as he gingerly headed down the corridor while futilely attempting to cover up the large hole in his pant leg. “Not only did you end up slicing me open with a blood-stained, contraband Klingon sword while drunk, you lied about it and got me assigned maintenance work while I’m still on shore leave!”
“Hey, don’t think of it as lying. I prefer the term ‘creative spontaneous obfuscation’,” Mariner smirked. “Besides, you like work. Doing dull, boring, tedious maintenance tasks is your jive!”
“You have a point,” Boimler admitted. “Still, this whole incident is going to leave a permanent mark on both of us.”
“I’ll say,” Mariner glance at her uniform boots. “These blood stains are never going to come out.”
“You know what I mean!” Boimler hissed. “My perfect service record is going to have a big fat demerit on it because of you!”
“Eh, don’t sweat it. Anybody tries to mark you down, I’ll take the heat,” Mariner promised. “Besides, having a demerit or ten on your record is nothing to be ashamed of. Demerits are like scars. They’re badges of honor to those forgotten personnel who proudly prowl among Starfleet’s lower decks and aren’t afraid to break the rules in order to keep things running.”
“Says the person who was considered too unorthodox to even serve on the Excalibur,” Boimler groaned holding a hand to his head. “If only I’d been assigned to the Titan or the da Vinci upon being commissioned instead of here.”
“Are you kidding? You would’ve hated serving on the da Vinci,” Mariner laughed. “Working with a bunch of brilliant, eccentric engineers all day. Being sent on one critical, high-stakes assignment after another. Trying to come up with crazy solutions to three or four completely impossible things before breakfast. Is that really how you’d want to spend your Starfleet career?”
“More than anything,” Boimler sighed wistfully.
“Forget it, man. You lucked out getting assigned here,” Mariner smiled slapping his back. “This is the best darn duty around! No pressure! No expectations! No boundaries!”
“No sanity,” Boimler groaned.
“C’mon, let’s hit the phaser range before heading up to repair the captain’s replicator,” Mariner grinned. “We can test out a little something I picked up from a passing El-Aurian who visited Magus Three!”
“Oh no, not the phaser range!” Boimler moaned as Mariner cheerfully dragged him through the Cerritos’ brightly lit corridors. “Maybe Romulan whiskey isn’t such a bad thing after all!”
--------------------------------------
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
