Originally posted on fanfiction.net - Link.
--------------------------------------
Lower Decks Meeting
“Hello everybody. Thank you for coming,” Boimler said standing in front of a crowd of fellow Starfleet ensigns. “This meeting of Beta Shift’s Lower Decks quartered on Deck 11 will now come to order.”
“I got a better idea,” Mariner called out. “Let’s cancel the meeting and order up some grub!”
“Quiet! This is serious!” Boimler scolded before clearing his throat. “Ahem, as I was saying. First, the reason we’re meeting in the Repair Bay is because of the Warp Field Seminar going on in Conference Room One, some weird subspace anomaly occurring in Conference Room Two and Conference Rooms Three through Five being flooded with Tellarite shaving cream. No one has come forward to claim responsibility for the last one yet and since the conference rooms’ internal visual logs have all ‘mysteriously’ disappeared, Security doesn’t have a clue who all is to blame for the mess. Therefore, Captain Freeman has declared all Lower Deckers will work round the clock to clean the affected conference rooms until every surface is so clean she can eat off them. Which considering the recent impromptu juggling contest in the Mess Hall may very well happen.”
“Awwwwww!” A large groan rose from the crowd.
“Thanks a lot guys!” Someone called out.
“Yeah, next time you do something like that at least tell the rest of us about it so we can join in!” Another person added.
“Next,” Boimler consulted a padd. “The phaser range is currently closed and undergoing repairs. Mainly because some lunatic brought in a dismounted phaser cannon instead of a hand phaser!”
“AWWWWWW!” The assembled ensigns let out an even louder groan.
“Nice going, Mariner!” Ensign sh’Reyan cursed. “You aren’t the only one who likes to shoot things you know!”
“Yeah, save some targets for the rest of us,” Ensign Rose added.
“Eh, what can I say? Ya snooze, ya lose,” Mariner waved. “Besides, I couldn’t resist. That phaser cannon was sweet!”
“We’ll take your word for it,” Boimler sighed.
“Like we have a choice,” Several other ensigns griped.
“Okay, moving on,” Boimler glanced at his padd again. “A notice about sonic shower usage. Please remember to run a quick high-frequency cycle after each use to clean up any remaining dirt, grime, sweat, hair and skin left in the shower. Along with any stray body parts. Also, refrain from modifying the showers to emit microwaves, body oil, liquid nitrogen or anything else besides sonic vibrations. Sonic showers are complex pieces of Starfleet technology dedicated to maintaining personal hygiene, not the target of pranks!”
“Karavitus from Delta shift managed to cover you in cheese sauce again, didn’t she?” Rutherford gave him a look.
“That’s not important,” Boimler grumbled while absently running a hand through his hair. “What’s next…ah yes. The Cerritos’ acting company is producing a version of the ancient Earth play ‘The Music Man’. Anyone interested in trying out should see Lieutenant Commander Stevens for details. Also, Lieutenant Shaxs’ ballet class has been postponed due to the incident with the plasma coolant, portable tractor beam and Kavarian tiger-bats. Fortunately, not too many bulkheads were destroyed and thanks to Chief Lundy the ballet studio’s ceiling wasn’t damaged too badly and only half the floor ending up melting. Let’s give a round of applause and wish him and Shaxs a speedy pair of recoveries from Sickbay!”
“Yay!” Tendi and several others clapped politely.
“Speaking of which, the captain wants all personnel to quit holding anti-grav races in the corridors,” Boimler said. “Those things have put more people in Sickbay than the Ankaran flu!”
“Oops!” Tendi blushed. “Sorry!”
“Eh, no biggie. We’ll just move the races somewhere else,” Mariner waved. “Like the shuttlebays or the Jefferies tubes…”
“Oh geeze,” Boimler groaned. “Next item, a celebration of the Bajoran Gratitude Festival is being held next week. The Mess Hall will be serving authentic hasperat, veklava and tuwaly pie. Also, today is Ensign Fletcher’s birthday. Please sign his birthday card before you leave. I’m sure he will enjoy it and the associated Tarvokian pound cake as soon as he is let out of the Brig.”
