Originally posted on fanfiction.net - Link.
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It Hurts So Good to be Prepared
“Epsilon 36-C looks good, Epsilon 36-D looks good,” Boimler mumbled to himself while carefully scrutinizing his work. “Okay, that’s it for the Epsilons. Now to check out the Zetas…”
“Hi, Boimler!” Tendi chirped as she, Mariner and Rutherford entered Repair Bay Five. “We’re going to replicate icoberry daiquiri smoothies and watch oncoming space debris get vaporized by the deflector dish. Want to join?”
“Thanks, but no,” Boimler declined seated at the main repair table surrounded by padds. “I’m way too busy.”
“Aw, come on, man,” Rutherford urged. “You gotta take a break some time. You’ve been working in here all day.” He walked over and glanced at one of the padds. “Universal ideograms. Radiation protocols. Wilderness survival skills. What is all this?”
“It’s all part of my upcoming mission prep,” Boimler said. “Captain Freeman assigned me to be part of the team attending the trade commemoration in the Phelan system.”
“The Phelan system,” Tendi repeated. “The one with three inhabited planets and seven inhabited moons?”
“That’s right,” Boimler confirmed. “The Phelans used to constantly bicker with each other over asteroid mining claims, transit rights, customs duties, etc. That is until twelve years ago when they signed an interplanetary trade agreement negotiated with Federation assistance. Since then, Starfleet has dispatched a ship to the Phelan system one a year to celebrate the agreement’s anniversary.”
“In order words, Starfleet sends a group to make a symbolic appearance and act as window dressing,” Mariner translated. “While also giving said group an excuse to attend fancy parties and rub elbows with a bunch of local politicos.”
“Well, yes,” Boimler admitted. “But it’s more than that. Starfleet’s presence serves an important function representing peaceful cooperation. And Captain Freeman picked me to be one of those select representatives.”
“Gee, what a coinkydink,” Mariner quipped. “So was I.”
“What?” Boimler did a take. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope,” Mariner shook her head. “It’s on the official ship’s duty roster and everything.”
“Wow, that’s great,” Tendi chirped. “Congratulations to both of you.”
“Thanks,” Boimler said glancing suspiciously at Mariner. “Wait, did you pull some strings again to get assigned to this mission?”
“Nope, not this time, Boims,” Mariner shook her head. “My inclusion is simple luck of the draw.”
“Yeah, simple bad luck,” Boimler groaned. “I should have known!”
“Okay, congrats on your assignment,” Rutherford said indicating the padds. “But that doesn’t explain what all this stuff is for. What do microgravimetric anomalies have to do with a trade commemoration?’
“It’s all about being prepared,” Boimler stated. “Problems and unexpected situations can occur at any time.”
“Boims, we’re attending a party, not beaming into a war zone,” Mariner rolled her eyes. “The Phelans have been at peace for years. The whole system is so humdrumingly mundane almost nobody’s ever heard of it.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Boimler insisted. “Starfleet officers are supposed to be able to handle any situation that arises. Encountering unknown situations is all part of the job. And that means being thoroughly informed, prepared and doing lots and lots of contingency planning ahead of time.”
“Ah, that explains all the contact protocols listed on here,” Tendi said reading from another padd. “What to do if a band of Ferengi show up. What to do if an Excalbian shows up. What to do if a Melkot shows up. What to do if Ferengi, Excalbians and Melkots show up…”
“Melkots? Seriously?” Mariner gave Boimler a look. “You’re worried about running into one of those reclusive, xenophobic floating heads?”
“It could happen,” Boimler defended. “Better to anticipate and be prepared for problems before they happen. I have to be ready to offer Captain Freeman useful options at a moment’s notice. I don’t want to look like an idiot like the time she asked for my advice during our encounter with the Clickets.”
“Yeah, that did sound pretty embarrassing during Mariner’s retelling,” Tendi remarked. “But even that doesn’t call for this much planning. Do you really need to have two dozen different protocols on potential dining etiquette?”
“Or backup plans involving how to deal with planetary power outages and possible coup attempts?” Rutherford added. “Along with backup plans to the backup plans?”
“Of course,” Boimler said. “Those are all potential scenarios that may occur during our mission to the Phelan system. Sure, they’re not likely to happen, but they certainly are possible. It’s all part of the seven Ps: Proper Previous Planning Prevents Pakled-Poor Performance.”
“More like Preposterous Pointless Pesky Perturbations Predate Plenteous Problems,” Mariner snorted. “All your so-called planning and preparations are a joke, Boims. You’re working yourself to death worrying over nothing. You really gotta learn to just go with the flow.”
“You mean like you?” Boimler gave her a look. “Miss ‘Impulsive, Seat-of-the-Pants, I Barely Bother to Even Read Mission Briefings’ Mariner?”
“Exactly,” Mariner smiled. “Not everything can be planned out ahead of time. Being resourceful, innovative and improvising is far more important. That’s how Starfleet officers really handle missions.”
“Wow, I never considered that before,” Tendi contemplated. “Good point.”
“Innovation, resourcefulness and improvision are important skills related to Engineering too,” Rutherford added.
“See? Ruthy gets it,” Mariner said. “Being a flexible, well-rounded officer who knows how and when to bend the rules is simple common sense.”
