Originally posted on fanfiction.net - Link.
Note: This story takes place approximately one year before the episode "Second Contact".
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When Boimler Met Mariner
“Oh boy. This is it,” A young, fresh-faced Boimler whispered excitedly to himself while eagerly riding inside a Type 6A shuttlecraft with half a dozen other seated occupants. “My first official posting in Starfleet! All those long, hard years of work and study at the Academy have finally paid off. I’m about to begin a new life of exploration and travel throughout the stars. What an adventure!”
Boimler smiled as the shuttlecraft gently entered and landed in the Main Shuttlebay of the U.S.S. Cerritos. He barely managed to wait for the shuttlecraft’s rear hatch to open before practically skipping out carrying his duffle bag. Boimler eagerly approached a stone-faced, red-uniformed lieutenant standing behind a console. “Hello, sir! Ensign Brad Boimler, reporting for duty!”
“Deck Eleven. Follow the yellow line,” The lieutenant said after Boimler handed him a padd. “Take the turbolift all the way down.”
“Yes, sir,” Boimler beamed taking back his padd. “I’m ready and willing to follow any and all orders from a superior officer…”
“Keep it moving, Ensign,” The lieutenant shot him a quick warning glance. “Next.”
“Okay,” Boimler smiled and cheerfully headed out of the shuttlebay. “Thank you for the directions, even though they weren’t necessary. I memorized the entire ship’s layout before I came aboard.”
Boimler dutifully checked the instructions listed on his padd and soon arrived outside a simple, nondescript door. “Ah, here it is. Repair Bay Five. Hmmm, seems like an unusual place for a command division officer to be, but it’s probably just temporary. Doubt I’ll end up spending much time here.” He paused and braced himself for a moment. “Okay, here we go.”
Boimler took a deep breath before confidently striding through the doors. “Hello! Ensign Brad Boimler, reporting for duty…” Boimler blinked and trailed off as he took in the sight of the very messy Repair Bay. The bay was filled with piles of half-disassembled equipment, haphazardly-stacked cargo containers, carelessly scattered tools and had bulkheads covered with stains of questionable origin and composition. “Uh, hello?” Boimler cautiously called out. “Anybody here? I’m looking for my orientation liaison Ensign Mariner…”
“Hmmm?” A dark-haired human female popped up from behind the main repair table with her red-uniformed sleeves rolled up. She spotted Boimler and gasped. “Ooo, fresh meat!”
“Huh?” Boimler blinked in surprise. “Are you referring to me?”
“Hey, here’s the deal! Don’t ya worry!” Mariner quickly ran over and grabbed Boimler by the arm. “You’ve come to the right place where all the action is!”
“Uh, actually I think there’s been a mistake,” Boimler gulped nervously and slowly attempted to back out of the room. “I’ll come back some other time…”
“Where ya going? Come here, sit!” Mariner smiled shoving Boimler into a chair. “Plant your butt, sit!” She pulled out a half-empty bottle of something blue and offered it to Boimler. “Want a hit?”
“Uh, no thanks,” Boimler blanched.
“Suit yourself. I got plenty more bottles in stock,” Mariner shrugged taking a swig. “Do you want to take the tour, huh?”
“Well, yes,” Boimler nodded. “Might as well.”
“Too bad ‘cause the tour’s the inverse of sublime,” Mariner drawled rolling her eyes. “What a shock! Nothing but a waste of time!”
“Really?” Boimler did a take. “Then why bother offering me a tour in the first place?”
“Only place worth visiting is the bar. It’s da bomb!” Mariner grinned taking another drink. “There ain’t much else to do. But us Lower Decks gotta break the lull!”
“Lower what?” Boimler asked, confused.
“Man, I tell you all our work details are dull!” Mariner said sweeping an arm around at the mess of tools and equipment in the Repair Bay. “When it comes to this kind of work, I am probably the worst gal in Starfleet!”
“And you somehow ended up being my orientation liaison,” Boimler groaned. “Lucky me!”
