Originally posted on fanfiction.net - Link.
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Code of the Cerritos
“Hey guys,” Boimler greeted clutching a padd. “Have you seen the latest?”
“Of what? Fleet?” Tendi asked sitting in her bunk. “I thought the next edition didn’t come out until next week.”
“Ooo, I’ve been really looking forward to it,” Rutherford’s eye and implant lit up. “It’s supposed to contain an exclusive interview with Dr. Leah Brahms and the future of starship design.”
“Sounds cool, but that’s not what I was referring to,” Boimler said. “I’m talking about the latest memo issued by Captain Freeman.”
“Oh goodie. What’s el Capitán passed down to us lowly plebs this time?” Mariner drawled lying in her bunk. “An abrupt cancellation of yet another undoubtedly awesome shipwide concert or celebration?”
“No,” Boimler corrected. “It’s a list of additions and addendums regarding Starfleet regulations.”
“Argh, no! That’s even worse!” Mariner groaned. “Yet more stupid, pointless rules and regs for us to learn!”
“What’s wrong with that?” Tendi asked taking out a padd of her own. “Learning a bunch of new rules and protocols can be fun, thought also sometimes a bit tedious.”
“You have a point,” Rutherford agreed. “Staying informed on all the latest engineering manuals, specifications and regulations can get pretty confusing. Good thing I can simply update my implant and have it display all the relevant information for me.”
“Some officers don’t need an implant,” Boimler smiled proudly. “I for example have memorized every Starfleet rule, regulation, protocol, directive and general order word-for-word.”
“Otherwise known as the biggest waste of time and space ever made,” Mariner quipped. “Your brain is so overpacked with pointless knowledge and minutiae that it doesn’t have any room left over to house any common sense.”
“At least I bother to learn about the rules,” Boimler gave Mariner a look. “Unlike you who simply ignores regulations and breaks them on a daily, if not hourly basis!”
“Hey, I bother to follow regs when they make sense,” Mariner defended. “It’s all the stupid and unimportant ones that I have problems with. Or when regs are used as barriers or excuses to prevent people from doing the right thing.”
“How coincidentally convenient that you are always the one who decides what the right thing is,” Boimler rolled his eyes. “No matter how crazy, dangerous or irresponsible it may be!”
“What are you talking about? I always accept responsibility for my actions,” Mariner insisted. “More or less…”
“Don’t remind me,” Boimler groaned. “You’re like the perfect example of why Starfleet rules and regulations need to exist. Starfleet regulations are created with the intention to establish or maintain order, keep people safe and prevent officers from abusing their power, acting like self-appointed gods and causing chaos!”
“No, regs are made by a bunch of opinion makers who think their way is the best way to address certain situations,” Mariner argued. “Which doesn’t automatically make it the only way to do so. There’s no rule that covers every situation or can be considered one hundred percent, neutronium-clad absolute.”
“Except for the Rules of Math,” Rutherford pointed out. “Along with the Laws of Chemistry, the Laws of Physics, certain Biological laws…”
“Okay, some rules may be absolute,” Mariner allowed. “All the natural, sciency-based ones anyway. But not the ones made up by fallible sentient beings. Those types of rules act more like strongly recommended guidelines than holier-than-thou, inviolable, hard-and-fast rules and regs.”
“Like the Rules of Acquisition,” Tendi commented. “Which are more like suggestions despite being marketed and labeled as ‘Rules’. At least according to some theories.”
“Yes! Exactly!” Mariner grinned in affirmation. “The rules and laws make up by sentient beings are always open to interpretation. Every rule has its own loopholes and exceptions. Including Starfleet regs.”
“I don’t think so. The list of additions and addendums Captain Freeman sent out are pretty clear,” Boimler noted studying his padd. “Like this first one: phaser practice is only allowed to take place on the Phaser Range and nowhere else. All other areas are off-limits including the Repair Bays, Shuttlebays, the Mess Hall, Sickbay…”
“Sheesh, try to include a little variety and everyone gets upset,” Mariner grumbled.
“Well, that rule does seem to be pretty obvious,” Tendi commented.
“Throwing or tossing exoscalpels is also forbidden,” Boimler continued. “Along with using any Starfleet equipment or personnel as targets.”
“Oops,” Tendi gulped guiltily. “I wasn’t aware of that one. Sorry!”