“Ironic coming from the most nonsensical officer in the fleet,” Boimler accused. “Not to mention the most shamelessly hypocritical! Since when have you ever followed the rules?”
“I follow rules,” Mariner defended. “Usually, sometimes, somewhat, on occasion…”
“Oh geeze!” Boimler groaned. “That’s not how the system works! Rules and regulations are supposed to be adhered to at all times unless one has proper authorization to do otherwise.”
“I do have authorization. It’s called experience,” Mariner stated. “It’s impossible to have rules and regs that cover every situation. Experience allows me to be flexible and know how and when to bend, break or ignore rules when they are harmful, unapplicable or just plain stupid.”
“You can’t do that,” Boimler protested.
“Of course I can,” Mariner said. “Starfleet officers do it all the time. Not to mention everyone else. Knowing how to react, adapt and handle unexpected situations comes from untold hours of actual, messy, hands-on, in-your-face experience instead of impossibly clean and impractically detached theory.”
“You may have a few years of actual experience,” Boimler allowed. “While my plans and contingencies are based on centuries worth of Starfleet mission logs. That’s why starship computers are loaded with archives of old mission reports. So that officers can search, reference and learn what worked before.”
“Reading about what others have experienced is one thing. Experiencing stuff first-hand is another,” Mariner argued. “Mission reports tend to leave out a lot of stuff. They can tell you one way something may have worked, but not the hundred or so failed attempts deemed not important enough to make it into the log. Experiencing the wrong way to do something is just as important as knowing how to do it the right way.”
“That’s what practice and simulations are for,” Boimler pointed out. “To allow one to learn, mess up and make mistakes in a controlled, safe environment instead of one where lives are on the line. Simulations based on centuries of logs, missions and recordings.”
“Simulations can only recreate what others have already encountered, imagined or experienced,” Mariner said. “They can’t create or prepare you for anything new. The universe is chaotic, spontaneous, impulsive and unpredictable. You can’t afford to be paralyzed when you encounter something that doesn’t fit a preexisting plan. That’s when experience and improvisation kicks in.”
“Better to prepare plenty of contingency plans than to have no plan at all,” Boimler argued. “You can’t go on a mission with the intent of just winging your way through it.”
“Why not? It’s worked out pretty darn well for me so far,” Mariner snapped. “Better to trust your own instincts and experience than relying solely on stupid rules and plans!”
“Isn’t there a way to do both?” Tendi suggested. “Combining rules, regulations, planning, improvisation and experience?”
“Yeah, that sounds like the best idea to me,” Rutherford said.
“Hey, I’m not saying one shouldn’t rely on improvisation,” Boimler defended. “I’m just saying planning and preparation are more important.”
“And going on a mission info-blind isn’t a good idea either,” Mariner added. “You need to have at least a basic understanding and plan for whatever situation you’re heading into.”
“Aha!” Boimler crowed in triumph. “You admit contingency planning is vital to any mission!”
“Yeah, but not to the extent you’re doing it!” Mariner snapped. “You’re making plans for everything from sudden viral outbreaks to planetary disasters to how to reconcile after making multiple social faux pas. I’m surprised you don’t have a plan preparing for having done too much planning!”
“There’s no such thing as being too prepared,” Boimler said tapping his padd. “These plans will be priceless if any of the situations they depict ever come to pass.”
“Prove it!” Mariner challenged.
“Fine! I will!” Boimler vowed getting to his feet. “Let’s go to the Holodeck and have the computer run a simulation…”
“Forget that,” Mariner interrupted shoving Boimler back into his chair. “I already pointed out that computers can only create simulations based on what’s stored in their memory banks. We need something based on good old imagination.” She turned towards Tendi and Rutherford. “You two. Come up with a scenario that may occur during the upcoming mission.”
“Us?” Tendi blinked in surprise.
“Uh, what kind of scenario?” Rutherford asked.
“I don’t care. Anything!” Mariner urged pointing at them. “Be creative! Go!”
“Um, okay,” Tendi thought for a moment. “Say you’re at a buffet line and one of the delegates begins to suffer from an unknown ailment.”
“Then I’ll suggest to Captain Freeman Plan Beta 42-E,” Boimler said pulling up the corresponding contingency on his padd. “Contact the Cerritos and closest planetary Medical facilities to coordinate appropriate treatment efforts…”
“But you can’t do that because the comms and transporters are down,” Rutherford interjected. “Something is creating too much electromagnetic interference.”
“Then I’d recommended switching to Plan Beta 42-E slash 8,” Boimler replied. “Try to stabilize the patent using whatever medical supplies are on hand while modifying our equipment to reestablish communications…”
“Ack, too slow, Boims,” Mariner critiqued. “You got a sick patent there. Time is of the essence!”
“Oh really?” Boimler stared at her. “Then what would you do?”
“Easy. Score the nearest shuttle and load the sick delegate into it,” Mariner said. “They fly said shuttle to the Cerritos or the local hospital, whichever is closest. While taking appropriate security measures in case it’s part of some assassination attempt.”
“By ‘score’ you mean steal,” Boimler groaned. “And who said anything about an assassination attempt?”
“Hello? Fancy party and only one specific delegate gets sick,” Mariner gave him a look. “An assassination attempt isn’t that hard to believe.”
