Originally posted on fanfiction.net - Link.
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Ops Station Number Nine
“C’mon, Boims. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mariner coaxed assuringly. “Just do it with me!”
“No thanks,” Boimler declined going over a padd. “Not interested.”
“But it’ll be fun,” Mariner insisted. “I know doing it raw and without protection may sound scary at first, but believe me, once you do you’ll never go back.”
“I’d prefer not to start in the first place,” Boimler said while seated at the main repair table in the Repair Bay. “Forget it, Mariner. Just because the Cerritos is currently docked at Douglas Station doesn’t mean I’ll join you in visiting the promenade’s latest spa.”
“But the place promises a fully authentic experience,” Mariner pointed out. “They reportedly import fresh mud straight from Luria and the Parallax Colony on Shiralea VI.”
“Yeah, it sounds really interesting,” Tendi chirped excitedly. “Just think how many different species of molds, fungi and microorganisms their mud contains.”
“I’m trying not to,” Boimler groaned. “There’s no way I’m going to willing cover myself in unprotected mud. Especially without clothes!”
“When visiting a spa it’s best to go au naturale,” Mariner stated. “Nothing like a raw mud facial to make you feel refreshed!”
“Unless it’s a mask treatment utilizing fresh snail mucus,” Tendi said. “The new spa offers those too by placing live snails directly onto your face. You should really try it out!”
“I think I’ll pass,” Boimler shuddered. “I’m all for exploring new experiences, but there are some frontiers that simply should not be crossed!”
“Aw, c’mon!” Mariner cajoled. “You really need to get out more, Boims. You can’t spend all your time cooped up in your little hidey closet or some other obscure area of the ship. Just think what that kind of prolonged isolation can do to you!”
“Hi guys!” A dirty, disheveled Rutherford greeted popping out from a nearby Jefferies tube hatch. “Ah, I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to stand upright.”
“See what I mean?” Mariner quipped.
“Hey Rutherford,” Boimler greeted taking in Rutherford’s unkempt appearance. “Whoa, where have you been, man? We haven’t seen you all day.”
“You weren’t in your bunk last night either,” Tendi added. “Or this morning.”
“Did you spend the night lying in someone else’s bunk or quarters?” Mariner teased wiggling her eyebrows. “Did you get lucky?”
“What?!” Tendi yelped.
“Even better!” Rutherford grinned happily. “It was beyond words!”
“Try explaining it to us anyway,” Boimler prodded. “Starting with what happened after we last saw each other yesterday at breakfast.”
“Yeah, in great detail,” Mariner smirked eagerly. “Inquiring minds want to know!”
“Okey-dokey!” Rutherford nodded with a twinkle in his eye. “You see, what happened was…” He fixed his friends with a smile. “I took the turbolift to the warp core. Not knowing exactly what was in store.”
“O-kay,” Boimler gave him a strange look.
“For an alert showed a faulty plasmadyne,” Rutherford explained with a smile. “Seems there was a problem at Ops Station Number Nine!”
“That’s not the only problem around here,” Mariner quipped at Rutherford’s behavior.
“Oh dear,” Tendi frowned in worry. “What was the problem?”
“Readings showed things weren’t all okey-dokey!” Rutherford sang out in explanation. “Billups quickly thought then signaled to me!”
“Really?” Boimler raised an eyebrow. “What kind of signal?”
“His tapped at his padd and new orders did assign!” Rutherford grinned impersonating Billups. “He said, ‘Make repairs to Ops Station Number Nine’!”
“Otherwise known as Mistake Number One,” Mariner quipped indicating Rutherford. “Followed shortly by Mistake Number Two!”
“Huh. Looks like Rutherford has gone engineering-happy again,” Boimler commented casually. “Well, at least he isn’t also tinker-drunk.”
“Rutherford’s tendency to get fully immersed in his work is a little worrisome,” Tendi noted bopping her head to the beat. “Though you have to admit, he does have a great singing voice.”
“I grabbed my tools, rushed to the scene and stopped with a jerk!” Rutherford smiled reenacting his labors. “Circuits had been blown and gone completely berserk!”
“They aren’t the only ones,” Mariner drawled.
“Like they’d been paradoxed and outwitted by Kirk!” Rutherford posed dramatically. “I rolled my sleeves! I set my jaw! I went to work!”
“Hope you also went to sleep at some point,” Boimler remarked at his friend. “From the looks of things, you could definitely use some.”
“I replaced components all day and night!” Rutherford sang happily prancing around the Repair Bay. “I calibrated everything in sight!”
“Too bad you neglected to look in a mirror,” Mariner quipped.
“‘Til green lights ‘cross the board signaled everything was fine!” Rutherford grinned proudly. “And things were up and running at Ops Station Number Nine!”
“Yay!” Tendi cheered clapping her hands. “Way to go Rutherford!”
“Yeah, that’s nice. Good for you,” Boimler said attempting to wrap things up. “Thanks for the explanation, man. But I really need to get back to…”
“I rolled my sleeves! I set my jaw!” Rutherford belted out once more. “I got to work!”
