Originally posted on fanfiction.net - Link.
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For the Record
“Nooo, this is the worst!” Mariner moaned despairingly. “Argh, I can’t take it anymore! Somebody kill me! Please, kill me now!”
“Aw, come on, Mariner,” Tendi said cheerfully. “This isn’t that bad.”
“Yeah, it’s actually pretty interesting,” Rutherford agreed working next to her. The three ensigns were seated around a table inside a cramped records processing room. “After all, how often do we get to sort, organize, catalog and identify every form, file, log and report onboard the Cerritos?”
“Obviously once too many,” Mariner groaned slumping in her chair. “And by that I mean even having to do so once is way more than enough.” She moaned and flopped her head down between two towering stacks of padds. “Ugh, this is ridiculous! Why do we even have to do this dumb duty in the first place?”
“Because that weird cascade virus that recently infected the Cerritos nearly wiped out half the ship’s memory cores,” Rutherford reminded. “So now we have to go through all the files and reorganize and refile them manually.”
“Along with dealing with every file request, form requisition and maintaining various ship’s recordings until the main computer is rebuilt, reprogrammed and declared virus-free,” Tendi added. “Until then it’s up to us to do things the old-fashioned way. At least none of the files themselves were damaged or erased. Just the programs used to automatically sort, catalog, archive and retrieve them.”
“If only the whole sorry load of files had been deleted,” Mariner sighed. “Then we wouldn’t be stuck having to go through them. Grrr, figures Boims found a way to weasel out of this assignment.”
“Boimler isn’t avoiding anything,” Rutherford said. “He’s in Sickbay recovering from that nasty power shock one of the infected computer cores gave him.”
“Yeah, his eyes were spinning and his hair was sticking out even more than usual,” Tendi commented worriedly. “I hope he’s okay.”
“He has to be,” Mariner grumbled. “Since he’s not the one stuck with having to sort through all these stupid files. Ugh, why couldn’t I have been the one to get shocked?”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure Boimler will be back on his feet in no time,” Rutherford assured his friends. “Now, let’s organize and catalogue these reports!”
“Yay. Whoopee,” Mariner drawled while listlessly tapping one of the padds. “Nothing like sorting through endless amounts of bureaucratic paperwork to make one glad to serve in Starfleet. Why do we even need stacks of padds in the first place? None of the files or reports we’re dealing with are on hardcopy. We can literally retrieve any file or form we want with the flick of a finger from a single padd!”
“Because these are backup data storage padds with limited individual internal memory capacity,” Rutherford explained. “Reloading their protected contents back into the main computer core is all part of the job.”
“Plus, it helps with the whole organizational process,” Tendi said picking up a padd. “Ah, another batch of encephalographic and correlated neurocortical monitor analysis reports. Now, where should I file them?”
“How about under ‘W’ for ‘Who the Heck Cares?’,” Mariner quipped. “Or ‘B’ for ‘Boring Random Junk No One Will Ever Read Again’.”
“No, that doesn’t seem right,” Tendi noted. “They obviously go with the other Medical files. Or maybe the Engineering files since they involve the performance and use of technical equipment.”
“Good idea,” Rutherford commented. “When in doubt, go with Engineering. Everything is considered important there.” He smiled and studied his own padd. “Hey, Lieutenant Commander Billups just filed a memo on how to improve warp coil efficiency by point one eight percent. All he needs now is the necessary equipment. That’s so cool!”
“Yay, thrilling,” Mariner’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I can hardly contain myself.”
“I know, right?” Rutherford smiled excitedly. “Now I just need to submit a simple Materials and Power requisition form in order to for Billups to try to make his dreams come true!”
“If only I had a way to make my dreams come true,” Mariner groaned. “Like lying on a warm Risian beach and chugging a bottle of Maraltian Seev-ale while watching the local volleyball championship team prance around wearing nothing but their…” A beep from her padd abruptly cut Mariner off. “Aw, great. Another data retrieval request for a specific file detailing proper Data Archival and Retrieval Protocol. Why the heck do I have to do it? Why can’t the requester just look for the stupid file themselves?”
“Because the file search and retrieval system was one of the programs that got wiped out,” Tendi reminded. “Hmmm, maybe these reports should go with the Science files instead. Science covers just about everything after all.”
“There. All done!” Rutherford smiled as he finished filling out his form. “Man, I can’t wait to start working on these new…wait a second. My requisition request is denied? How is that possible? I haven’t even submitted it yet.”
“Ugh, this is impossible,” Mariner groused scanning through files. “Why are there so many protocols on archiving and retrieving data? And how am I supposed to find a single correct file when the dumb requester only gives me a bunch of random keywords?”