“I guess so,” Rutherford allowed. “But who’s the assassin?”
“I don’t know. Political rival, greedy trade partner, jealous lover, random psycho, some combination of the above,” Mariner shrugged. “I’ve seen ‘em all before. It can happen.”
“O-kay,” Tendi blinked. “Those both sound like good courses of action. Let’s try another scenario.”
“Alright,” Boimler sighed. “Though I still say my plan was the better one.”
“Hmmm, how about this,” Rutherford rubbed his chin. “You’re at the commemoration when a sudden earthquake hits. People are trapped in the rubble and all the exits are blocked by debris.”
“That calls for Plan Gamma 26-A,” Boimler replied. “Contact the Cerritos and request emergency beam outs…”
“Can’t,” Tendi said. “A local ionic storm is interfering with transporters.”
“Of course it is,” Mariner quipped. “Something is always interfering with transporters.”
“Oooo, and the earthquake has ruptured a local natural gas pocket and poisonous gas is slowly filling the building,” Tendi added.
“Hey, nice twist,” Rutherford commented.
“Okay,” Boimler paused a moment. “I’d recommend a variation of Plan Gamma 27-T. Rescue those trapped in the rubble while modifying our communicators and tricorders to create personalized force fields and/or gas masks to protect us…”
“Nice idea, Boims, but not everybody goes around carrying some kind of tech doohickey,” Mariner pointed out. “Even in this day and age.”
“Really?” Tendi looked surprised. “Wow, hard to imagine a time when everyone didn’t have their own personal communication device.”
“Ugh, what a terrible way to live,” Rutherford shuddered. “How did people ever survive?”
“Eh, they managed,” Mariner shrugged. “Speaking of which, instead of trying to modify a bunch of tech people don’t have, it’d be better to grab some weapons and use them to vaporize the rubble and debris.”
“Where did a bunch of weapons come from?” Boimler protested. “We’re talking about a peaceful trade commemoration, not a political event.”
“Again, fancy party packed with fancy VIPs,” Mariner reminded. “Place is gonna be packed with security goons. Somebody’s gonna have a weapon.”
“You have a point,” Rutherford agreed. “But suppose there’s too much debris blocking the exits.”
“Then we use the weapons to drill through a few walls,” Mariner proposed. “Or blow them up. Whatever it takes to create an exit and get people to safety.”
“I knew blowing things up would be your solution to something,” Boimler moaned.
“Oh, like none of your plans involve causing explosions,” Mariner shot back.
“Not all of them,” Boimler mumbled.
“Okay, on to the next scenario,” Tendi prompted. “Say some of the delegates begin arguing with each other while opposing crowds of their supporters gather outside.”
“Uh, sounds like a combination of Plans Delta 15-R and Phi 3-C,” Boimler collected his thoughts. “Separate the opposing parties and attempt to establish a common dialogue…”
“Eh, typical boring textbook stuff,” Mariner scoffed. “Just lock the squabbling delegates together in a coat closet with a bunch of booze while inviting everyone else to the party.”
“What?” Boimler yelped. “How does that solve anything?”
“Hey, everyone likes a party,” Mariner said. “Especially when they’re given a chance to crash it.”
“And the arguing delegates?” Rutherford reminded.
“Oh, you’d be amazed what can happen between drunken, angry, flushed, bothered, riled up folks locked in a coat closet,” Mariner smirked wiggling her eyebrows. “They’re sure to come to some kind of mutual understanding. Well, more like mutual…”
“I get the picture,” A blushing Boimler quickly cut her off.
“Oh my!” Tendi blinked in surprise. “Does that really work?”
“It’s happened before,” Mariner said. “Like the time I snuck into a diplomatic conference on Atalia VI…”
“Stop!” Boimler yelped. “We don’t need to hear it!”
“But it’s a good story,” Mariner insisted. “Full of hot, steamy…”
“No!” Boimler shouted. “Next scenario. Please!”
“Okey-dokey,” Rutherford thought quickly. “A rogue asteroid field threatens to bombard the planet…”
“Recommend Plan Lamba 22-H,” Boimler offered. “Use the tractor beam to deflect the asteroids.”
“Can’t,” Tendi stated. “They’re too big.”
“Then switch to Plan Lamba 24-B,” Boimler replied. “Use phasers and photon torpedoes to vaporize the asteroids.”
“Can’t,” Rutherford said. “Their cores are composed of nitrium and chrondite.”
“Uh, Plan Lamba 35-P,” Boimler quickly consulted his padd. “Use the deflector dish to project a particle beam to produce a disruptive nuclear effect within the asteroids’ cores.”
“Ooo, that’s a good one,” Tendi oohed. “Where did you come up with that idea?”
“Read it in an old mission log,” Boimler explained glancing at Mariner. “See? That’s the power of being prepared.”
“Okay, but what if that doesn’t work?” Mariner asked. “Some asteroids can be pretty tough, ya know.”
“Well then…how about...uh…” Boimler stuttered.
“Come on, Boims,” Mariner pressed. “Time’s a wasting.”
“What would you suggest?” Tendi asked Mariner.
“Simple. Have the Cerritos make physical contact with the asteroids and use the engines to push the suckers away,” Mariner answered. “This is a California-class ship after all. She’s got a thick hull to take the stress and a set of engines packing some serious pushing power.”
