Originally posted on fanfiction.net - Link.
Note: This story takes place during one of the flashbacks shown in the episode "Veritas".
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Lower Deckfully Clean
Perfect, the Starfleet special operative known as “Cleaner” thought to herself as she materialized aboard an unoccupied area of the Cerritos. An empty corridor right next to the ship’s navigational deflector. Just as planned.
Cleaner quickly pulled out a tricorder from her small toolkit while carefully checking her surroundings. Good. My latest transporter modifications didn’t leave enough of a transporter signature to be detected by the ship’s internal sensors. And beaming in this close to the navigational deflector dish should mask any residual electrostatic charge or tachyon energy related to transporters.
Cleaner nodded and put away her tricorder before heading for the nearest turbolift. This is how a classified mission team should be assembled. With stealth instead of having a group of conspicuously heavily armed, black-clad operatives flamboyantly walk around the ship. That’s why I insisted on wearing a standard Starfleet uniform for the preliminary mission briefing. Now I just need to make my way to the correct conference room and…
“I got it! I got it!” A trio of small, lightly-weighted nets suddenly flew around the corner, bounced off the bulkheads and whacked Cleaner in the head.
“Ow!” Cleaner yelped in surprise. “What the…?”
“Ha! Missed again!” A helmet-wearing Mariner burst into view with a strange technical device worn over each boot and wielding what looked like a lopsided lacrosse stick. “Face it, Boims! You’re never going to beat me!”
“We’ll see about that!” Boimler appeared wearing a similar getup. He used his own stick to fling another lightly-weighted net at Mariner. “You’re looking at the new karo-net king of the Cerritos!”
“In your dreams!” Mariner shot back manipulating her stick to pick up a used net from the floor before hurling it at Boimler. “I’m still up six karos to two!”
“Not for long!” Boimler grinned avoiding Mariner’s latest net barrage before firing back with his own. “I’m gonna grand karo you yet! You’ll see! You’ll see!”
“Aaahhhhhh!” Cleaner yelped as she was repeatedly pelted with nets as the two oblivious ensigns continued to battle each other. “What the heck is going on here? Watch where you’re throwing those things! Yeow! Those little net weights hurt! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”
“Ha! Got you now, Mariner!” Boimler cackled collecting all the spent nets before rapidly flinging them at Mariner like a set of pulse phasers. “Prepare to eat net!”
“You wish!” Mariner yelped ducking to avoid the barrage which resulted in all the flung nets hitting Cleaner instead.
“Gaaahhhhhh!” Cleaner yelled falling to the floor.
“Huh?” Mariner turned around finally noticing Cleaner. “Whoa! Time out, Boims! Somebody got caught in the crossfire.”
“Uh oh,” Boimler gulped. “Busted!”
“Busted is right,” Cleaner winced tenderly clutching her face. “I think you busted my jaw!”
“Oops. Sorry about that,” Mariner said helping Cleaner to her feet. “Didn’t see you there. These maintenance sessions can get pretty intense.”
“Maintenance sessions?” Cleaner blinked in confusion. “I thought you were playing a makeshift round of karo-net.”
“We are. But we’re cleaning the ship at the same time,” Mariner said pointing to her feet. “See, we each strapped a pair of macro-resonators to our feet to degauss the Deflector Control Room, emitter coils and all surrounding corridors while we play.”
“Even though we weren’t assigned to clean and degauss the corridors,” Boimler pointed out. “They had already been cleaned and degaussed last cycle.”
“Hey, you agreed we needed more room to play karo-net so we expanded our working horizons,” Mariner reminded. “What, do you think we’re going to get in trouble for cleaning an area too often?”
“I think we might get in trouble for playing a game while we’re supposed to be working,” Boimler replied.
“Says the guy who altered the karo-net nets to act like mop heads,” Mariner pointed out. “Thus vastly increasing our ability to clean and work while we play.”
“That was a joint effort with Rutherford,” Boimler coughed. “And I think you have the whole ‘work and play’ thing turned around.”
“I think both of your heads are turned too far around,” Cleaner commented at the exchange. “You two goof-offs are supposed to take your duties seriously. You’re Starfleet officers for crying out loud, not a pair of Trelanes in the making.”
“Sorry,” Boimler blushed looking abashed.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Mariner waved. “We can’t all be lucky enough to be assigned cleaning conference rooms today like Tendi. I don’t care what anybody says. There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun while doing menial cleaning tasks in a remote area of the ship almost nobody ever visits…” Mariner paused and gave Cleaner a look. “Speaking of which, what are you doing down here?”
