Originally posted on fanfiction.net - Link.
--------------------------------------
Infinite Insanity in Infinite Discombobulations
“Oh joy. Yet another boring ol’ layover at boring ol’ Douglas Station,” Mariner drawled while sauntering down a corridor. “Man, I’ve been to Vulcan repair depots that were more happening that this place. Why can’t the Cerritos ever make a pit stop at a more exciting place like Starbase 11 or Outpost 23?”
“Well, the Cerritos does unofficially consider Douglas Station to be her home port,” Boimler said walking next to her. “Which explains why we seem to make call here about every other week. Though it doesn’t explain your abrupt decision this time to tag along with me.”
“I’m chaperoning,” Mariner smirked tossing an arm around Boimler’s shoulders. “Can’t have you attending some awesomely wild party without somebody watching your back. Especially if that somebody is me!”
“It’s not a wild party,” Boimler said brushing off Mariner’s arm. “It’s a local one-year reunion for the Academy class of ‘79.”
“Eh, same difference,” Mariner shrugged. “Though I gotta say, the timing of it all seems really off. The Academy’s typical graduation day was months ago. So much for your self-promoted rep for exact scheduling and precise organization…”
“I’m not the one who arranged everything,” Boimler defended. “It would be extremely difficult for all the members of an entire Academy class to get together on the exact graduation anniversary date. There was a primary class reunion earlier this year, but I wasn’t able to attend. This is a secondary class gathering for all class members who happen to be posted or stationed nearby.”
“Whatever,” Mariner waved. “It can be the five hundred- and ninety-fourth-day anniversary of your class’s pet mascot for all I care as long as there’s plenty of great food and drinks!”
“Oh no!” Boimler groaned. “Don’t even think about it!”
“How can’t I think about it?” Mariner replied. “Your class’s little shindig is being held in one of Douglas Station’s better bars. Not that that’s saying much…”
“It’s not a bar. It’s a lounge,” Boimler pointed out.
“It’s a bar,” Mariner insisted giving him a look. “A lounge is just a bar with more comfortable furniture and higher quality drinks.”
“Fine, it’s a bar. But that’s not important,” Boimler hissed. “What’s important is that you don’t act out and embarrass me by telling any wild, outrageous stories or end up getting drunk!”
“How about wild, outrageous drinking stories?” Mariner asked. “I know a whole slew of those. Got some pretty juicy ones too. Wohoo!”
“No!” Boimler shouted. “No juice, no stories and no drinking!”
“Aw, c’mon, Boims,” Mariner pleaded. “You can’t expect me to stay dry while hanging out in a bar. That’s like asking a Tellarite not to speak while at a Debating contest and convention.”
“Fine, you can drink,” Boimler gave in. “But not in excess. I say that like I have any control over your conduct whatsoever…”
“Relax, Boims. I’ll be on my best behavior,” Mariner promised with a grin. “No acting out or crazy stunts from Beckett Mariner this time.”
“That’ll be a first,” Boimler grumbled.
The two ensigns soon entered a large lounge filled with people sitting, standing and happily chatting away. “Okay, good. We’re fashionably not quite on time,” Boimler nodded nervously. “Time to reconnect with my peers.”
“Don’t worry, Boims. You got this,” Mariner encouraged. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know,” Boimler stage whispered. “Just go around and mingle with people. In moderation!”
“No pro-blem-o,” Mariner nodded doing so. “So, what’s new with you?”
“I didn’t mean with me,” Boimler groaned. “Go find some poor victim…I mean, citizen to chat, connect and latch onto. Though that may be a bit difficult since technically you are a stranger here…”
“Mariner?” A sable-haired human ensign around Boimler’s age approached the pair. “Is that you?”
“Hey, Qasim,” Mariner waved. “How ya doing, buddy?”
“I’m great,” The man smiled back. “Nice you see you again.”
“Huh?” Boimler blinked in surprise. “Wait, you know each other?”
“Well, duh,” Mariner confirmed. “Qasim here hitched a ride aboard the Cerritos to his first posting about a week before you were assigned to the ship.”
“It was an informative week,” Ensign Qasim said. “I learned more from Mariner about real starship life than I did in four years at the Academy. Especially during our off-hours at the…”
“Whoa, sorry. Gotta cut you off there, Qas,” Mariner held up a hand. “My friend here said I’m not allowed to talk about stuff like that. It’s a wild drinking story after all.”
“Huh?” Boimler did a take. “Wait, what are you…?”
“Oh, I see. Too bad,” Qasim sighed turning to Boimler. “Sorry if I offended you. And you are…?”