“Or maybe these reports should go with the Operations files,” Tendi frowned in uncertainty. “Since it involves the operation of technical science equipment by medical personnel. Oh, maybe I should list them with the Personnel files. That makes sense. Doesn’t it?”
“This is weird. Why can’t I submit my request?” Rutherford frowned working his padd. “Wait, what’s this? I filled out the wrong type of requisition form? Well then which requisition form is the right one?”
“Ugh, finally. I found the stupid protocol file,” Mariner muttered. “My eyes feel like they’re bleeding…what the? The requester didn’t even need to read the bloody protocol file? They just want me to implement the attached list of updates and changes to it? Are you kidding me?”
“Wait, maybe I should file these reports under Analyses instead?” Tendi fretted nervously pouring through various computer databases. “Or list them as their own special report set in the Reports compartment of General Ship’s Department’s Reports?”
“Okay, I think I filled out the right form this time,” Rutherford babbled to himself. “At least I hope I did…what the heck? I need to attach copies of the proposed technical applications, procedures and schematics? Why?”
“Grrr, I hate being on bureaucratic duty!” Mariner ranted stabbing at her padd. “Nothing but paperwork, manifest lists, memos, reports, analyses, more paperwork…what? Now I’m supposed to log all the changes and updates I made to the protocol file in the Updates and Changes Log while following the previous version of the Data Change and Updates Protocol? What kind of twisted Kafkaesque nightmare is this?! Aaauuuggghhh!”
“Subsections! I forgot all about filing under subsections!” Tendi cried frantically. “But which section and subsection should the reports go? And should they be listed chronologically, alphabetically or numerically? There are too many possibilities!”
“Okay, all the correct forms and related documentation have finally been filled out,” Rutherford sighed in relief. “Now I can submit them and…no, not again! Why does it keep saying my request can’t be processed? I submitted it to the wrong requisition department? And I have to submit all requests in triplicate? Why?!”
“Receipts?!” Mariner howled disbelievingly. “Nobody told me I had to issue receipts for every single data retrieval request, log access and file change! And I’m supposed to deal with record complaints too…no, not another protocol request! GAAAHHHHHH!”
“Ahhh, what do I do?” Tendi wailed. “I can’t misfile these reports! Doctor T’Ana is counting on me! The whole ship is counting on me! I have to get this right!”
“No! Why isn’t this working?!” Rutherford wept burying his head in his hands. “I’ve filled out and submitted every possible requisition form to every possible department twice over! Yet they keep saying none of my requests can be processed! Why?! WHY?! All I wanted was to make a simple Materials and Power requisition request. Is that really so much to ask? IS IT?!”
“Hey, guys,” Boimler said entering the records room. “Sorry I’m late. Things were a little backed up in Sickbay. They’re having trouble logging and retrieving medical data for…huh?”
“Records…records…too many records…” Tendi chanted with a haunted look in her eyes. “Too many possible filing systems…must file files via correct filing method…”
“You want forms? I’ll show you forms!” Rutherford cackled maniacally. “I’ll fill out dozens…no hundreds of requisition forms until Billups gets the supplies he needs! And I’ll label them all ‘Urgent’ and with emergency time stamps too! Ha, ha, ha!”
“YAAAHHHHHH, YOU STUPID PROTOCOL FILE!” Mariner screamed violently while smashing a padd against the work table. “DIE! DIE! DIE!”
“Uh,” A stunned Boimler blinked. “What’s going on? Are you guys okay?”
“Do we look okay?” A wild-eyed Mariner glared at him with a hiss. “All this pointless bureaucratic records paperwork is driving us insane!”
“Aw, come on. It can’t be that bad,” Boimler scoffed taking a seat. “Here, let me take a look.”
“No! Don’t do it, Boims! Make a run for it! Save yourself!” Mariner cried. “Or else you’ll be doomed to pour through thousands upon thousands of data entries just to find one unimportant file…”
“Okay. Here we go,” Boimler said glancing at Mariner’s cracked padd. “A request for the most recent diplomatic protocol for dealing with royal foreign dignitaries. Those haven’t been reloaded into the main computer database yet, but they should be with the other diplomatic protocol files in backup archive labeled 23 dash V, subsection Epsilon 71 point J…”
“Huh?” Mariner blinked in surprise.
“Ah, here it is,” Boimler quickly retrieved the correct file. “Hmmm, only a dozen or so minor changes and additions this time. Just need to make the proper modifications, notifications, add a minor addendum and footnote…there. Done.”
“Whaaa…?” Mariner’s jaw was on the floor.