“Heck yes!” Rutherford beamed proudly.
“Are you insane?” Boimler gasped in shock. “What am I saying? That’s crazy!”
“That’s what the pros call asteroid wrangling,” Mariner grinned back. “Unofficially of course. A maneuver so nuts even the gutsiest captains refuse to try it. Bet ya never read that in some ol’ mission log.”
“Well, I…I…” Boimler fumbled.
“Ah, how about this?” Tendi chirped. “An undetectable alien entity begins possessing delegates bodies and threatens to harm others.”
“Plans Theda 5-G through Theda 5-T cover those possible scenarios,” Boimler said. “Expel the entity from suspected subjects using a synaptic stimulator, chroniton beam, electromagnetic pulse, plasma shock, ionogenic particles…”
“Na, better to just stun everyone with phasers,” Mariner countered. “Can’t possess what isn’t conscious.”
“Okay,” Rutherford blinked. “What if there’s a sudden attack on the Cerritos?”
“Uh, Plans Sigma through Omega,” Boimler replied. “Though it depends on who is doing the attacking…”
“Eh, not our problem. That’s a space matter,” Mariner waved. “We’re stuck attending the commemoration party, remember? Come to think of it, the whole ‘asteroid bombardment bit’ was a space matter too.”
“I guess so,” Tendi admitted. “Oh, what if a Metron suddenly shows up?”
“Easy. Offer the guy a drink,” Mariner said. “Or girl or non-binary or whatever.”
“Why does alcohol tend to be part of so many of your solutions?” Boimler groaned glancing at Mariner. “You’d really offer a powerful, non-corporeal entity a drink?”
“Why not? It’s worked before,” Mariner shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many uber-powerful non-corporeal entities are lightweights.”
“I’ll take your word for it…wait, what?!” Boimler yelped doing a take. “What do you mean before? How?! When?!”
“Eh, I’ll tell ya later,” Mariner waved.
“But…but…!” Boimler protested.
“Anywho, this whole rap session has been fun,” Mariner said. “It’s certainly proven all of Boims’ long-shot contingency planning is a big ol’ waste of time.”
“No it hasn’t!” Boimler insisted. “Granted you did come up with some creative, insane, unorthodox solutions that would never appear in a field manual, but it still doesn’t invalidate the need for rigorous, previous planning…” He was interrupted by a sudden beep from his padd. “What’s this…huh? The trade commemoration mission to the Phelan system has been canceled?!”
“Really?” Tendi and Rutherford blinked in surprise. “Why?”
“Was there some kind of diplomatic issue?” Tendi asked.
“Did a more prestigious ship take over the mission from the Cerritos?” Rutherford pressed.
“No,” Boimler stared at his padd in shock. “Apparently the Phelan system was enveloped an unknown subspace phenomenon which caused the entire system to disappear.”
“What?” Tendi and Rutherford gasped.
“Again?” Mariner raised an eyebrow. “Man, I thought Starfleet managed to stop that from happening after what happened to the Hilbyzod system.”
“Huh?” Rutherford looked confused. “I’ve never heard of the Hilbyzod system before.”
“Exactly,” Mariner said.
“But what about the Phelan system?” Tendi asked worriedly. “What about all those people.”
“Don’t worry,” Boimler assured her. “Preliminary reports indicate the Phelan system wasn’t destroyed. It just got temporarily shifted into another dimension or some self-contained pocket of subspace.”
“Oh, is that all,” Mariner drawled.
“Thank goodness,” Tendi sighed. “What a relief.”
“No it’s not!” Boimler moaned. “The trade commemoration mission has been cancelled! All my hard prep work is for nothing!”
“Aw, what’s the matter, Boims?” Mariner teased. “Didn’t you make a contingency plan in case an entire star system disappeared?”
“Of course not!” Boimler cried. “Who’d even consider planning for something like that? My big chance to impress the captain and further my career are gone, all gone! Just like my hopes, my dreams, my sanity…”
“Hey, it’s okay, man,” Rutherford attempted to console him. “Your prep work isn’t a total waste. You still might be able to use it when the Phelan system comes back. You did say preliminary reports indicated its disappearance was temporary.”
“Oh, it’s temporary alright,” Boimler groaned. “Readings indicate the Phelan system should return to our dimension in about…a hundred and twenty-two years.”
“What?” Rutherford did a take.
“I see,” Tendi blinked. “That might be a little troublesome.”
“I’ll say,” Mariner threw an arm around Boimler’s shoulders. “By the time the Phelan mission comes around again you’ll be like older-than-Admiral McCoy ancient. You may even become a seat-of-the-pants mission veteran by then.”
“More like a shriveled prune,” Boimler moaned.
“Hey, that’s a good idea,” Rutherford commented. “We should add prunes to the icoberry daiquiri smoothies.”
“Prunes are packed with nutrients, minerals and antioxidants,” Tendi smiled. “And can greatly help one to naturally destress and relax.”
“So can tequila, but without the messy, related digestive effects,” Mariner smirked as she, Tendi and Rutherford headed for the exit. “You coming with us, Boims? Or do you need to whip up half a dozen contingency plans for that too?”