“It’s me! Brad Boimler!” Boimler gestured at himself. Qasim stared at him blankly. “We were in the same class at the Academy. We took Quantum Chemistry together. We were lab partners!”
“Oh yes. Now I remember,” Qasim nodded politely before turning back to Mariner. “So, Mariner. What have you been you up to lately?”
“Eh, not much,” Mariner shrugged. “A little exploring, a little blackmail collecting, a little rule breaking…”
“In other words, nothing’s really changed,” Qasim chuckled. “Just like the old days.”
“What old days?” Boimler asked curiously. “Please tell me…!”
“Beckett!” A uniformed female Andorian walked up to them with a smile. “I knew that was you!”
“Hey, Verilla,” Mariner greeted. “Told ya toughing things out until you made ensign would be worth the wait.”
“That’s Lieutenant, j.g. to you,” Verilla smiled indicating her collar. “I received a promotion just last month.”
“What? Oh no!” Mariner mocked cried shaking her head. “Verilla, you poor fool. What have you done?”
“Huh?” Boimler blinked once again. “You know her too?”
“Sure,” Mariner grinned. “Verilla did her sophomore field study year when I served aboard the Quito. I was one of her mentors.”
“More like my only mentor,” Verilla grinned fondly. “You taught me everything I really needed to know about Starfleet life. Like what to do with some mako roots, a cytoplasmic separator and a bottle of…”
“Oops! Hold it right there, Verilla,” Mariner warned. “Can’t let you spill the beans about that. It’s another wild drinking story. Well, more like a whole string of them…”
“What?” Boimler gasped.
“Awww, why not?” Verilla pouted. “They’re so interesting.”
“They’re also a verboden topic at this particular gathering,” Mariner explained. “Boimler declared it so.”
“Who’s Boimler?” Verilla asked curiously.
“I’m Boimler!” Boimler waved speaking up again. “We were in the same Xenobiology study group together. Don’t you remember me?”
“Not really, no,” Verilla shrugged. “Sorry.”
“What?” Boimler gasped, stunned. “How can that be?”
“Don’t take it personally, Boims,” Mariner said patting Boimler on the back. “Lots of folks don’t make memorable impressions on their peers. It’s okay to be just another forgotten face in a crowd…”
“Aha! Look! It’s Beckett Mariner!” A booming Ariolo ensign strode up to the group. “I’d recognize that distinctive, character-defining voice anywhere!”
“Right back at ya, Loforreo,” Mariner grinned. “Does your right foreleg still itch at the sight of pickled avocados?”
“Are you kidding?” Loforreo chortled. “All my legs go numb just at the thought of them!”
“Why?” Boimler asked. “And how did you manage to meet Mariner while attending the Academy?”
“Oh, we didn’t meet at the Academy,” Mariner explained. “Loforreo and I go way back to when he was just a colt.”
“Our fathers happened to be good friends back in the day,” Loforreo added. “So Mariner and I naturally became the same. In fact, Mariner was the one who inspired me to enter Starfleet in the first place.”
“What?!” Boimler yelped in shock.
“Sheesh, don’t look so surprised, Boims. It’s not that hard to believe,” Mariner rolled her eyes. “As for Lofy’s little avocado phobia, that happened during one crazy jaunt down in Tijuana…aw, forget it. That’s yet another wild drunken story I’m not allowed to tell.”
“Tell it,” Boimler begged. “Tell me, please!”
“Nope, not gonna happen,” Mariner declared making a zipping motion. “I gave my word.”
“And we all know Beckett Mariner’s word is her bond,” A balding, gray-haired man commented joining in. “One that even Klingon painstiks are unable to break.”
“Captain Friant,” The other younger officers instinctively stood at attention. “Sir.”
“Yo, how ya doing, Squeaky?” Mariner smiling giving a casual wave. “Long time, no see.”
“Squeaky?” Boimler twitched staring at Mariner in shock. “Did you just call one of the Federation’s most noted experts in Ancient Philosophies and Interspecies Ethics ‘Squeaky’?”
“Yep, sure did,” Mariner grinned cheekily. “It’s okay. He likes it.”
“Only when it comes from you,” Captain Friant chuckled good-naturedly. “I see you haven’t changed a bit.”
“Eh, why change with what works?” Mariner posed philosophically.
“Since when do you do any work?” Boimler gaped, stunned. “Seriously, when?”
“What brings you here, Professor?” Qasim asked addressing Friant. “I mean, Captain?”