“Being treated like a glorified clerk!” Mariner sighed dramatically. “Sarcastic! While like Kirk, a maverick! The worst gal in Starfleet!”
“You can say that again,” Boimler moaned.
“Without a doubt I’m the worst gal in Starfleet!” Mariner sang doing so. “You’ll find out ‘bout me in time!”
“Gosh, I hope not,” Boimler muttered.
“I’m simple, yet complex!” Mariner continued her lament. “A leader! A misfit! Who respects Lower Decks!” She offered Boimler the bottle again. “Here, drink this. You'll need it!”
“No thanks…gaaahhhhhh!” Boimler yelped as Mariner shoved the bottle into his open mouth.
“The worst gal in Starfleet!” Mariner smirked forcing Boimler to swallow a mouthful of the remaining contents before tossing the empty bottle over her shoulder.
“Bleah!” Boimler gagged wiping his tongue. “Ohhh, what the heck was that stuff? I feel like someone just dragged a live razorcat down my throat!”
“At least in terms of bureaucracy!” Mariner went on while ignoring Boimler’s plight. “What a waste! Bunch of dumb paperwork!”
“What are you talking about?” Boimler gasped staring at Mariner in shock. “Bureaucratic recordkeeping and paperwork are some of the best parts of being in Starfleet.”
“Better to not have all the responsibility!” Mainer scoffed indicating the Repair Bay once again. “Here we’re free! Let us be independent towards duty! Who cares as long as the work’s done?”
“Who indeed?” Boimler sighed attempting to ask a serious question. “So, what’s the work environment like aboard the Cerritos?”
“Lower Decks are all too often ignored,” Mariner said popping open a cargo container full of contraband. “Gotta find ways to prevent from getting bored!”
“What the…?” Boimler gasped doing a double-take. “What in the name of Christopher Pike is all this? Where the heck did all this random stuff from? These are all illegal weapons and alcohol and…is that a tribble?”
“Never get away with this on the Enterprise!” Mariner smirked taking out a kar'takin and swung it around a few times. “At least there they recognize how to work and have fun!”
“Ahhh! Look out!” Boimler cried ducking as the blade zipped by a few centimeters over his head. “Watch where you’re waving that thing! Aaahhhhhh!”
“Unlike the lame senior officers we got!” Mariner scoffed. “They’ll overlook us as long as we’re not caught!”
“Are you serious?!” Boimler yelped dodging another swing. “Yikes!”
“Kiss your promotion dreams goodbye! As you partner with the worst gal in Starfleet!” Mariner grinned tossing the kar'takin aside. “Prepare to travel through life…” She paused and fixed Boimler with a look. “Unnoticed! Overlooked! While getting no respect!”
“What?” Boimler blinked at Mariner’s admission.
“As minds quake in thought of the madness we shall wreck!” Mariner grinned while affectionately rubbing a stunned Boimler’s head. “A goofy man-child with weird purple hair!”
“Hey, watch it!” Boimler protested. “Don’t mess with my hair! I won’t look so promotable and impressive! Not that it’s likely to make much difference…”
“And the worst gal in Starfleeeeeet!” Mariner bellowed dramatically before letting out a satisfied sigh. “Ah, that’s Lower Decks!” She smiled and gave Boimler a reassuring yet intimidating look. “Lower Deeeeeecks!”
“Oh, I don’t feel so good,” Boimler groaned holding a hand over his stomach. “I don’t know if it’s from the drink or that sorry excuse for an orientation. Ohhh…”
“Don’t worry, man. A quick hypospray of Medical miracle juice will fix you right up,” Mariner smirked knowingly. “What did you say your name was?”
“Brad Boimler,” Boimler sighed rubbing his temples. “Ugh, never mind the hypospray. I just need something to help focus and calm me down.” He took a few slow breaths while gazing around the Repair Bay. “Like cleaning, organizing and cataloging all the stray equipment in here. This place is a mess!”
“Ya know, Boims,” Mariner grinned throwing an arm around his shoulder. “I think this is the beginning of a beautifully dysfunctional friendship.”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks or the song "The Worst Pies in London."
