Originally posted on fanfiction.net - Link.
Note: This story takes place after the main events in the episode "Envoys" and in tandem with my story "Sphere Madness.
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A Not-Quite-Brief Debriefing
“So,” Commander Ransom tapped the tabletop in Conference Room Three while staring at the pair of red-shirted ensigns sitting across from him. “Anything interesting happen during your recent assignment to deliver General K’orin to the Federation Embassy on Tulgana IV?”
“Um,” Boimler gulped while trying to keep his voice steady. “No, nothing worth mentioning.”
“Yeah, it was pretty simple,” Mariner waved. “We flew down, had some laughs, dropped K’orin off on his face…I mean, with a smile on his face. No biggie.”
“Oh really?” Ransom picked up a padd. “Then how do you two explain the fact that you not only lost the general, but also managed to assault a local with a phaser in the Andorian district, get in a bar fight, end up nearly destroying both the interior and exterior of your shuttle and acquire ten local constabulary tickets totaling thirty-six different air traffic violations?”
“Uh,” Boimler began to sweat nervously.
“Like I said, we flew down and had some laughs,” Mariner shrugged. “K’orin wanted some munchies so we made a teeny-weeny pit stop. We still got him to the peace conference on time, so what’s the big deal?”
“The deal is that you broke protocol, Ensign,” Ransom snapped pounding the tabletop. “Any change in a shuttle’s submitted flight path is to be reported and noted in the pilot’s log. Instead, the Yosemite disappeared and was incommunicado for several hours which not only put the peace accords on hold, but also sent both our embassy and the Klingon’s one into fits!”
“Geeze, what a bunch of Jarada,” Mariner rolled her eyes. “Misplace one highly decorated, two-meter tall general and everyone loses their minds.”
“You’re the ones who are about to lose something, Ensign,” Ransom glared. “You realize I could bust both of you down to Crewmen, no class because of this incident?”
“WHAT?” Boimler blanched.
“Whoa, you can’t do that,” Mariner protested. “I was the ranking officer and pilot on the escort mission. I take full responsibility. Boimler here was just following my orders like a good, weak-minded lackey.”
“Yeah,” Boimler nodded. “Wait a second…hey!”
“I’ll be the one issuing orders around here Ms. Soon-to-be-Former-Ensign,” Ransom attempted to stare her down. “You two will be scrubbing exhaust manifolds for the next six months just as soon as I fill out the paperwork and…”
“Commander Ransom, report to the bridge immediately!” Captain Freeman’s voice suddenly boomed over the ship’s comm.
“On my way,” Ransom tapped his combadge. He stood and fixed the two ensigns with a withering look. “Stay here. We’ll finish the rest of your mission debriefing when I return.”
“Take you time, Ranny!” Mariner waved as Ransom headed out the door. “Try not to run into a temporal anomaly on your way back!”
“Oh great, this is the end! My career in Starfleet is over!” Boimler groaned covering his face. “I told you I’d end up working on a far off, forgotten research asteroid!”
“Calm down, Boims,” Mariner patted his back. “You’re not going to end up on some lame research asteroid.”
“No, instead I’m going to be scrubbing exhaust manifolds for the rest of my short, miserable career,” Boimler sniffed. “Everything I’ve worked so hard for is gone! Years of Academy training wasted!”
“Hey, relax man. I’m sure everything will work out,” Mariner tried to reassure him. “Shuttle pilots take unauthorized side trips all the time. It’s not like you went and dumped a mug of hot chocolate on the captain or anything.”
“Oh sure, that’s easy for you to say!” Boimler shouted glancing at her. “You always manage to land on your feet! Nothing bad ever happens to you! You’re always right!”
“Eh, somebody has to be,” Mariner quipped.
“Well good for you! Glad one of us is going to come through this with their reputation and dignity intact,” Boimler moaned hitting his head on the table. “I’m about to officially become Starfleet persona non grata! I’ll never serve aboard a Federation starship again! Wait, maybe I could reboot my career by changing my name and undergoing surgical alterations. I could create the perfect alter ego and become the officer I always dreamed to be! What am I saying? That’d never work!”
“Yeah, it’s not like thousands of other people have ever dressed up in a Starfleet uniform while pretending to be a different person,” Mariner smiled and studied Boimler’s sagging form for a moment. “You were right, you know.”