“Professor is fine,” Friant assured. “My ship the Laozi is undergoing maintenance at the moment. When I heard about this local reunion for the class of ’79 I thought I’d stop by and check in on my old students.”
“Really? Wow, thank you, sir,” Verilla and Loforreo nodded. “It’s an honor.”
“Yeah, grab a drink, Squeaky,” Mariner smiled. “Leave your rank at the door and let your hair down for a bit. At least what remains of your hair…”
“A lesson I learned from you the hard way,” Friant noted.
“Excuse me, sir, but exactly how do you know Mariner?” Boimler managed to speak up. “And why do you keep allowing her to call you ‘Squeaky’?”
“Oh, that’s quite an interesting story,” Friant smiled fondly. “You see, it all started during a diplomatic mission to the Jarada…”
“Wait a second there, Squeaky,” Mariner cut in. “You can’t tell Boims here about that. It’s a wild drinking story that he definitely does not want to hear.”
“I do want to hear it,” Boimler insisted. “Tell me! Tell me!”
“But it’s a good story,” Friant pointed out.
“Sorry, Squeaky. No breaking the rules of reunion decorum and etiquette today,” Mariner declared. “I gave my word after all. Maybe next time…”
“But…but…” Boimler stuttered.
“Hey, look. There’s our class salutatorian Ensign H’pozzik,” Verilla pointed. “Think you can get her to dance atop a lounge table and perform the same stunt the two of you did on Sarona VIII, Beckett?”
“Only one way to find out,” Mariner grinned sauntering over to the bar. “Hey, Pozz! What’s up?”
The rest of Mariner’s impromptu entourage eagerly followed after her leaving a completely stunned and shocked Boimler behind. “Okay, this is has to be a dream,” Boimler desperately fumbled for an explanation. “Or a telepathic illusion of some kind. Or I accidentally stumbled into a twisted alternate reality. Yeah, that’s it. Everything makes sense now. There’s no way these kinds of bizarre and highly improbably coincidences could ever happen in the real universe…”
“Hi, Mariner! Beckett, you’re here! Hey, look everyone! It’s Mariner!” More shouts of surprise and delight rose from the growing crowd of class reunion attendees.
“Oh geeze, this really is happening!” Boimler groaned holding a hand to his head. “Maybe I should just leave and return to the Cerritos. With Mariner gone there’s bound to be far less madness and insanity going on aboard the ship than in this place…”
--------------------------------------
Infinite Insanity in Infinite Discombobulations
“Oh joy. Yet another boring ol’ layover at boring ol’ Douglas Station,” Mariner drawled while sauntering down a corridor. “Man, I’ve been to Vulcan repair depots that were more happening that this place. Why can’t the Cerritos ever make a pit stop at a more exciting place like Starbase 11 or Outpost 23?”
“Well, the Cerritos does unofficially consider Douglas Station to be her home port,” Boimler said walking next to her. “Which explains why we seem to make call here about every other week. Though it doesn’t explain your abrupt decision this time to tag along with me.”
“I’m chaperoning,” Mariner smirked tossing an arm around Boimler’s shoulders. “Can’t have you attending some awesomely wild party without somebody watching your back. Especially if that somebody is me!”
“It’s not a wild party,” Boimler said brushing off Mariner’s arm. “It’s a local one-year reunion for the Academy class of ‘79.”
“Eh, same difference,” Mariner shrugged. “Though I gotta say, the timing of it all seems really off. The Academy’s typical graduation day was months ago. So much for your self-promoted rep for exact scheduling and precise organization…”
“I’m not the one who arranged everything,” Boimler defended. “It would be extremely difficult for all the members of an entire Academy class to get together on the exact graduation anniversary date. There was a primary class reunion earlier this year, but I wasn’t able to attend. This is a secondary class gathering for all class members who happen to be posted or stationed nearby.”
“Whatever,” Mariner waved. “It can be the five hundred- and ninety-fourth-day anniversary of your class’s pet mascot for all I care as long as there’s plenty of great food and drinks!”
“Oh no!” Boimler groaned. “Don’t even think about it!”
“How can’t I think about it?” Mariner replied. “Your class’s little shindig is being held in one of Douglas Station’s better bars. Not that that’s saying much…”
“It’s not a bar. It’s a lounge,” Boimler pointed out.
“It’s a bar,” Mariner insisted giving him a look. “A lounge is just a bar with more comfortable furniture and higher quality drinks.”
“Fine, it’s a bar. But that’s not important,” Boimler hissed. “What’s important is that you don’t act out and embarrass me by telling any wild, outrageous stories or end up getting drunk!”
