Originally posted on fanfiction.net - Link.
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Age Ain't Just a Number
“Well this certainly isn’t going the way I expected,” Captain Freeman grumbled irritably. “I should have known this mission would end up being a disaster!”
“What are you talking about, Captain?” Lieutenant Commander Billups asked standing next to her. “I thought this was a terrific assignment. Being called in to restore a dilapidated, decommissioned two hundred-year-old Daedalus-class ship has been an engineering dream come true!”
“And I deeply appreciate all the hard work you and your team have put in to getting the old U.S.S. Legacy here habitable,” Freeman said indicating the 22nd century-based interior. “While also managing to preserve the ship’s distinct vibe. Very retro.”
“Well, people do tend to enjoy old things,” Billups commented. “Practically every cultural and artistic reference people make comes from the early twenty-first century or before. Ever notice that?”
“You even labored to refurbish the old, obsolete power and life support systems while keeping all the original lighting, panel finishing and color schemes,” Freeman continued to compliment. “Now that’s dedication.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Billups beamed proudly. “It’s been a real pleasure!”
“Too bad I can’t say the same,” Freeman grumbled. “While I’m glad Starfleet Command considered there was no better ship to restore an old relic like this than the aging, beat-up Cerritos…no offense, Andy.”
“None taken,” Billups waved.
“I just wish it wasn’t for the sole purpose of hosting a reunion party aboard the Legacy for some of Starfleet’s oldest members,” Freeman sighed.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Billups asked. “Being assigned such an important duty proves just how much value and trust Starfleet Command has in the Cerritos and her crew.”
“I suppose,” Freeman allowed. “And of course it’s an honor to host such a renowned assemblage of distinguished, venerable guests.”
“Wheeeeee! Yahooo! All right! Yeah!” A boisterous clamor of excited shouts, hoots and cries rang out about them.
“I just wish such revered guests would act their physical ages,” Freeman hissed at the madness and revelry being conducted in the restored Daedalus-class ship’s bar. “Instead of their mental and emotional ones!”
“Hehehehehe!” A crowd of very elderly former Starfleet personnel and personages laughed and scooted about with the aid of various medical support equipment. “Party on, people! Centenarians in the house!”
“Let’s see what you got, boys!” A group of silver-haired ladies whistled as a troupe of old men happily shuffled about on the dance floor. “Work those artificial knees! Show us some leg!”
“En garde! Allez!” A pair of aged combatants gleefully dueled each other with anti-grav canes. “Attaque! Riposte! Fente! Parade!”
“Ha! Ha! A-ha!” A lean, craggy-faced Vulcan laughed awkwardly while randomly firing a 23rd century-style hand phaser into the ceiling. “Salutary Tal-Shanar, everyone!”
“Oh geeze, I hate dealing with Bendii Syndrome-afflicted individuals,” Freeman sighed as a pair of Security guards quickly attempted to subdue the cackling Vulcan only to get nerve pinched. “Poor soul. Thank goodness Doctor T’Ana managed to develop a neural suppressant to help treat the inadvertent telepathic side effects or else everyone would be acting nuts!”
“Wahooo!” A trio of elder, hover boot-equipped guests whooped zooming through the air while buzzing the dance floor, much to the dancers’ amusement.
“Not that there’s much difference,” Freeman groaned.
“Drinks for everyone!” A wrinkled, white-haired bartender whooped pouring out various liberations. “We got fifty-year-old scotch whiskey! One hundred-year-old Ktarian Merlot! Two hundred-year-old Saurian brandy! And three hundred-year-old Vulcan port!”
“Alright! Bring it on! Yay!” The crowd cheered.
“Uh, are you sure you can handle that?” Nurse Westlake asked one elderly lady in concern.
“It’s okay, dear. I have three medical doctorate degrees and an artificial liver,” The lady assured tossing back a drink. “I’m good for another twenty, thirty years easy. And if my current liver ever fails, the doctors can always grow or transplant another one. Or I will simply perform such a transplant myself.”