“Oh man, I’m doomed! My name will be mud. I’ll have to move back in with my parents and…wait, huh?” Boimler blinked turning towards his friend. “What was I right about?”
“Everything,” Mariner admitted grudgingly as the ship shook suddenly. “If we had just followed protocol and flown K’orin straight to the embassy none of that Tulgana stuff would’ve happened.”
“Well, yeah. Obviously,” Boimler absently rubbed his throat. “Presuming the general didn’t decapitate me for refusing his demand to get gagh.”
“Eh, I could’ve talked him out of it,” Mariner shrugged. “And even if it had just been you piloting the shuttle like you’d been originally scheduled, I’m sure you would’ve handled things just fine.”
“Really?” Boimler stared at her in surprise. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Man, do I need to state it flat out?” Mariner sighed in exasperation as the ship continued to shake. “Fine, here it is: I was wrong, and you were right. Happy?”
“I was right, wasn’t I?” Boimler began to perk up. “I should’ve insisted we stick to protocol and follow the flight plan. We would have avoided so much trouble if you’d just listened to me. And I was right about the Ferengi too. He was going to mug us! I can’t believe you actually thought he was a Bolian.”
“Yeah, imagine that,” Mariner whistled innocently.
“See? Following protocol works,” Boimler puffed up as the lights flickered briefly. “If we had followed protocol we wouldn’t have lost K’orin or been nearly killed by every single person we came across down there.”
“And if we had followed protocol during second contact with the Galardonians you wouldn’t have transported back to the ship covered in spider-cow slime and helped save the crew from the rage virus,” Mariner pointed out as more tremors rocked the ship.
“Touché,” Boimler sighed deflating back to his normal self. “This is all so confusing. When you break protocol, you make it look awesome and natural. When I break protocol, it blows up in my face.”
“Hey man, there are limits to breaking protocol and bending regs. It’s an art,” Mariner smiled. “You really need to lighten up more, Boims. You can’t blindly follow the rules all the time. Following the rules too much can end up causing plenty of problems too.”
“Yeah right, like I would ever unknowingly endanger the ship by causing people to actually follow the rules,” Boimler snorted. “Speaking of which, how did you manage to sneak all that bloodwine aboard the shuttle?”
“Oh, I smuggled it in among K’orin’s bags of personal effects,” Mariner waved. “To be fair, I only packed six bottles or so. K’orin’s the one who had the keg of warnog stashed away in there.”
“That explains all the sloshing noises I heard while carrying the bags to the shuttle bay,” Boimler groaned. “I thought K’orin had just taken all the bottles of lotion, mouthwash and hair conditioner from his quarters. Wait, those bags were sealed when I picked them up. I never let them out of my sight. How did you get bottles of bloodwine into them in the first place?”
“It’s amazing what you can do with transporters these days,” Mariner smirked. “Good thing Chief Wasson owed me a favor.”
“I should have known,” Boimler moaned throwing up his hands. “You manage to rate yourself all these privileges aboard ship by offering bribes, winning bets and cajoling favors. You no doubt pulled a similar stunt to get yourself assigned as head pilot for the escort mission.”
“Why Boimler, I’m shock and appalled you’d suggest I’d behave in such an underhanded and irresponsible manner,” Mariner gasped placing a hand over her heart. “It’s like you think I threatened to release an embarrassing video all over subspace of the officer who controls the Cerritos’ duty roster dancing on top of a dabo wheel wearing nothing but a strategically-placed bar of gold-pressed latinum and a smile.”
“Did you?” Boimler gave her a look.
“That’s not important,” Mariner waved. “Look, I promise that no matter what happens you won’t be demoted or get demerits or end up scrubbing exhaust manifolds. I’m willing to use my full arsenal of bribes, favors, threats, lies, chits and blackmail in order to keep your record clean!”
“Are you crazy?” Boimler yelped. “What am I saying? Don’t start breaking more protocols for some insane scheme to get us out of being punished for the protocols we’ve already broken!”