“Oh, here. Let me help you with that,” Boimler offered plucking Tendi’s padd from her nervous hands. “We’ll simply file a copy of these encephalographic and neurocortical monitor reports under the respective subsections of the Medical, Engineering, Operations and Personnel databases. Along with linking each of the individual file’s copies together so that any future changes will be instantly reflected among them all.”
“Huh?” Tendi gaped, stunned.
“As for this Materials and Power request,” Boimler confidently moved on to Rutherford. “You’re trying to submit a single Type XVIII-D requisition form when you should have filled out a Type XVI-T requisition form to the ship’s Quartermaster and a Type XIX-E requisition form to Plasma Relay Room Three.”
“Uh?” Rutherford stared at Boimler in shock.
“All submitted in triplicate with proper attachments, notarizations and follow-up information,” Boimler finished. “See? Nothing to it.”
“Gah?” Mariner, Tendi and Rutherford gawked.
“Ah, well that was easy,” Boimler said as he continued to quickly work through the backlog of data searches and filing requests. “What else do we have here? Manifest updates, maintenance log release authorizations, archiving personal correspondence. Same old, same old…”
“Hey there, ensigns,” Commander Ransom entered the room carrying a handful of padds. “Just stopping by to make sure you all aren’t slacking off and to assign the latest stack of data retrieval requests…”
“NO!” Mariner cried making a blocking motion with her hands. “Go away, evil person! Crawl back to the foul data pit from whence ye came!”
“Excuse me?” Ransom blinked, taken back.
“Don’t worry, guys. I got this,” Boimler waved at his friends. “Go take a break. You look like you could use one.”
“Really?” Tendi gasped in relief. “Oh, thank you, kind sir. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Ahhh! Lemme outta here!” Mariner yelled bolting out of the room. “No more dumb bureaucratic records duty for me! Unless it’s for disposing and destroying such files which I will gladly do with a phaser!”
“Ugh, the long paperwork nightmare is over. Even my implant couldn’t make sense of it,” Rutherford twitched as he and Tendi gratefully followed after Mariner. “I swear, I never want to fill out another requisition form ever, ever again!”
“Sheesh, what’s wrong with them?” Ransom asked glancing at the three ensigns’ fleeing forms.
“I don’t know,” Boimler shrugged. “I just work here.”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
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For the Record
“Nooo, this is the worst!” Mariner moaned despairingly. “Argh, I can’t take it anymore! Somebody kill me! Please, kill me now!”
“Aw, come on, Mariner,” Tendi said cheerfully. “This isn’t that bad.”
“Yeah, it’s actually pretty interesting,” Rutherford agreed working next to her. The three ensigns were seated around a table inside a cramped records processing room. “After all, how often do we get to sort, organize, catalog and identify every form, file, log and report onboard the Cerritos?”
“Obviously once too many,” Mariner groaned slumping in her chair. “And by that I mean even having to do so once is way more than enough.” She moaned and flopped her head down between two towering stacks of padds. “Ugh, this is ridiculous! Why do we even have to do this dumb duty in the first place?”
“Because that weird cascade virus that recently infected the Cerritos nearly wiped out half the ship’s memory cores,” Rutherford reminded. “So now we have to go through all the files and reorganize and refile them manually.”
“Along with dealing with every file request, form requisition and maintaining various ship’s recordings until the main computer is rebuilt, reprogrammed and declared virus-free,” Tendi added. “Until then it’s up to us to do things the old-fashioned way. At least none of the files themselves were damaged or erased. Just the programs used to automatically sort, catalog, archive and retrieve them.”
“If only the whole sorry load of files had been deleted,” Mariner sighed. “Then we wouldn’t be stuck having to go through them. Grrr, figures Boims found a way to weasel out of this assignment.”
“Boimler isn’t avoiding anything,” Rutherford said. “He’s in Sickbay recovering from that nasty power shock one of the infected computer cores gave him.”
“Yeah, his eyes were spinning and his hair was sticking out even more than usual,” Tendi commented worriedly. “I hope he’s okay.”
“He has to be,” Mariner grumbled. “Since he’s not the one stuck with having to sort through all these stupid files. Ugh, why couldn’t I have been the one to get shocked?”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure Boimler will be back on his feet in no time,” Rutherford assured his friends. “Now, let’s organize and catalogue these reports!”
“Yay. Whoopee,” Mariner drawled while listlessly tapping one of the padds. “Nothing like sorting through endless amounts of bureaucratic paperwork to make one glad to serve in Starfleet. Why do we even need stacks of padds in the first place? None of the files or reports we’re dealing with are on hardcopy. We can literally retrieve any file or form we want with the flick of a finger from a single padd!”