“Personnel?” Rutherford blinked in surprise.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Tendi protested. “Doctor T’Ana ordered me to toss those exoscalpels at her. She said it was for surgical practice.”
“Huh, good thing she didn’t order you to toss any laser saws,” Mariner quipped.
“Moving on,” Boimler proceeded to read off the list. “All personal projects must receive permission from either the Captain or First Officer to ensure they do not have a good chance of damaging, disrupting, wrecking or blowing up the ship. Especially those undertaken by Science and Engineering personnel.”
“Awww,” Tendi and Rutherford pouted.
“Gotta agree with Freeman on that one,” Mariner said. “Need I remind you guys of the whole Plasmodic Choko Vine Fiasco?”
“Please don’t,” Boimler shuddered. “I still have nightmares about glowing tendrils and exploding cybernetic chayotes.”
“Do not disable the ship’s fire detection or suppression systems,” Tendi recited reading from her own padd. “This includes doing so with the intent to burn incense, roast marshmallows or hold flaming fire dances.”
“Dang. That puts the kibosh on next week’s Lūʻau Night,” Mariner cursed snapping her fingers. “Now what am I supposed to do with my stockpile of fireworks, firecrackers, sparklers and tiki torches?”
“Do not accept or bring back any unknown, unscanned or unauthorized souvenirs acquired during away missions,” Boimler read next. “Even if the locals present them to you as a gift.”
“In my defense, I had absolutely no idea that pretty little geode I stumbled upon while on Albeni happened to be a revered cultural artifact,” Tendi blushed. “Or that possessing it meant igniting a blood feud with the bearer’s ship and family.”
“Still better than the pouch of ‘common’ rocks some character gave Boimler on Spica,” Mariner made air quotes with her fingers. “Which resulted in him becoming an unknowing smuggler of Tallonian crystals. Or so Boims claimed…”
“Hey, I was cleared of those illegal substance possession charges!” Boimler protested. “Lieutenant Shaxs himself proved that! I’d never knowingly possess or traffic any kind of contraband. Unlike some people!”
“Hey, any contraband I may allegedly have or come across is either mostly harmless or always used for a good cause,” Mariner insisted. “The good cause usually being my own happiness and sense of gratification.”
“Oh geeze,” Boimler groaned.
“No more anti-grav lift racing?” Tendi read off the next rule in surprise. “Nooo!”
“Whew! Thank goodness,” Rutherford sighed in relief. “Uh, I mean, awww. Too bad.”
“Eh, no worries, T,” Mariner waved. “Anti-grav lift racing may be out, but it didn’t say anything about anti-grav sleds…”
“Really?” Tendi chirped excitedly. “Yay!”
“Oh no,” Boimler blanched. “Not again…”
“Er, let’s move on,” Rutherford gulped quickly glancing at the list. “All logs, reports, memos and other official Starfleet correspondence must adhere to proper protocol regarding grammar, language and punctuation. Submitting a mission report which reads: ‘Fixed the prob. Nobody died. ‘S all good.’ is not acceptable.”
“Gee, I wonder who inspired that rule?” Boimler gave Mariner a look.
“So I like to keep my mission reports sharp, simple and to the point,” Mariner shrugged. “Big whoop. It’s better than handing in a thirty-six-page essay about replacing the lights in the Conference Room.”
“I didn’t just replace the lights,” Boimler blushed. “I also calibrated the display screens and realigned all the wheels of the conference chairs.”
“Oh, well that’s a completely different story,” Mariner drawled. “Not!”
“Details like those are important,” Boimler insisted.
“Yeah, to neurotic nitpickers like you and every other fussy, bureaucratic butt-bound senior officer,” Mariner snorted. “Talk about a bunch of overly pointless and unnecessary rules! Regs like that practically demand leeway.”
“Well, Captain Freeman is pretty flexible when it comes to some things,” Tendi pointed out studying her padd. “Like this next rule. ‘Allowances to one’s personal attire may be granted in regard to Starfleet’s Uniform Code. However, if wearing a skant, be sure to also be wearing Starfleet-approved underwear. Especially in low-gravity environments.’”
“Gee, I wonder who inspired that rule?” Mariner repeated wickedly.
“That wasn’t my fault!” Boimler blushed redder than a Klingon trefoil. “It was an honest mistake! I was an innocent victim of circumstances!”
“Suuure you were,” Mariner snickered.