“Relax, Boims. I got it all figured out,” Mariner grinned with a wicked look in her eye. “All I need are some Cypirion cactus, half a dozen Talarian hook spiders, a multitronic engrammatic interpreter…”
“Enough! I don’t want to know,” Boimler moaned holding his head. “That way I can plead ignorance at my court martial.”
Just then a frazzled Commander Ransom staggered back into the room with his uniform torn, scorched and looking very disheveled. “Everything okay, Ranny?” Mariner raised an eyebrow at his appearance.
“Just a simple misunderstanding,” Ransom winced sitting down. “And don’t call me Ranny!”
“Whatever you say, Rans,” Mariner smirked.
“Stow it, Mariner,” Ransom glared at her. “Now, where were we?”
“You were about to demote us and sentence us to scrubbing exhaust manifolds, sir,” Boimler provided.
“Boims, seriously?” Mariner gave him a look.
“Ah, right,” Ransom nodded picking up a padd. “So, like I was saying, you will both be demoted down to Crewmen, third class and begin appropriate punishment duties effective immedi…”
“Bridge to Commander Ransom,” Lieutenant Shaxs was heard over the ship’s comm. “There’s an incoming hail directed to Ensign Mariner, sir.”
“Put it on hold, Lieutenant,” Ransom frowned. “In two seconds, there will no longer be an Ensign Mariner serving aboard the Cerritos.”
“I think you’d better let her answer it now, sir,” Shaxs said. “The initiator of the hail is quite insistent.”
“Fine, pipe it here,” Ransom sighed turning on the room’s display screen. “Might as well let you enjoy the last time being addressed as…Admiral?!”
“Whoa, watch yourself there, Ranny,” Mariner grinned at the screen snapped to life. “Don’t want to start breaking protocol yourself.”
“Ensign Mariner,” The image of a commanding admiral with dark beard and iron gray hair at his temples appeared on the screen. “Good work on the recent escort run piloting General K’orin down to Tulgana IV.”
“Hey, just doing my job, sir,” Mariner shot him a casual salute.
“Whaaa?” Ransom and Boimler stared at the screen in shock. “Y-You heard about that?”
“The general contacted me personally,” The admiral explained. “Wanted to pass on his thanks for a thoroughly enjoyable shuttle trip. Couldn’t stop talking about it.”
“Classic K’orin,” Mariner smiled fondly. “Always a blabbermouth.”
“Look who’s talking,” Boimler muttered under his breath.
“General K’orin also explained about the little side trip he forced the shuttle pilots to take,” The admiral went on. “Didn’t want Ensign Mariner and her child copilot to suffer any negative repercussions from it.”
“See, man?” Mariner smirked nudging Boimler. “K’orin mentioned you to the admiral. He must really like you.”
“I guess,” Boimler blinked, stunned. “But child copilot? Really?”
“Well, thank you for contacting us, sir,” Ransom regained his composure. “But technically Ensign Mariner did violate protocol by not logging a change in the shuttle’s flight plan and ran up a hefty series of air traffic violations. I will have to issue appropriate disciplinary action for her reckless and irresponsible behavior…”
“I would strongly advise against doing that, Commander,” The admiral warned. “The general and Ensign Mariner here are blood-bonded. K’orin might take any form of reprimand against her as a slight against his own honor. Klingons take things like that very seriously. You wouldn’t want a highly decorated, battle-hardened Klingon general angry at you, would you? He might decide to suddenly show up and avenge his honor by settling the matter in person.”
“Uh, well when you put it like that,” Ransom gulped. “I suppose since the general did take responsibility for the unauthorized change in flight plan, Ensign Mariner and her copilot will only receive minor reprimands.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Mariner grinned. “Besides, we couldn’t just flat out deny K’orin’s request to get munchies, right? If we had, heads would’ve rolled!”
“Literally,” Boimler moaned.
“Wise choice,” The admiral turned his attention to the two ensigns. “Nice job putting up with General K’orin and keeping him happy. Maintaining good ties with the Klingons helps keep the Federation secure.”
“For the moment anyway,” Mariner quipped. “Hey, why didn’t K’orin try to contact me himself?”
“Uh, well actually I think he just drunk-hailed me by mistake,” The admiral coughed. “Turns out right after finishing his address the general started a fight with the Romulan delegation, covered the Ferengi ambassador in grapok sauce and caused the entire assemblage to break out into a huge brawl which only ended when he offered to take everyone attending the conference out to the nearest bar for drinks.”