“Which brings up another point,” Boimler fixed his fellow ensigns with a stern look. “We’re Starfleet officers. Trained to explore and discover new life and new civilizations. This does not include making prank calls over subspace! Especially to hostile alien species! Fletcher is darn lucky Captain Freeman was able to convince the Talarians his crack that they redecorate their hammocks wasn’t a joke! She insisted it was a simple cross-cultural observation.”
“Huh, that explains the sudden jump in glitter and sequin shipments to Talar,” Rutherford remarked.
“Remember people, we are Starfleet,” Boimler puffed up with pride. “Brave explorers, cultural ambassadors and the living embodiment of the Federation’s morals, ideals and high ethical standards. Now, I’ll yield the floor to Ensign Mariner who has her own announcements. Mariner.”
“Thanks, Boims,” Mariner grinned jumping onto the work table. “Yo, what’s up peoples! Here are the results of the latest ship’s betting pools! Captain Freeman lost her temper in front of the crew eighteen times this week. Ensign Vendome wins the pot of a bottle of Andorian ale and three hours of holodeck time.”
“Yes!” Vendome pumped his fist. “Thorley Amusement Center, here I come!”
“Wait, did you play a role in having the captain lose her temper?” sh’Reyan asked.
“Maybe,” Mariner whistled. “In the challenge department, Ensigns Bevine, Thompson and Vardaman successfully snuck an entire Argo-class buggy into Commander Ransom’s office. They’ll split the prize of a case of Regalian liquid crystals once their month of scrubbing exhaust manifolds is up.”
“There was no winner in the 3-D chess tournament mainly because everyone decided to participate in the poker tournament instead,” Mariner went on. “Tendi had the highest player ranking before the captain shut us down and confiscated most of the pot, so she wins the remaining pot by default.”
“Yay!” Tendi grinned collecting her winnings. “Come to mama!”
“Finally, Ransom’s latest alien date lasted a whooping thirty-six minutes,” Mariner smirked. “Ensign Baumer guessed the closest with thirty-two so she wins the grand prize: a full set of Tholian silk bunk sheets. Also, videos of the date along with other embarrassing moments involving the senior staff are now available for various accepted mediums of exchange. Preferably ones of the alcoholic variety!”
“Alright, that’s enough of that,” Boimler sighed as Mariner jumped off the work table. “A few more minor things. A warning from Engineering to cease playing zero-g squash with Lieutenant Levy by using him as the ball. I’ll admit the guy is an obnoxious self-opinionated dolt, but please stop smashing him against the surfaces of the squash court. Engineering is concerned about the amount of damage Levy’s face is doing to the walls.”
“Also, Lieutenant Yuna respectfully requests people stop dropping by Cetacean Ops to see Specialist Paikea’s new baby,” Boimler went on. “Yes, we all know dolphins are cute and baby dolphins are just downright adorable, but please give the kid and parents some privacy. It’s hard enough for Paikea to be a working mother without feeling like she’s on display all the time. Cetacean Ops is a place to get serious work done, you know. Come to think of it, it’s the only place on the ship where serious work gets done!”
“Finally, this last item is for Rutherford,” Boimler looked at his friend. “What is the deal with the line of replicators sitting on the side of the Repair Bay? None of them are logged as needing scheduled maintenance or repairs.”
“Oh, they’re part of my latest project,” Rutherford smiled. “I’m attempting to minimize the signal degradation of high-level data compression for storing replicator information patterns. Theoretically, it will increase the replicators’ accuracy and ability to create complex protein molecules, vitamins and carbohydrates which will improve the flavors, textures and nutritional value of replicated foods and make them taste more like real food.”
“Really?” Tendi asked excitedly. “That’s great! Will they even be able to recreate organic, living cells?”
“Na, but they can create various kinds of biomolecules to a certain degree,” Rutherford explained. “Nothing too fancy of course. Just simple things like polysaccharides, lipids, fatty acids…”
“Great. ‘Bout time we got more decent food aboard this ship,” Mariner remarked. “Be nice to eat stuff that tastes like real food instead of cardboard combat rations or something that had been recycled from the bowels of waste extraction.”