“Do not tick off Doctor T’Ana. Ever,” Tendi read off the next rule. “She hates having to treat her own victims.”
“That’s a very good rule,” Rutherford noted. “Wait, isn’t striking a fellow Starfleet officer a court-martial offense?”
“Striking, yes,” Tendi confirmed. “Clawing, biting, disemboweling and/or dismembering however can be somewhat ambiguous.”
“Finally. Some wiggle room in Starfleet’s never-ending reel of regs,” Mariner quipped.
“Regarding Starfleet Labor Code Section 48, Alpha-7,” Boimler proceeded with the list. “Requesting and/or requiring meal breaks at regular intervals is acceptable. However, this does not mean stopping to grab a snack or drink every hour, every half hour, every quarter hour or every five minutes.”
“Awww,” Mariner sighed.
“Do not suggest certain ship visitors need to be strip searched,” Boimler went on. “No matter how shifty, suspicious, gorgeous, willing or culturally open they may be.”
“Awww!” Mariner sighed even louder.
“Do not mix alcohol into the water in Cetacean Ops or replace any such water with alcohol,” Tendi read next. “All cetacean personnel are absolutely forbidden from consuming alcohol or getting drunk. All other ship’s personnel are absolutely forbidden from allowing, assisting or encouraging any cetacean personnel to get drunk.”
“What?” Mariner yelped in indignation. “Freeman can’t do that! That’s violating cetaceans’ fundamental freedoms! There’s no prohibition aboard the Cerritos! Down with the Feds! Drunken rights now!”
“Huh, guess Captain Freeman established that rule after encountering those lost Earth colonists a while back,” Boimler commented.
“That’s too bad,” Rutherford sighed looking over the rule. “Ensign Matao really lets loose after downing a few liters of spirits.”
“Do not allow the ship’s kindergarteners or other pre-adolescent children to do your duties or operate Starfleet equipment, supervised or otherwise,” Tendi continued with the list. “Even if they are gifted and better than doing so than you.”
“Does that include Ensign Asif?” Rutherford asked curiously. “He is a child prodigy after all.”
“More like a child pain in the neck,” Mariner noted. “He’s even more nerdish and whiny than Boimler.”
“Yeah,” Boimler agreed. “Wait a second…hey!”
“Pets are not allowed on the Bridge, Sickbay or Engineering,” Tendi went on. “Or pretty much any other place except one’s quarters.”
“Try telling that to Lancelot,” Rutherford groaned. “That sneaky ferret somehow manages to get into everything. Even the ship’s internal sensors have trouble tracking him.”
“Really?” Mariner raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like my kind of animal. Hmmm, I could use a good partner like him…”
“Oh no,” Boimler moaned. “Don’t even think about it!”
“No singing while on duty unless granted permission or under special circumstances?” Tendi blinked at the list in surprise. “That can’t be right.”
“Ha! Good luck trying to enforce that rule,” Mariner barked. “That’s even more ridiculous than the one about forbidding drunken cetaceans."
“No dance contests without the Captain’s approval,” Boimler read next. “Especially while on duty.”
“Awww, that’s too bad,” Rutherford sighed. “You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Ensign Meredith and Lieutenant Dahae try to out-do each other when realigning ESP conduits while doing the rumba in tune to a set of perfectly calibrated resonating coils.”
“No late-night parties are to be held on the Bridge during Delta shift,” Boimler went on. “Or any other shift period.”
“Well that goes without saying,” Mariner commented. “Why should those Delta shift jerks get to have more fun than the rest of us?”
“Do they really have late-night Bridge parties?” Tendi asked.
“Unfortunately no,” Rutherford stated. “And neither does the crew on any other ship.”
“No kidding,” Boimler snorted. “Can you imagine Picard and other Enterprise personnel singing, dancing and goofing off on the Bridge into the early hours of the morning? Like that could ever happen.”
“Claiming to be possessed by a non-corporeal entity is not an excuse for irrational behavior and not fulfilling one’s duties,” Tendi read off the list next. “Neither is claiming to have been kidnapped and/or replaced by Romulans, androids, Changelings, previously unknown aliens, Q or other ridiculous excuses.”
“Rats. There goes half my usual repertoire of excuses and fabricated explanations,” Mariner noted. “Oh well. Just means I’ll have to come up with new ones.”
“Wasn’t Captain Freeman herself recently whisked away by Q?” Rutherford asked. “Along with all of the Cerritos’ other senior officers?”