“Huh?” Cleaner blinked caught off-guard. “Oh, I was just…um…”
“Which department are you with?” Boimler asked peering at Cleaner curiously. “Have we met before?”
“Uh, it’s possible,” Cleaner covered quickly. “Though I’m easily forgettable. I’m nobody. Really.”
“Hey, don’t say that,” Mariner scolded. “We’re all somebodies aboard this ship. And that includes us members of the Lower Decks. Even Boimler.”
“Yeah,” Boimler puffed up with pride. “Wait a second…hey!”
“Er, that’s nice,” Cleaner said and attempted to move away. “I’ll just leave you two to your game then. Uh, I mean your duties…”
“Hold on,” Mariner said getting in Cleaner’s way. “We can’t just let you wander away like this. If you’re new around here we gotta give you a proper ‘Welcome to the Cerritos’ round of drinks.”
“Don’t try getting out of it. It won’t work. Trust me,” Boimler added with a sigh. “Though I don’t recall there being any new personnel transfers to the ship. And I’ve studied the Cerritos’ entire latest crew roster. Well, the facial profiles anyway. I still haven’t gotten around to memorizing everybody’s names…”
“Uh,” Cleaner gulped.
“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Mariner waved. “We’ll learn all about each other soon enough. We can have a party!”
“We can do so after we get off duty,” Boimler said reaching towards his combadge. “Just tell us your name so we can inform everybody on the ship…”
“No!” Cleaner yelled quickly snatching both Mariner’s and Boimler’s combadges off their uniforms.
“Hey!” Boimler yelped in surprise. “Ugh, why are people always swiping my combadge?”
“Forget you ever saw me!” Cleaner ordered bolting down the corridor. “I was never here! This never happened!”
“Hey, where are you going?” Mariner asked following after her. “Don’t be shy! We’re pretty nice-ish people for the most part! Really!”
“Yeah! What she said!” Boimler agreed joining his friend.
“Ugh, get away from me!” Cleaner shouted ducking through the nearest set of doors.
“Stop! We just wanna be friends!” Mariner shouted walking past the unusually quickly-closed doors. “Hey, where did she go?”
“Great, so much for stealth,” Cleaner grumbled standing just inside a large room. “I can’t believe I got caught…”
FA-WHOOOOOOM!
“Gaahhhhhh!” Cleaner yelped as she suddenly found herself covered in foam. “Bleah! What the heck?”
“Okey-dokey, Phase One of my latest experimental tests at cleaning, sanitizing, degaussing and decontaminating Plasma Junction Room 52C is a go,” Rutherford smiled as he dictated into a padd while standing with his back to the door and wearing an EV suit. “Let’s see how it performed.”
Huh, that guy must not have heard me enter here, Cleaner thought while wiping blobs of foam from her head. Typical engineer. Too focused on his work to even notice what’s going on around him.
“The attempt at spraying the room with non-caustic, polarized, emulsified solvents doesn’t seem to have had much effect,” Rutherford noted. “Hmmm, instead of dissipating the remains using the modified oscillating surface buffers, I think I’ll try the electrostatic vaporizers instead.”
Ugh, I’m going to be late. I need to get to… Cleaner did a take. Wait, what?
ZZZZZZAAAAAAPPPPPPPPP!
“YEEEOOOWWWWWW!” Cleaner screamed as a series of electric shocks ripped through the room.
“Followed by a gaseous cryonetrium treatment,” An oblivious Rutherford went on tapping on his padd.
“AAAUUUGGGHHHHHH!” Cleaner cried at the subzero shock. “COLD! COLD! COLD!”
“Steam blasting,” Rutherford added.
HISSSSSSSSSSSS!
“YAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” Cleaner wailed.
“Low-level phaser sweeps,” Rutherford continued.
PHWZZZZZZT!
“WAAAGGGHHHHHH!” Cleaner cried.
“And a hot Caldos wax treatment to make the bulkheads and plasma casings really shine,” Rutherford finished.
BLOOORRRP!
“AAAIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
“Hello? Rutherford? You in there?” Boimler’s voice came over the comm in Rutherford’s EV suit. “Is it safe to come in?”
“Is it ever?” Mariner’s muffled quip followed.
“Oh, hey guys,” Rutherford greeted pausing his tests. “Sure, come in. I can’t wait to show you my latest…” Rutherford turned around to find the unconscious, shocked-posed form of Cleaner coated and frozen in cooled wax. “Whoa, who is this?”