“Because these are backup data storage padds with limited individual internal memory capacity,” Rutherford explained. “Reloading their protected contents back into the main computer core is all part of the job.”
“Plus, it helps with the whole organizational process,” Tendi said picking up a padd. “Ah, another batch of encephalographic and correlated neurocortical monitor analysis reports. Now, where should I file them?”
“How about under ‘W’ for ‘Who the Heck Cares?’,” Mariner quipped. “Or ‘B’ for ‘Boring Random Junk No One Will Ever Read Again’.”
“No, that doesn’t seem right,” Tendi noted. “They obviously go with the other Medical files. Or maybe the Engineering files since they involve the performance and use of technical equipment.”
“Good idea,” Rutherford commented. “When in doubt, go with Engineering. Everything is considered important there.” He smiled and studied his own padd. “Hey, Lieutenant Commander Billups just filed a memo on how to improve warp coil efficiency by point one eight percent. All he needs now is the necessary equipment. That’s so cool!”
“Yay, thrilling,” Mariner’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I can hardly contain myself.”
“I know, right?” Rutherford smiled excitedly. “Now I just need to submit a simple Materials and Power requisition form in order to for Billups to try to make his dreams come true!”
“If only I had a way to make my dreams come true,” Mariner groaned. “Like lying on a warm Risian beach and chugging a bottle of Maraltian Seev-ale while watching the local volleyball championship team prance around wearing nothing but their…” A beep from her padd abruptly cut Mariner off. “Aw, great. Another data retrieval request for a specific file detailing proper Data Archival and Retrieval Protocol. Why the heck do I have to do it? Why can’t the requester just look for the stupid file themselves?”
“Because the file search and retrieval system was one of the programs that got wiped out,” Tendi reminded. “Hmmm, maybe these reports should go with the Science files instead. Science covers just about everything after all.”
“There. All done!” Rutherford smiled as he finished filling out his form. “Man, I can’t wait to start working on these new…wait a second. My requisition request is denied? How is that possible? I haven’t even submitted it yet.”
“Ugh, this is impossible,” Mariner groused scanning through files. “Why are there so many protocols on archiving and retrieving data? And how am I supposed to find a single correct file when the dumb requester only gives me a bunch of random keywords?”
“Or maybe these reports should go with the Operations files,” Tendi frowned in uncertainty. “Since it involves the operation of technical science equipment by medical personnel. Oh, maybe I should list them with the Personnel files. That makes sense. Doesn’t it?”
“This is weird. Why can’t I submit my request?” Rutherford frowned working his padd. “Wait, what’s this? I filled out the wrong type of requisition form? Well then which requisition form is the right one?”
“Ugh, finally. I found the stupid protocol file,” Mariner muttered. “My eyes feel like they’re bleeding…what the? The requester didn’t even need to read the bloody protocol file? They just want me to implement the attached list of updates and changes to it? Are you kidding me?”
“Wait, maybe I should file these reports under Analyses instead?” Tendi fretted nervously pouring through various computer databases. “Or list them as their own special report set in the Reports compartment of General Ship’s Department’s Reports?”
“Okay, I think I filled out the right form this time,” Rutherford babbled to himself. “At least I hope I did…what the heck? I need to attach copies of the proposed technical applications, procedures and schematics? Why?”
“Grrr, I hate being on bureaucratic duty!” Mariner ranted stabbing at her padd. “Nothing but paperwork, manifest lists, memos, reports, analyses, more paperwork…what? Now I’m supposed to log all the changes and updates I made to the protocol file in the Updates and Changes Log while following the previous version of the Data Change and Updates Protocol? What kind of twisted Kafkaesque nightmare is this?! Aaauuuggghhh!”
“Subsections! I forgot all about filing under subsections!” Tendi cried frantically. “But which section and subsection should the reports go? And should they be listed chronologically, alphabetically or numerically? There are too many possibilities!”
“Okay, all the correct forms and related documentation have finally been filled out,” Rutherford sighed in relief. “Now I can submit them and…no, not again! Why does it keep saying my request can’t be processed? I submitted it to the wrong requisition department? And I have to submit all requests in triplicate? Why?!”
“Receipts?!” Mariner howled disbelievingly. “Nobody told me I had to issue receipts for every single data retrieval request, log access and file change! And I’m supposed to deal with record complaints too…no, not another protocol request! GAAAHHHHHH!”
“Ahhh, what do I do?” Tendi wailed. “I can’t misfile these reports! Doctor T’Ana is counting on me! The whole ship is counting on me! I have to get this right!”