“Oh please,” Boimler rolled his eyes. “As if Starfleet technology will ever be reduced to utilizing a disgusting, ludicrous replicator system like that.”
“And it never will thanks to these babies!” Rutherford grinned patting the line of replicators. The replicators suddenly began to blink and shake ominously. “Oops!”
“Oops?” Boimler blinked. “What do you mean ‘oops’…yikes!” He yelped as the row of replicators began to rapidly dispense torrents of small, dry seeds. “Aaahhhhhh! What’s going on?”
“Hmmm, looks like the replicators are malfunctioning,” Tendi observed as the crowd of ensigns quickly moved away.
“No, ya think?” Mariner drawled as the mounds of dry seeds swiftly continued to rise. “Man, what the heck did you do to those replicators, Ruthy? That stuff is pouring out faster than a storage compartment full of tribbles.”
“Shut them down! Shut them down!” Boimler yelled. “Computer, cease all replicator functions immediately!”
“That won’t work,” Rutherford explained. “I disabled all the replicators’ vocal command relays.”
“You what?” Boimler yelped as the increasing mass of seeds swiftly flooded the Repair Bay. “Why would you do a crazy, stupid thing like that?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Rutherford gulped nervously. “Ironically, I did it to prevent making a mistake.”
“Too late for that,” Tendi blinked as the ever-enlarging piles of seeds threatened to engulf them all. “Wow, talk about replicators gone wild.”
“Don’t worry, T. I’ll take care of this,” Marriner whipped out a phaser and aimed for the line of replicators.
“No! Don’t…!” Rutherford warned.
KA-BOOM!
POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!
“AAAHHHHHH!” Everyone yelled.
“Ohhh, what happened?” Boimler groaned as he suddenly found himself buried beneath a mound of puffy, multicolored kernels. The entire Repair Bay was now filled with exploded former seeds including several large piles that nearly reached the ceiling. “Ugh, what is this stuff?” He took a hesitant sniff. “Smells like…popcorn?”
“Not just any popcorn,” Rutherford smiled popping up next to him. “Jumja and cotton candy flavored popcorn!”
“Oooh, neat!” Tendi squealed popping a few pieces into her mouth. “Mmmm, delicious!”
“Popcorn?” Boimler blinked, stunned. “You fiddled with the replicators just to make better, different flavors of popcorn?”
“Among other things,” Rutherford shrugged. “Wait till you try the galbi- and plomeek-flavored tortilla chips!”
“Hmmm, not bad, Ruthy,” Mariner munched on some popcorn. “Say, how about making a batch of scotch and Romulan ale flavors next time?”
“Hey, look at me!” Vendome fell backward and began happily making a popcorn angel.
“Look out! Think fast!” Several ensigns laughed as they started a friendly, all-out popcorn fight. A few others began making popcorn sculptures.
“What are you people doing?” Boimler yelled wadding into the fray while desperately attempting to restore order. “Stop this juvenile behavior at once! We have a meeting to finish…ahhhhhh!”
“Attack!” A blizzard of multicolored popcorn balls quickly filled the air.
SPLAT!
“Arrgghh! I’ve been hit!” Rutherford hammed it up as he fell backwards into the kernels.
WHOOOOSSHHH!
“COWABUNGA!” Palmera yelled gleefully as he sailed by on a makeshift surfboard.
POOF!
“Hey, my popcorn man!” Tendi protested as Palmera spun out of control and straight into a bulkhead.
CRASH!
“Ohhh…” Palmera moaned while sticking halfway out of a popcorn pile.
“Alright! Take this, losers!” Mariner cackled maniacally while tossing popcorn around like a set of pulse phasers. “I am the Popcorn Master! Hahahahaha!”
“Oh, not again,” Boimler groaned as he was mercilessly pelted with stray popcorn balls. “Just once I’d like to get through an entire meeting without it descending into chaos!”