Note: This story takes place approximately one year before the episode "Second Contact".
--------------------------------------
When Boimler Met Mariner
“Oh boy. This is it,” A young, fresh-faced Boimler whispered excitedly to himself while eagerly riding inside a Type 6A shuttlecraft with half a dozen other seated occupants. “My first official posting in Starfleet! All those long, hard years of work and study at the Academy have finally paid off. I’m about to begin a new life of exploration and travel throughout the stars. What an adventure!”
Boimler smiled as the shuttlecraft gently entered and landed in the Main Shuttlebay of the U.S.S. Cerritos. He barely managed to wait for the shuttlecraft’s rear hatch to open before practically skipping out carrying his duffle bag. Boimler eagerly approached a stone-faced, red-uniformed lieutenant standing behind a console. “Hello, sir! Ensign Brad Boimler, reporting for duty!”
“Deck Eleven. Follow the yellow line,” The lieutenant said after Boimler handed him a padd. “Take the turbolift all the way down.”
“Yes, sir,” Boimler beamed taking back his padd. “I’m ready and willing to follow any and all orders from a superior officer…”
“Keep it moving, Ensign,” The lieutenant shot him a quick warning glance. “Next.”
“Okay,” Boimler smiled and cheerfully headed out of the shuttlebay. “Thank you for the directions, even though they weren’t necessary. I memorized the entire ship’s layout before I came aboard.”
Boimler dutifully checked the instructions listed on his padd and soon arrived outside a simple, nondescript door. “Ah, here it is. Repair Bay Five. Hmmm, seems like an unusual place for a command division officer to be, but it’s probably just temporary. Doubt I’ll end up spending much time here.” He paused and braced himself for a moment. “Okay, here we go.”
Boimler took a deep breath before confidently striding through the doors. “Hello! Ensign Brad Boimler, reporting for duty…” Boimler blinked and trailed off as he took in the sight of the very messy Repair Bay. The bay was filled with piles of half-disassembled equipment, haphazardly-stacked cargo containers, carelessly scattered tools and had bulkheads covered with stains of questionable origin and composition. “Uh, hello?” Boimler cautiously called out. “Anybody here? I’m looking for my orientation liaison Ensign Mariner…”
“Hmmm?” A dark-haired human female popped up from behind the main repair table with her red-uniformed sleeves rolled up. She spotted Boimler and gasped. “Ooo, fresh meat!”
“Huh?” Boimler blinked in surprise. “Are you referring to me?”
“Hey, here’s the deal! Don’t ya worry!” Mariner quickly ran over and grabbed Boimler by the arm. “You’ve come to the right place where all the action is!”
“Uh, actually I think there’s been a mistake,” Boimler gulped nervously and slowly attempted to back out of the room. “I’ll come back some other time…”
“Where ya going? Come here, sit!” Mariner smiled shoving Boimler into a chair. “Plant your butt, sit!” She pulled out a half-empty bottle of something blue and offered it to Boimler. “Want a hit?”
“Uh, no thanks,” Boimler blanched.
“Suit yourself. I got plenty more bottles in stock,” Mariner shrugged taking a swig. “Do you want to take the tour, huh?”
“Well, yes,” Boimler nodded. “Might as well.”
“Too bad ‘cause the tour’s the inverse of sublime,” Mariner drawled rolling her eyes. “What a shock! Nothing but a waste of time!”
“Really?” Boimler did a take. “Then why bother offering me a tour in the first place?”
“Only place worth visiting is the bar. It’s da bomb!” Mariner grinned taking another drink. “There ain’t much else to do. But us Lower Decks gotta break the lull!”
“Lower what?” Boimler asked, confused.
“Man, I tell you all our work details are dull!” Mariner said sweeping an arm around at the mess of tools and equipment in the Repair Bay. “When it comes to this kind of work, I am probably the worst gal in Starfleet!”
“And you somehow ended up being my orientation liaison,” Boimler groaned. “Lucky me!”