“There’s a big surprise,” Boimler groaned.
“I’ll say,” Mariner shook her head. “K’orin is never that generous towards Romulans.”
“Needless to say, our embassy on Tulgana IV will require a new meeting hall,” The admiral went on. “Along with some new walls, new ceiling, lots of new carpeting…”
“Man, glad I won’t be paying that repair bill,” Mariner quipped.
“I have a feeling I’ll be paying the mental price for going on that mission for years to come,” Boimler moaned.
“I get the picture, Admiral,” Ransom attempted to diplomatically stop the admiral from explaining further. “Thank you for contacting us, sir.”
“Yeah, thanks Da…uh, Da Big Admiral in Charge,” Mariner waved.
“My pleasure,” The corners of the admiral’s mouth turned up slightly. “Keep up the good work, everyone. Starfleet out.”
The room was silent for a minute. “O-kay,” Ransom finally spoke up. “In light of the new information about General K’orin passed on by the admiral, your sentences regarding demotions and scrubbing exhaust manifolds are hereby cancelled.”
“Yes!” Mariner cheered pumping her fist. “K’orin, you da man!”
“Thank you, sir,” Boimler sighed in relief. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“However,” Ransom fixed the pair of ensigns with a look. “Since you obviously enjoy General K’orin’s support so much, you can return the favor by picking up after him.”
“Huh?” Boimler blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You two are assigned to completely clean and decontaminate the Yosemite, beginning immediately. Both inside and out,” Ransom declared. “That shuttle came back looking like you took it for a joyride after Academy finals week. There are dents in the hull bigger than an egotistical ambassador’s head!”
“Uh, technically we weren’t the ones piloting the shuttle at the time,” Boimler gulped.
“And don’t get me started on the interior,” Ransom glared in disgust. “There are blood and bloodwine stains everywhere! Not to mention the still moist remains of other questionable bodily fluids. Next time either of you have the urge to throw up, use the onboard waste extraction facilities.”
“What onboard waste extraction facilities?” Mariner gave him a look. “You know, for a brand-new shuttle equipped with a blast shield the Yosemite is seriously lacking in personal amenities and comforts. Talk about suffering a case of class-two claustrophobia! Who the heck keeps designing these things?”
“I’m sure you will have plenty of time to find out during your cleaning detail,” Ransom smirked picking up a padd. “Dismissed!”
“Yes sir,” Boimler signed getting up.
“Thanks for going easy on us, Ranny,” Mariner smiled heading for the door. “Guess I won’t be sending that video of you out over subspace after all. You’d think a guy with such nice abs would have a few spicy scars on him.”
“Don’t call me…wait, what?!” Ransom yelped leaping to his feet. “You said you turned over every existing copy of that video to me! You can’t let my mother see it! Or my ex! MARINER!”
“Well, that went a lot better than I thought it would,” Boimler said as the two ensigns headed for the shuttle bay. “I never imagined I’d ever be glad to hear from General K’orin again.”
“See? I told you everything would work out,” Mariner smiled. “You got to notch another name on your Visited Planets belt, had an almost face-to-face meeting with an admiral and got remembered by a famous Klingon general. You’re really moving up in the galaxy!”
“If only my rank and self-esteem could say the same,” Boimler sighed. “Still, as escort missions go, I suppose it could have been a lot worse. Though it would have been nice if my name had been listed as the mission’s pilot instead of just copilot.”
“Don’t worry, Boims. I’ll make it up to ya,” Mariner grinned. “Hey, how about I set you up on a date? There must be some lonely lady on board who’d be willing to go out with a skinny, neurotic weasel like you.”
“What?” Boimler yelped. “Wait! You don’t have to do that!”
“Oooo, how about that cute pony-tailed Andorian who was eyeing you in the bar?” Mariner suggested. “I understand Andorians enjoy doing certain things in fours…”
“Accckkk! No! Stop it!” Boimler shouted.
“Jamaharon! Jamaharon!” Mariner cackled maniacally.
“Oh geeze,” Boimler moaned turning the same shade as his uniform. “I should have just let that saronged Anabaj have its way with me. It would have been much less traumatizing!”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
Note: This story takes place after the main events in the episode "Envoys" and in tandem with my story "Sphere Madness.