“What I plan to do is drown my latest sorrows in an unending round of prune juice spritzers,” Boimler sighed joining his friends. “Something I unfortunately have way too much experience with!”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
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It Hurts So Good to be Prepared
“Epsilon 36-C looks good, Epsilon 36-D looks good,” Boimler mumbled to himself while carefully scrutinizing his work. “Okay, that’s it for the Epsilons. Now to check out the Zetas…”
“Hi, Boimler!” Tendi chirped as she, Mariner and Rutherford entered Repair Bay Five. “We’re going to replicate icoberry daiquiri smoothies and watch oncoming space debris get vaporized by the deflector dish. Want to join?”
“Thanks, but no,” Boimler declined seated at the main repair table surrounded by padds. “I’m way too busy.”
“Aw, come on, man,” Rutherford urged. “You gotta take a break some time. You’ve been working in here all day.” He walked over and glanced at one of the padds. “Universal ideograms. Radiation protocols. Wilderness survival skills. What is all this?”
“It’s all part of my upcoming mission prep,” Boimler said. “Captain Freeman assigned me to be part of the team attending the trade commemoration in the Phelan system.”
“The Phelan system,” Tendi repeated. “The one with three inhabited planets and seven inhabited moons?”
“That’s right,” Boimler confirmed. “The Phelans used to constantly bicker with each other over asteroid mining claims, transit rights, customs duties, etc. That is until twelve years ago when they signed an interplanetary trade agreement negotiated with Federation assistance. Since then, Starfleet has dispatched a ship to the Phelan system one a year to celebrate the agreement’s anniversary.”
“In order words, Starfleet sends a group to make a symbolic appearance and act as window dressing,” Mariner translated. “While also giving said group an excuse to attend fancy parties and rub elbows with a bunch of local politicos.”
“Well, yes,” Boimler admitted. “But it’s more than that. Starfleet’s presence serves an important function representing peaceful cooperation. And Captain Freeman picked me to be one of those select representatives.”
“Gee, what a coinkydink,” Mariner quipped. “So was I.”
“What?” Boimler did a take. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope,” Mariner shook her head. “It’s on the official ship’s duty roster and everything.”
“Wow, that’s great,” Tendi chirped. “Congratulations to both of you.”
“Thanks,” Boimler said glancing suspiciously at Mariner. “Wait, did you pull some strings again to get assigned to this mission?”
“Nope, not this time, Boims,” Mariner shook her head. “My inclusion is simple luck of the draw.”
“Yeah, simple bad luck,” Boimler groaned. “I should have known!”
“Okay, congrats on your assignment,” Rutherford said indicating the padds. “But that doesn’t explain what all this stuff is for. What do microgravimetric anomalies have to do with a trade commemoration?’
“It’s all about being prepared,” Boimler stated. “Problems and unexpected situations can occur at any time.”
“Boims, we’re attending a party, not beaming into a war zone,” Mariner rolled her eyes. “The Phelans have been at peace for years. The whole system is so humdrumingly mundane almost nobody’s ever heard of it.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Boimler insisted. “Starfleet officers are supposed to be able to handle any situation that arises. Encountering unknown situations is all part of the job. And that means being thoroughly informed, prepared and doing lots and lots of contingency planning ahead of time.”
“Ah, that explains all the contact protocols listed on here,” Tendi said reading from another padd. “What to do if a band of Ferengi show up. What to do if an Excalbian shows up. What to do if a Melkot shows up. What to do if Ferengi, Excalbians and Melkots show up…”
“Melkots? Seriously?” Mariner gave Boimler a look. “You’re worried about running into one of those reclusive, xenophobic floating heads?”
“It could happen,” Boimler defended. “Better to anticipate and be prepared for problems before they happen. I have to be ready to offer Captain Freeman useful options at a moment’s notice. I don’t want to look like an idiot like the time she asked for my advice during our encounter with the Clickets.”
“Yeah, that did sound pretty embarrassing during Mariner’s retelling,” Tendi remarked. “But even that doesn’t call for this much planning. Do you really need to have two dozen different protocols on potential dining etiquette?”
“Or backup plans involving how to deal with planetary power outages and possible coup attempts?” Rutherford added. “Along with backup plans to the backup plans?”
“Of course,” Boimler said. “Those are all potential scenarios that may occur during our mission to the Phelan system. Sure, they’re not likely to happen, but they certainly are possible. It’s all part of the seven Ps: Proper Previous Planning Prevents Pakled-Poor Performance.”
“More like Preposterous Pointless Pesky Perturbations Predate Plenteous Problems,” Mariner snorted. “All your so-called planning and preparations are a joke, Boims. You’re working yourself to death worrying over nothing. You really gotta learn to just go with the flow.”
“You mean like you?” Boimler gave her a look. “Miss ‘Impulsive, Seat-of-the-Pants, I Barely Bother to Even Read Mission Briefings’ Mariner?”
“Exactly,” Mariner smiled. “Not everything can be planned out ahead of time. Being resourceful, innovative and improvising is far more important. That’s how Starfleet officers really handle missions.”
“Wow, I never considered that before,” Tendi contemplated. “Good point.”
“Innovation, resourcefulness and improvision are important skills related to Engineering too,” Rutherford added.
“See? Ruthy gets it,” Mariner said. “Being a flexible, well-rounded officer who knows how and when to bend the rules is simple common sense.”