“Being treated like a glorified clerk!” Mariner sighed dramatically. “Sarcastic! While like Kirk, a maverick! The worst gal in Starfleet!”
“You can say that again,” Boimler moaned.
“Without a doubt I’m the worst gal in Starfleet!” Mariner sang doing so. “You’ll find out ‘bout me in time!”
“Gosh, I hope not,” Boimler muttered.
“I’m simple, yet complex!” Mariner continued her lament. “A leader! A misfit! Who respects Lower Decks!” She offered Boimler the bottle again. “Here, drink this. You'll need it!”
“No thanks…gaaahhhhhh!” Boimler yelped as Mariner shoved the bottle into his open mouth.
“The worst gal in Starfleet!” Mariner smirked forcing Boimler to swallow a mouthful of the remaining contents before tossing the empty bottle over her shoulder.
“Bleah!” Boimler gagged wiping his tongue. “Ohhh, what the heck was that stuff? I feel like someone just dragged a live razorcat down my throat!”
“At least in terms of bureaucracy!” Mariner went on while ignoring Boimler’s plight. “What a waste! Bunch of dumb paperwork!”
“What are you talking about?” Boimler gasped staring at Mariner in shock. “Bureaucratic recordkeeping and paperwork are some of the best parts of being in Starfleet.”
“Better to not have all the responsibility!” Mainer scoffed indicating the Repair Bay once again. “Here we’re free! Let us be independent towards duty! Who cares as long as the work’s done?”
“Who indeed?” Boimler sighed attempting to ask a serious question. “So, what’s the work environment like aboard the Cerritos?”
“Lower Decks are all too often ignored,” Mariner said popping open a cargo container full of contraband. “Gotta find ways to prevent from getting bored!”
“What the…?” Boimler gasped doing a double-take. “What in the name of Christopher Pike is all this? Where the heck did all this random stuff from? These are all illegal weapons and alcohol and…is that a tribble?”
“Never get away with this on the Enterprise!” Mariner smirked taking out a kar'takin and swung it around a few times. “At least there they recognize how to work and have fun!”
“Ahhh! Look out!” Boimler cried ducking as the blade zipped by a few centimeters over his head. “Watch where you’re waving that thing! Aaahhhhhh!”
“Unlike the lame senior officers we got!” Mariner scoffed. “They’ll overlook us as long as we’re not caught!”
“Are you serious?!” Boimler yelped dodging another swing. “Yikes!”
“Kiss your promotion dreams goodbye! As you partner with the worst gal in Starfleet!” Mariner grinned tossing the kar'takin aside. “Prepare to travel through life…” She paused and fixed Boimler with a look. “Unnoticed! Overlooked! While getting no respect!”
“What?” Boimler blinked at Mariner’s admission.
“As minds quake in thought of the madness we shall wreck!” Mariner grinned while affectionately rubbing a stunned Boimler’s head. “A goofy man-child with weird purple hair!”
“Hey, watch it!” Boimler protested. “Don’t mess with my hair! I won’t look so promotable and impressive! Not that it’s likely to make much difference…”
“And the worst gal in Starfleeeeeet!” Mariner bellowed dramatically before letting out a satisfied sigh. “Ah, that’s Lower Decks!” She smiled and gave Boimler a reassuring yet intimidating look. “Lower Deeeeeecks!”
“Oh, I don’t feel so good,” Boimler groaned holding a hand over his stomach. “I don’t know if it’s from the drink or that sorry excuse for an orientation. Ohhh…”
“Don’t worry, man. A quick hypospray of Medical miracle juice will fix you right up,” Mariner smirked knowingly. “What did you say your name was?”
“Brad Boimler,” Boimler sighed rubbing his temples. “Ugh, never mind the hypospray. I just need something to help focus and calm me down.” He took a few slow breaths while gazing around the Repair Bay. “Like cleaning, organizing and cataloging all the stray equipment in here. This place is a mess!”
“Ya know, Boims,” Mariner grinned throwing an arm around his shoulder. “I think this is the beginning of a beautifully dysfunctional friendship.”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks or the song "The Worst Pies in London."