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A Not-Quite-Brief Debriefing
“So,” Commander Ransom tapped the tabletop in Conference Room Three while staring at the pair of red-shirted ensigns sitting across from him. “Anything interesting happen during your recent assignment to deliver General K’orin to the Federation Embassy on Tulgana IV?”
“Um,” Boimler gulped while trying to keep his voice steady. “No, nothing worth mentioning.”
“Yeah, it was pretty simple,” Mariner waved. “We flew down, had some laughs, dropped K’orin off on his face…I mean, with a smile on his face. No biggie.”
“Oh really?” Ransom picked up a padd. “Then how do you two explain the fact that you not only lost the general, but also managed to assault a local with a phaser in the Andorian district, get in a bar fight, end up nearly destroying both the interior and exterior of your shuttle and acquire ten local constabulary tickets totaling thirty-six different air traffic violations?”
“Uh,” Boimler began to sweat nervously.
“Like I said, we flew down and had some laughs,” Mariner shrugged. “K’orin wanted some munchies so we made a teeny-weeny pit stop. We still got him to the peace conference on time, so what’s the big deal?”
“The deal is that you broke protocol, Ensign,” Ransom snapped pounding the tabletop. “Any change in a shuttle’s submitted flight path is to be reported and noted in the pilot’s log. Instead, the Yosemite disappeared and was incommunicado for several hours which not only put the peace accords on hold, but also sent both our embassy and the Klingon’s one into fits!”
“Geeze, what a bunch of Jarada,” Mariner rolled her eyes. “Misplace one highly decorated, two-meter tall general and everyone loses their minds.”
“You’re the ones who are about to lose something, Ensign,” Ransom glared. “You realize I could bust both of you down to Crewmen, no class because of this incident?”
“WHAT?” Boimler blanched.
“Whoa, you can’t do that,” Mariner protested. “I was the ranking officer and pilot on the escort mission. I take full responsibility. Boimler here was just following my orders like a good, weak-minded lackey.”
“Yeah,” Boimler nodded. “Wait a second…hey!”
“I’ll be the one issuing orders around here Ms. Soon-to-be-Former-Ensign,” Ransom attempted to stare her down. “You two will be scrubbing exhaust manifolds for the next six months just as soon as I fill out the paperwork and…”
“Commander Ransom, report to the bridge immediately!” Captain Freeman’s voice suddenly boomed over the ship’s comm.
“On my way,” Ransom tapped his combadge. He stood and fixed the two ensigns with a withering look. “Stay here. We’ll finish the rest of your mission debriefing when I return.”
“Take you time, Ranny!” Mariner waved as Ransom headed out the door. “Try not to run into a temporal anomaly on your way back!”
“Oh great, this is the end! My career in Starfleet is over!” Boimler groaned covering his face. “I told you I’d end up working on a far off, forgotten research asteroid!”
“Calm down, Boims,” Mariner patted his back. “You’re not going to end up on some lame research asteroid.”
“No, instead I’m going to be scrubbing exhaust manifolds for the rest of my short, miserable career,” Boimler sniffed. “Everything I’ve worked so hard for is gone! Years of Academy training wasted!”
“Hey, relax man. I’m sure everything will work out,” Mariner tried to reassure him. “Shuttle pilots take unauthorized side trips all the time. It’s not like you went and dumped a mug of hot chocolate on the captain or anything.”
“Oh sure, that’s easy for you to say!” Boimler shouted glancing at her. “You always manage to land on your feet! Nothing bad ever happens to you! You’re always right!”
“Eh, somebody has to be,” Mariner quipped.
“Well good for you! Glad one of us is going to come through this with their reputation and dignity intact,” Boimler moaned hitting his head on the table. “I’m about to officially become Starfleet persona non grata! I’ll never serve aboard a Federation starship again! Wait, maybe I could reboot my career by changing my name and undergoing surgical alterations. I could create the perfect alter ego and become the officer I always dreamed to be! What am I saying? That’d never work!”
“Yeah, it’s not like thousands of other people have ever dressed up in a Starfleet uniform while pretending to be a different person,” Mariner smiled and studied Boimler’s sagging form for a moment. “You were right, you know.”