“Ironic coming from the most nonsensical officer in the fleet,” Boimler accused. “Not to mention the most shamelessly hypocritical! Since when have you ever followed the rules?”
“I follow rules,” Mariner defended. “Usually, sometimes, somewhat, on occasion…”
“Oh geeze!” Boimler groaned. “That’s not how the system works! Rules and regulations are supposed to be adhered to at all times unless one has proper authorization to do otherwise.”
“I do have authorization. It’s called experience,” Mariner stated. “It’s impossible to have rules and regs that cover every situation. Experience allows me to be flexible and know how and when to bend, break or ignore rules when they are harmful, unapplicable or just plain stupid.”
“You can’t do that,” Boimler protested.
“Of course I can,” Mariner said. “Starfleet officers do it all the time. Not to mention everyone else. Knowing how to react, adapt and handle unexpected situations comes from untold hours of actual, messy, hands-on, in-your-face experience instead of impossibly clean and impractically detached theory.”
“You may have a few years of actual experience,” Boimler allowed. “While my plans and contingencies are based on centuries worth of Starfleet mission logs. That’s why starship computers are loaded with archives of old mission reports. So that officers can search, reference and learn what worked before.”
“Reading about what others have experienced is one thing. Experiencing stuff first-hand is another,” Mariner argued. “Mission reports tend to leave out a lot of stuff. They can tell you one way something may have worked, but not the hundred or so failed attempts deemed not important enough to make it into the log. Experiencing the wrong way to do something is just as important as knowing how to do it the right way.”
“That’s what practice and simulations are for,” Boimler pointed out. “To allow one to learn, mess up and make mistakes in a controlled, safe environment instead of one where lives are on the line. Simulations based on centuries of logs, missions and recordings.”
“Simulations can only recreate what others have already encountered, imagined or experienced,” Mariner said. “They can’t create or prepare you for anything new. The universe is chaotic, spontaneous, impulsive and unpredictable. You can’t afford to be paralyzed when you encounter something that doesn’t fit a preexisting plan. That’s when experience and improvisation kicks in.”
“Better to prepare plenty of contingency plans than to have no plan at all,” Boimler argued. “You can’t go on a mission with the intent of just winging your way through it.”
“Why not? It’s worked out pretty darn well for me so far,” Mariner snapped. “Better to trust your own instincts and experience than relying solely on stupid rules and plans!”
“Isn’t there a way to do both?” Tendi suggested. “Combining rules, regulations, planning, improvisation and experience?”
“Yeah, that sounds like the best idea to me,” Rutherford said.
“Hey, I’m not saying one shouldn’t rely on improvisation,” Boimler defended. “I’m just saying planning and preparation are more important.”
“And going on a mission info-blind isn’t a good idea either,” Mariner added. “You need to have at least a basic understanding and plan for whatever situation you’re heading into.”
“Aha!” Boimler crowed in triumph. “You admit contingency planning is vital to any mission!”
“Yeah, but not to the extent you’re doing it!” Mariner snapped. “You’re making plans for everything from sudden viral outbreaks to planetary disasters to how to reconcile after making multiple social faux pas. I’m surprised you don’t have a plan preparing for having done too much planning!”
“There’s no such thing as being too prepared,” Boimler said tapping his padd. “These plans will be priceless if any of the situations they depict ever come to pass.”
“Prove it!” Mariner challenged.
“Fine! I will!” Boimler vowed getting to his feet. “Let’s go to the Holodeck and have the computer run a simulation…”
“Forget that,” Mariner interrupted shoving Boimler back into his chair. “I already pointed out that computers can only create simulations based on what’s stored in their memory banks. We need something based on good old imagination.” She turned towards Tendi and Rutherford. “You two. Come up with a scenario that may occur during the upcoming mission.”
“Us?” Tendi blinked in surprise.
“Uh, what kind of scenario?” Rutherford asked.
“I don’t care. Anything!” Mariner urged pointing at them. “Be creative! Go!”
“Um, okay,” Tendi thought for a moment. “Say you’re at a buffet line and one of the delegates begins to suffer from an unknown ailment.”
“Then I’ll suggest to Captain Freeman Plan Beta 42-E,” Boimler said pulling up the corresponding contingency on his padd. “Contact the Cerritos and closest planetary Medical facilities to coordinate appropriate treatment efforts…”
“But you can’t do that because the comms and transporters are down,” Rutherford interjected. “Something is creating too much electromagnetic interference.”
“Then I’d recommended switching to Plan Beta 42-E slash 8,” Boimler replied. “Try to stabilize the patent using whatever medical supplies are on hand while modifying our equipment to reestablish communications…”
“Ack, too slow, Boims,” Mariner critiqued. “You got a sick patent there. Time is of the essence!”
“Oh really?” Boimler stared at her. “Then what would you do?”
“Easy. Score the nearest shuttle and load the sick delegate into it,” Mariner said. “They fly said shuttle to the Cerritos or the local hospital, whichever is closest. While taking appropriate security measures in case it’s part of some assassination attempt.”
“By ‘score’ you mean steal,” Boimler groaned. “And who said anything about an assassination attempt?”
“Hello? Fancy party and only one specific delegate gets sick,” Mariner gave him a look. “An assassination attempt isn’t that hard to believe.”
“I guess so,” Rutherford allowed. “But who’s the assassin?”