“Eh, that was just a rumor,” Mariner waved. “It was never proven. Not that it matters much. Senior officers never bother telling us Lower Deckers anything.”
“Except for informing us of more rules,” Boimler reminded. “Like this one: ‘Do not prank call Admiral Vassery, Admiral Buenamigo, Captain Durango, Captain Anderson or others. No matter how gullible or annoying they may be.’”
“Too bad,” Mariner said. “The look on Durango’s face when he thought there was a universal mud shortage was priceless.”
“Admiral Buenamigo’s performance when he thought he was being interviewed by FNN was funny too,” Tendi giggled. “Who knew he kept a sombrero and a pair of castanets as admiral trinkets.”
“Do not glue fellow crew members to chairs, bulkheads, equipment or ceilings,” Boimler went on. “Even Lieutenant Levy.”
“How about gluing him inside an EV suit?” Mariner suggested. “That should teach that idiot a lesson.”
“No it won’t,” Boimler shook his head. “You already did that to Levy last month, remember?”
“Really?” Mariner blinked. “I thought for sure I filled Levy’s EV suit with itching powder instead.”
“That was the month before last,” Rutherford reminded. “And you did it to Levy and Lieutenant Commander Stevens.”
“Oh yeah. That’s right,” Mariner slapped her head. “Duh! Now I remember. Thanks, Ruthy.”
“Do not tamper with the Cerritos’ environmental controls and introduce helium into the atmosphere of select areas of the ship,” Tendi read next. “Specifically the Bridge, Conference Rooms or Captain’s Ready Room. Especially during an open channel.”
“Ah, that was classic,” Mariner smirked fondly. “I can still see Ransom trying to be all cool and intimidating to that grumpy Klingon commander while sounding like a hyperactive chipmunk.”
“I have to admit his and Captain Freeman’s dressing down of you were hard to take seriously when they both sounded like that,” Boimler couldn’t resist a smile.
“Yeah, I’m not sure what Captain Freeman was more embarrassed at,” Rutherford chuckled. “Having to talk that way to the Klingon commander in order to clear up any misunderstandings or to Admiral Vassery when reporting about the said incident.”
“Captain Freeman also probably recorded a log entry or two that way,” Tendi giggled. “Preserved as a future reference for years to come. You really should have apologized for that prank.”
“Na, it’s fine,” Mariner waved. “Freeman really isn’t one for formal gestures or displays of contrition like that.”
“Which explains this next rule,” Boimler consulted his padd. “Do not kneel, bow, curtsey, genuflect, prostrate, kiss hands or other body parts when meeting senior officers. Especially just to tick them off.”
“Well then somebody better mention that to Stevens,” Mariner said. “Considering all the times he constantly fawns over and kisses Ransom’s well-toned…”
“And finally,” Boimler read off the last entry. “Do not make up any false, fictional, weird or outrageous rules just to mess with the few people aboard the Cerritos who actually bother to follow regulations.”
“Seriously? What does Freeman think this is?” Mariner snorted tapping Boimler’s padd. “Talk about a great work of fiction! Freeman oughta know better than to create rules she can’t enforce.”
“She can enforce them,” Rutherford pointed out. “Along with the rest of Starfleet’s rules and regulations. That’s how you end up spending so much time in the Brig.”
“Speaking of which,” Tendi glanced at Mariner. “Aren’t you supposed to be confined in the Brig right now?”
“Eh, technically,” Mariner shrugged.
“What?!” Boimler yelped.
“ENSIGN MARINER! STOP KEEPING YOUR COMBADGE DEACTIVATED AND RETURN TO THE BRIG IMMEDIATELY!” Commander Ransom’s voice boomed down the hallway. “YOU STILL HAVE TWO DAYS TO GO FOR MAGNETICALLY STICKING ALL MY FREE WEIGHTS TOGETHER! YOU CAN’T KEEP POPPING IN AND OUT OF THE BRIG JUST TO GRAB A SNACK!”
“There’s no regulation saying I can’t,” Mariner smirked hopping down from her bunk and casually sauntered away. “Which reminds me, I need to replicate a two-day supply of lumpias. Catch you guys later!”
“Okay,” Tendi smiled waving after her. “Bye!”