“Oh. Okay,” Westlake shrugged. “Wait, you can do that?”
“Hehehehehe!” An old Efrosian cackled while shooting out brightly colored streamers from a miniature, modified plasma mortar. “Ooo, pretty!
“Pull!” A line of eager guests launched a barrage of vintage knives, daggers and kligats at a series of tossed plates and empty bottles. “Oh boy, this really takes me back! Just like the good ol’ days!”
“Ugh, this is insane!” Freeman twitched at the chaotic scene. “Remind me again why I can’t order this assemblage of esteemed yet highly eccentric personages to behave?”
“Because they’re all high-ranking admirals, enlisted members, professors, adjutants, and officials. Albeit retired ones,” Billups provided. “Who, while technically falling under your current authority, still have considerably more rank, prestige, seniority and/or influence than you.”
“Of course they do,” Freeman groaned. “Just like almost everyone else. Including certain members of my own crew!”
“Yo, yo, yo!” A smooth, baby-faced man wearing a very old-style Starfleet uniform giggled while gracefully leaping between tabletops. “Wootzo mania! Shake your booty!”
“Okay, what’s that guy’s story?” Freeman asked indicating the figure. “From his dated attire and vernacular I presume he’s one of the guests. Was he irreversibly rascaled at some point? Discovered inside an old stasis tube? Is he a Lanthanite?”
“Nope, time-displaced figure from the early 2150’s,” Billups said consulting a padd. “Temporal Investigations cleared him of any time-related hazards and he technically meets the age requirements so…”
“I should have known,” Freeman sighed.
“The guest list is surprising long considering many famed invitees were unable to attend,” Billups commented going over the padd. “Especially those who used to serve on the Enterprise. Any Enterprise…”
“Too bad there aren’t more absentees instead of attendees,” Freeman groaned.
“Nevertheless, our honored guests sure are enjoying themselves,” Billups remarked gazing over the crowd. “And the young personnel of the Cerritos are delighted at the opportunity to engage and interact with such acclaimed, experienced figures.”
“Of course they are,” Freeman glared at her crew. “For once they’re not the craziest and most troublesome ones around here!”
“Wow, you’re one of the original researchers of sleeger fungi, Professor Rentie?” A star-struck Tendi gazed at a posed, elder woman in awe. “And you were one of the first people to conduct long-term studies of Thetan marsupials?”
“That’s right, sweetie,” The woman nodded with a twinkle in her eyes. “When I was stationed at the old Theta VII colony I’d venture out into the field for months at a time. I observed and recorded every move of those cute, furry marsupials. Especially during breeding season when they’d kill each other for dominance, consume their underdeveloped young and mate themselves to death.”
“Ooo!” Tendi’s eyes grew wide. “That’s so cool!”
“Okey nopey!” A stunned Rutherford’s jaw dropped in amazement while conversing with another figure. “You literally helped rewrite the book on system diagnostic and calibration protocols, Doctor Gibney?”
“You betcha, Tech-Head,” A short, wizened woman grinned back at him. “All of today’s equipment runs on standards based on my work. Work I proved in theory and in practice while overseeing the last set of upgrades conducted to Starbase 80.”
“Dang, Starbase 80?!” A shocked voice gasped.
“Yes, Starbase 80,” Gibney confirmed. “Boy, talk about exciting duty. I hadn’t had that much fun since the time I spot-welded a pair of damaged nacelle struts while clinging to my ships’ outer hull in the middle of a firefight with a pair of Klingon bird-of-prey. Oh, those were the days!”
“Really?” Rutherford gasped. “That’s amazing! I’d love to hear more old engineering stories like that! So would Lieutenant Shaxs!”
“Excuse me, Admiral Horak,” Boimler addressed a crusty yet good-natured elder man. “But you really shouldn’t be connecting a micro anti-grav generator to a replicator like that.”