“I don’t know. Political rival, greedy trade partner, jealous lover, random psycho, some combination of the above,” Mariner shrugged. “I’ve seen ‘em all before. It can happen.”
“O-kay,” Tendi blinked. “Those both sound like good courses of action. Let’s try another scenario.”
“Alright,” Boimler sighed. “Though I still say my plan was the better one.”
“Hmmm, how about this,” Rutherford rubbed his chin. “You’re at the commemoration when a sudden earthquake hits. People are trapped in the rubble and all the exits are blocked by debris.”
“That calls for Plan Gamma 26-A,” Boimler replied. “Contact the Cerritos and request emergency beam outs…”
“Can’t,” Tendi said. “A local ionic storm is interfering with transporters.”
“Of course it is,” Mariner quipped. “Something is always interfering with transporters.”
“Oooo, and the earthquake has ruptured a local natural gas pocket and poisonous gas is slowly filling the building,” Tendi added.
“Hey, nice twist,” Rutherford commented.
“Okay,” Boimler paused a moment. “I’d recommend a variation of Plan Gamma 27-T. Rescue those trapped in the rubble while modifying our communicators and tricorders to create personalized force fields and/or gas masks to protect us…”
“Nice idea, Boims, but not everybody goes around carrying some kind of tech doohickey,” Mariner pointed out. “Even in this day and age.”
“Really?” Tendi looked surprised. “Wow, hard to imagine a time when everyone didn’t have their own personal communication device.”
“Ugh, what a terrible way to live,” Rutherford shuddered. “How did people ever survive?”
“Eh, they managed,” Mariner shrugged. “Speaking of which, instead of trying to modify a bunch of tech people don’t have, it’d be better to grab some weapons and use them to vaporize the rubble and debris.”
“Where did a bunch of weapons come from?” Boimler protested. “We’re talking about a peaceful trade commemoration, not a political event.”
“Again, fancy party packed with fancy VIPs,” Mariner reminded. “Place is gonna be packed with security goons. Somebody’s gonna have a weapon.”
“You have a point,” Rutherford agreed. “But suppose there’s too much debris blocking the exits.”
“Then we use the weapons to drill through a few walls,” Mariner proposed. “Or blow them up. Whatever it takes to create an exit and get people to safety.”
“I knew blowing things up would be your solution to something,” Boimler moaned.
“Oh, like none of your plans involve causing explosions,” Mariner shot back.
“Not all of them,” Boimler mumbled.
“Okay, on to the next scenario,” Tendi prompted. “Say some of the delegates begin arguing with each other while opposing crowds of their supporters gather outside.”
“Uh, sounds like a combination of Plans Delta 15-R and Phi 3-C,” Boimler collected his thoughts. “Separate the opposing parties and attempt to establish a common dialogue…”
“Eh, typical boring textbook stuff,” Mariner scoffed. “Just lock the squabbling delegates together in a coat closet with a bunch of booze while inviting everyone else to the party.”
“What?” Boimler yelped. “How does that solve anything?”
“Hey, everyone likes a party,” Mariner said. “Especially when they’re given a chance to crash it.”
“And the arguing delegates?” Rutherford reminded.
“Oh, you’d be amazed what can happen between drunken, angry, flushed, bothered, riled up folks locked in a coat closet,” Mariner smirked wiggling her eyebrows. “They’re sure to come to some kind of mutual understanding. Well, more like mutual…”
“I get the picture,” A blushing Boimler quickly cut her off.
“Oh my!” Tendi blinked in surprise. “Does that really work?”
“It’s happened before,” Mariner said. “Like the time I snuck into a diplomatic conference on Atalia VI…”
“Stop!” Boimler yelped. “We don’t need to hear it!”
“But it’s a good story,” Mariner insisted. “Full of hot, steamy…”
“No!” Boimler shouted. “Next scenario. Please!”
“Okey-dokey,” Rutherford thought quickly. “A rogue asteroid field threatens to bombard the planet…”
“Recommend Plan Lamba 22-H,” Boimler offered. “Use the tractor beam to deflect the asteroids.”
“Can’t,” Tendi stated. “They’re too big.”
“Then switch to Plan Lamba 24-B,” Boimler replied. “Use phasers and photon torpedoes to vaporize the asteroids.”
“Can’t,” Rutherford said. “Their cores are composed of nitrium and chrondite.”
“Uh, Plan Lamba 35-P,” Boimler quickly consulted his padd. “Use the deflector dish to project a particle beam to produce a disruptive nuclear effect within the asteroids’ cores.”
“Ooo, that’s a good one,” Tendi oohed. “Where did you come up with that idea?”
“Read it in an old mission log,” Boimler explained glancing at Mariner. “See? That’s the power of being prepared.”
“Okay, but what if that doesn’t work?” Mariner asked. “Some asteroids can be pretty tough, ya know.”
“Well then…how about...uh…” Boimler stuttered.
“Come on, Boims,” Mariner pressed. “Time’s a wasting.”
“What would you suggest?” Tendi asked Mariner.
“Simple. Have the Cerritos make physical contact with the asteroids and use the engines to push the suckers away,” Mariner answered. “This is a California-class ship after all. She’s got a thick hull to take the stress and a set of engines packing some serious pushing power.”