“Which leads to the only real rule there is aboard the Cerritos,” Boimler groaned. “One may need a reason to make or follow regulations, but not in order to break them!”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
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Code of the Cerritos
“Hey guys,” Boimler greeted clutching a padd. “Have you seen the latest?”
“Of what? Fleet?” Tendi asked sitting in her bunk. “I thought the next edition didn’t come out until next week.”
“Ooo, I’ve been really looking forward to it,” Rutherford’s eye and implant lit up. “It’s supposed to contain an exclusive interview with Dr. Leah Brahms and the future of starship design.”
“Sounds cool, but that’s not what I was referring to,” Boimler said. “I’m talking about the latest memo issued by Captain Freeman.”
“Oh goodie. What’s el Capitán passed down to us lowly plebs this time?” Mariner drawled lying in her bunk. “An abrupt cancellation of yet another undoubtedly awesome shipwide concert or celebration?”
“No,” Boimler corrected. “It’s a list of additions and addendums regarding Starfleet regulations.”
“Argh, no! That’s even worse!” Mariner groaned. “Yet more stupid, pointless rules and regs for us to learn!”
“What’s wrong with that?” Tendi asked taking out a padd of her own. “Learning a bunch of new rules and protocols can be fun, thought also sometimes a bit tedious.”
“You have a point,” Rutherford agreed. “Staying informed on all the latest engineering manuals, specifications and regulations can get pretty confusing. Good thing I can simply update my implant and have it display all the relevant information for me.”
“Some officers don’t need an implant,” Boimler smiled proudly. “I for example have memorized every Starfleet rule, regulation, protocol, directive and general order word-for-word.”
“Otherwise known as the biggest waste of time and space ever made,” Mariner quipped. “Your brain is so overpacked with pointless knowledge and minutiae that it doesn’t have any room left over to house any common sense.”
“At least I bother to learn about the rules,” Boimler gave Mariner a look. “Unlike you who simply ignores regulations and breaks them on a daily, if not hourly basis!”
“Hey, I bother to follow regs when they make sense,” Mariner defended. “It’s all the stupid and unimportant ones that I have problems with. Or when regs are used as barriers or excuses to prevent people from doing the right thing.”
“How coincidentally convenient that you are always the one who decides what the right thing is,” Boimler rolled his eyes. “No matter how crazy, dangerous or irresponsible it may be!”
“What are you talking about? I always accept responsibility for my actions,” Mariner insisted. “More or less…”
“Don’t remind me,” Boimler groaned. “You’re like the perfect example of why Starfleet rules and regulations need to exist. Starfleet regulations are created with the intention to establish or maintain order, keep people safe and prevent officers from abusing their power, acting like self-appointed gods and causing chaos!”
“No, regs are made by a bunch of opinion makers who think their way is the best way to address certain situations,” Mariner argued. “Which doesn’t automatically make it the only way to do so. There’s no rule that covers every situation or can be considered one hundred percent, neutronium-clad absolute.”
“Except for the Rules of Math,” Rutherford pointed out. “Along with the Laws of Chemistry, the Laws of Physics, certain Biological laws…”
“Okay, some rules may be absolute,” Mariner allowed. “All the natural, sciency-based ones anyway. But not the ones made up by fallible sentient beings. Those types of rules act more like strongly recommended guidelines than holier-than-thou, inviolable, hard-and-fast rules and regs.”
“Like the Rules of Acquisition,” Tendi commented. “Which are more like suggestions despite being marketed and labeled as ‘Rules’. At least according to some theories.”
“Yes! Exactly!” Mariner grinned in affirmation. “The rules and laws make up by sentient beings are always open to interpretation. Every rule has its own loopholes and exceptions. Including Starfleet regs.”
“I don’t think so. The list of additions and addendums Captain Freeman sent out are pretty clear,” Boimler noted studying his padd. “Like this first one: phaser practice is only allowed to take place on the Phaser Range and nowhere else. All other areas are off-limits including the Repair Bays, Shuttlebays, the Mess Hall, Sickbay…”
“Sheesh, try to include a little variety and everyone gets upset,” Mariner grumbled.
“Well, that rule does seem to be pretty obvious,” Tendi commented.
“Throwing or tossing exoscalpels is also forbidden,” Boimler continued. “Along with using any Starfleet equipment or personnel as targets.”
“Oops,” Tendi gulped guiltily. “I wasn’t aware of that one. Sorry!”