“Oh man, I’m doomed! My name will be mud. I’ll have to move back in with my parents and…wait, huh?” Boimler blinked turning towards his friend. “What was I right about?”
“Everything,” Mariner admitted grudgingly as the ship shook suddenly. “If we had just followed protocol and flown K’orin straight to the embassy none of that Tulgana stuff would’ve happened.”
“Well, yeah. Obviously,” Boimler absently rubbed his throat. “Presuming the general didn’t decapitate me for refusing his demand to get gagh.”
“Eh, I could’ve talked him out of it,” Mariner shrugged. “And even if it had just been you piloting the shuttle like you’d been originally scheduled, I’m sure you would’ve handled things just fine.”
“Really?” Boimler stared at her in surprise. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Man, do I need to state it flat out?” Mariner sighed in exasperation as the ship continued to shake. “Fine, here it is: I was wrong, and you were right. Happy?”
“I was right, wasn’t I?” Boimler began to perk up. “I should’ve insisted we stick to protocol and follow the flight plan. We would have avoided so much trouble if you’d just listened to me. And I was right about the Ferengi too. He was going to mug us! I can’t believe you actually thought he was a Bolian.”
“Yeah, imagine that,” Mariner whistled innocently.
“See? Following protocol works,” Boimler puffed up as the lights flickered briefly. “If we had followed protocol we wouldn’t have lost K’orin or been nearly killed by every single person we came across down there.”
“And if we had followed protocol during second contact with the Galardonians you wouldn’t have transported back to the ship covered in spider-cow slime and helped save the crew from the rage virus,” Mariner pointed out as more tremors rocked the ship.
“Touché,” Boimler sighed deflating back to his normal self. “This is all so confusing. When you break protocol, you make it look awesome and natural. When I break protocol, it blows up in my face.”
“Hey man, there are limits to breaking protocol and bending regs. It’s an art,” Mariner smiled. “You really need to lighten up more, Boims. You can’t blindly follow the rules all the time. Following the rules too much can end up causing plenty of problems too.”
“Yeah right, like I would ever unknowingly endanger the ship by causing people to actually follow the rules,” Boimler snorted. “Speaking of which, how did you manage to sneak all that bloodwine aboard the shuttle?”
“Oh, I smuggled it in among K’orin’s bags of personal effects,” Mariner waved. “To be fair, I only packed six bottles or so. K’orin’s the one who had the keg of warnog stashed away in there.”
“That explains all the sloshing noises I heard while carrying the bags to the shuttle bay,” Boimler groaned. “I thought K’orin had just taken all the bottles of lotion, mouthwash and hair conditioner from his quarters. Wait, those bags were sealed when I picked them up. I never let them out of my sight. How did you get bottles of bloodwine into them in the first place?”
“It’s amazing what you can do with transporters these days,” Mariner smirked. “Good thing Chief Wasson owed me a favor.”
“I should have known,” Boimler moaned throwing up his hands. “You manage to rate yourself all these privileges aboard ship by offering bribes, winning bets and cajoling favors. You no doubt pulled a similar stunt to get yourself assigned as head pilot for the escort mission.”
“Why Boimler, I’m shock and appalled you’d suggest I’d behave in such an underhanded and irresponsible manner,” Mariner gasped placing a hand over her heart. “It’s like you think I threatened to release an embarrassing video all over subspace of the officer who controls the Cerritos’ duty roster dancing on top of a dabo wheel wearing nothing but a strategically-placed bar of gold-pressed latinum and a smile.”
“Did you?” Boimler gave her a look.
“That’s not important,” Mariner waved. “Look, I promise that no matter what happens you won’t be demoted or get demerits or end up scrubbing exhaust manifolds. I’m willing to use my full arsenal of bribes, favors, threats, lies, chits and blackmail in order to keep your record clean!”
“Are you crazy?” Boimler yelped. “What am I saying? Don’t start breaking more protocols for some insane scheme to get us out of being punished for the protocols we’ve already broken!”
“Relax, Boims. I got it all figured out,” Mariner grinned with a wicked look in her eye. “All I need are some Cypirion cactus, half a dozen Talarian hook spiders, a multitronic engrammatic interpreter…”
“Enough! I don’t want to know,” Boimler moaned holding his head. “That way I can plead ignorance at my court martial.”