“No! Why isn’t this working?!” Rutherford wept burying his head in his hands. “I’ve filled out and submitted every possible requisition form to every possible department twice over! Yet they keep saying none of my requests can be processed! Why?! WHY?! All I wanted was to make a simple Materials and Power requisition request. Is that really so much to ask? IS IT?!”
“Hey, guys,” Boimler said entering the records room. “Sorry I’m late. Things were a little backed up in Sickbay. They’re having trouble logging and retrieving medical data for…huh?”
“Records…records…too many records…” Tendi chanted with a haunted look in her eyes. “Too many possible filing systems…must file files via correct filing method…”
“You want forms? I’ll show you forms!” Rutherford cackled maniacally. “I’ll fill out dozens…no hundreds of requisition forms until Billups gets the supplies he needs! And I’ll label them all ‘Urgent’ and with emergency time stamps too! Ha, ha, ha!”
“YAAAHHHHHH, YOU STUPID PROTOCOL FILE!” Mariner screamed violently while smashing a padd against the work table. “DIE! DIE! DIE!”
“Uh,” A stunned Boimler blinked. “What’s going on? Are you guys okay?”
“Do we look okay?” A wild-eyed Mariner glared at him with a hiss. “All this pointless bureaucratic records paperwork is driving us insane!”
“Aw, come on. It can’t be that bad,” Boimler scoffed taking a seat. “Here, let me take a look.”
“No! Don’t do it, Boims! Make a run for it! Save yourself!” Mariner cried. “Or else you’ll be doomed to pour through thousands upon thousands of data entries just to find one unimportant file…”
“Okay. Here we go,” Boimler said glancing at Mariner’s cracked padd. “A request for the most recent diplomatic protocol for dealing with royal foreign dignitaries. Those haven’t been reloaded into the main computer database yet, but they should be with the other diplomatic protocol files in backup archive labeled 23 dash V, subsection Epsilon 71 point J…”
“Huh?” Mariner blinked in surprise.
“Ah, here it is,” Boimler quickly retrieved the correct file. “Hmmm, only a dozen or so minor changes and additions this time. Just need to make the proper modifications, notifications, add a minor addendum and footnote…there. Done.”
“Whaaa…?” Mariner’s jaw was on the floor.
“Oh, here. Let me help you with that,” Boimler offered plucking Tendi’s padd from her nervous hands. “We’ll simply file a copy of these encephalographic and neurocortical monitor reports under the respective subsections of the Medical, Engineering, Operations and Personnel databases. Along with linking each of the individual file’s copies together so that any future changes will be instantly reflected among them all.”
“Huh?” Tendi gaped, stunned.
“As for this Materials and Power request,” Boimler confidently moved on to Rutherford. “You’re trying to submit a single Type XVIII-D requisition form when you should have filled out a Type XVI-T requisition form to the ship’s Quartermaster and a Type XIX-E requisition form to Plasma Relay Room Three.”
“Uh?” Rutherford stared at Boimler in shock.
“All submitted in triplicate with proper attachments, notarizations and follow-up information,” Boimler finished. “See? Nothing to it.”
“Gah?” Mariner, Tendi and Rutherford gawked.
“Ah, well that was easy,” Boimler said as he continued to quickly work through the backlog of data searches and filing requests. “What else do we have here? Manifest updates, maintenance log release authorizations, archiving personal correspondence. Same old, same old…”
“Hey there, ensigns,” Commander Ransom entered the room carrying a handful of padds. “Just stopping by to make sure you all aren’t slacking off and to assign the latest stack of data retrieval requests…”
“NO!” Mariner cried making a blocking motion with her hands. “Go away, evil person! Crawl back to the foul data pit from whence ye came!”
“Excuse me?” Ransom blinked, taken back.
“Don’t worry, guys. I got this,” Boimler waved at his friends. “Go take a break. You look like you could use one.”
“Really?” Tendi gasped in relief. “Oh, thank you, kind sir. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Ahhh! Lemme outta here!” Mariner yelled bolting out of the room. “No more dumb bureaucratic records duty for me! Unless it’s for disposing and destroying such files which I will gladly do with a phaser!”
“Ugh, the long paperwork nightmare is over. Even my implant couldn’t make sense of it,” Rutherford twitched as he and Tendi gratefully followed after Mariner. “I swear, I never want to fill out another requisition form ever, ever again!”
“Sheesh, what’s wrong with them?” Ransom asked glancing at the three ensigns’ fleeing forms.
“I don’t know,” Boimler shrugged. “I just work here.”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
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