“More like gone,” Mariner rolled her eyes. “Looks like Ruthy’s implant is caught in some kind of errant feedback loop again.”
“Are you sure?” Tendi asked. “He seems perfectly normal to me.”
“I replaced components all day and night!” Rutherford repeated in encore. “I calibrated everything in sight!”
“Then again,” Tendi blinked.
“‘Til green lights ‘cross the board signaled everything was fine!” Rutherford’s face was almost as lit up as the aforementioned display board. “I got things up and running at Ops Station Number Nine!”
“O-kay. That’s it. Enough of whatever the heck this is,” Mariner declared getting up. “Time to give ol’ Ruthy a tune up.”
“More like a tune down,” Boimler noted. “Some people just don’t know when to relax.”
“And that’s you saying it,” Mariner quipped.
“How about we take Rutherford to the spa?” Tendi suggested. “I bet he’d love to soak in some nice, viscous mud.”
“Good idea,” Mariner grinned grabbing a still dancing Rutherford. “Let’s go!”
“Yay!” Tendi cheered joining her. “Coming Boimler?”
“For the last time, no,” Boimler politely shook his head. “I have way too much work to do.”
“WHAT THE DEVIL HAPPENED TO MY OPS STATION?!” Ensign Amadou’s outraged shouts rang out in the distance. “AND THIS ROOM?! IT LOOKS LIKE A FERENGI JUNKYARD IN HERE!”
“THE ENTIRE PLACE HAS BEEN TORN APART!” Asif shrieked. “WHO MAKES REPAIRS USING OLD ARGO-CLASS TIRES AND SOUP LADLES?!”
“THOSE LOUSY BETA SHIFTERS MUST HAVE DONE THIS!” Karavitus and Moxy roared. “JUST WAIT TIL WE GET OUR HANDS ON THEM…!”
“On the other hand,” Boimler gulped quickly joining his friends. “I suppose I could use a little break…”
“‘Attaway, Boims,” Mariner quipped. “I knew we’d get you out of your little weasel-sized comfort zone eventually.”
“Oh, shut up,” Boimler sighed.
“Ops Station Number Nine!” Rutherford continued to sing happily as he was unceremoniously dragged away. “Ops Station Number Nine! Ops Station Number Nine!”
“More like Stress Migraine Number Nine,” Boimler groaned rubbing his temples. “Whoever said messy success is better than perfect mediocrity obviously never served aboard the Cerritos!”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks or the song "Love Potion Number Nine".
--------------------------------------
Ops Station Number Nine
“C’mon, Boims. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mariner coaxed assuringly. “Just do it with me!”
“No thanks,” Boimler declined going over a padd. “Not interested.”
“But it’ll be fun,” Mariner insisted. “I know doing it raw and without protection may sound scary at first, but believe me, once you do you’ll never go back.”
“I’d prefer not to start in the first place,” Boimler said while seated at the main repair table in the Repair Bay. “Forget it, Mariner. Just because the Cerritos is currently docked at Douglas Station doesn’t mean I’ll join you in visiting the promenade’s latest spa.”
“But the place promises a fully authentic experience,” Mariner pointed out. “They reportedly import fresh mud straight from Luria and the Parallax Colony on Shiralea VI.”
“Yeah, it sounds really interesting,” Tendi chirped excitedly. “Just think how many different species of molds, fungi and microorganisms their mud contains.”
“I’m trying not to,” Boimler groaned. “There’s no way I’m going to willing cover myself in unprotected mud. Especially without clothes!”
“When visiting a spa it’s best to go au naturale,” Mariner stated. “Nothing like a raw mud facial to make you feel refreshed!”
“Unless it’s a mask treatment utilizing fresh snail mucus,” Tendi said. “The new spa offers those too by placing live snails directly onto your face. You should really try it out!”
“I think I’ll pass,” Boimler shuddered. “I’m all for exploring new experiences, but there are some frontiers that simply should not be crossed!”
“Aw, c’mon!” Mariner cajoled. “You really need to get out more, Boims. You can’t spend all your time cooped up in your little hidey closet or some other obscure area of the ship. Just think what that kind of prolonged isolation can do to you!”
“Hi guys!” A dirty, disheveled Rutherford greeted popping out from a nearby Jefferies tube hatch. “Ah, I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to stand upright.”
“See what I mean?” Mariner quipped.
“Hey Rutherford,” Boimler greeted taking in Rutherford’s unkempt appearance. “Whoa, where have you been, man? We haven’t seen you all day.”
“You weren’t in your bunk last night either,” Tendi added. “Or this morning.”
“Did you spend the night lying in someone else’s bunk or quarters?” Mariner teased wiggling her eyebrows. “Did you get lucky?”
“What?!” Tendi yelped.
“Even better!” Rutherford grinned happily. “It was beyond words!”
“Try explaining it to us anyway,” Boimler prodded. “Starting with what happened after we last saw each other yesterday at breakfast.”
