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“Woah,” said Mariner, as she sat down in the mess hall, joining Tendi and Rutherford at their usual table. “Is Boimler on a date? Who is she?”
“Lieutenant Hanna Nesbit, she just transferred to the Cerritos from the Destiny,” Tendi said. “She’s so pretty. Apparently she was the one who asked Boimler out!”
Mariner had been about to shove hasperat into her mouth, but instead let it fall out of her hand. “Lieutenant Nesbit asked Boimler out? That is weird. You guys haven't forgotten what happened last time someone was interested in Boimler, right? You sure that she’s, I dunno, not a pillar of light, or an energy vampire, or controlled by an alien parasite again, or a ghost that his grandma used to bang, or a - ?”
“That’s what Boimler’s trying to find out,” Tendi interrupted. “He’s doing the questionnaire. I guess after last time with Barbara…”
“The questionnaire?” Mariner asked. “You mean the f&@# form? On a first date? Easy, Boimler.”
“No,” Rutherford said, “she means the questionnaire.”
“The questionnaire?” Mariner repeated, hasperat all but forgotten. “But no one does the questionnaire. Not even bridge crew do the questionnaire.”
“I know,” Rutherford said. “ Who wants to go through 300 pages of tedious Starfleet regulations just so you can go on a date with someone?”
Mariner shrugged. “I guess it’s not bad preparation for dating Boimler.”
Over at the table on the far side of the mess hall, Boimler was asking Lieutenant Nesbit, “If you are a member of a species that is not part of the Federation, does your species or a significant portion of its electorate slash monarchy slash ruling AI wish to join the Federation?”
“Boimler,” Nesbit said with diminishing good humour, “I’m human. I’m already a member of the Federation.”
“Are you embarking on this romantic relationship in order to accelerate slash derail slash circumvent slash otherwise have an impact on the standard process for your planet slash moon slash species slash system slash empire joining the Federation?”
“Still human, Boimler.”
“Have you ever filled in a f$%& form, Mariner?” Rutherford asked as they continued watching the last dregs of patience drain from Lieutenant Nesbit’s face.
“Duh,” said Mariner. “I’m doing the Riker challenge.”
“The Riker challenge?”
“Who can complete the maximum number of f@#$ forms in a five-year period,” Mariner said, returning to the hasperat. “Ugh, it’s so hard being human. There are hardly any species left that we even need to fill in the form for. I was talking to Ensign Herzesh, he’s Bajoran, and he did a f?£* form for a Denobulan the other day. A Denobulan. Like which species hasn’t ever hooked up with a Denobulan before?”
“Bajorans, apparently,” Rutherford said.
“And it would be so easy to fill it in too!” Mariner continued, ignoring him. “The Denobulans don’t have tentacles, or penile spines, or venom sacs…”
“Which species have you filled out the f£*^ form for who have penile spines?” Tendi asked, wincing.
Mariner shrugged. “You gotta really go for it if you want to win the Riker challenge. Anyway Herzesh is way behind me, Denobulans or no Denobulans, so I guess it doesn’t matter. And being on second contact duty rocks for getting the f$€% forms in. So many species that Starfleet has barely interacted with: the Galardonians, the Apergosians, the Dooplers…”
“You f(*&ed a Doopler?” Tendi asked.
“Well,” Mariner said. “One Doopler to start with. Kind of ended up in an orgy situation. Anyhoo, I’m seventh in the league at the moment. Two years to go. And I can smash out those forms in record time.” She frowned across the mess hall. “Unlike Boimler, apparently.”
“Poor Lieutenant Nesbit,” Tendi said.
Boimler’s eyes were fixed on his PADD. “Please list any relevant pairbonds slash childhood betrothals slash diplomatic marriages slash other culturally-sensitive species-specific commitments that might prevent the continuation of this relationship,” he read out.
“I’m single, and my only commitment is to going on a date with you, Boimler,” Nesbit replied. She inhaled deeply. “For now.”
“Does your planet slash species slash culture slash company slash tribe slash starship have any rituals slash observances slash procedures slash customs regarding pregnancy or the raising of children that might cause distress slash alarm slash concern to a partner raised in Federation norms?”
“Yes,” Nesbit replied, “we like to eat our firstborn. Grilled, with a little yarmok sauce.”
“Really?”