“That’s what we’d like to know,” Boimler said as he and Mariner entered the room. “She ran away without telling us her name.”
“Good job finding her, Ruthy,” Mariner praised taking back her and Boimler’s combadges from Cleaner’s wax-coated fingers. “Now we just gotta find out who our mystery gal is.”
“Okey-dokey,” Rutherford shrugged and used his padd to take Cleaner’s picture and run a computer search. “Huh, that’s weird. She’s not on the ship’s crew roster.”
“That’s just what I said,” Boimler smiled in relief. “I knew I wasn’t mistaken.”
“There’s no record of her coming aboard the Cerritos either,” Rutherford added. “Weird.”
“Really?” Mariner raised an eyebrow while curiously glancing at Cleaner. “Then how the heck did she get here?”
“She’s not in any other Starfleet database either,” Rutherford continued to search. “It’s like she doesn’t even exist.”
“Maybe she’s some sort of undercover agent,” Boimler suggested nervously. “Or a non-corporeal alien taking corporeal form.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Mariner noted before snapping her fingers. “Aha! I know! She probably snuck aboard from that mysteriously-nondescript freighter we met with earlier. I bet the Burbank sent one of their ship’s civilian bartenders over to spy on us!”
“Really?” Rutherford gazed at Mariner skeptically. “Why would they do that?”
“Duh, to find an edge they can use to increase their ship’s efficiency ratings,” Mariner explained. “They’re still sore about losing out to us by three tenths of a percent last month. Those guys lost prestige, bragging rights and six cases of Romulan whiskey! Er, not that that last one was officially recognized or anything…”
“You’re right,” Rutherford gasped in realization. “Those sneaky Burbankers!”
“I suppose that kinda-sorta-somewhat makes sense,” Boimler said. “But what should we do? Inform the Captain? Or at least take our presumed spy to Sickbay?”
“Na, she isn’t hurt that bad,” Mariner waved. “Besides, what would we tell Captain ‘No Fun’ Freeman? That we accidentally ran into her after playing karo-net in an area we weren’t technically supposed to be working in?”
“You have a point,” Boimler gulped nervously. “A mark like that would ruin my perfect performance record for sure.”
“Or by running a series of unauthorized cleaning experiments?” Mariner glanced at Rutherford.
“I was going to get permission,” Rutherford coughed. “But Billups said to check with Commander Ransom first and Ransom has been strangely unavailable lately…”
“Yeah, all the senior officers have been difficult to contact today,” Boimler remarked. “They must be really busy with something. So, what should we do with our presumed member from the Burbank?”
“Don’t worry, Boims,” Mariner grinned rubbing her hands together. “I got the perfect idea…”
--------------------------------------
Twenty minutes later…
“Are you sure about this?” Boimler whispered nervously. “It seems so wrong.”
“Hey, we’re sending a message to every snoop who tries to conduct undercover operations aboard the Cerritos,” Mariner insisted crouching next to him. “They keep sending spies over to us, we’ll send their spies right back to them in a box!”
“More like a crate,” Rutherford commented as the three ensigns hid in Shuttlebay Two while watching a cargo container being loaded onto the previously mentioned waiting freighter. The side of the container was labeled: CAUTION! LIVE ALDEBARAN SERPENT! DO NOT FEED! BEWARE! “I hope that presumed spy isn’t too uncomfortable in there.”
“Relax, Ruthy. We packed the container with plenty of water, emergency rations and even a portable waste reclamation unit,” Mariner assured him. “She’ll be fine.”
“But how do we know that freighter is even heading to the Burbank?” Boimler asked. “For all we know it could be part of some classified, highly dangerous special ops mission.”
“Na, that’s too cliché,” Mariner snorted. “Besides, Ruthy hacked…er, I mean, checked the freighter’s flight plan earlier while he was adding the container’s ID number to the freighter’s cargo manifest. It’s making its way across perfectly safe and empty Federation space before making supply stops in the same sector the Burbank is operating in.”
“Ah,” Boimler nodded. “Okay.”
“Don’t worry, Boims. That sneaky, would-be spy is bound to be reunited with her fellow snoopy, sneaky friends,” Mariner smirked. “Eventually….”
“I guess you’re right,” Rutherford said as the three Lower Deckers snuck out of the shuttlebay. “Boy, I can’t wait to tell Tendi about this. She missed all the excitement.”
“Yeah, she’ll probably enjoy it after being stuck on conference room cleanup duty all day,” Mariner declared confidently. “How exciting could that be?”