“Yeah, in great detail,” Mariner smirked eagerly. “Inquiring minds want to know!”
“Okey-dokey!” Rutherford nodded with a twinkle in his eye. “You see, what happened was…” He fixed his friends with a smile. “I took the turbolift to the warp core. Not knowing exactly what was in store.”
“O-kay,” Boimler gave him a strange look.
“For an alert showed a faulty plasmadyne,” Rutherford explained with a smile. “Seems there was a problem at Ops Station Number Nine!”
“That’s not the only problem around here,” Mariner quipped at Rutherford’s behavior.
“Oh dear,” Tendi frowned in worry. “What was the problem?”
“Readings showed things weren’t all okey-dokey!” Rutherford sang out in explanation. “Billups quickly thought then signaled to me!”
“Really?” Boimler raised an eyebrow. “What kind of signal?”
“His tapped at his padd and new orders did assign!” Rutherford grinned impersonating Billups. “He said, ‘Make repairs to Ops Station Number Nine’!”
“Otherwise known as Mistake Number One,” Mariner quipped indicating Rutherford. “Followed shortly by Mistake Number Two!”
“Huh. Looks like Rutherford has gone engineering-happy again,” Boimler commented casually. “Well, at least he isn’t also tinker-drunk.”
“Rutherford’s tendency to get fully immersed in his work is a little worrisome,” Tendi noted bopping her head to the beat. “Though you have to admit, he does have a great singing voice.”
“I grabbed my tools, rushed to the scene and stopped with a jerk!” Rutherford smiled reenacting his labors. “Circuits had been blown and gone completely berserk!”
“They aren’t the only ones,” Mariner drawled.
“Like they’d been paradoxed and outwitted by Kirk!” Rutherford posed dramatically. “I rolled my sleeves! I set my jaw! I went to work!”
“Hope you also went to sleep at some point,” Boimler remarked at his friend. “From the looks of things, you could definitely use some.”
“I replaced components all day and night!” Rutherford sang happily prancing around the Repair Bay. “I calibrated everything in sight!”
“Too bad you neglected to look in a mirror,” Mariner quipped.
“‘Til green lights ‘cross the board signaled everything was fine!” Rutherford grinned proudly. “And things were up and running at Ops Station Number Nine!”
“Yay!” Tendi cheered clapping her hands. “Way to go Rutherford!”
“Yeah, that’s nice. Good for you,” Boimler said attempting to wrap things up. “Thanks for the explanation, man. But I really need to get back to…”
“I rolled my sleeves! I set my jaw!” Rutherford belted out once more. “I got to work!”
“More like gone,” Mariner rolled her eyes. “Looks like Ruthy’s implant is caught in some kind of errant feedback loop again.”
“Are you sure?” Tendi asked. “He seems perfectly normal to me.”
“I replaced components all day and night!” Rutherford repeated in encore. “I calibrated everything in sight!”
“Then again,” Tendi blinked.
“‘Til green lights ‘cross the board signaled everything was fine!” Rutherford’s face was almost as lit up as the aforementioned display board. “I got things up and running at Ops Station Number Nine!”
“O-kay. That’s it. Enough of whatever the heck this is,” Mariner declared getting up. “Time to give ol’ Ruthy a tune up.”
“More like a tune down,” Boimler noted. “Some people just don’t know when to relax.”
“And that’s you saying it,” Mariner quipped.
“How about we take Rutherford to the spa?” Tendi suggested. “I bet he’d love to soak in some nice, viscous mud.”
“Good idea,” Mariner grinned grabbing a still dancing Rutherford. “Let’s go!”
“Yay!” Tendi cheered joining her. “Coming Boimler?”
“For the last time, no,” Boimler politely shook his head. “I have way too much work to do.”
“WHAT THE DEVIL HAPPENED TO MY OPS STATION?!” Ensign Amadou’s outraged shouts rang out in the distance. “AND THIS ROOM?! IT LOOKS LIKE A FERENGI JUNKYARD IN HERE!”
“THE ENTIRE PLACE HAS BEEN TORN APART!” Asif shrieked. “WHO MAKES REPAIRS USING OLD ARGO-CLASS TIRES AND SOUP LADLES?!”
“THOSE LOUSY BETA SHIFTERS MUST HAVE DONE THIS!” Karavitus and Moxy roared. “JUST WAIT TIL WE GET OUR HANDS ON THEM…!”
“On the other hand,” Boimler gulped quickly joining his friends. “I suppose I could use a little break…”
“‘Attaway, Boims,” Mariner quipped. “I knew we’d get you out of your little weasel-sized comfort zone eventually.”
“Oh, shut up,” Boimler sighed.
“Ops Station Number Nine!” Rutherford continued to sing happily as he was unceremoniously dragged away. “Ops Station Number Nine! Ops Station Number Nine!”
“More like Stress Migraine Number Nine,” Boimler groaned rubbing his temples. “Whoever said messy success is better than perfect mediocrity obviously never served aboard the Cerritos!”
--------------------------------------
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks or the song "Love Potion Number Nine".
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