Just then a frazzled Commander Ransom staggered back into the room with his uniform torn, scorched and looking very disheveled. “Everything okay, Ranny?” Mariner raised an eyebrow at his appearance.
“Just a simple misunderstanding,” Ransom winced sitting down. “And don’t call me Ranny!”
“Whatever you say, Rans,” Mariner smirked.
“Stow it, Mariner,” Ransom glared at her. “Now, where were we?”
“You were about to demote us and sentence us to scrubbing exhaust manifolds, sir,” Boimler provided.
“Boims, seriously?” Mariner gave him a look.
“Ah, right,” Ransom nodded picking up a padd. “So, like I was saying, you will both be demoted down to Crewmen, third class and begin appropriate punishment duties effective immedi…”
“Bridge to Commander Ransom,” Lieutenant Shaxs was heard over the ship’s comm. “There’s an incoming hail directed to Ensign Mariner, sir.”
“Put it on hold, Lieutenant,” Ransom frowned. “In two seconds, there will no longer be an Ensign Mariner serving aboard the Cerritos.”
“I think you’d better let her answer it now, sir,” Shaxs said. “The initiator of the hail is quite insistent.”
“Fine, pipe it here,” Ransom sighed turning on the room’s display screen. “Might as well let you enjoy the last time being addressed as…Admiral?!”
“Whoa, watch yourself there, Ranny,” Mariner grinned at the screen snapped to life. “Don’t want to start breaking protocol yourself.”
“Ensign Mariner,” The image of a commanding admiral with dark beard and iron gray hair at his temples appeared on the screen. “Good work on the recent escort run piloting General K’orin down to Tulgana IV.”
“Hey, just doing my job, sir,” Mariner shot him a casual salute.
“Whaaa?” Ransom and Boimler stared at the screen in shock. “Y-You heard about that?”
“The general contacted me personally,” The admiral explained. “Wanted to pass on his thanks for a thoroughly enjoyable shuttle trip. Couldn’t stop talking about it.”
“Classic K’orin,” Mariner smiled fondly. “Always a blabbermouth.”
“Look who’s talking,” Boimler muttered under his breath.
“General K’orin also explained about the little side trip he forced the shuttle pilots to take,” The admiral went on. “Didn’t want Ensign Mariner and her child copilot to suffer any negative repercussions from it.”
“See, man?” Mariner smirked nudging Boimler. “K’orin mentioned you to the admiral. He must really like you.”
“I guess,” Boimler blinked, stunned. “But child copilot? Really?”
“Well, thank you for contacting us, sir,” Ransom regained his composure. “But technically Ensign Mariner did violate protocol by not logging a change in the shuttle’s flight plan and ran up a hefty series of air traffic violations. I will have to issue appropriate disciplinary action for her reckless and irresponsible behavior…”
“I would strongly advise against doing that, Commander,” The admiral warned. “The general and Ensign Mariner here are blood-bonded. K’orin might take any form of reprimand against her as a slight against his own honor. Klingons take things like that very seriously. You wouldn’t want a highly decorated, battle-hardened Klingon general angry at you, would you? He might decide to suddenly show up and avenge his honor by settling the matter in person.”
“Uh, well when you put it like that,” Ransom gulped. “I suppose since the general did take responsibility for the unauthorized change in flight plan, Ensign Mariner and her copilot will only receive minor reprimands.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Mariner grinned. “Besides, we couldn’t just flat out deny K’orin’s request to get munchies, right? If we had, heads would’ve rolled!”
“Literally,” Boimler moaned.
“Wise choice,” The admiral turned his attention to the two ensigns. “Nice job putting up with General K’orin and keeping him happy. Maintaining good ties with the Klingons helps keep the Federation secure.”
“For the moment anyway,” Mariner quipped. “Hey, why didn’t K’orin try to contact me himself?”
“Uh, well actually I think he just drunk-hailed me by mistake,” The admiral coughed. “Turns out right after finishing his address the general started a fight with the Romulan delegation, covered the Ferengi ambassador in grapok sauce and caused the entire assemblage to break out into a huge brawl which only ended when he offered to take everyone attending the conference out to the nearest bar for drinks.”