“How about wild, outrageous drinking stories?” Mariner asked. “I know a whole slew of those. Got some pretty juicy ones too. Wohoo!”
“No!” Boimler shouted. “No juice, no stories and no drinking!”
“Aw, c’mon, Boims,” Mariner pleaded. “You can’t expect me to stay dry while hanging out in a bar. That’s like asking a Tellarite not to speak while at a Debating contest and convention.”
“Fine, you can drink,” Boimler gave in. “But not in excess. I say that like I have any control over your conduct whatsoever…”
“Relax, Boims. I’ll be on my best behavior,” Mariner promised with a grin. “No acting out or crazy stunts from Beckett Mariner this time.”
“That’ll be a first,” Boimler grumbled.
The two ensigns soon entered a large lounge filled with people sitting, standing and happily chatting away. “Okay, good. We’re fashionably not quite on time,” Boimler nodded nervously. “Time to reconnect with my peers.”
“Don’t worry, Boims. You got this,” Mariner encouraged. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know,” Boimler stage whispered. “Just go around and mingle with people. In moderation!”
“No pro-blem-o,” Mariner nodded doing so. “So, what’s new with you?”
“I didn’t mean with me,” Boimler groaned. “Go find some poor victim…I mean, citizen to chat, connect and latch onto. Though that may be a bit difficult since technically you are a stranger here…”
“Mariner?” A sable-haired human ensign around Boimler’s age approached the pair. “Is that you?”
“Hey, Qasim,” Mariner waved. “How ya doing, buddy?”
“I’m great,” The man smiled back. “Nice you see you again.”
“Huh?” Boimler blinked in surprise. “Wait, you know each other?”
“Well, duh,” Mariner confirmed. “Qasim here hitched a ride aboard the Cerritos to his first posting about a week before you were assigned to the ship.”
“It was an informative week,” Ensign Qasim said. “I learned more from Mariner about real starship life than I did in four years at the Academy. Especially during our off-hours at the…”
“Whoa, sorry. Gotta cut you off there, Qas,” Mariner held up a hand. “My friend here said I’m not allowed to talk about stuff like that. It’s a wild drinking story after all.”
“Huh?” Boimler did a take. “Wait, what are you…?”
“Oh, I see. Too bad,” Qasim sighed turning to Boimler. “Sorry if I offended you. And you are…?”
“It’s me! Brad Boimler!” Boimler gestured at himself. Qasim stared at him blankly. “We were in the same class at the Academy. We took Quantum Chemistry together. We were lab partners!”
“Oh yes. Now I remember,” Qasim nodded politely before turning back to Mariner. “So, Mariner. What have you been you up to lately?”
“Eh, not much,” Mariner shrugged. “A little exploring, a little blackmail collecting, a little rule breaking…”
“In other words, nothing’s really changed,” Qasim chuckled. “Just like the old days.”
“What old days?” Boimler asked curiously. “Please tell me…!”
“Beckett!” A uniformed female Andorian walked up to them with a smile. “I knew that was you!”
“Hey, Verilla,” Mariner greeted. “Told ya toughing things out until you made ensign would be worth the wait.”
“That’s Lieutenant, j.g. to you,” Verilla smiled indicating her collar. “I received a promotion just last month.”
“What? Oh no!” Mariner mocked cried shaking her head. “Verilla, you poor fool. What have you done?”
“Huh?” Boimler blinked once again. “You know her too?”
“Sure,” Mariner grinned. “Verilla did her sophomore field study year when I served aboard the Quito. I was one of her mentors.”
“More like my only mentor,” Verilla grinned fondly. “You taught me everything I really needed to know about Starfleet life. Like what to do with some mako roots, a cytoplasmic separator and a bottle of…”
“Oops! Hold it right there, Verilla,” Mariner warned. “Can’t let you spill the beans about that. It’s another wild drinking story. Well, more like a whole string of them…”
“What?” Boimler gasped.
“Awww, why not?” Verilla pouted. “They’re so interesting.”
“They’re also a verboden topic at this particular gathering,” Mariner explained. “Boimler declared it so.”
“Who’s Boimler?” Verilla asked curiously.
“I’m Boimler!” Boimler waved speaking up again. “We were in the same Xenobiology study group together. Don’t you remember me?”
“Not really, no,” Verilla shrugged. “Sorry.”
“What?” Boimler gasped, stunned. “How can that be?”
“Don’t take it personally, Boims,” Mariner said patting Boimler on the back. “Lots of folks don’t make memorable impressions on their peers. It’s okay to be just another forgotten face in a crowd…”
“Aha! Look! It’s Beckett Mariner!” A booming Ariolo ensign strode up to the group. “I’d recognize that distinctive, character-defining voice anywhere!”