--------------------------------------
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
--------------------------------------
Lower Decks Meeting
“Hello everybody. Thank you for coming,” Boimler said standing in front of a crowd of fellow Starfleet ensigns. “This meeting of Beta Shift’s Lower Decks quartered on Deck 11 will now come to order.”
“I got a better idea,” Mariner called out. “Let’s cancel the meeting and order up some grub!”
“Quiet! This is serious!” Boimler scolded before clearing his throat. “Ahem, as I was saying. First, the reason we’re meeting in the Repair Bay is because of the Warp Field Seminar going on in Conference Room One, some weird subspace anomaly occurring in Conference Room Two and Conference Rooms Three through Five being flooded with Tellarite shaving cream. No one has come forward to claim responsibility for the last one yet and since the conference rooms’ internal visual logs have all ‘mysteriously’ disappeared, Security doesn’t have a clue who all is to blame for the mess. Therefore, Captain Freeman has declared all Lower Deckers will work round the clock to clean the affected conference rooms until every surface is so clean she can eat off them. Which considering the recent impromptu juggling contest in the Mess Hall may very well happen.”
“Awwwwww!” A large groan rose from the crowd.
“Thanks a lot guys!” Someone called out.
“Yeah, next time you do something like that at least tell the rest of us about it so we can join in!” Another person added.
“Next,” Boimler consulted a padd. “The phaser range is currently closed and undergoing repairs. Mainly because some lunatic brought in a dismounted phaser cannon instead of a hand phaser!”
“AWWWWWW!” The assembled ensigns let out an even louder groan.
“Nice going, Mariner!” Ensign sh’Reyan cursed. “You aren’t the only one who likes to shoot things you know!”
“Yeah, save some targets for the rest of us,” Ensign Rose added.
“Eh, what can I say? Ya snooze, ya lose,” Mariner waved. “Besides, I couldn’t resist. That phaser cannon was sweet!”
“We’ll take your word for it,” Boimler sighed.
“Like we have a choice,” Several other ensigns griped.
“Okay, moving on,” Boimler glanced at his padd again. “A notice about sonic shower usage. Please remember to run a quick high-frequency cycle after each use to clean up any remaining dirt, grime, sweat, hair and skin left in the shower. Along with any stray body parts. Also, refrain from modifying the showers to emit microwaves, body oil, liquid nitrogen or anything else besides sonic vibrations. Sonic showers are complex pieces of Starfleet technology dedicated to maintaining personal hygiene, not the target of pranks!”
“Karavitus from Delta shift managed to cover you in cheese sauce again, didn’t she?” Rutherford gave him a look.
“That’s not important,” Boimler grumbled while absently running a hand through his hair. “What’s next…ah yes. The Cerritos’ acting company is producing a version of the ancient Earth play ‘The Music Man’. Anyone interested in trying out should see Lieutenant Commander Stevens for details. Also, Lieutenant Shaxs’ ballet class has been postponed due to the incident with the plasma coolant, portable tractor beam and Kavarian tiger-bats. Fortunately, not too many bulkheads were destroyed and thanks to Chief Lundy the ballet studio’s ceiling wasn’t damaged too badly and only half the floor ending up melting. Let’s give a round of applause and wish him and Shaxs a speedy pair of recoveries from Sickbay!”
“Yay!” Tendi and several others clapped politely.
“Speaking of which, the captain wants all personnel to quit holding anti-grav races in the corridors,” Boimler said. “Those things have put more people in Sickbay than the Ankaran flu!”
“Oops!” Tendi blushed. “Sorry!”
“Eh, no biggie. We’ll just move the races somewhere else,” Mariner waved. “Like the shuttlebays or the Jefferies tubes…”
“Oh geeze,” Boimler groaned. “Next item, a celebration of the Bajoran Gratitude Festival is being held next week. The Mess Hall will be serving authentic hasperat, veklava and tuwaly pie. Also, today is Ensign Fletcher’s birthday. Please sign his birthday card before you leave. I’m sure he will enjoy it and the associated Tarvokian pound cake as soon as he is let out of the Brig.”