“There’s a big surprise,” Boimler groaned.
“I’ll say,” Mariner shook her head. “K’orin is never that generous towards Romulans.”
“Needless to say, our embassy on Tulgana IV will require a new meeting hall,” The admiral went on. “Along with some new walls, new ceiling, lots of new carpeting…”
“Man, glad I won’t be paying that repair bill,” Mariner quipped.
“I have a feeling I’ll be paying the mental price for going on that mission for years to come,” Boimler moaned.
“I get the picture, Admiral,” Ransom attempted to diplomatically stop the admiral from explaining further. “Thank you for contacting us, sir.”
“Yeah, thanks Da…uh, Da Big Admiral in Charge,” Mariner waved.
“My pleasure,” The corners of the admiral’s mouth turned up slightly. “Keep up the good work, everyone. Starfleet out.”
The room was silent for a minute. “O-kay,” Ransom finally spoke up. “In light of the new information about General K’orin passed on by the admiral, your sentences regarding demotions and scrubbing exhaust manifolds are hereby cancelled.”
“Yes!” Mariner cheered pumping her fist. “K’orin, you da man!”
“Thank you, sir,” Boimler sighed in relief. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“However,” Ransom fixed the pair of ensigns with a look. “Since you obviously enjoy General K’orin’s support so much, you can return the favor by picking up after him.”
“Huh?” Boimler blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You two are assigned to completely clean and decontaminate the Yosemite, beginning immediately. Both inside and out,” Ransom declared. “That shuttle came back looking like you took it for a joyride after Academy finals week. There are dents in the hull bigger than an egotistical ambassador’s head!”
“Uh, technically we weren’t the ones piloting the shuttle at the time,” Boimler gulped.
“And don’t get me started on the interior,” Ransom glared in disgust. “There are blood and bloodwine stains everywhere! Not to mention the still moist remains of other questionable bodily fluids. Next time either of you have the urge to throw up, use the onboard waste extraction facilities.”
“What onboard waste extraction facilities?” Mariner gave him a look. “You know, for a brand-new shuttle equipped with a blast shield the Yosemite is seriously lacking in personal amenities and comforts. Talk about suffering a case of class-two claustrophobia! Who the heck keeps designing these things?”
“I’m sure you will have plenty of time to find out during your cleaning detail,” Ransom smirked picking up a padd. “Dismissed!”
“Yes sir,” Boimler signed getting up.
“Thanks for going easy on us, Ranny,” Mariner smiled heading for the door. “Guess I won’t be sending that video of you out over subspace after all. You’d think a guy with such nice abs would have a few spicy scars on him.”
“Don’t call me…wait, what?!” Ransom yelped leaping to his feet. “You said you turned over every existing copy of that video to me! You can’t let my mother see it! Or my ex! MARINER!”
“Well, that went a lot better than I thought it would,” Boimler said as the two ensigns headed for the shuttle bay. “I never imagined I’d ever be glad to hear from General K’orin again.”
“See? I told you everything would work out,” Mariner smiled. “You got to notch another name on your Visited Planets belt, had an almost face-to-face meeting with an admiral and got remembered by a famous Klingon general. You’re really moving up in the galaxy!”
“If only my rank and self-esteem could say the same,” Boimler sighed. “Still, as escort missions go, I suppose it could have been a lot worse. Though it would have been nice if my name had been listed as the mission’s pilot instead of just copilot.”
“Don’t worry, Boims. I’ll make it up to ya,” Mariner grinned. “Hey, how about I set you up on a date? There must be some lonely lady on board who’d be willing to go out with a skinny, neurotic weasel like you.”
“What?” Boimler yelped. “Wait! You don’t have to do that!”
“Oooo, how about that cute pony-tailed Andorian who was eyeing you in the bar?” Mariner suggested. “I understand Andorians enjoy doing certain things in fours…”
“Accckkk! No! Stop it!” Boimler shouted.
“Jamaharon! Jamaharon!” Mariner cackled maniacally.
“Oh geeze,” Boimler moaned turning the same shade as his uniform. “I should have just let that saronged Anabaj have its way with me. It would have been much less traumatizing!”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