“No.”
With the excuse of heading to the replicators for dessert, Mariner had wandered past Boimler and Nesbit’s table. Now, she returned to Tendi and Rutherford, a forkful of I'danian spice pudding already in her mouth.
“Are they still on the questionnaire?” Tendi asked.
“Hoo yes,” Mariner replied. “They’re on bribes, incentives, pay-offs, graft and general corruption - judging from what Boimler was saying, anyway.”
“What would she even bribe him with?” Tendi asked.
“Holodeck programs,” said Rutherford.
“Sexual favours,” said Mariner.
“I would have guessed latinum,” Tendi said.
“What would he do with latinum?” Mariner asked. “He can replicate whatever he wants, unless it’s contraband, and Boimler is too boring to want any contraband.”
“It’s kind of pretty to look at,” Tendi replied.
Mariner frowned. “Wow, you’re really green for a Ferengi.” She brightened up. “Hey, I don’t know if there’s been any human/Ferengi sexual contact - that’s a great opportunity for a f”*~ form! Suck it, Herkesh.”
Rutherford gestured to the far side of the room. “Looks like Lieutenant Nesbit is losing patience.”
On the far side of the room, Boimler beamed at Nesbit. “We’re nearly done!” he said. “We’re on to the appendix questions now. Are you pursuing this relationship in order to introduce me to a game that may prove addictive slash dangerously immersive slash all-consuming slash sentient?”
“No,” Nesbit replied.
“Do you secretly have the consciousness of a Klingon spy implanted into you through an agonisingly painful species transfer protocol?” Boimler frowned. “That’s never even happened, I don’t know why they would ask that. Anyway, do you?”
“No,” Nesbit replied, gritting her teeth.
“Are you secretly a hologram slash android slash - Hanna? Are you OK?”
Across the table from Boimler, Lieutenant Nesbit was shaking with rage.
Then the shaking grew more vigorous. She flung her chair backwards. She seemed to swell in front of him -
No, she was literally swelling in front of him, her body growing larger and larger. Her veins turned black and her eyes glowed red.
Her uniform burst open - and six tentacled limbs burst out, each holding a phaser.
Boimler sprang back. “Lieutenant Nesbit!”
Nesbit was by now four or five times her original size, her skin mottled black and green, her limbs everywhere. In a deep bass voice that echoed around the mess hall, she said, “PUNY HUMAN! HOW DARE YOU?? YOU HAVE RUINED MY PLANS! YOU HAVE RUINED ALL MY WORK!”
Someone across the room fired a phaser at her. She fired back without even looking, and they crumpled into a heap.
“I WAS GOING TO BIDE MY TIME. I WAS GOING TO INGRATIATE MYSELF. BUT YOU! YOU AND YOUR ENDLESS, INCESSANT QUESTIONS! I WILL DESTROY YOU! I WILL DESTROY YOUR SHIP!”
The mess hall sprang into action. A dozen phasers fired at once. Lieutenant Nesbit - or the being that had once been Lieutenant Nesbit - fired back, but she couldn’t hit everyone at once. Mariner flung the remains of her I'danian spice pudding at Nesbit’s head. Boimler finally got hold of himself, and hurled a chair. It barely slowed Nesbit down.
“I WILL DESTROY YOU, BRADWARD BOIMLER!” she repeated.
Tendi grabbed a knife and threw it at Nesbit. It hit the back of her neck, and for a moment, she slowed down.
“Look!” Tendi said. “She’s vulnerable there! Aim for the nape of her neck.”
“I’m not sure she’s going to have a neck for much longer,” Rutherford said. He was right - Nesbit was still transforming, new body parts bursting out of her skin.
“Then we have to act now!” Tendi urged. “Everyone, now!”
Everyone in the mess hall grabbed whatever was nearest to them - a phaser, cutlery, a tray, a nearly-completed game of kal-toh - and flung it straight at the creature that had once been Lieutenant Nesbit. She flailed, fighting off the attacks.
But she couldn’t dodge them all. Some hit her. Some even hit the vulnerable spot at the nape of her neck.
And gradually, she jerked, twisted, and then fell down, and lay still.
Boimler carefully picked up his PADD from the midst of the chaos that the mess hall had become.
“Huh,” said Mariner. “I guess maybe the questionnaire was worth doing after all.”