“Which brings up another point,” Boimler fixed his fellow ensigns with a stern look. “We’re Starfleet officers. Trained to explore and discover new life and new civilizations. This does not include making prank calls over subspace! Especially to hostile alien species! Fletcher is darn lucky Captain Freeman was able to convince the Talarians his crack that they redecorate their hammocks wasn’t a joke! She insisted it was a simple cross-cultural observation.”
“Huh, that explains the sudden jump in glitter and sequin shipments to Talar,” Rutherford remarked.
“Remember people, we are Starfleet,” Boimler puffed up with pride. “Brave explorers, cultural ambassadors and the living embodiment of the Federation’s morals, ideals and high ethical standards. Now, I’ll yield the floor to Ensign Mariner who has her own announcements. Mariner.”
“Thanks, Boims,” Mariner grinned jumping onto the work table. “Yo, what’s up peoples! Here are the results of the latest ship’s betting pools! Captain Freeman lost her temper in front of the crew eighteen times this week. Ensign Vendome wins the pot of a bottle of Andorian ale and three hours of holodeck time.”
“Yes!” Vendome pumped his fist. “Thorley Amusement Center, here I come!”
“Wait, did you play a role in having the captain lose her temper?” sh’Reyan asked.
“Maybe,” Mariner whistled. “In the challenge department, Ensigns Bevine, Thompson and Vardaman successfully snuck an entire Argo-class buggy into Commander Ransom’s office. They’ll split the prize of a case of Regalian liquid crystals once their month of scrubbing exhaust manifolds is up.”
“There was no winner in the 3-D chess tournament mainly because everyone decided to participate in the poker tournament instead,” Mariner went on. “Tendi had the highest player ranking before the captain shut us down and confiscated most of the pot, so she wins the remaining pot by default.”
“Yay!” Tendi grinned collecting her winnings. “Come to mama!”
“Finally, Ransom’s latest alien date lasted a whooping thirty-six minutes,” Mariner smirked. “Ensign Baumer guessed the closest with thirty-two so she wins the grand prize: a full set of Tholian silk bunk sheets. Also, videos of the date along with other embarrassing moments involving the senior staff are now available for various accepted mediums of exchange. Preferably ones of the alcoholic variety!”
“Alright, that’s enough of that,” Boimler sighed as Mariner jumped off the work table. “A few more minor things. A warning from Engineering to cease playing zero-g squash with Lieutenant Levy by using him as the ball. I’ll admit the guy is an obnoxious self-opinionated dolt, but please stop smashing him against the surfaces of the squash court. Engineering is concerned about the amount of damage Levy’s face is doing to the walls.”
“Also, Lieutenant Yuna respectfully requests people stop dropping by Cetacean Ops to see Specialist Paikea’s new baby,” Boimler went on. “Yes, we all know dolphins are cute and baby dolphins are just downright adorable, but please give the kid and parents some privacy. It’s hard enough for Paikea to be a working mother without feeling like she’s on display all the time. Cetacean Ops is a place to get serious work done, you know. Come to think of it, it’s the only place on the ship where serious work gets done!”
“Finally, this last item is for Rutherford,” Boimler looked at his friend. “What is the deal with the line of replicators sitting on the side of the Repair Bay? None of them are logged as needing scheduled maintenance or repairs.”
“Oh, they’re part of my latest project,” Rutherford smiled. “I’m attempting to minimize the signal degradation of high-level data compression for storing replicator information patterns. Theoretically, it will increase the replicators’ accuracy and ability to create complex protein molecules, vitamins and carbohydrates which will improve the flavors, textures and nutritional value of replicated foods and make them taste more like real food.”
“Really?” Tendi asked excitedly. “That’s great! Will they even be able to recreate organic, living cells?”
“Na, but they can create various kinds of biomolecules to a certain degree,” Rutherford explained. “Nothing too fancy of course. Just simple things like polysaccharides, lipids, fatty acids…”
“Great. ‘Bout time we got more decent food aboard this ship,” Mariner remarked. “Be nice to eat stuff that tastes like real food instead of cardboard combat rations or something that had been recycled from the bowels of waste extraction.”