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
Note: This story takes place during one of the flashbacks shown in the episode "Veritas".
--------------------------------------
Lower Deckfully Clean
Perfect, the Starfleet special operative known as “Cleaner” thought to herself as she materialized aboard an unoccupied area of the Cerritos. An empty corridor right next to the ship’s navigational deflector. Just as planned.
Cleaner quickly pulled out a tricorder from her small toolkit while carefully checking her surroundings. Good. My latest transporter modifications didn’t leave enough of a transporter signature to be detected by the ship’s internal sensors. And beaming in this close to the navigational deflector dish should mask any residual electrostatic charge or tachyon energy related to transporters.
Cleaner nodded and put away her tricorder before heading for the nearest turbolift. This is how a classified mission team should be assembled. With stealth instead of having a group of conspicuously heavily armed, black-clad operatives flamboyantly walk around the ship. That’s why I insisted on wearing a standard Starfleet uniform for the preliminary mission briefing. Now I just need to make my way to the correct conference room and…
“I got it! I got it!” A trio of small, lightly-weighted nets suddenly flew around the corner, bounced off the bulkheads and whacked Cleaner in the head.
“Ow!” Cleaner yelped in surprise. “What the…?”
“Ha! Missed again!” A helmet-wearing Mariner burst into view with a strange technical device worn over each boot and wielding what looked like a lopsided lacrosse stick. “Face it, Boims! You’re never going to beat me!”
“We’ll see about that!” Boimler appeared wearing a similar getup. He used his own stick to fling another lightly-weighted net at Mariner. “You’re looking at the new karo-net king of the Cerritos!”
“In your dreams!” Mariner shot back manipulating her stick to pick up a used net from the floor before hurling it at Boimler. “I’m still up six karos to two!”
“Not for long!” Boimler grinned avoiding Mariner’s latest net barrage before firing back with his own. “I’m gonna grand karo you yet! You’ll see! You’ll see!”
“Aaahhhhhh!” Cleaner yelped as she was repeatedly pelted with nets as the two oblivious ensigns continued to battle each other. “What the heck is going on here? Watch where you’re throwing those things! Yeow! Those little net weights hurt! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”
“Ha! Got you now, Mariner!” Boimler cackled collecting all the spent nets before rapidly flinging them at Mariner like a set of pulse phasers. “Prepare to eat net!”
“You wish!” Mariner yelped ducking to avoid the barrage which resulted in all the flung nets hitting Cleaner instead.
“Gaaahhhhhh!” Cleaner yelled falling to the floor.
“Huh?” Mariner turned around finally noticing Cleaner. “Whoa! Time out, Boims! Somebody got caught in the crossfire.”
“Uh oh,” Boimler gulped. “Busted!”
“Busted is right,” Cleaner winced tenderly clutching her face. “I think you busted my jaw!”
“Oops. Sorry about that,” Mariner said helping Cleaner to her feet. “Didn’t see you there. These maintenance sessions can get pretty intense.”
“Maintenance sessions?” Cleaner blinked in confusion. “I thought you were playing a makeshift round of karo-net.”
“We are. But we’re cleaning the ship at the same time,” Mariner said pointing to her feet. “See, we each strapped a pair of macro-resonators to our feet to degauss the Deflector Control Room, emitter coils and all surrounding corridors while we play.”
“Even though we weren’t assigned to clean and degauss the corridors,” Boimler pointed out. “They had already been cleaned and degaussed last cycle.”
“Hey, you agreed we needed more room to play karo-net so we expanded our working horizons,” Mariner reminded. “What, do you think we’re going to get in trouble for cleaning an area too often?”
“I think we might get in trouble for playing a game while we’re supposed to be working,” Boimler replied.
“Says the guy who altered the karo-net nets to act like mop heads,” Mariner pointed out. “Thus vastly increasing our ability to clean and work while we play.”
“That was a joint effort with Rutherford,” Boimler coughed. “And I think you have the whole ‘work and play’ thing turned around.”
“I think both of your heads are turned too far around,” Cleaner commented at the exchange. “You two goof-offs are supposed to take your duties seriously. You’re Starfleet officers for crying out loud, not a pair of Trelanes in the making.”
“Sorry,” Boimler blushed looking abashed.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Mariner waved. “We can’t all be lucky enough to be assigned cleaning conference rooms today like Tendi. I don’t care what anybody says. There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun while doing menial cleaning tasks in a remote area of the ship almost nobody ever visits…” Mariner paused and gave Cleaner a look. “Speaking of which, what are you doing down here?”