“Heck yes!” Rutherford beamed proudly.
“Are you insane?” Boimler gasped in shock. “What am I saying? That’s crazy!”
“That’s what the pros call asteroid wrangling,” Mariner grinned back. “Unofficially of course. A maneuver so nuts even the gutsiest captains refuse to try it. Bet ya never read that in some ol’ mission log.”
“Well, I…I…” Boimler fumbled.
“Ah, how about this?” Tendi chirped. “An undetectable alien entity begins possessing delegates bodies and threatens to harm others.”
“Plans Theda 5-G through Theda 5-T cover those possible scenarios,” Boimler said. “Expel the entity from suspected subjects using a synaptic stimulator, chroniton beam, electromagnetic pulse, plasma shock, ionogenic particles…”
“Na, better to just stun everyone with phasers,” Mariner countered. “Can’t possess what isn’t conscious.”
“Okay,” Rutherford blinked. “What if there’s a sudden attack on the Cerritos?”
“Uh, Plans Sigma through Omega,” Boimler replied. “Though it depends on who is doing the attacking…”
“Eh, not our problem. That’s a space matter,” Mariner waved. “We’re stuck attending the commemoration party, remember? Come to think of it, the whole ‘asteroid bombardment bit’ was a space matter too.”
“I guess so,” Tendi admitted. “Oh, what if a Metron suddenly shows up?”
“Easy. Offer the guy a drink,” Mariner said. “Or girl or non-binary or whatever.”
“Why does alcohol tend to be part of so many of your solutions?” Boimler groaned glancing at Mariner. “You’d really offer a powerful, non-corporeal entity a drink?”
“Why not? It’s worked before,” Mariner shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many uber-powerful non-corporeal entities are lightweights.”
“I’ll take your word for it…wait, what?!” Boimler yelped doing a take. “What do you mean before? How?! When?!”
“Eh, I’ll tell ya later,” Mariner waved.
“But…but…!” Boimler protested.
“Anywho, this whole rap session has been fun,” Mariner said. “It’s certainly proven all of Boims’ long-shot contingency planning is a big ol’ waste of time.”
“No it hasn’t!” Boimler insisted. “Granted you did come up with some creative, insane, unorthodox solutions that would never appear in a field manual, but it still doesn’t invalidate the need for rigorous, previous planning…” He was interrupted by a sudden beep from his padd. “What’s this…huh? The trade commemoration mission to the Phelan system has been canceled?!”
“Really?” Tendi and Rutherford blinked in surprise. “Why?”
“Was there some kind of diplomatic issue?” Tendi asked.
“Did a more prestigious ship take over the mission from the Cerritos?” Rutherford pressed.
“No,” Boimler stared at his padd in shock. “Apparently the Phelan system was enveloped an unknown subspace phenomenon which caused the entire system to disappear.”
“What?” Tendi and Rutherford gasped.
“Again?” Mariner raised an eyebrow. “Man, I thought Starfleet managed to stop that from happening after what happened to the Hilbyzod system.”
“Huh?” Rutherford looked confused. “I’ve never heard of the Hilbyzod system before.”
“Exactly,” Mariner said.
“But what about the Phelan system?” Tendi asked worriedly. “What about all those people.”
“Don’t worry,” Boimler assured her. “Preliminary reports indicate the Phelan system wasn’t destroyed. It just got temporarily shifted into another dimension or some self-contained pocket of subspace.”
“Oh, is that all,” Mariner drawled.
“Thank goodness,” Tendi sighed. “What a relief.”
“No it’s not!” Boimler moaned. “The trade commemoration mission has been cancelled! All my hard prep work is for nothing!”
“Aw, what’s the matter, Boims?” Mariner teased. “Didn’t you make a contingency plan in case an entire star system disappeared?”
“Of course not!” Boimler cried. “Who’d even consider planning for something like that? My big chance to impress the captain and further my career are gone, all gone! Just like my hopes, my dreams, my sanity…”
“Hey, it’s okay, man,” Rutherford attempted to console him. “Your prep work isn’t a total waste. You still might be able to use it when the Phelan system comes back. You did say preliminary reports indicated its disappearance was temporary.”
“Oh, it’s temporary alright,” Boimler groaned. “Readings indicate the Phelan system should return to our dimension in about…a hundred and twenty-two years.”
“What?” Rutherford did a take.
“I see,” Tendi blinked. “That might be a little troublesome.”
“I’ll say,” Mariner threw an arm around Boimler’s shoulders. “By the time the Phelan mission comes around again you’ll be like older-than-Admiral McCoy ancient. You may even become a seat-of-the-pants mission veteran by then.”
“More like a shriveled prune,” Boimler moaned.
“Hey, that’s a good idea,” Rutherford commented. “We should add prunes to the icoberry daiquiri smoothies.”
“Prunes are packed with nutrients, minerals and antioxidants,” Tendi smiled. “And can greatly help one to naturally destress and relax.”
“So can tequila, but without the messy, related digestive effects,” Mariner smirked as she, Tendi and Rutherford headed for the exit. “You coming with us, Boims? Or do you need to whip up half a dozen contingency plans for that too?”
“What I plan to do is drown my latest sorrows in an unending round of prune juice spritzers,” Boimler sighed joining his friends. “Something I unfortunately have way too much experience with!”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