“Personnel?” Rutherford blinked in surprise.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Tendi protested. “Doctor T’Ana ordered me to toss those exoscalpels at her. She said it was for surgical practice.”
“Huh, good thing she didn’t order you to toss any laser saws,” Mariner quipped.
“Moving on,” Boimler proceeded to read off the list. “All personal projects must receive permission from either the Captain or First Officer to ensure they do not have a good chance of damaging, disrupting, wrecking or blowing up the ship. Especially those undertaken by Science and Engineering personnel.”
“Awww,” Tendi and Rutherford pouted.
“Gotta agree with Freeman on that one,” Mariner said. “Need I remind you guys of the whole Plasmodic Choko Vine Fiasco?”
“Please don’t,” Boimler shuddered. “I still have nightmares about glowing tendrils and exploding cybernetic chayotes.”
“Do not disable the ship’s fire detection or suppression systems,” Tendi recited reading from her own padd. “This includes doing so with the intent to burn incense, roast marshmallows or hold flaming fire dances.”
“Dang. That puts the kibosh on next week’s Lūʻau Night,” Mariner cursed snapping her fingers. “Now what am I supposed to do with my stockpile of fireworks, firecrackers, sparklers and tiki torches?”
“Do not accept or bring back any unknown, unscanned or unauthorized souvenirs acquired during away missions,” Boimler read next. “Even if the locals present them to you as a gift.”
“In my defense, I had absolutely no idea that pretty little geode I stumbled upon while on Albeni happened to be a revered cultural artifact,” Tendi blushed. “Or that possessing it meant igniting a blood feud with the bearer’s ship and family.”
“Still better than the pouch of ‘common’ rocks some character gave Boimler on Spica,” Mariner made air quotes with her fingers. “Which resulted in him becoming an unknowing smuggler of Tallonian crystals. Or so Boims claimed…”
“Hey, I was cleared of those illegal substance possession charges!” Boimler protested. “Lieutenant Shaxs himself proved that! I’d never knowingly possess or traffic any kind of contraband. Unlike some people!”
“Hey, any contraband I may allegedly have or come across is either mostly harmless or always used for a good cause,” Mariner insisted. “The good cause usually being my own happiness and sense of gratification.”
“Oh geeze,” Boimler groaned.
“No more anti-grav lift racing?” Tendi read off the next rule in surprise. “Nooo!”
“Whew! Thank goodness,” Rutherford sighed in relief. “Uh, I mean, awww. Too bad.”
“Eh, no worries, T,” Mariner waved. “Anti-grav lift racing may be out, but it didn’t say anything about anti-grav sleds…”
“Really?” Tendi chirped excitedly. “Yay!”
“Oh no,” Boimler blanched. “Not again…”
“Er, let’s move on,” Rutherford gulped quickly glancing at the list. “All logs, reports, memos and other official Starfleet correspondence must adhere to proper protocol regarding grammar, language and punctuation. Submitting a mission report which reads: ‘Fixed the prob. Nobody died. ‘S all good.’ is not acceptable.”
“Gee, I wonder who inspired that rule?” Boimler gave Mariner a look.
“So I like to keep my mission reports sharp, simple and to the point,” Mariner shrugged. “Big whoop. It’s better than handing in a thirty-six-page essay about replacing the lights in the Conference Room.”
“I didn’t just replace the lights,” Boimler blushed. “I also calibrated the display screens and realigned all the wheels of the conference chairs.”
“Oh, well that’s a completely different story,” Mariner drawled. “Not!”
“Details like those are important,” Boimler insisted.
“Yeah, to neurotic nitpickers like you and every other fussy, bureaucratic butt-bound senior officer,” Mariner snorted. “Talk about a bunch of overly pointless and unnecessary rules! Regs like that practically demand leeway.”
“Well, Captain Freeman is pretty flexible when it comes to some things,” Tendi pointed out studying her padd. “Like this next rule. ‘Allowances to one’s personal attire may be granted in regard to Starfleet’s Uniform Code. However, if wearing a skant, be sure to also be wearing Starfleet-approved underwear. Especially in low-gravity environments.’”
“Gee, I wonder who inspired that rule?” Mariner repeated wickedly.
“That wasn’t my fault!” Boimler blushed redder than a Klingon trefoil. “It was an honest mistake! I was an innocent victim of circumstances!”
“Suuure you were,” Mariner snickered.
“Do not tick off Doctor T’Ana. Ever,” Tendi read off the next rule. “She hates having to treat her own victims.”