“Oh please,” Boimler rolled his eyes. “As if Starfleet technology will ever be reduced to utilizing a disgusting, ludicrous replicator system like that.”
“And it never will thanks to these babies!” Rutherford grinned patting the line of replicators. The replicators suddenly began to blink and shake ominously. “Oops!”
“Oops?” Boimler blinked. “What do you mean ‘oops’…yikes!” He yelped as the row of replicators began to rapidly dispense torrents of small, dry seeds. “Aaahhhhhh! What’s going on?”
“Hmmm, looks like the replicators are malfunctioning,” Tendi observed as the crowd of ensigns quickly moved away.
“No, ya think?” Mariner drawled as the mounds of dry seeds swiftly continued to rise. “Man, what the heck did you do to those replicators, Ruthy? That stuff is pouring out faster than a storage compartment full of tribbles.”
“Shut them down! Shut them down!” Boimler yelled. “Computer, cease all replicator functions immediately!”
“That won’t work,” Rutherford explained. “I disabled all the replicators’ vocal command relays.”
“You what?” Boimler yelped as the increasing mass of seeds swiftly flooded the Repair Bay. “Why would you do a crazy, stupid thing like that?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Rutherford gulped nervously. “Ironically, I did it to prevent making a mistake.”
“Too late for that,” Tendi blinked as the ever-enlarging piles of seeds threatened to engulf them all. “Wow, talk about replicators gone wild.”
“Don’t worry, T. I’ll take care of this,” Marriner whipped out a phaser and aimed for the line of replicators.
“No! Don’t…!” Rutherford warned.
KA-BOOM!
POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!POP!
“AAAHHHHHH!” Everyone yelled.
“Ohhh, what happened?” Boimler groaned as he suddenly found himself buried beneath a mound of puffy, multicolored kernels. The entire Repair Bay was now filled with exploded former seeds including several large piles that nearly reached the ceiling. “Ugh, what is this stuff?” He took a hesitant sniff. “Smells like…popcorn?”
“Not just any popcorn,” Rutherford smiled popping up next to him. “Jumja and cotton candy flavored popcorn!”
“Oooh, neat!” Tendi squealed popping a few pieces into her mouth. “Mmmm, delicious!”
“Popcorn?” Boimler blinked, stunned. “You fiddled with the replicators just to make better, different flavors of popcorn?”
“Among other things,” Rutherford shrugged. “Wait till you try the galbi- and plomeek-flavored tortilla chips!”
“Hmmm, not bad, Ruthy,” Mariner munched on some popcorn. “Say, how about making a batch of scotch and Romulan ale flavors next time?”
“Hey, look at me!” Vendome fell backward and began happily making a popcorn angel.
“Look out! Think fast!” Several ensigns laughed as they started a friendly, all-out popcorn fight. A few others began making popcorn sculptures.
“What are you people doing?” Boimler yelled wadding into the fray while desperately attempting to restore order. “Stop this juvenile behavior at once! We have a meeting to finish…ahhhhhh!”
“Attack!” A blizzard of multicolored popcorn balls quickly filled the air.
SPLAT!
“Arrgghh! I’ve been hit!” Rutherford hammed it up as he fell backwards into the kernels.
WHOOOOSSHHH!
“COWABUNGA!” Palmera yelled gleefully as he sailed by on a makeshift surfboard.
POOF!
“Hey, my popcorn man!” Tendi protested as Palmera spun out of control and straight into a bulkhead.
CRASH!
“Ohhh…” Palmera moaned while sticking halfway out of a popcorn pile.
“Alright! Take this, losers!” Mariner cackled maniacally while tossing popcorn around like a set of pulse phasers. “I am the Popcorn Master! Hahahahaha!”
“Oh, not again,” Boimler groaned as he was mercilessly pelted with stray popcorn balls. “Just once I’d like to get through an entire meeting without it descending into chaos!”
--------------------------------------
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