“Don’t worry, son. I know what I’m doing,” The elder man smiled while fiddling with the equipment. “I tell ya, you kids these days don’t know what you’re missing. When I was a lowly, wet-behind-the-ears ensign we didn’t have fancy replicators or idyllic holodecks to cater to our every whim. If you wanted something special, you had to get creative.”
“Okay,” Boimler said carefully. “But you still had food synthesizers.”
“If you call that pre-programmed, reconstituted, unimaginative slop food,” Horak snorted. “Amazing how they made everything taste just like something plucked straight off the Periodic Table. And if you wanted a treat that wasn’t in the database, ha! You were sold outta luck!”
“I see,” Boimler blinked.
“That is unless you knew how to use your imagination and tweak things just right…ah! Got it!” Horak smiled and tapped the modified replicator’s command panel. A bowl of fancy dessert quickly materialized in the slot before slowly beginning to levitate. “Here! Try a bite of Thalian chocolate mousse soufflé that’s literally lighter than air!”
“Well, I don’t know…acck!” Boimler yelped as Horak shoved a spoonful of soufflé into his mouth. “Ow! That’s hot! That’s…hmmm. Wow, that’s really good!”
“Told you!” Horak smirked. “Won’t find a replicator program like that, even if custom-made. Be even better if I had some real, four hundred-year-old aged Thalian cocoa beans. Or better yet, some Regalian cocoa beans. The latter’s been considered contraband for the last two hundred years. Not that I’ve ever deal in it of course.”
“Mmmm, don’t worry. I know how to keep a secret,” Boimler assured helping himself to more soufflé. “I already serve alongside someone who specializes in acquiring contra…uh, I mean uncommon ingredients. Unfortunately…”
“I can’t believe the sorry state Starfleet’s in today!” A distinguished, cantankerous old codger named Malone ranted to Mariner. “Starfleet used to be packed with bold explorers, daring scientists, righteous daredevils, enterprising voyagers, innovative pioneers! Working to help expand the boundaries of knowledge and discovery with the hopes of being continued and outperformed by our successors! Instead, the fleet’s been reduced to a bunch of boring butt-bound bureaucrats, patrol vessels and cargo haulers all toiling just to preserve the status quo.”
“No kidding,” Mariner snorted. “You don’t know the half of it, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir!” Malone snapped. “I used to shirk for a living!”
“Don’t you mean ‘work’?” Mariner asked.
“No, I mean shirk,” Malone stated. “I was a Security officer for more than fifty years back when the average Security officer’s life expectancy was less than five.”
“Really?” Mariner raised an eyebrow. “From the mission logs one would think such life expectancy was more like three or four weeks.”
“And do you know how I managed to beat the odds and survive long enough to reach a ripe, old age?” Malone asked.
“Eh, enlighten me,” Mariner shrugged.
“By shirking off and avoiding as many promotions and dangerous, risky assignments as I could,” Malone said. “Not that I was a coward or anything. If my ship or fellow crewmembers were in danger, I did everything I could to help them get through the deadly ordeal alive.”
“Well obviously,” Mariner nodded.
“I just didn’t bother dealing with all the dull, pointless aspects Starfleet tried to force upon me,” Malone went on. “So I didn’t fill out every little form or adhere to all the minute, social niceties some senior officers insisted on. Big stinking deal! I did my duty and acted properly when it mattered. Why nag me about taking certain breaks and liberties as long as they didn’t impact my performance?”
“Yeah! Testify!” Mariner cheered.
“Take anti-grav chairs for instance,” Malone tapped the one he was sitting in. “Senior officers are usually perfectly open to their general use aboard a starship or space station. But soup ‘em up and hold a series of anti-grav chair races…”
“But you’re the one with unchallenged seniority now,” Mariner pointed out wickedly. “You’re endowed with near-absolute authority, man. Might as well use it!”
“Good idea!” Malone grinned. “Hey! Listen up, people! Prepare yourselves for an old-fashioned anti-grav race! Ready your rigs and place your bets!”