“That’s a very good rule,” Rutherford noted. “Wait, isn’t striking a fellow Starfleet officer a court-martial offense?”
“Striking, yes,” Tendi confirmed. “Clawing, biting, disemboweling and/or dismembering however can be somewhat ambiguous.”
“Finally. Some wiggle room in Starfleet’s never-ending reel of regs,” Mariner quipped.
“Regarding Starfleet Labor Code Section 48, Alpha-7,” Boimler proceeded with the list. “Requesting and/or requiring meal breaks at regular intervals is acceptable. However, this does not mean stopping to grab a snack or drink every hour, every half hour, every quarter hour or every five minutes.”
“Awww,” Mariner sighed.
“Do not suggest certain ship visitors need to be strip searched,” Boimler went on. “No matter how shifty, suspicious, gorgeous, willing or culturally open they may be.”
“Awww!” Mariner sighed even louder.
“Do not mix alcohol into the water in Cetacean Ops or replace any such water with alcohol,” Tendi read next. “All cetacean personnel are absolutely forbidden from consuming alcohol or getting drunk. All other ship’s personnel are absolutely forbidden from allowing, assisting or encouraging any cetacean personnel to get drunk.”
“What?” Mariner yelped in indignation. “Freeman can’t do that! That’s violating cetaceans’ fundamental freedoms! There’s no prohibition aboard the Cerritos! Down with the Feds! Drunken rights now!”
“Huh, guess Captain Freeman established that rule after encountering those lost Earth colonists a while back,” Boimler commented.
“That’s too bad,” Rutherford sighed looking over the rule. “Ensign Matao really lets loose after downing a few liters of spirits.”
“Do not allow the ship’s kindergarteners or other pre-adolescent children to do your duties or operate Starfleet equipment, supervised or otherwise,” Tendi continued with the list. “Even if they are gifted and better than doing so than you.”
“Does that include Ensign Asif?” Rutherford asked curiously. “He is a child prodigy after all.”
“More like a child pain in the neck,” Mariner noted. “He’s even more nerdish and whiny than Boimler.”
“Yeah,” Boimler agreed. “Wait a second…hey!”
“Pets are not allowed on the Bridge, Sickbay or Engineering,” Tendi went on. “Or pretty much any other place except one’s quarters.”
“Try telling that to Lancelot,” Rutherford groaned. “That sneaky ferret somehow manages to get into everything. Even the ship’s internal sensors have trouble tracking him.”
“Really?” Mariner raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like my kind of animal. Hmmm, I could use a good partner like him…”
“Oh no,” Boimler moaned. “Don’t even think about it!”
“No singing while on duty unless granted permission or under special circumstances?” Tendi blinked at the list in surprise. “That can’t be right.”
“Ha! Good luck trying to enforce that rule,” Mariner barked. “That’s even more ridiculous than the one about forbidding drunken cetaceans."
“No dance contests without the Captain’s approval,” Boimler read next. “Especially while on duty.”
“Awww, that’s too bad,” Rutherford sighed. “You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Ensign Meredith and Lieutenant Dahae try to out-do each other when realigning ESP conduits while doing the rumba in tune to a set of perfectly calibrated resonating coils.”
“No late-night parties are to be held on the Bridge during Delta shift,” Boimler went on. “Or any other shift period.”
“Well that goes without saying,” Mariner commented. “Why should those Delta shift jerks get to have more fun than the rest of us?”
“Do they really have late-night Bridge parties?” Tendi asked.
“Unfortunately no,” Rutherford stated. “And neither does the crew on any other ship.”
“No kidding,” Boimler snorted. “Can you imagine Picard and other Enterprise personnel singing, dancing and goofing off on the Bridge into the early hours of the morning? Like that could ever happen.”
“Claiming to be possessed by a non-corporeal entity is not an excuse for irrational behavior and not fulfilling one’s duties,” Tendi read off the list next. “Neither is claiming to have been kidnapped and/or replaced by Romulans, androids, Changelings, previously unknown aliens, Q or other ridiculous excuses.”
“Rats. There goes half my usual repertoire of excuses and fabricated explanations,” Mariner noted. “Oh well. Just means I’ll have to come up with new ones.”
“Wasn’t Captain Freeman herself recently whisked away by Q?” Rutherford asked. “Along with all of the Cerritos’ other senior officers?”