“Huh?” Cleaner blinked caught off-guard. “Oh, I was just…um…”
“Which department are you with?” Boimler asked peering at Cleaner curiously. “Have we met before?”
“Uh, it’s possible,” Cleaner covered quickly. “Though I’m easily forgettable. I’m nobody. Really.”
“Hey, don’t say that,” Mariner scolded. “We’re all somebodies aboard this ship. And that includes us members of the Lower Decks. Even Boimler.”
“Yeah,” Boimler puffed up with pride. “Wait a second…hey!”
“Er, that’s nice,” Cleaner said and attempted to move away. “I’ll just leave you two to your game then. Uh, I mean your duties…”
“Hold on,” Mariner said getting in Cleaner’s way. “We can’t just let you wander away like this. If you’re new around here we gotta give you a proper ‘Welcome to the Cerritos’ round of drinks.”
“Don’t try getting out of it. It won’t work. Trust me,” Boimler added with a sigh. “Though I don’t recall there being any new personnel transfers to the ship. And I’ve studied the Cerritos’ entire latest crew roster. Well, the facial profiles anyway. I still haven’t gotten around to memorizing everybody’s names…”
“Uh,” Cleaner gulped.
“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Mariner waved. “We’ll learn all about each other soon enough. We can have a party!”
“We can do so after we get off duty,” Boimler said reaching towards his combadge. “Just tell us your name so we can inform everybody on the ship…”
“No!” Cleaner yelled quickly snatching both Mariner’s and Boimler’s combadges off their uniforms.
“Hey!” Boimler yelped in surprise. “Ugh, why are people always swiping my combadge?”
“Forget you ever saw me!” Cleaner ordered bolting down the corridor. “I was never here! This never happened!”
“Hey, where are you going?” Mariner asked following after her. “Don’t be shy! We’re pretty nice-ish people for the most part! Really!”
“Yeah! What she said!” Boimler agreed joining his friend.
“Ugh, get away from me!” Cleaner shouted ducking through the nearest set of doors.
“Stop! We just wanna be friends!” Mariner shouted walking past the unusually quickly-closed doors. “Hey, where did she go?”
“Great, so much for stealth,” Cleaner grumbled standing just inside a large room. “I can’t believe I got caught…”
FA-WHOOOOOOM!
“Gaahhhhhh!” Cleaner yelped as she suddenly found herself covered in foam. “Bleah! What the heck?”
“Okey-dokey, Phase One of my latest experimental tests at cleaning, sanitizing, degaussing and decontaminating Plasma Junction Room 52C is a go,” Rutherford smiled as he dictated into a padd while standing with his back to the door and wearing an EV suit. “Let’s see how it performed.”
Huh, that guy must not have heard me enter here, Cleaner thought while wiping blobs of foam from her head. Typical engineer. Too focused on his work to even notice what’s going on around him.
“The attempt at spraying the room with non-caustic, polarized, emulsified solvents doesn’t seem to have had much effect,” Rutherford noted. “Hmmm, instead of dissipating the remains using the modified oscillating surface buffers, I think I’ll try the electrostatic vaporizers instead.”
Ugh, I’m going to be late. I need to get to… Cleaner did a take. Wait, what?
ZZZZZZAAAAAAPPPPPPPPP!
“YEEEOOOWWWWWW!” Cleaner screamed as a series of electric shocks ripped through the room.
“Followed by a gaseous cryonetrium treatment,” An oblivious Rutherford went on tapping on his padd.
“AAAUUUGGGHHHHHH!” Cleaner cried at the subzero shock. “COLD! COLD! COLD!”
“Steam blasting,” Rutherford added.
HISSSSSSSSSSSS!
“YAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” Cleaner wailed.
“Low-level phaser sweeps,” Rutherford continued.
PHWZZZZZZT!
“WAAAGGGHHHHHH!” Cleaner cried.
“And a hot Caldos wax treatment to make the bulkheads and plasma casings really shine,” Rutherford finished.
BLOOORRRP!
“AAAIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
“Hello? Rutherford? You in there?” Boimler’s voice came over the comm in Rutherford’s EV suit. “Is it safe to come in?”
“Is it ever?” Mariner’s muffled quip followed.
“Oh, hey guys,” Rutherford greeted pausing his tests. “Sure, come in. I can’t wait to show you my latest…” Rutherford turned around to find the unconscious, shocked-posed form of Cleaner coated and frozen in cooled wax. “Whoa, who is this?”