“Alright! Yay!” The crowd of excited elders cheered and began excitedly zipping around the room.
“Oh no, not again!” Freeman shouted and attempted to intervene. “Everyone! Please return to your seats and cease acting so…”
SPLASH!
“Accckkk!” Freeman yelped as she was suddenly dosed with water.
“Huh, amazing how whales and certain other cetaceans were once considered to be extinct,” Horak remarked as an old, faded orca matriarch clicked and clapped from an adjacent specially-built, water-filled environment. “A pod of them traveling throughout the wide, unexplored oceans must have made quite a sight.”
“Did you even see any wild cetaceans, sir?” Boimler inquired curiously.
“Son, I’m old,” Horak gave Boimler a look. “Not ancient.”
“What’s the difference between old and ancient?” Boimler asked innocently.
“The same difference between old and legendary,” Horak replied. “Though I must admit, they do tend to overlap at times.”
“Duh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh-nuh, nuh, na!” Professor Rentie chanted sliding out onto the dance floor. “Duh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh-nuh, nuh, na!”
“Case in point,” Horak gestured to his fellow elder compatriot.
“What the…” A stunned Freeman blinked as music began blaring over the ship’s comm.
“Just take those old log tapes off the shelf!” Rentie began to sing and dance about in time to the music. “I'll sit and view all of 'em by myself! Today's missions ain’t got the same core! I like that old-time Starfleet lore!”
“Wow, she’s really good,” Billups smiled bopping his head to the beat. “I hope I become a zesty old Starfleet veteran like her someday.”
“Alright!” The crowd of elderly personages cheered. “Go Rentie! Go Rentie!”
“Don't try to pester me with black ops!” Rentie belted out while gliding around. “Dark, gritty, angsty tales are just a big bore!”
“Testify!” Boimler, Tendi and Rutherford cheered.
“There’s one genre that I fully adore!” Rentie grinned playing an anti-grav cane like an air guitar. “I like that old-time Starfleet lore!”
“I’d like to have a stiff drink or two,” Freeman groaned rubbing her temples. “On second thought, better make it three!”
“Still like that old-time Starfleet lore!” Rentie and the crowd happily sang out. “Wonderous spirit, risks, dreams and more! Boldly going where no one’s gone before! With that old-time Starfleet lore!”
“More like going, going, gone,” Freeman moaned. “Just like my sanity!”
“Enough with overwrought crack science!” Rentie continued to wail while strutting her creaking hips and joints. “Cynical melodrama’s such a hard snore! Stop the decay and set your brain to explore! Start living old-time Starfleet lore!”
“More like a living nightmare,” Freeman twitched as several elder personages started swinging from the chandeliers after being being boosted up by their hover boot-equipped companions. “I’m going to end up being demoted to commanding an old, decaying cargo freighter after this, I just know it!”
“Call me a relic, call me what you will!” Rentie sang striking a pose. “Say I'm old-fashioned, say I'm over the hill! Today's missions ain’t got the same core! I like that old-time Starfleet lore!”
“Yeah! Wohoo!” Mariner whooped leading the crowd in waving about a sea of bright blinking padds, medical aids and tricorders. “Return to your roots, baby! Gotta love the classics!”
“I’d love to bring back some classic nautical punishments right about now,” Freeman glared at Mariner. “Such as flogging, marooning and keelhauling!”
“Still like that old-time Starfleet lore!” Current and former Starfleet personnel of all ages roared and joyfully sang out with pride. “Adventure, drama, fun, jokes galore! Boldly going where no one’s gone before! With that old-time Starfleet lore!”
“Augghhh! I can’t stand it!” Freeman threw up her hands as the storm of madness proceeded to rage about her. “Ocsar Wilde’s old adage regarding age was only half right! Instead of age potentially coming with wisdom, it will inevitably be accompanied by insanity!”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks or the song "Old Time Rock and Roll".