“Eh, that was just a rumor,” Mariner waved. “It was never proven. Not that it matters much. Senior officers never bother telling us Lower Deckers anything.”
“Except for informing us of more rules,” Boimler reminded. “Like this one: ‘Do not prank call Admiral Vassery, Admiral Buenamigo, Captain Durango, Captain Anderson or others. No matter how gullible or annoying they may be.’”
“Too bad,” Mariner said. “The look on Durango’s face when he thought there was a universal mud shortage was priceless.”
“Admiral Buenamigo’s performance when he thought he was being interviewed by FNN was funny too,” Tendi giggled. “Who knew he kept a sombrero and a pair of castanets as admiral trinkets.”
“Do not glue fellow crew members to chairs, bulkheads, equipment or ceilings,” Boimler went on. “Even Lieutenant Levy.”
“How about gluing him inside an EV suit?” Mariner suggested. “That should teach that idiot a lesson.”
“No it won’t,” Boimler shook his head. “You already did that to Levy last month, remember?”
“Really?” Mariner blinked. “I thought for sure I filled Levy’s EV suit with itching powder instead.”
“That was the month before last,” Rutherford reminded. “And you did it to Levy and Lieutenant Commander Stevens.”
“Oh yeah. That’s right,” Mariner slapped her head. “Duh! Now I remember. Thanks, Ruthy.”
“Do not tamper with the Cerritos’ environmental controls and introduce helium into the atmosphere of select areas of the ship,” Tendi read next. “Specifically the Bridge, Conference Rooms or Captain’s Ready Room. Especially during an open channel.”
“Ah, that was classic,” Mariner smirked fondly. “I can still see Ransom trying to be all cool and intimidating to that grumpy Klingon commander while sounding like a hyperactive chipmunk.”
“I have to admit his and Captain Freeman’s dressing down of you were hard to take seriously when they both sounded like that,” Boimler couldn’t resist a smile.
“Yeah, I’m not sure what Captain Freeman was more embarrassed at,” Rutherford chuckled. “Having to talk that way to the Klingon commander in order to clear up any misunderstandings or to Admiral Vassery when reporting about the said incident.”
“Captain Freeman also probably recorded a log entry or two that way,” Tendi giggled. “Preserved as a future reference for years to come. You really should have apologized for that prank.”
“Na, it’s fine,” Mariner waved. “Freeman really isn’t one for formal gestures or displays of contrition like that.”
“Which explains this next rule,” Boimler consulted his padd. “Do not kneel, bow, curtsey, genuflect, prostrate, kiss hands or other body parts when meeting senior officers. Especially just to tick them off.”
“Well then somebody better mention that to Stevens,” Mariner said. “Considering all the times he constantly fawns over and kisses Ransom’s well-toned…”
“And finally,” Boimler read off the last entry. “Do not make up any false, fictional, weird or outrageous rules just to mess with the few people aboard the Cerritos who actually bother to follow regulations.”
“Seriously? What does Freeman think this is?” Mariner snorted tapping Boimler’s padd. “Talk about a great work of fiction! Freeman oughta know better than to create rules she can’t enforce.”
“She can enforce them,” Rutherford pointed out. “Along with the rest of Starfleet’s rules and regulations. That’s how you end up spending so much time in the Brig.”
“Speaking of which,” Tendi glanced at Mariner. “Aren’t you supposed to be confined in the Brig right now?”
“Eh, technically,” Mariner shrugged.
“What?!” Boimler yelped.
“ENSIGN MARINER! STOP KEEPING YOUR COMBADGE DEACTIVATED AND RETURN TO THE BRIG IMMEDIATELY!” Commander Ransom’s voice boomed down the hallway. “YOU STILL HAVE TWO DAYS TO GO FOR MAGNETICALLY STICKING ALL MY FREE WEIGHTS TOGETHER! YOU CAN’T KEEP POPPING IN AND OUT OF THE BRIG JUST TO GRAB A SNACK!”
“There’s no regulation saying I can’t,” Mariner smirked hopping down from her bunk and casually sauntered away. “Which reminds me, I need to replicate a two-day supply of lumpias. Catch you guys later!”
“Okay,” Tendi smiled waving after her. “Bye!”
“Which leads to the only real rule there is aboard the Cerritos,” Boimler groaned. “One may need a reason to make or follow regulations, but not in order to break them!”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