“Right back at ya, Loforreo,” Mariner grinned. “Does your right foreleg still itch at the sight of pickled avocados?”
“Are you kidding?” Loforreo chortled. “All my legs go numb just at the thought of them!”
“Why?” Boimler asked. “And how did you manage to meet Mariner while attending the Academy?”
“Oh, we didn’t meet at the Academy,” Mariner explained. “Loforreo and I go way back to when he was just a colt.”
“Our fathers happened to be good friends back in the day,” Loforreo added. “So Mariner and I naturally became the same. In fact, Mariner was the one who inspired me to enter Starfleet in the first place.”
“What?!” Boimler yelped in shock.
“Sheesh, don’t look so surprised, Boims. It’s not that hard to believe,” Mariner rolled her eyes. “As for Lofy’s little avocado phobia, that happened during one crazy jaunt down in Tijuana…aw, forget it. That’s yet another wild drunken story I’m not allowed to tell.”
“Tell it,” Boimler begged. “Tell me, please!”
“Nope, not gonna happen,” Mariner declared making a zipping motion. “I gave my word.”
“And we all know Beckett Mariner’s word is her bond,” A balding, gray-haired man commented joining in. “One that even Klingon painstiks are unable to break.”
“Captain Friant,” The other younger officers instinctively stood at attention. “Sir.”
“Yo, how ya doing, Squeaky?” Mariner smiling giving a casual wave. “Long time, no see.”
“Squeaky?” Boimler twitched staring at Mariner in shock. “Did you just call one of the Federation’s most noted experts in Ancient Philosophies and Interspecies Ethics ‘Squeaky’?”
“Yep, sure did,” Mariner grinned cheekily. “It’s okay. He likes it.”
“Only when it comes from you,” Captain Friant chuckled good-naturedly. “I see you haven’t changed a bit.”
“Eh, why change with what works?” Mariner posed philosophically.
“Since when do you do any work?” Boimler gaped, stunned. “Seriously, when?”
“What brings you here, Professor?” Qasim asked addressing Friant. “I mean, Captain?”
“Professor is fine,” Friant assured. “My ship the Laozi is undergoing maintenance at the moment. When I heard about this local reunion for the class of ’79 I thought I’d stop by and check in on my old students.”
“Really? Wow, thank you, sir,” Verilla and Loforreo nodded. “It’s an honor.”
“Yeah, grab a drink, Squeaky,” Mariner smiled. “Leave your rank at the door and let your hair down for a bit. At least what remains of your hair…”
“A lesson I learned from you the hard way,” Friant noted.
“Excuse me, sir, but exactly how do you know Mariner?” Boimler managed to speak up. “And why do you keep allowing her to call you ‘Squeaky’?”
“Oh, that’s quite an interesting story,” Friant smiled fondly. “You see, it all started during a diplomatic mission to the Jarada…”
“Wait a second there, Squeaky,” Mariner cut in. “You can’t tell Boims here about that. It’s a wild drinking story that he definitely does not want to hear.”
“I do want to hear it,” Boimler insisted. “Tell me! Tell me!”
“But it’s a good story,” Friant pointed out.
“Sorry, Squeaky. No breaking the rules of reunion decorum and etiquette today,” Mariner declared. “I gave my word after all. Maybe next time…”
“But…but…” Boimler stuttered.
“Hey, look. There’s our class salutatorian Ensign H’pozzik,” Verilla pointed. “Think you can get her to dance atop a lounge table and perform the same stunt the two of you did on Sarona VIII, Beckett?”
“Only one way to find out,” Mariner grinned sauntering over to the bar. “Hey, Pozz! What’s up?”
The rest of Mariner’s impromptu entourage eagerly followed after her leaving a completely stunned and shocked Boimler behind. “Okay, this is has to be a dream,” Boimler desperately fumbled for an explanation. “Or a telepathic illusion of some kind. Or I accidentally stumbled into a twisted alternate reality. Yeah, that’s it. Everything makes sense now. There’s no way these kinds of bizarre and highly improbably coincidences could ever happen in the real universe…”
“Hi, Mariner! Beckett, you’re here! Hey, look everyone! It’s Mariner!” More shouts of surprise and delight rose from the growing crowd of class reunion attendees.
“Oh geeze, this really is happening!” Boimler groaned holding a hand to his head. “Maybe I should just leave and return to the Cerritos. With Mariner gone there’s bound to be far less madness and insanity going on aboard the ship than in this place…”