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Age Ain't Just a Number
“Well this certainly isn’t going the way I expected,” Captain Freeman grumbled irritably. “I should have known this mission would end up being a disaster!”
“What are you talking about, Captain?” Lieutenant Commander Billups asked standing next to her. “I thought this was a terrific assignment. Being called in to restore a dilapidated, decommissioned two hundred-year-old Daedalus-class ship has been an engineering dream come true!”
“And I deeply appreciate all the hard work you and your team have put in to getting the old U.S.S. Legacy here habitable,” Freeman said indicating the 22nd century-based interior. “While also managing to preserve the ship’s distinct vibe. Very retro.”
“Well, people do tend to enjoy old things,” Billups commented. “Practically every cultural and artistic reference people make comes from the early twenty-first century or before. Ever notice that?”
“You even labored to refurbish the old, obsolete power and life support systems while keeping all the original lighting, panel finishing and color schemes,” Freeman continued to compliment. “Now that’s dedication.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Billups beamed proudly. “It’s been a real pleasure!”
“Too bad I can’t say the same,” Freeman grumbled. “While I’m glad Starfleet Command considered there was no better ship to restore an old relic like this than the aging, beat-up Cerritos…no offense, Andy.”
“None taken,” Billups waved.
“I just wish it wasn’t for the sole purpose of hosting a reunion party aboard the Legacy for some of Starfleet’s oldest members,” Freeman sighed.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Billups asked. “Being assigned such an important duty proves just how much value and trust Starfleet Command has in the Cerritos and her crew.”
“I suppose,” Freeman allowed. “And of course it’s an honor to host such a renowned assemblage of distinguished, venerable guests.”
“Wheeeeee! Yahooo! All right! Yeah!” A boisterous clamor of excited shouts, hoots and cries rang out about them.
“I just wish such revered guests would act their physical ages,” Freeman hissed at the madness and revelry being conducted in the restored Daedalus-class ship’s bar. “Instead of their mental and emotional ones!”
“Hehehehehe!” A crowd of very elderly former Starfleet personnel and personages laughed and scooted about with the aid of various medical support equipment. “Party on, people! Centenarians in the house!”
“Let’s see what you got, boys!” A group of silver-haired ladies whistled as a troupe of old men happily shuffled about on the dance floor. “Work those artificial knees! Show us some leg!”
“En garde! Allez!” A pair of aged combatants gleefully dueled each other with anti-grav canes. “Attaque! Riposte! Fente! Parade!”
“Ha! Ha! A-ha!” A lean, craggy-faced Vulcan laughed awkwardly while randomly firing a 23rd century-style hand phaser into the ceiling. “Salutary Tal-Shanar, everyone!”
“Oh geeze, I hate dealing with Bendii Syndrome-afflicted individuals,” Freeman sighed as a pair of Security guards quickly attempted to subdue the cackling Vulcan only to get nerve pinched. “Poor soul. Thank goodness Doctor T’Ana managed to develop a neural suppressant to help treat the inadvertent telepathic side effects or else everyone would be acting nuts!”
“Wahooo!” A trio of elder, hover boot-equipped guests whooped zooming through the air while buzzing the dance floor, much to the dancers’ amusement.
“Not that there’s much difference,” Freeman groaned.
“Drinks for everyone!” A wrinkled, white-haired bartender whooped pouring out various liberations. “We got fifty-year-old scotch whiskey! One hundred-year-old Ktarian Merlot! Two hundred-year-old Saurian brandy! And three hundred-year-old Vulcan port!”
“Alright! Bring it on! Yay!” The crowd cheered.
“Uh, are you sure you can handle that?” Nurse Westlake asked one elderly lady in concern.
“It’s okay, dear. I have three medical doctorate degrees and an artificial liver,” The lady assured tossing back a drink. “I’m good for another twenty, thirty years easy. And if my current liver ever fails, the doctors can always grow or transplant another one. Or I will simply perform such a transplant myself.”