“That’s what we’d like to know,” Boimler said as he and Mariner entered the room. “She ran away without telling us her name.”
“Good job finding her, Ruthy,” Mariner praised taking back her and Boimler’s combadges from Cleaner’s wax-coated fingers. “Now we just gotta find out who our mystery gal is.”
“Okey-dokey,” Rutherford shrugged and used his padd to take Cleaner’s picture and run a computer search. “Huh, that’s weird. She’s not on the ship’s crew roster.”
“That’s just what I said,” Boimler smiled in relief. “I knew I wasn’t mistaken.”
“There’s no record of her coming aboard the Cerritos either,” Rutherford added. “Weird.”
“Really?” Mariner raised an eyebrow while curiously glancing at Cleaner. “Then how the heck did she get here?”
“She’s not in any other Starfleet database either,” Rutherford continued to search. “It’s like she doesn’t even exist.”
“Maybe she’s some sort of undercover agent,” Boimler suggested nervously. “Or a non-corporeal alien taking corporeal form.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Mariner noted before snapping her fingers. “Aha! I know! She probably snuck aboard from that mysteriously-nondescript freighter we met with earlier. I bet the Burbank sent one of their ship’s civilian bartenders over to spy on us!”
“Really?” Rutherford gazed at Mariner skeptically. “Why would they do that?”
“Duh, to find an edge they can use to increase their ship’s efficiency ratings,” Mariner explained. “They’re still sore about losing out to us by three tenths of a percent last month. Those guys lost prestige, bragging rights and six cases of Romulan whiskey! Er, not that that last one was officially recognized or anything…”
“You’re right,” Rutherford gasped in realization. “Those sneaky Burbankers!”
“I suppose that kinda-sorta-somewhat makes sense,” Boimler said. “But what should we do? Inform the Captain? Or at least take our presumed spy to Sickbay?”
“Na, she isn’t hurt that bad,” Mariner waved. “Besides, what would we tell Captain ‘No Fun’ Freeman? That we accidentally ran into her after playing karo-net in an area we weren’t technically supposed to be working in?”
“You have a point,” Boimler gulped nervously. “A mark like that would ruin my perfect performance record for sure.”
“Or by running a series of unauthorized cleaning experiments?” Mariner glanced at Rutherford.
“I was going to get permission,” Rutherford coughed. “But Billups said to check with Commander Ransom first and Ransom has been strangely unavailable lately…”
“Yeah, all the senior officers have been difficult to contact today,” Boimler remarked. “They must be really busy with something. So, what should we do with our presumed member from the Burbank?”
“Don’t worry, Boims,” Mariner grinned rubbing her hands together. “I got the perfect idea…”
--------------------------------------
Twenty minutes later…
“Are you sure about this?” Boimler whispered nervously. “It seems so wrong.”
“Hey, we’re sending a message to every snoop who tries to conduct undercover operations aboard the Cerritos,” Mariner insisted crouching next to him. “They keep sending spies over to us, we’ll send their spies right back to them in a box!”
“More like a crate,” Rutherford commented as the three ensigns hid in Shuttlebay Two while watching a cargo container being loaded onto the previously mentioned waiting freighter. The side of the container was labeled: CAUTION! LIVE ALDEBARAN SERPENT! DO NOT FEED! BEWARE! “I hope that presumed spy isn’t too uncomfortable in there.”
“Relax, Ruthy. We packed the container with plenty of water, emergency rations and even a portable waste reclamation unit,” Mariner assured him. “She’ll be fine.”
“But how do we know that freighter is even heading to the Burbank?” Boimler asked. “For all we know it could be part of some classified, highly dangerous special ops mission.”
“Na, that’s too cliché,” Mariner snorted. “Besides, Ruthy hacked…er, I mean, checked the freighter’s flight plan earlier while he was adding the container’s ID number to the freighter’s cargo manifest. It’s making its way across perfectly safe and empty Federation space before making supply stops in the same sector the Burbank is operating in.”
“Ah,” Boimler nodded. “Okay.”
“Don’t worry, Boims. That sneaky, would-be spy is bound to be reunited with her fellow snoopy, sneaky friends,” Mariner smirked. “Eventually….”
“I guess you’re right,” Rutherford said as the three Lower Deckers snuck out of the shuttlebay. “Boy, I can’t wait to tell Tendi about this. She missed all the excitement.”
“Yeah, she’ll probably enjoy it after being stuck on conference room cleanup duty all day,” Mariner declared confidently. “How exciting could that be?”
--------------------------------------
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.