“Oh. Okay,” Westlake shrugged. “Wait, you can do that?”
“Hehehehehe!” An old Efrosian cackled while shooting out brightly colored streamers from a miniature, modified plasma mortar. “Ooo, pretty!
“Pull!” A line of eager guests launched a barrage of vintage knives, daggers and kligats at a series of tossed plates and empty bottles. “Oh boy, this really takes me back! Just like the good ol’ days!”
“Ugh, this is insane!” Freeman twitched at the chaotic scene. “Remind me again why I can’t order this assemblage of esteemed yet highly eccentric personages to behave?”
“Because they’re all high-ranking admirals, enlisted members, professors, adjutants, and officials. Albeit retired ones,” Billups provided. “Who, while technically falling under your current authority, still have considerably more rank, prestige, seniority and/or influence than you.”
“Of course they do,” Freeman groaned. “Just like almost everyone else. Including certain members of my own crew!”
“Yo, yo, yo!” A smooth, baby-faced man wearing a very old-style Starfleet uniform giggled while gracefully leaping between tabletops. “Wootzo mania! Shake your booty!”
“Okay, what’s that guy’s story?” Freeman asked indicating the figure. “From his dated attire and vernacular I presume he’s one of the guests. Was he irreversibly rascaled at some point? Discovered inside an old stasis tube? Is he a Lanthanite?”
“Nope, time-displaced figure from the early 2150’s,” Billups said consulting a padd. “Temporal Investigations cleared him of any time-related hazards and he technically meets the age requirements so…”
“I should have known,” Freeman sighed.
“The guest list is surprising long considering many famed invitees were unable to attend,” Billups commented going over the padd. “Especially those who used to serve on the Enterprise. Any Enterprise…”
“Too bad there aren’t more absentees instead of attendees,” Freeman groaned.
“Nevertheless, our honored guests sure are enjoying themselves,” Billups remarked gazing over the crowd. “And the young personnel of the Cerritos are delighted at the opportunity to engage and interact with such acclaimed, experienced figures.”
“Of course they are,” Freeman glared at her crew. “For once they’re not the craziest and most troublesome ones around here!”
“Wow, you’re one of the original researchers of sleeger fungi, Professor Rentie?” A star-struck Tendi gazed at a posed, elder woman in awe. “And you were one of the first people to conduct long-term studies of Thetan marsupials?”
“That’s right, sweetie,” The woman nodded with a twinkle in her eyes. “When I was stationed at the old Theta VII colony I’d venture out into the field for months at a time. I observed and recorded every move of those cute, furry marsupials. Especially during breeding season when they’d kill each other for dominance, consume their underdeveloped young and mate themselves to death.”
“Ooo!” Tendi’s eyes grew wide. “That’s so cool!”
“Okey nopey!” A stunned Rutherford’s jaw dropped in amazement while conversing with another figure. “You literally helped rewrite the book on system diagnostic and calibration protocols, Doctor Gibney?”
“You betcha, Tech-Head,” A short, wizened woman grinned back at him. “All of today’s equipment runs on standards based on my work. Work I proved in theory and in practice while overseeing the last set of upgrades conducted to Starbase 80.”
“Dang, Starbase 80?!” A shocked voice gasped.
“Yes, Starbase 80,” Gibney confirmed. “Boy, talk about exciting duty. I hadn’t had that much fun since the time I spot-welded a pair of damaged nacelle struts while clinging to my ships’ outer hull in the middle of a firefight with a pair of Klingon bird-of-prey. Oh, those were the days!”
“Really?” Rutherford gasped. “That’s amazing! I’d love to hear more old engineering stories like that! So would Lieutenant Shaxs!”
“Excuse me, Admiral Horak,” Boimler addressed a crusty yet good-natured elder man. “But you really shouldn’t be connecting a micro anti-grav generator to a replicator like that.”
“Don’t worry, son. I know what I’m doing,” The elder man smiled while fiddling with the equipment. “I tell ya, you kids these days don’t know what you’re missing. When I was a lowly, wet-behind-the-ears ensign we didn’t have fancy replicators or idyllic holodecks to cater to our every whim. If you wanted something special, you had to get creative.”
“Okay,” Boimler said carefully. “But you still had food synthesizers.”
“If you call that pre-programmed, reconstituted, unimaginative slop food,” Horak snorted. “Amazing how they made everything taste just like something plucked straight off the Periodic Table. And if you wanted a treat that wasn’t in the database, ha! You were sold outta luck!”
“I see,” Boimler blinked.
“That is unless you knew how to use your imagination and tweak things just right…ah! Got it!” Horak smiled and tapped the modified replicator’s command panel. A bowl of fancy dessert quickly materialized in the slot before slowly beginning to levitate. “Here! Try a bite of Thalian chocolate mousse soufflé that’s literally lighter than air!”
“Well, I don’t know…acck!” Boimler yelped as Horak shoved a spoonful of soufflé into his mouth. “Ow! That’s hot! That’s…hmmm. Wow, that’s really good!”
“Told you!” Horak smirked. “Won’t find a replicator program like that, even if custom-made. Be even better if I had some real, four hundred-year-old aged Thalian cocoa beans. Or better yet, some Regalian cocoa beans. The latter’s been considered contraband for the last two hundred years. Not that I’ve ever deal in it of course.”
“Mmmm, don’t worry. I know how to keep a secret,” Boimler assured helping himself to more soufflé. “I already serve alongside someone who specializes in acquiring contra…uh, I mean uncommon ingredients. Unfortunately…”
“I can’t believe the sorry state Starfleet’s in today!” A distinguished, cantankerous old codger named Malone ranted to Mariner. “Starfleet used to be packed with bold explorers, daring scientists, righteous daredevils, enterprising voyagers, innovative pioneers! Working to help expand the boundaries of knowledge and discovery with the hopes of being continued and outperformed by our successors! Instead, the fleet’s been reduced to a bunch of boring butt-bound bureaucrats, patrol vessels and cargo haulers all toiling just to preserve the status quo.”
“No kidding,” Mariner snorted. “You don’t know the half of it, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir!” Malone snapped. “I used to shirk for a living!”
“Don’t you mean ‘work’?” Mariner asked.
“No, I mean shirk,” Malone stated. “I was a Security officer for more than fifty years back when the average Security officer’s life expectancy was less than five.”
“Really?” Mariner raised an eyebrow. “From the mission logs one would think such life expectancy was more like three or four weeks.”
“And do you know how I managed to beat the odds and survive long enough to reach a ripe, old age?” Malone asked.
“Eh, enlighten me,” Mariner shrugged.
“By shirking off and avoiding as many promotions and dangerous, risky assignments as I could,” Malone said. “Not that I was a coward or anything. If my ship or fellow crewmembers were in danger, I did everything I could to help them get through the deadly ordeal alive.”
“Well obviously,” Mariner nodded.
“I just didn’t bother dealing with all the dull, pointless aspects Starfleet tried to force upon me,” Malone went on. “So I didn’t fill out every little form or adhere to all the minute, social niceties some senior officers insisted on. Big stinking deal! I did my duty and acted properly when it mattered. Why nag me about taking certain breaks and liberties as long as they didn’t impact my performance?”
“Yeah! Testify!” Mariner cheered.
“Take anti-grav chairs for instance,” Malone tapped the one he was sitting in. “Senior officers are usually perfectly open to their general use aboard a starship or space station. But soup ‘em up and hold a series of anti-grav chair races…”
“But you’re the one with unchallenged seniority now,” Mariner pointed out wickedly. “You’re endowed with near-absolute authority, man. Might as well use it!”
“Good idea!” Malone grinned. “Hey! Listen up, people! Prepare yourselves for an old-fashioned anti-grav race! Ready your rigs and place your bets!”
“Alright! Yay!” The crowd of excited elders cheered and began excitedly zipping around the room.
“Oh no, not again!” Freeman shouted and attempted to intervene. “Everyone! Please return to your seats and cease acting so…”
SPLASH!
“Accckkk!” Freeman yelped as she was suddenly dosed with water.
“Huh, amazing how whales and certain other cetaceans were once considered to be extinct,” Horak remarked as an old, faded orca matriarch clicked and clapped from an adjacent specially-built, water-filled environment. “A pod of them traveling throughout the wide, unexplored oceans must have made quite a sight.”
“Did you even see any wild cetaceans, sir?” Boimler inquired curiously.
“Son, I’m old,” Horak gave Boimler a look. “Not ancient.”
“What’s the difference between old and ancient?” Boimler asked innocently.
“The same difference between old and legendary,” Horak replied. “Though I must admit, they do tend to overlap at times.”
“Duh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh-nuh, nuh, na!” Professor Rentie chanted sliding out onto the dance floor. “Duh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh-nuh, nuh, na!”
“Case in point,” Horak gestured to his fellow elder compatriot.
“What the…” A stunned Freeman blinked as music began blaring over the ship’s comm.
“Just take those old log tapes off the shelf!” Rentie began to sing and dance about in time to the music. “I'll sit and view all of 'em by myself! Today's missions ain’t got the same core! I like that old-time Starfleet lore!”
“Wow, she’s really good,” Billups smiled bopping his head to the beat. “I hope I become a zesty old Starfleet veteran like her someday.”
“Alright!” The crowd of elderly personages cheered. “Go Rentie! Go Rentie!”
“Don't try to pester me with black ops!” Rentie belted out while gliding around. “Dark, gritty, angsty tales are just a big bore!”
“Testify!” Boimler, Tendi and Rutherford cheered.
“There’s one genre that I fully adore!” Rentie grinned playing an anti-grav cane like an air guitar. “I like that old-time Starfleet lore!”
“I’d like to have a stiff drink or two,” Freeman groaned rubbing her temples. “On second thought, better make it three!”
“Still like that old-time Starfleet lore!” Rentie and the crowd happily sang out. “Wonderous spirit, risks, dreams and more! Boldly going where no one’s gone before! With that old-time Starfleet lore!”
“More like going, going, gone,” Freeman moaned. “Just like my sanity!”
“Enough with overwrought crack science!” Rentie continued to wail while strutting her creaking hips and joints. “Cynical melodrama’s such a hard snore! Stop the decay and set your brain to explore! Start living old-time Starfleet lore!”
“More like a living nightmare,” Freeman twitched as several elder personages started swinging from the chandeliers after being being boosted up by their hover boot-equipped companions. “I’m going to end up being demoted to commanding an old, decaying cargo freighter after this, I just know it!”
“Call me a relic, call me what you will!” Rentie sang striking a pose. “Say I'm old-fashioned, say I'm over the hill! Today's missions ain’t got the same core! I like that old-time Starfleet lore!”
“Yeah! Wohoo!” Mariner whooped leading the crowd in waving about a sea of bright blinking padds, medical aids and tricorders. “Return to your roots, baby! Gotta love the classics!”
“I’d love to bring back some classic nautical punishments right about now,” Freeman glared at Mariner. “Such as flogging, marooning and keelhauling!”
“Still like that old-time Starfleet lore!” Current and former Starfleet personnel of all ages roared and joyfully sang out with pride. “Adventure, drama, fun, jokes galore! Boldly going where no one’s gone before! With that old-time Starfleet lore!”
“Augghhh! I can’t stand it!” Freeman threw up her hands as the storm of madness proceeded to rage about her. “Ocsar Wilde’s old adage regarding age was only half right! Instead of age potentially coming with wisdom, it will inevitably be accompanied by insanity!”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks or the song "Old Time Rock and Roll".
